"Strengthen me," he Commanded, Breathing. His trouser legs stiffened, and a patch of color bled from the black stone beside him. Black was a color. He'd never considered that before he'd become an Awakener. Ta.s.sels hanging at his cuffs stiffened, wrapping around his ankle. Kneeling as he was, they could also twist around the bottoms of his feet.

Vasher placed a hand on the shoulder of his shirt, touching another patch of marble as he formed an image in his mind. "Upon call, become my fingers and grip," he Commanded. The shirt quivered and a group of ta.s.sels curled up around his hand. Five of them. Like fingers.

It was a difficult Command. It required far more Breath to Awaken than he would have liked-his remaining Breath barely allowed him the Second Heightening-and the visualization of the Command in his head taken practice to perfect. The finger ta.s.sels were worth it; they had proven very useful, and he was loath to engage in the night's activities without them.

He stood up straight, noting the scar of gray marble on the otherwise perfectly black palace outcropping. He smiled to think of the indignation the priests would feel when they discovered it.

He tested the strength in his legs. He gripped Nightblood, then took a careful step off the side of the palace. He fell some ten fee; the palace was constructed from ma.s.sive, stone blocks in a steep pyramidal shape. He landed hard on the next block, but his Awakened clothing absorbed some of the shock, acting like a second set of bones. He stood up, nodding to himself, then jumped down the other pyramid steps.

Eventually, he landed down on the soft gra.s.s north of the palace, close to the wall that surrounded the entire plateau. He crouched, watching quietly.

Sneaking, Vasher? Nightblood said. You're terrible at sneaking.

Vasher didn't respond.

You should just attack, Nightblood said. You're good at that.

You just want to prove how strong you are, Vasher thought.

Well, yes, the sword replied. But you do have to admit that you're bad at sneaking.

Vasher ignored the sword. A lone man in ragged clothing carrying a sword across the grounds would be more than a little suspicious. So he surveyed.

The Court of G.o.ds at night was still a busy place. Vasher had picked a night where the G.o.ds hadn't planned grand celebrations out in the courtyard, but there were still small groups of priests, minstrels, or servants moving between palaces.

How sure are you about this information of yours? Nightblood said. Because, honestly, I don't trust priests.

He isn't a priest, Vasher thought, still watching the grounds. He moved, creeping through the dark starlight shadow of the wall's overhang. His contact had warned him to stay away from the palaces of influential G.o.ds like Blushweaver and Stillmark. But he had also said that the palace of a lesser G.o.d-like Giftbeacon or Peaceyearning-wouldn't work for Vasher's purpose. Instead, Vasher sought out the home of Mercystar, a Returned known for her involvement in politics, yet who wasn't all that influential.

Her palace looked relatively dark this evening, but there would still be guards. Hallandren Returned had servants to burn. Sure enough, Vasher located two men watching the door he wanted. They wore the extravagant costumes of court servants, colored yellow and gold after the pattern of their mistress.

The men weren't armed. Who would attack the home of a Returned? They were simply there to keep anyone from wandering in an bothering their lady while she slept. They stood by their lanterns, alert and at attentive, but more for the sake of presentation than anything else.

Vasher obscured Nightblood beneath his cloak, then walked out of the darkness, looking from side to side anxiously, mumbling to himself. The hunch of his body helped hide the overly-large sword hidden beneath the cloak.

Oh, please, Nightblood said flatly. The crazy routine? You're more clever than that.

It'll work, Vasher thought. This is the Court of the G.o.ds. Nothing attracts the unbalanced more than the prospect of meeting deities.

The two guards looked up when they saw him approaching, but they didn't seem surprised. They had probably dealt with marginally insane people every day of their professional careers. Vasher had seen the types who ended up in the lines for Returned pet.i.tions.

"Here now," one of the men said as Vasher approached. "How'd you get in here?"

Vasher stepped up to them, mumbling to himself about talking to the G.o.ddess. The second man put a hand on Vasher's shoulder. "Come on, friend. Let's get you back to the gates and see if there's a shelter that's still taking people in for the night."

Vasher hesitated. Kindness. He hadn't expected that, for some reason. The emotion made him feel a tad guilty for what he had to do next.

He snapped his arm to the side, twitching his thumb twice to make the long finger ta.s.sels on his shirt sleeve begin mimicking the motions of his real fingers. He formed a fist. The ta.s.sels snapped forward, wrapping around the first guard's neck.

The man choked out a soft gasp of surprise. Before the second guard could react, Vasher brought Nightblood up, ramming the hilt into the guard's stomach. The man stumbled, and Vasher swept his feet out from beneath him. Vasher's boot followed, coming down slowly but firmly on the man's neck. He wiggled, but Vasher's legs bore Awakened strength.

