I wanted to ask him about that, but too many things about the memory disturbed me. So instead I asked, “Why did you try to kill me, yesterday?”
“I wouldn’t have killed you. Scimina commanded me to leave you alive.”
That was curious, and even more disturbing. “Why?”
“I assume because she didn’t want you dead.”
I was dangerously close to growing annoyed. “What would you have done to me, then, if not kill me?”
“Hurt you.”
This time I was glad he was so opaque.
I swallowed. “As you hurt Sieh?”
There was a pause, and he turned to me. The moon, half-full, shone through the window above him. His face had the same faint, pale glow. He said nothing, but abruptly I understood: he did not remember hurting Sieh.
“So you truly are different,” I said. I wrapped my arms around myself. The room had grown chilly, and I wore only a thin shirt and pantlets for sleep. “Sieh said something to that effect, and T’vril, too. ‘While there’s still light in the sky…’ ”
“By day I am human,” said the Nightlord. “At night I am… something closer to my true self.” He spread his hands. “Sunset and dawn are when the transition takes place.”
“And you become… that.” I carefully did not say monster.
“The mortal mind, imbued with a god’s power and knowledge for even a few moments, rarely reacts well.”
“And yet Scimina can command you through this madness?”
He nodded. “Itempas’s compulsion overrides all.” He paused then, and his eyes abruptly became very clear to me—cold and hard, black as the sky. “If you don’t want me here, command me to leave.”
Consider: An immensely powerful being is yours to command. He must obey your every whim. Wouldn’t the temptation to diminish him, to humble him and make yourself feel powerful by doing so, be almost irresistible?
I think it would be.
Yes, it definitely would be.
“I would rather know why you’ve come in the first place,” I said. “But I won’t force you to explain.”
“Why not?” There was something dangerous in his voice. Why was he angry? Because I had power over him and chose not to use it? Was he worried that I would?
The answer to his question came to my mind at once: because it would be wrong. I hesitated to say that, however. The answer wasn’t even correct—he had entered my room unbidden, a breach of manners in any land. If he had been human, I wouldn’t have hesitated to order him out.
No; not human. If he had been free.
But he was not free. Viraine had explained further the evening before, during the painting of my sigil. My commands to the Enefadeh had to be simple and precise. I was to avoid metaphors or colloquialisms, and above all think about whatever I told them to do, lest I trigger unintended consequences. If I said something like, “Nahadoth, get out,” he would be free to leave not only my room, but the palace entire. Skyfather knew what he’d get up to then, and only Dekarta could summon him back. Or if I said, “Nahadoth, be silent,” he would be rendered mute until I or some other fullblooded Arameri rescinded the order.
And if I were ever so careless as to say, “Nahadoth, do as you please,” he would kill me. Because killing Arameri pleased him. It had happened before, many times over the centuries, according to Viraine. (A service, he called it, as stupider Arameri were usually eliminated before they could breed or embarrass the family further.)
“I won’t command you because I’m considering the alliance proposed by your Lady Kurue,” I said at last. “An alliance should be based on mutual respect.”
“Respect is irrelevant,” he said. “I am your slave.”
I could not help wincing at the word. “I’m a captive here, too.”
“A captive whose every command I must obey. Forgive me if I feel little sympathy.”
I did not like the guilt his words triggered in me. Perhaps that was why my temper slipped, before I could think to rein it in. “You are a god,” I snapped. “You’re a deadly beast on a leash who has already turned on me once. I may have power over you, but I would be a fool to think that makes me safe. Far wiser to offer you courtesy, ask for what I want, and hope for your cooperation in return.”
“Ask. And then command.”
“Ask, and if you say no, accept that answer. That, too, is part of respect.”
He fell silent for a long while. In that silence I replayed my words in my head, praying I had left him no opening to exploit.
“You cannot sleep,” he said.
I blinked in confusion, then realized it was a question. “No. The bed… the light.”