Warbreaker (70 page)

Or maybe he simply was one now. He smiled ruefully to himself.
How much can I really blame on my “old” self? That man is dead. He wasn’t the one who got himself involved in the kingdom’s politics.

The arena was filling, and—in a rare show—all of the gods would be in attendance. Only Weatherlove was late, but he was often unpredictable.

Important events are imminent
, Lightsong thought.
They have been building for years now. Why should I be at the center of them?

His dreams the night before had been so odd. finally, no visions of war. Just the moon. And some odd twisting passages. Like...tunnels.

Many of the gods nodded in respect as he passed their pavilions— though, admittedly, some scowled at him, and a few just ignored him.
What a strange system of rule
, he thought.
Immortals who only last a decade or two—and who have never seen the outside world. And yet the people trust us.

The people trust us.

“I think we should share the Command phrases with each other, Lightsong,” Blushweaver said. “So that we each have all four, just in case.”

He didn’t say anything.

She turned away from him, looking at the people in their colorful clothing, clogging the benches and seats. “My, my,” Blushweaver said, “quite the crowd. And so few of them paying attention to me. Quite rude of them, wouldn’t you say?”

Lightsong shrugged.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Perhaps they’re just...what was it? Stunned, dazzled, and dumbfounded?”

Lightsong smiled faintly, remembering their conversation a few months back. The day this all had started. Blushweaver looked at him, a longing in her eyes.

“Indeed,” Lightsong said. “Or, perhaps, they’re really just ignoring you. In order to compliment you.”

Blushweaver smiled. “And how, exactly, does ignoring me make a compliment?

“It provokes you to be indignant,” Lightsong said. “And we all know that is when you are in best form.”

“You like my form, then?”

“It has its uses. Unfortunately, I cannot compliment you by ignoring you as the others do. You see, only truly,
sincerely
ignoring you would provide the intended compliment. I am, actually, helpless and unable to ignore you. I do apologize.”

“I see,” Blushweaver said. “I’m flattered. I think. Yet you seem very good at ignoring
some
things. Your own divinity. General good manners. My feminine wiles.”

“You’re hardly wily, my dear,” Lightsong said. “A wily man is one who fights with a small, carefully hidden dagger in reserve. You are more like a man who crushes his opponent with a stone block. Regardless, I do have another method of dealing with you, one that you shall likely find quite flattering.”

“Somehow I find myself doubting.”

“You should have more faith in me,” he said with a suave wave of the hand. “I am, after all, a god. In my divine wisdom, I have realized that the only way to truly compliment one such as you—Blushweaver—is to be far more attractive, intelligent, and interesting than you.”

She snorted. “Well, then, I feel rather insulted by
your
presence.”

“Touché,” Lightsong said.

“And are you going to explain
why
you consider competing with me to be the most sincere form of compliment?”

“Of course I am,” Lightsong said. “My dear, have you ever known me to make an inflammatorily ridiculous statement without providing an equally ridiculous explanation to substantiate it?”

“Of course not,” she agreed. “You are nothing if not exhaustive in your self-congratulatory made-up logic.”

“I am rather exceptional in that regard.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Anyway,” Lightsong said, holding up a finger, “by being far more stunning than you are, I invite people to ignore you and pay attention to me. That, in turn, invites
you
to be your usual charming self—throwing little tantrums and being overly seductive—to draw their attention back to you. And that, as I explained, is when you are most majestic. Therefore, the only way to make certain you receive the attention you deserve is to draw it all away from you. It’s really
quite
difficult. I hope you appreciate all the work I do to be so wonderful.”

“Let me assure you,” she said, “I do appreciate it. In fact, I appreciate it so very much that I would like to give you a break. You can back off. I will bear the awful burden of being the most wonderful of the gods.”

“I couldn’t possibly let you.”

“But if you are
too
wonderful, my dear, you will completely destroy your image.”

