“But why the stack?” Karris asked.
“Because there are many worlds, but only one time.” He flipped a different scroll onto the top of the stack. He crossed out the entire area left and right of the cut there, too. “So Atirat is denied that time everywhere else. An immortal has all eternity, but they have only a finite number of chances to interact with us mortals. Thus, paradoxically, with all eternity available to them, a single day becomes incredibly precious to immortals. So, were I immortal, I would only visit when my presence would matter most. Perhaps on my holy days, or more likely in times of war, where I might claim or lose an entire world.”
Karris did not like where this was suddenly going. Tingles prickled along her skin. “An immortal like Nabiros?”
Andross looked at her and licked dry lips. She swore she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. “We’ve entered a time that immortals find interesting enough to visit personally, and because of some fluke or perhaps some very carefully prescribed and maintained traditions that neither you nor I were aware of, we have just done exactly what we needed to do to kill one of them. I think it would be an insane level of optimism not to expect the full fury of their vengeance.”
It was as if the floor had dropped out from under her. Karris’s problems had looked daunting when they’d been human. She buried her face in her hands, and felt her gorge rising.
It was too much for her. She was the wrong person for all this. She was going to fail everyone, and now that failure wouldn’t just mean the dissolution of the kingdom.
Breathe, Karris.
She pulled herself together and suddenly thought of something. “We aren’t alone in this. This is Orholam’s fight. We didn’t kill Nabiros by sheer luck. Those traditions weren’t just stumbled upon. Someone taught our ancestors those. And that we followed them well enough that they worked? That wasn’t luck—it must have been Orholam’s immortals intervening on our side.” And suddenly she could breathe again. Things were harmoniously blue and orderly again. Orholam would take care of the immortals, and she’d take care of her lists. That, that made sense.
Then Andross shit all over her peace. As he did. “Let us not mistake their side and ours. This is one battlefield among a hundred thousand for them. Perhaps their victory is complete now that one of the two hundred rebels is banished. Or perhaps by drawing the vengeance of his fellows, they get a dozen of the rebels to waste days or even mere hours here that are critically important to a battle on some other world that they believe is more important.”
“You’re telling me we could just be a distraction?” Karris asked.
“How did the old story put it? ‘When the king sends a ship of grain to his ally, he worries not about the comfort of the rats in the hold.’ Our lives are nothing to the universe, High Lady.”
“This is where your great intellect fails you for a lack of imagination and faith, Andross Guile. You think that to be concerned with the great tides of history means that one must lose track of one little fish. Or that by caring for one son, you can not care equally for another.”
“You wish to compare how well we have loved our sons?” Andross asked.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, flushing. She didn’t want to talk about Zymun. He made her uncomfortable, still. Though that was surely her own guilt speaking. But he was always touching her. Always wanting to be with her. “I meant that Orholam sees and hears and cares and—”
“And saves, yes, I know the old prayer. I’m simply not convinced by it. Tell me, Karris, have you ever prayed for something that you thought you needed more than breath itself?”
“Gavin is still missing. How dare you ask me that?”
“Ah, Gavin, yes. A man of singular gifts indeed. A man who would be of immense help in this war of ours, wouldn’t he?”
She said nothing, certain some cruelty would come out of Andross Guile’s mouth next.
“And where is he? And where is the Orholam who saves, who sees, who cares?”
Karris had no answer.
“We’re in a battle alone. And of the immortals, only one side has shown up, and it wasn’t Orholam’s.”
“What would you have us do?” Karris said.
“First, understand the stakes. We aren’t only fighting rebels now. We fight against the gods themselves. Should they win, this whole world will fall into their hands, perhaps until the end of time. We’ve killed one. In his time, Lucidonius killed nine. Depending on which translation is correct, that leaves us to face either twelve hundred thousand—minus ten—or a hundred and ninety. The good news or bad is that they come in ranks. Nabiros or Cerberos is a low-ranking immortal.”
“Naturally,” Karris said. Holy shit.
“I don’t know what happens if the strongest ones come. It was said during the reign of one particularly old and powerful Atirat that it was impossible to draft green anywhere in Blood Forest without his permission. Scholars since have interpreted that to mean drafting green in Blood Forest was illegal. I think they really meant impossible.”
“Like what we felt at Ru,” Karris said. At the end, greens there had lost control of their bodies, been unable to move. “The greens felt the bane from many leagues away, but it was only crippling within—what? A league or two? But how do they do it? And what determines their power?”
Andross hesitated. “The point is—”
“No, wait. What was that? You were just going to say something. Tell me.”
Andross thought for a moment, studying her. “That—how they do what they do and what determines their power—is what I sent Zymun to find out. It’s why I ordered him to infiltrate the Color Prince’s ranks. He didn’t learn much, unfortunately, before he had to flee. He’d failed the Color Prince twice—in assassinating Gavin, and in holding Ruic Head. Truth is, I’m not entirely certain he meant to fail at either.”
But Karris didn’t even hear the last biting words. Of course Andross would try to soil her joy. Karris hadn’t been able to get straight answers out of Zymun about when he’d tried to ‘hurt’ Gavin, she’d said, couching it gently. No wonder! His grandfather was to blame for all that, and he was trying to keep it secret because he was being loyal to Andross—the one person in his family he’d known for years.
And Andross, the cold bastard, had put Zymun in a place where he’d needed to publicly fail at an assassination attempt—but appear to really be trying—in order to obey his grandfather and keep his position near the Color Prince.
Confront Zymun about trying to assassinate Gavin and kill Kip.
Thank Orholam.
“The point is,” Andross said, exasperated, “perhaps Orholam sees us as an acceptable sacrifice in a greater war. I do not. High Lady, I wish you to pick up your knives. If we’re to survive this, we must be harder and smarter and stronger and crueler than the gods themselves.”
He regarded her for a long moment, and she shelved her sudden hope that maybe now things would feel more natural with Zymun, now that those awful things were explained away.
Andross said, “I ordered those men to beat you, because I saw what Orea was doing, how she was grooming you, giving you all these different assignments so you could learn her work. And I didn’t think you were equal to it. I remembered that sniveling girl you were, pretty and thoughtless. I wanted to see what you were made of—if you could even find out it was me, and if so, how you would come at me. I thought you were unwilling to fight back, or that when you did, you’d do it recklessly and stupidly. I was wrong about you then… and later, too.”
“Later? You mean when you stacked the election to White against me?” And tried to have me killed?! she didn’t say aloud.
“You will need all your strength for this fight,” he said. “And that streak of insanity or faith you show, whether it’s real or feigned.”