The Inheritance Trilogy Omnibus(178)

“Yes,” I said. She had not given a family name, I noticed. Neither had Hado, the night before. So neither did I—a small, safe battle. “I’m pleased to meet you.” My throat felt better, thank the gods.

She seemed pleased by my attempt at politeness. “The Master of Initiates—Master Hado, whom you met—says I’m to give you anything you need,” she said. “I can take you to the baths now, and I’ve brought some fresh clothing.” There was the faint pluff of a pile of cloth being deposited. “Nothing fancy, I’m afraid. We live simply here.”

“I see,” I said. “You’re an… initiate, too?”

“Yes.” She came closer, and I guessed that she was staring at my eyes. “Was that a guess, or did you sense it somehow? I’ve heard that blind people can pick up on things normal people can’t.”

I tried not to sigh. “It was a guess.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed but recovered quickly. “You’re feeling better today, I see. You slept for two whole days after they brought you out of the Empty.”

“Two days?” But something else caught my attention. “The Empty?”

“The place our Nypri sends the worst blasphemers against the Bright,” Jont said. She had dropped her voice, her tone full of dread. “Is it as terrible as they say?”

“You mean that place beyond the holes.” I remembered being unable to breathe, unable to scream. “It was terrible,” I said softly.

“Then it’s fortunate the Nypri was merciful. What did you do?”

“Do?”

“To cause him to put you there.”

At this, fury lanced down my spine. “I did nothing. I was with my friends when this Nypri of yours attacked us. I was kidnapped and brought here against my will. And my friends…” I almost choked as I realized. “For all I know, they’re still in that awful place.”

To my surprise, Jont made a compassionate sound and patted my hand. “It’s all right. If they aren’t blasphemers, he’ll bring them out before too much harm is done. Now. Shall we go to the baths?”

Jont took my arm to lead me while I shuffled along, moving slowly since I had no walking stick to help me gauge floor obstacles. Meanwhile, I mulled over the tidbits of information Jont had tossed at my feet. They might call their new members initiates instead of Order-Keepers, and they might use strange magic, but in every other way, these New Lights seemed much like the Order of Itempas—right down to the same high-handed ways.

Which made me wonder why the Order hadn’t yet broken them up. It was one thing to permit the worship of godlings; there was a certain pragmatism in that. But another faith dedicated to Bright Itempas? That was messy. Confusing to the layfolk. What if the Lights began to build their own White Halls, collect their own offerings, deploy their own Order-Keepers? That would violate every tenet of the Bright. The Lights’ very existence invited chaos.

What made even less sense was that the Arameri allowed it. Their clan’s founder, Shahar Arameri, had once been His most favored priestess; the Order was their mouthpiece. I could not see how it benefitted them to allow a rival voice to exist.

Then a thought: maybe the Arameri don’t know.

I was distracted from this when we entered an open room filled with warm humidity and the sound of water. The bath chamber.

“Do you wash first?” Jont asked. She guided me to a washing area; I could smell the soap. “I don’t know anything about Maro customs.”

“Not very different from Amn,” I said, wondering why she cared. I explored and found a shelf bearing soap, fresh sponges, and a wide bowl of steaming water. Hot—a treat. I pulled off my clothes and draped them over the rack I found along the shelf’s edge, then sat down to scrub myself. “We’re Senmite, too, after all.”

“Since the Nightlord destroyed the Maroland,” she said, and then gasped. “Oh, darkness—I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I shrugged, putting down the sponge. “Mentioning it won’t make it happen again.” I found a flask beside it, which I opened and sniffed. Shampoo. Astringent, not ideal for Maroneh hair, but it would have to do.

“Well, yes, but… to remind you of such a horror…”

“It happened to my ancestors, not to me. I don’t forget—we never forget—but there’s more to the Maroneh than some long-ago tragedy.” I rinsed myself with the bowl and sighed, turning to her. “Which way is the soak?”

She took my hand again and led me to a huge wooden tub. The bottom was metal, heated by a fire underneath. I had to use steps built into the side to climb in. The water was cooler than I liked, and unscented, though at least it smelled clean. Madding’s pools had always been just right—