Vasher stood for a long moment, both men struggling, neither managing to escape their strangulation. A short time later, Vasher stepped off the second guard's neck, then lowered the first guard to the gra.s.s, twitching his thumb twice and releasing the finger ta.s.sels.

You didn't use me much, Nightblood said, sounding hurt. You could have used me. I'm better than a shirt. I'm a sword.

Vasher ignored the comments, scanning the darkness to see if he had been spotted.

I really am better than a shirt. I would have killed them. Look, they're still breathing. Stupid shirt.

That was the point, Vasher thought. Corpses cause more trouble than men who get knocked out.

I could knock people out, Nightblood said immediately.

Vasher shook his head, ducking into the building. Returned palaces-this one included-were generally just connections of open rooms with colorful sheets on the doorways. The weather was so temperate in Hallandren that the building could be open to the air at all times.

He didn't go through the central rooms, but instead stayed in the servant hallway-the one that ran around the outside perimeter of the square building. If Vasher's informant had been truthful, then what he wanted could be found on the northeast side of the building. As he walked, he unraveled the rope from his waist.

Belts are stupid too, Nightblood said. They- At that moment, a group of four servants rounded the corner directly ahead of Vasher. Vasher looked up, shocked but not really surprised.

The servants' shock lasted a second longer than his own. Within a heartbeat, Vasher snapped the rope forward. "Hold things," he Commanded, giving up most of his remaining Breath. The rope rapped around the arm of one of the servants, though Vasher had been aiming for the neck. Vasher cursed, yanking the person forward. The man cried out as Vasher knocked him against the side of the corner. The others moved to run.

Vasher whipped out Nightblood with his other hand.

Yes! the sword thought.

Vasher didn't draw the sword. He simply tossed it forward. The blade skidded against the floor, then came to rest before the three men. One of the group froze, looking down at the sword, transfixed. He reached out tentatively, eyes awed.

The other two took off running, yelling about an intruder.

Blast! Vasher thought. He yanked the rope, knocking the entangled servant off of his feet again, then dashed forward. As the servant tried to stumble to his feet, Vasher wrapped the rope around the man's hands and body. To his side, the remaining servant ignored both Vasher and his friend. This man picked up Nightblood, eyes alight. He undid the snap on the hilt, moving to pull the sword.

When he got barely a thin sliver of blade free, a dark, water-like smoke began to stream out. Some dripped to the ground; other tendrils of it snaked out and wrapped around the man's arm, drawing the color from his skin.

Vasher kicked out with an Awakened leg, knocking the man down, forcing him to drop Nightblood. Vasher left the first man squirming, tied up, then grabbed the man who had held the sword and rammed his head against the wall.

Breathing hard, Vasher grabbed Nightblood, closed the sheath, and did up the snap. Then he reached over, touching the rope that tied the dazed servant. "Your Breath to mine," he said, recovering the Breath from the rope, leaving the man bound.

You didn't let me kill him, Nightblood said, annoyed.

No, Vasher said. Corpses, remember?

And... two ran away from me. That's not right.

You cannot tempt the hearts of men who are pure, Nightblood. No matter how much he explained that concept, it seemed beyond the sword's ability to comprehend.

Vasher moved quickly, dashing down the hallway. He only had a little further to go, but there were already cries and calls for help. He had no desire to fight an army of servants and soldiers. He stopped, uncertain, in the unadorned hallway. He noticed, idly, that Awakening the rope had inadvertently stolen the color from his boots and cloak-the only pieces of clothing he wore that weren't themselves Awakened.

The grey clothing would instantly brand him for what he was. But the thought of backing down made him cringe. He gritted his teeth in frustration, punching the wall. This was supposed to have gone a lot more smoothly.

I told you that you aren't sneaky, Nightblood said.

Shut up, Vasher thought, determined not to run. He reached into a pouch at his belt, pulling out the object within: a dead squirrel.

Yuck, Nightblood said with a sniffing sound.

Vasher knelt, putting a hand on the creature.

"Awaken to my Breath," he Commanded, "serve my needs, live at my Command and my word. Fallen Rope."

Those last words, fallen rope, formed the security phrase. Vasher could have chosen anything, but he picked the first thing that came to mind.

One Breath was leached from his body, going down into the small rodent's corpse. The thing began to twitch. That was a Breath Vasher would never be able to recover, for creating a Lifeless was a permanent event. The squirrel lost all color, bleeding to grey, the Awakening feeding off the body's own colors to fuel the transformation. The squirrel had been grey in the first place, so the difference was tough to see. That's why Vasher preferred to use them.

"Fallen Rope," he said to the creature, its grey eyes looking up at him. The security phrase said, Vasher could imprint it with an order, much like he did when performing a standard Awakening. "Make noise. Bite people. Fallen Rope." The last use of the word closed its impressionability, so it could no longer be Commanded.

