Yes, I had forgotten. He was not truly new. He wasn’t even young, like Yeine. As a mortal, he had seen thousands of years before his effective rebirth. And he had endured hells in that time that would have broken most mortals. It had broken him, but he’d put himself back together, stronger. I laughed to myself as the pain of nearly becoming something else finally began to recede.
“You never change, do you?” My voice was a rasp. He’d left finger marks in the flesh of my neck. “Always so difficult.”
His reply was a curse in a dead language, though I was gratified to hear weariness in his voice as well.
I pushed myself up, slowly. Every muscle in my body ached, along with the bump to the back of the head I’d taken. At the corner of my vision there was movement: Hymn. Coming back into the room, after quite sensibly vacating it while two godlings fought. I was surprised, given her knowledge of us, that she hadn’t vacated the house and neighborhood, too.
“You done?” she asked.
“Very,” I said, pulling myself to sit on the edge of the desk. I would need to sleep again soon. But first I had to make my peace with Ahad, if he would allow that.
He was glaring at me now, from the chair. Nearly recovered already, though his hair was mussed and he had lost his cheroot. I hated him more for a moment, and then sighed and let that go. Let it all go. Mortal life was too short.
“We are no longer slaves,” I said softly. “We need no longer be enemies.”
“We weren’t enemies because of the Arameri,” he snapped.
“Yes, we were.” I smiled, which made him blink. “You wouldn’t have even existed if not for them. And I—” If I allowed it, the shame would come. I had never allowed it before, but so much had changed since those days. Our positions had reversed: he was a god; I wasn’t. I needed him; he didn’t need me. “I would have at least… would have tried to be a better…”
But then he surprised me. He had always been good at that.
“Shut up, you fool,” he said, getting to his feet with a sigh. “Don’t be any more of an ass than you usually are.”
I blinked. “What?”
Ahad stalked over to me, surprising me further. He hadn’t liked being near me for centuries. Planting his hands on the desk on either side of my hips, he leaned down to glare into my face. “Do you really think me so petty that I would still be angry after all this time? Ah, no—that isn’t it at all.” His smile flickered, and perhaps it was my imagination that his teeth grew sharper for a moment. I hoped it was, because the last thing he needed was an animal nature. “No, I think you’re just so gods-damned certain of your own importance that you haven’t figured it out. So let me make this clear: I don’t care about you. You’re irrelevant. It’s a waste of my energy even to hate you!”
I stared back at him, stunned by his vehemence and, I will admit, hurt. And yet.
“I don’t believe you,” I murmured. He blinked.
Then he pushed away from the desk with such force that it scooched back a little, nearly jostling me off. I stared as he went over to Hymn, grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt, and half dragged her to the door, opening it.
“I’m not going to kill him,” he said, shoving her through hard enough that she stumbled when he let her go. “I’m not going to do a damned thing other than gloat over his prolonged, humiliating death, which I have no reason whatsoever to hasten. So your money’s clean and you can wash your hands of him in good conscience. Be glad you escaped before he could ruin your life. Now get out!” And he slammed the door in her face.
I stared at him as he turned to regard me, taking a long, slow breath to compose himself. Because I knew his soul, I felt the moment that he made a decision. Perhaps he had already guessed at mine.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked at last, with brittle politeness.
“Children shouldn’t drink,” I said automatically.
“How fortunate that you’re not a child anymore.”
I winced. “I, ah, haven’t had alcohol in a few centuries.” I said it carefully, testing this new, fragile peace beneath us. It was as thin as the tension on a puddle’s surface, but if we tread delicately, we might manage. “Do you have anything, er…”
“For the pathetic?” He snorted and went over to a handsome wood cabinet, which turned out to hold a dozen or so bottles. All of them were full of strong, richly colored liquids. Stuff for men, not boys. “No. You’ll have to sink or swim, I’m afraid.”
Most likely I would sink. I looked at the bottles and committed myself to the path of truce with a heavy sigh.