“That image is getting tiresome anyway,” Lightsong said. “I’ve long sought to be the most notoriously lazy of the gods, but I’m realizing more and more that the task is beyond me. The others are all naturally so much more delightfully useless than I am. They just pretend not to be aware of it.”

“Lightsong!” she said. “One could say you begin to sound jealous!”

“One could also say that my feet smell like guava fruit,” he said. “Just because one
could
say it doesn’t mean it’s relevant.”

She laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Really? I thought I was in T’Telir. When did we move?”

She held up a finger. “That pun was a stretch.”

“Perhaps it was just a feint.”

“A feint?”

“Yes, an intentionally weak joke to distract from the
real
one.”

“Which is?”

Lightsong hesitated, glancing at the arena. “The joke that has been played on all of us,” he said, voice growing softer. “The joke the others in the pantheon have played by giving me so much influence over what our kingdom will do.”

Blushweaver frowned at him, obviously sensing the growing bitterness in his voice. They stopped on the walkway, Blushweaver facing him, her back to the arena floor. Lightsong feigned a smile, but the moment was dying. They couldn’t go on as they had. Not amidst the weighty matters in motion all around them.

“Our brothers and sisters aren’t as bad as you imply,” she said quietly.

“Only a matchless group of idiots would give me control of their armies.”

“They trust you.”

“They’re
lazy
,” Lightsong said. “They want others to make the difficult decisions. That’s what this system encourages, Blushweaver. We’re all locked in here, expected to spend our time in idleness and pleasure. And then we’re supposed to know what is best for our country?” He shook his head. “We’re more afraid of the outside than we’re willing to admit. All we have are artworks and dreams. That’s why you and I ended up with these armies. Nobody else wants to be the one who actually sends our troops out to kill and die. They all want to be involved, but nobody wants to be
responsible
.”

He fell silent. She looked up at him, a goddess of perfect form. So much stronger than the others, but she hid it behind her own veil of triviality. “I know one thing that you said is true,” she said quietly.

“And that is?”

“You
are
wonderful, Lightsong.”

He stood there, looking into her eyes for a time. Widely set, beautiful green eyes.

“You’re not going to give me your Command Phrases, are you?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I brought you into this,” she said. “You always talk about being useless, but we all know that you’re one of the few who always goes through every picture, sculpture, and tapestry in his gallery. The one who hears every poem and song. The one who listens most deeply to the pleas of his petitioners.”

“You are all fools,” he said. “There is nothing in me to respect.”

“No,” she said. “You’re the one who makes us laugh, even while you insult us. Can’t you see what
that
does? Can’t you see how you’ve inadvertently set yourself above everyone else? You didn’t do it intentionally, Lightsong, and that’s what makes it work so well. In a city of frivolity, you’re the only one who’s shown any measure of wisdom. In my opinion, that’s why you hold the armies.”

He didn’t reply.

“I knew you might resist me,” she said. “But I thought that I’d be able to influence you anyway.”

“You can,” he said. “As you’ve said, it’s your doing that I’m involved in all of this.”

She shook her head, still staring into his eyes. “I can’t decide which feeling for you is stronger, Lightsong. My love or my frustration.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I accept them both, Blushweaver. With honor.” And with that, he turned from her and went to his box. Weatherlove had arrived; that left only the God King and his bride. Lightsong sat down, wondering where Siri was. She usually got to the arena long before it was time to begin.

He found it difficult to focus his attention on the young queen. Blushweaver still stood on the walkway where he had left her, watching him.

Finally, she turned, and made her way to her own pavilion.

~

Siri walked through the palace corridors, surrounded by her brown-uniformed serving women, a dozen worries circling through her brain.

First, go to Lightsong
, she told herself, going over the plan.
It won’t look odd for me to sit with him—we often spend time together at these things.

I wait for Susebron to arrive. Then I ask Lightsong if we can talk in private, without our servants or his priests. I explain what I have discovered about the God King. I tell him about the way Susebron is being held captive. Then we see what he does.

