And I would need to send a note to Morad, I reminded myself. She’d quit her position and gone home to southern Senm, to no one’s surprise. I still hoped to entice her back eventually; competent stewards were hard to find. I would not press Morad, however. She deserved the time and space to mourn in her own way.

While Datennay approached, I inclined my head to Nemmer in farewell. “Welcome to ruling the world, Lady Nemmer. I wish you enjoyment of it.”

She spoke a godword so foul that one of the nearby lanterns turned to melted metal-and-oil sludge and crashed to the floor. As I walked away, I heard her cursing again — in some mortal tongue this time, more softly, as she bent to clean up the mess.

Datennay met me halfway down the hall. He hesitated before offering me his hand. Once, I had discouraged him from displaying affection in public. Now, however, I took his hand firmly, and he blinked in surprise, flashing a smile.

“These people are all mad,” I said. “Take me away from here.”

As we walked away, something pulsed hot between my breasts, and I remembered I had forgotten to tell Lady Yeine about the necklace we’d found on Sieh’s body. The cord had been broken, half the smaller beads lost to whatever had snapped it, but the central bead — the peculiar yellow one — was fine. It was surprisingly heavy, and sometimes, if I was not imagining things, it became oddly warm to the touch. I had put the thing on a chain around my own neck, because I felt bette no?r wearing it. Less alone.

Lady Yeine would not mind if I kept it, I decided. Then I stroked the little sphere as if to comfort it, and walked on.

CODA

SHAHAR ARAMERI DIED in bed at the age of seventy, leaving two daughters and a son — half-Teman fullbloods unmarked by any sigil — to carry on the family. The Arameri still owned many businesses and properties, and they remained one of the most powerful clans on the Senm continent. They just had less. Shahar’s children immediately began scheming to get more upon her death, but that is a matter for other tales.

The godling Ahad, called Beloved by his fellow godlings, watched over Glee Shoth for the entire year that she slept after her legendary battle with Kahl. When she finally awoke, he took her away from Echo and the new city developing around its lake. They settled in a small northwestern Senm town, where they spent some years looking after an elderly, blind Maro woman until her death. There they remained for another hundred years or so, never marrying, raising no children, but always together. She lived a long time for a mortal, and gave him a proper name of his own before she died. He tells no one that name, it is said, guarding it like something precious and rare.

Those mortals who worshipped the Goddess of Earth claimed ownership of the corpse of the World Tree. By the time of Shahar’s death, they had excavated and preserved enough of its trunk to house a small city, which began to call itself World. They lived in the Tree and on it, said their prayers at the skeleton of its roots, dedicated their sons and daughters to its broken branches. Fires, and fire-godlings, were not allowed in this city. They lit their chambers at night with pieces of Sky.

The Aeternat … well. It was not eternal. But that, too, is a matter for other tales.

So many tales, really. They are sure to be exciting. A shame that I will get to hear none of them.

I? Oh, yes.

When Shahar exhaled her last breath I awakened, midwifed into existence by her mortality. My first act was to turn in space and time and kiss Deka awake, beside me. Then I called to my En, and it shot across realities and blazed into joyous, welcoming life somewhere far, far beyond the realms of the Three. It would be the seed-star of a new realm. Our realm. It sent out great arcing plumes of fire, silly little ball of gas, and I petted it silent and promised it worlds to warm just as soon as I’d taken care of other business.

Then we found Shahar, and gathered her up, and took her with us. She was, to say the least, surprised. But not displeased. We are together now, the three of us, for the rest of forever. I will never be alone again.

My name is not Sieh, and I am no longer a trickster. I will think of a new name and calling, eventually — or some one of you, my children, will name me. Make of me, of us, whatever you wish. We are yours until time ends, and perhaps a little beyond.

And we will all create such wonderful new th alk of a newings, you and we, out here beyond the many skies.