I was shaking with fear and desire and effort. The last finally paid off as I managed to turn my face away from his. His cool breath tickled my neck and I felt it down my whole body, the most intimate of caresses. I had never wanted a man so much, never in my whole life. I had never been so afraid.
“Please,” I said again.
He kissed me, very lightly, on my neck. I tried not to moan and failed miserably. I ached for him. But then he sighed, rose, and walked over to the window. The black tendrils of his power lingered on me a moment longer; I had been almost buried in his darkness. But as he moved away the tendrils released me—reluctantly, it seemed—and settled back into the usual restlessness of his aura.
I wrapped my arms around myself, wondering if I would ever stop shivering.
“Your mother was a true Arameri,” said Nahadoth.
That shocked me out of desire, as suddenly as a slap.
“She was all that Dekarta wanted and more,” he continued. “Their goals were never the same, but in every other way, she was more than a match for her father. He loves her still.”
I swallowed. My legs were shaky so I did not stand, but I made myself straighten from the hunch that I had unconsciously adopted. “Then why did he kill her?”
“You think it was him?”
I opened my mouth to demand an explanation. But before I could, he turned to me. In the light from the window his body was a silhouette, except for his eyes. I saw them clearly, onyx-black and glittering with unearthly knowing and malice.
“No, little pawn,” said the Nightlord. “Little tool. No more secrets, not without an alliance. That is for your safety as well as ours. Shall I tell you the terms?” Somehow I knew that he smiled. “Yes, I think I should. We want your life, sweet Yeine. Offer it to us and you’ll have all the answers you want—and, too, the chance for revenge. That’s what you truly want, isn’t it?” A soft, cruel chuckle. “You’re more Arameri than Dekarta sees.”
I began to tremble again, not out of fear this time.
As before, he faded away, his image disappearing long before his presence did. When I could no longer feel him, I put away my mother’s belongings and straightened the room so that no one would know I had been there. I wanted to keep the silver fruitstone, but I could think of nowhere safer to hide it than the compartment where it had lain undiscovered for decades. So I left it and the letters in their hiding place.
When I was finally done, I went back to my room. It took all my willpower not to run.
11
Mother
T’VRIL TOLD ME THAT sometimes Sky eats people. It was built by the Enefadeh, after all, and living in a home built by angry gods necessarily entails some risk. On nights when the moon is black and the stars hide behind clouds, the stone walls stop glowing. Bright Itempas is powerless then. The darkness never lingers—a few hours at most—but while it lasts, most Arameri keep to their rooms and speak softly. If they must travel Sky’s corridors, they move quickly and furtively, always watching their step. For you see, wholly at random, the floors open up and swallow the unwary. Searchers go into the dead spaces underneath, but no bodies are ever found.
I know now that this is true. But more important—
I know where the lost ones have gone.
“Please tell me about my mother,” I said to Viraine.
He looked up from the contraption he was working on. It looked like a spidery mass of jointed metal and leather; I had no inkling of its purpose. “T’vril told me he sent you to her room last night,” he said, shifting on his stool to face me. His expression was thoughtful. “What is it you’re looking for?”
I made note: T’vril was not entirely trustworthy. But that did not surprise me; T’vril doubtless had his own battles to fight. “The truth.”
“You don’t believe Dekarta?”
“Would you?”
He chuckled. “You have no reason to believe me, either.”
“I have no reason to believe anyone in this whole reeking Amn warren. But since I cannot leave, I have no choice but to crawl through the muck.”
“Oh, my. You almost sound like her.” To my surprise he seemed pleased by my rudeness. Indeed, he began smiling, though with an air of condescension. “Too crude, though. Too straightforward. Kinneth’s insults were so subtle that you wouldn’t realize she’d called you dirt until hours afterward.”
“My mother never insulted anyone unless she had good reason. What did you say to provoke her?”
He paused for only a heartbeat, but I noted with satisfaction that his smile faded.
“What do you want to know?” he asked.