But Shahar was still nodding, wearily, her smile gone. “I know, Sieh.”

Her capitulation bothered me. I was not used to seeing her despair. I was not used to regarding any Arameri as helpless or vulnerable, let alone all of them.

“Yeine forbade any of us to retaliate against the Arameri,” I said softly. “She didn’t care about you — she hates you as much as the rest of us do — but she didn’t want war everywhere, and …” The Arameri, foul as they were, had been the best hope for keeping the world from collapsing into chaos. Even Nahadoth had gone along with Yeine, and none of my siblings would defy her.

Would they?

I turned away, going to the window so that Shahar would not see my fear.

She sighed and got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. We’re leaving early so as to fool any potential assassins. …” She paused, noticing my stillness at last. “Sieh?”

“Go on,” I said softly. Beyond the window, the sun had begun to set, scattering a crimson spectrum across the sky. Did Itempas feel the end of day, wherever he was, the way Nahadoth had once died with every dawn? Did some part of him quail and gibber into silence, or did he fade slowly, like the bands of color in the sky, until his soul went dark?

At my silence, Shahar headed for the door, and I roused myself enough to think. “Shahar.” I heard her stop. “If something happens, if you’re in danger, call me.”

“We never tested that.”

“It will work.” I felt that instinctively. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. “I don’t care if most of the Arameri die, it’s true. But you are my friend.”

She went still behind me. Surprised? Touched? Once upon a time, I would have been able to taste her emotions onw, did. “I the air. Now I could only guess.

“Get some rest,” she said at last. “I’ll have food sent up. We’ll speak again when I return.” Then she left.

And I leaned back against the window, trembling now that she was gone, left alone to ponder the most terrible of possibilities.

A godling defying a god. It seemed impossible. We were such low things compared to them; they could kill us so easily. Yet we were not powerless. Some among us — myself, once upon a time — were strong enough to challenge them directly, at least for a few moments. And even the least of us could keep secrets and stir up trouble.

One godling’s mischief did not trouble me. But if many of us were involved, conspiring across mortal generations, implementing some complex plan, it was no longer mischief. It was a revolt. One far more dangerous than whatever the northerners planned for the Arameri.

Because if the godlings revolted against the gods, the gods would fight back, as they had done when threatened by the demons long ago. But godlings were not as fragile as demons, and many of us had no vested interest in keeping the mortal realm safe. That would mean a second Gods’ War, worse than the first one.

This had been brewing right under my nose for fifty years, and I hadn’t had a clue.

Beyond me, in silent rebuke, the bloody sky went gradually black.

7

How many miles to Babylon?

Three score and ten.

Can I get there by candlelight?

Aye, and back again.

If your feet are nimble and light,

You’ll get there by candlelight.

I needed help. But not from Nahadoth or Yeine; I dared not chance their tempers. Not until I knew more.

Who could I trust among my siblings? Zhakkarn, of course, but she was never subtle and would be no help in uncovering a conspiracy. The rest — hells. Most of them I had not spoken to in two thousand years. Before that I had tried to kill some of them. Bridges burned, ashes scattered, ground strewn with salt.

And there was the small problem of my inability to return to the gods’ realm in my current state. That was less of a problem than it seemed, because fortunately the city beneath Sky was teeming with my youngest siblings, those for whom the novelty of the mortal realm had not yet worn off. If I could convince one of them to help me … But which one?

I turned from the window, frustrated, to pace. The walls of Sky had begun to glow again, and I hated them, for they were more proof of my impotence; once upon a time, they would have dimmed, just a bit, in my presence. I was no Nahadoth, but there was more than a little of his darkness in me. Now, as if to mock me, the walls stayed bright, diffusing every shadow —

— shadow.

I stopped. There was one of my siblings, just maybe, who would help me. Not because she liked me; quite the opposite. But secrets were her nature, and that was something we shared. It was always easier to relate to those of my siblings with whom I had something in common. If I appealed to that, would she listen? Or would she kill me?