“Shiny,” I said. “He fought with the man. There was magic…” I clutched at Madding’s arms, my fingers tightening on the cloth of his shirt. “Mad, the man hit him with magic somehow, I think that’s what caused the blood, I think Shiny grabbed him and pulled him off the roof, but I didn’t hear them hit the ground…”
Madding had already begun gesturing at his companions, directing them to search around the house and nearby streets. Kitr stayed nearby, as did Paitya. Madding had no real need of bodyguards, but I did, and he had probably directed one of them to spirit me away if it came down to any sort of fight.
“I’m going to raze that White Hall to the ground,” he snarled, his human shape flickering blue as he pushed me back toward the front door. “If they’ve dared to attack my house, my people—”
“He wasn’t after Shiny,” I murmured, realizing it belatedly. I stopped, clutching Madding’s arm to get his attention. “Mad, that man wasn’t after Shiny at all! If he was an Order-Keeper, he would’ve wanted Shiny, wouldn’t he? They know he killed the ones in South Root.” The more I thought about it, the more certain I became. “I don’t think that man was an Order-Keeper at all.”
I didn’t mistake the swift, startled look that crossed Madding’s face. He exchanged a glance with Kitr, who looked equally alarmed. Kitr then turned to look at one of the mortals, the scrivener. She nodded and knelt, taking a pad of paper out of her jacket and uncapping a thin ink-brush.
“I’ll go see, too,” said the middle-aged godling, vanishing. Madding pulled me against him, holding me firm with one arm and keeping the other free, in case of trouble. I tried to feel safe there, in the arms of one god and protected by half a dozen others, but all my nerves were a-jangle, and the panic would not fade. I could not push aside the feeling that something was wrong, very wrong, that someone was watching, that something was going to happen. I felt it with every ounce of intuition that I possessed.
“There’s no body,” said Paitya, coming over to us. Beyond him, I could see other godlings winking in and out of sight about the street, on nearby windowsills, on the edge of a roof. “Enough blood that there should be, but nothing. Not even, er, parts.”
“Is it—” I had to struggle to be heard, half muffled against Madding’s shoulder.
“It’s his.” Paitya glanced back at the racing dog, who was sniffing at the spot now; the dog looked up and nodded in solemn confirmation. “No doubt about it. The blood’s just splattered about; it fell from above. But he didn’t land here.”
Madding muttered something in his own tongue, then switched to Senmite so I would understand. “There must have been a weapon. Or magic, as you said.” He looked down at me, scowling in irritation. “He’s powerless now. He must have known he couldn’t take a scrivener, if that’s what the man was. On the roof of a house full of godlings—why didn’t he just call for help? Stubborn bastard.”
I closed my eyes and leaned against Madding, suddenly weary. I could have called for help, too, I realized belatedly, though I’d been too frightened to think of doing so. Shiny, however, hadn’t been afraid at all. He hadn’t wanted help. He’d done it again—charged into a dangerous situation, spent his life like currency, all so he could have a taste of his old power. It had been for my benefit this time, but did that really make it better? Godlings respected life, including their own. They were just as immortal, but they at least tried to defend themselves or evade blows when attacked. When they fought, they tried not to kill. While Shiny slaughtered even his own kin.
“The Nightlord should’ve just killed him,” I said, filled with sudden bitterness. Madding raised his eyebrows in surprise, but I shook my head. “There’s something wrong with him, Mad. I always suspected it, but tonight…”
I remembered the little break in Shiny’s voice when he’d admitted his role in the Gods’ War. Just an instant of instability, a crack in the bedrock of his stoicism. But it went deeper than that, didn’t it? His carelessness with his flesh—how had he ended up dead in my muckbin, all those months ago? That vicious kiss he’d given me. His even more vicious words afterward, blaming me for all the duplicity of the human race.
He was—or had been—the god of order, the living embodiment of stability, peace, and rationality. The man he had become, here in the mortal realm, didn’t make sense. Shiny did not feel like Itempas because Shiny wasn’t Itempas, and no part of my proper Maro upbringing would let me accept him as such.