Her biggest fear was that Lightsong would already know. Could he be part of the entire conspiracy? She trusted him as much as she trusted anyone except Susebron, but her nerves had a way of making her question everything and everyone.

She passed through room after room, each one decorated in its own color theme. She didn’t notice how bright those were anymore.

Assuming Lightsong agrees to help
, she thought,
I wait for the break. Once the priests leave the sand, Lightsong goes and speaks with several other gods. They each go to their priests and instruct them to begin a discussion in the arena about why the God King never speaks to them. They force the God King’s priests to let him offer his own defense.

She didn’t like depending on the priests, even those who weren’t members of Susebron’s priesthood, but this did seem like the best way. Besides, if the priests of the various gods didn’t do as instructed, Lightsong and the others would realize that they were being undermined by their own servants. Either way, Siri realized she was getting into very dangerous territory.

I
started
in dangerous territory
, she thought, leaving the formal rooms of the palace and entering the dark outer hallway.
The man I love is threatened with death, and any children I bear will be taken from me.
She either had to act or let the priests continue to push her around. Susebron and she were in agreement. The best plan was—

Siri slowed. At the end of the hallway, in front of the doors out to the court, a small group of priests stood with several Lifeless soldiers. They were silhouetted by the evening light. The priests turned toward her, and one pointed.

Colors!
Siri thought, spinning. Another group of priests was approaching up the back hallway.
No! Not now!

The two groups of priests closed on her. Siri considered running, but where? Dashing in her long dress—pushing through servants and Lifeless— was hopeless. She raised her chin—eyeing the priests with a haughty stare— and kept her hair completely under control. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“We’re terribly sorry, Vessel,” the lead priest said. “But it has been decided that you shouldn’t be exerting yourself while in your condition.”

“My condition?” Siri asked icily. “What foolishness is this?”

“The child, Vessel,” the priest said. “We can’t risk danger to it. There are many who would try to harm you, should they know that you are carrying.”

Siri froze.
Child?
she thought with shock.
How could they know that Susebron and I have actually started...

But no. She would know if she were with child. However, she’d supposedly been sleeping with the God King for months now. That was just enough time for a pregnancy to have begun to show. It would sound plausible to the people of the city.

Fool!
She thought to herself in a sudden panic.
Assuming they’ve already found their replacement God King, I don’t actually need to bear them a child. They just have to make everyone think I was pregnant!

“There is no child,” she said. “You were just waiting—you just had to stall until you had an excuse to lock me away.”

“Please, Vessel,” one of the priests said, gesturing for a Lifeless to take her arm. She didn’t struggle; she forced herself to remain calm, looking the priest in the eyes.

He looked away. “This will be for the best,” he said. “It’s for your own good.”

“I’m sure it is,” she snapped, but allowed herself to be led back to her rooms.

~

Vivenna sat among the crowds, watching and waiting. Part of her found it foolish to come out into the open so flagrantly. However, that part of her—the cautious Idrian princess—was growing more and more quiet.

Denth’s people had found her when she’d been hiding in the slums. She’d probably be safer in the crowds with Vasher than she ever had been in the alleyways, particularly considering how well she now blended in. She hadn’t realized how natural it could feel to sit in trousers and a tunic, brightly colored and completely ignored.

Vasher appeared at the railing above the benches. She carefully slipped out of her seat—someone else took it immediately—and walked toward him. The priests had already begun their arguments down below. Nanrovah, his daughter restored to him, had started by announcing the retraction of his previous position. He currently was leading the discussion against war.

He had very little support.

Vivenna joined Vasher along the railing, and he quite unapologetically elbowed open a space for her. He didn’t carry Nightblood—at her insistence, he had left the sword behind with her own dueling blade. She wasn’t certain how he’d managed to sneak the blade in the last time he’d come to the court, but the last thing they wanted was to draw attention.