Sins of the Soul

“Not divine. I am but a servant.”


“According to legend, you are more than that.” Naphré slanted a glance at Alastor, her eyes like ebony, polished and cool, revealing nothing of her thoughts. “You were going to trade me for Butcher’s soul.” Her tone was devoid of inflection, her expression flat, but he felt her pain. She believed he had betrayed her. Lied to her. Tricked her.

And he had. If not by direct lie, then certainly by evasion.

Means to an end.

So why were guilt and remorse biting at his arse? Why did he hate that he’d been the one to put that fleeting look of betrayal in her eyes?

“Naphré—”

“Answer me.” An order that was little more than a whisper.

“Bloody hell. There was no specific mention of a trade. I want Butcher’s darksoul and she—” he tipped his head toward the Shikome “—offered me passage in order to dialogue with Izanami if I brought you along for the trip. No one said the trip was one way. I figured you’d walk in with me, then walk back out.”

Naphré stared at him for several seconds, saying nothing, then she turned back to the Shikome and asked, “Why does Izanami wish to see me?”

She didn’t question him. Didn’t indicate whether she believed him or not. And on this point, he wasn’t exactly lying. Not about this, at least. He hadn’t understood from his original dialogue with the Shikome that he was expected to trade Naphré for the darksoul.

A flicker of unease ignited in his chest. What had he thought? That he was supposed to bring her for a visit and then they’d leave together after they took tea and watercress sandwiches?

Had he become so adept at lying that he was able to fool even himself?

The truth was, he had known, or at least suspected. If he took Naphré to an Underworld territory, there was a bloody good chance she wasn’t coming back, regardless of any assurances the Shikome made.

He supposed he’d thought he was okay with that. Now, he realized he wasn’t. Things had changed. He wasn’t willing to trade Naphré for information. Nor was he willing to forego what information Butcher’s darksoul harbored.

Impasse.

And he didn’t understand why he was even arguing with himself. There ought to be no question. Butcher likely had answers about the night Lokan was killed. He could be Alastor’s only hope of finding his brother’s Ka.

He ought to see Naphré Kurata as dispensable.

He didn’t understand exactly what he felt for her, but she was something to him. And still, he lied to her, if not outright, then at least by omission, because he’d seen her name in Sutekh’s book and he hadn’t said a word to her about that, either.

He had his reasons. Naphré hadn’t exactly bared her secrets; she was cagey about the demon that owned her soul. Why? Did she even know it was Sutekh? He didn’t think so, for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that the summoning remnants told him that she truly believed she’d sold her eternity to a demon. And Sutekh wasn’t. He was a god. The most powerful god of the Underworld. Alastor was fairly certain that Naphré was in the dark about exactly whom she’d made her bargain with.

Until he knew the why of that, the reasons behind Sutekh’s subterfuge, he wasn’t about to reveal the truth. That might just send him stumbling into a real viper’s nest.

“Izanami wishes you brought to her. I do not question Izanami’s wishes,” the Shikome said. Which could either mean she had no idea why Izanami wanted to see Naphré, or she wasn’t willing to part with that information. Either way, Naphré wasn’t getting answers.

Izanami wishes you brought to her. The words swirled through his thoughts, and alarms started clanging. Because the Shikome had come to Sutekh’s greeting room, not Izanami. The Shikome had demanded the return of Butcher’s darksoul, and the Shikome was the one he had made his offer to: a soul for a soul. She was the one who had seen Naphré’s name in Sutekh’s book. She was the one who had demanded that Naphré accompany him.

Not Izanami. Izanami hadn’t been there. She hadn’t been part of the picture. She’d never seen Naphré’s name in the book. So how could she have demanded her presence?

Something here wasn’t right.

It was on the tip of his tongue to point all this out, and then he rethought. Why give away the game for free? Let the Shikome think he had no clue that something was manky.

“Izanami’s going to be disappointed if she wants me to stay for an extended visit,” Naphré said, her tone flat. “I belong to another.”