The squirrel hopped up to its feet then scampered down the hallway, heading for the open doorway the fleeing servants had disappeared into. Vasher stood and began to run again, hoping that his distraction would earn him time. Indeed, a few moments later he heard cries coming from the doorway. Clangs and screams followed. Lifeless could be difficult to stop, particularly a fresh one with orders to bite.

Vasher smiled.

We could have taken them, Nightblood said.

Vasher rushed to the place his information had indicated. The location was marked by a splintered board in the wall, ostensibly just normal wear of the building. Vasher crouched, hoping that his informant had not lied. He searched around on the floor, then froze, finding the hidden latch.

He pulled it open, revealing a trap door. Returned palaces were only supposed to be one story. He smiled.

What if this tunnel doesn't have another way out? Nightblood asked as Vasher dropped into the hole, trusting on his Awakened clothing to absorb the fall.

Then you'll probably get to kill a lot of people, Vasher thought. He didn't have many worries in that regard. His information had been good so far. He suspected that the rest was good as well.

The priests of the Returned, it appeared, were hiding things from the rest of the kingdom. And from their G.o.ds.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

The man was small, almost skeletal, and each sh.e.l.lfish he slurped made Vivenna cringe for two reasons. Not only did she have trouble believing that anyone would enjoy such slimy, slug-like food, but the mussels were also of a very rare and expensive variety.

And she was paying.

The afternoon restaurant crowd was large-people usually ate out at mid-day, when it made more sense to buy food than return home for a meal. The entire concept of restaurants still seemed strange to her. Didn't these men have wives or servants to make them meals? Didn't they feel uncomfortable eating in such a public place? It was so... impersonal.

Denth and Tonk Fah sat on either side of her. And, of course, they helped themselves to the plate of mussels as well. Vivenna wasn't certain-she'd pointedly not asked-but she thought that the sh.e.l.lfish were raw.

The thin man across from her slurped another one down. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself much despite the expensive surroundings and free food. He had a sneer on his lips and while he didn't appear nervous, she did notice that he kept an eye on the restaurant entrance.

"So," Denth said, setting another empty sh.e.l.l on the table, then wiping his fingers on the tablecloth-a common practice in T'Telir. "Can you help us or not?"

The little man-he simply called himself Fob-shrugged. "You tell a wild tell, mercenary."

"You know me, Fob. When have I lied to you?"

"Whenever you've been paid to do it," Fob said with a snort. "I've just never been able to catch you."

Tonk Fah chuckled, reaching for another mussels. It slipped free of the sh.e.l.l as he brought it to his lips; Vivenna had to steel herself to keep from gagging at the slimy plop it made when it hit the table.

"You don't disagree that war is coming, though," Denth said.

"Of course not," Fob said. "But it's been coming for decades now. What makes you think that it will finally happen this year?"

"Can you afford to ignore that chance?" Denth asked.

Fob squirmed a bit, then began eating mussels again. Tonk Fah began stacking the sh.e.l.ls, seeing how many he could get balanced on top of one another. Vivenna said nothing for the moment. Her minor part in the meetings didn't bother her. She watched, she learned, and she thought.

Fob was a landowner. He cleared forests, then rented the land to workers. He often relied on Lifeless to help with his clearing-workers loaned to him via the government. There was only one stipulation upon the lending. Should war come, all of the food produced on his holdings during wartime immediately became the property of the Returned.

It was a good deal. The government would probably seize his lands during a war anyway, so he didn't really lose anything in the deal save for his right to complain.

He ate another mussel. How does he keep packing them down? she thought. Fob had managed to slurp away nearly twice as many of the disgusting little creatures as Tonk Fah.

"That harvest won't come in, Fob," Denth said. "You will lose quite a bit this year, should we prove right."

"But," Tonk Fah said, adding another sh.e.l.l to his stack, "harvest early, sell your stockpiles, and you stand to get ahead of your compet.i.tors."

"And what do you gain?" Fob asked. "How do I know those same compet.i.tors haven't hired you to convince me a war is coming?"

The table fell silent-other diners clattering at their own meals. Denth finally turned, eyeing Vivenna, and nodded.

She put up her shawl-not the matronly one she'd brought from Idris, but a silken, gossamer one that Denth had found for her. She met Fob's eyes, then changed her hair to a deep red.

He froze. "Do that again," he said.

She changed it to blonde.

Fob sat back, letting his mussel slip free of its sh.e.l.l. It slatted against the table a short distance from the one Tonk Fah had dropped. "The queen?" he asked with shock.

"No," Vivenna said. "Her sister."

"What's going on here?" Fob asked.

Denth smiled. "She's here to organize a resistance against the Returned G.o.ds and to prepare Idrian interests here in T'Telir for the coming war."

"You don't think that old Royal up in the highlands would send his daughter for nothing?" Tonk Fah said. "War. It's the only thing that would call for such desperation."