"I need to know where the queen is," Vasher said, forcing Nightblood up so that his hilt touched her cheek. "You're going to tell me."

He held her like that for a time, watching her squirm, feeling dissatisfied with himself. Finally, he relaxed the ta.s.sels, keeping the sword against her cheek. She began to vomit, and he turned her to the side.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"Southern corner," the girl whispered, trembling, spittle on her cheek. "This floor."

Vasher nodded, then tied her up with the rope, gagged her, and took his Breath back. He pushed Nightblood back into the sheath then rushed down the hallway.

You won't kill a G.o.d who plans to march his armies to war? Nightblood asked. But you'll choke a young woman near to death?

It was a complicated statement for the sword. However, it lacked the accusation that a human would have put into the words. To Nightblood, it wasn't an attack, but a question. He was trying to understand.

I don't understand my morality either, Vasher thought. I'd suggest you avoid confusing yourself.

He found the place easily. It was guarded by a large group of brutish men who seemed rather out of place in the fine palace hallways.

Vasher paused. Something strange is going on here.

What do you mean? Nightblood asked.

He hadn't meant to address the sword, but that was the trouble with an object that could read minds. Any thoughts Vasher formed in his head, Nightblood thought were directed at it. After all, in the sword's opinion, everything really should have been directed toward it.

Guards at the door. Soldiers, not servants. So they had already taken her captive. Was she really even pregnant? Were the priests just securing their power?

That many men would be impossible to kill without making noise. The best he could hope for was to take them fast. Maybe they were far enough from anyone else that a little bit of fighting wouldn't be heard.

He sat for a few minutes, grinding his teeth. Then, finally, he stepped up and tossed Nightblood into the middle of the men. He'd let them fight each other and then be ready to stop any who weren't taken into the Sword's influence.

Nightblood clanged to the stones. All of the men's eyes turned toward it. And, at that moment, something grabbed Vasher around the shoulder and yanked him backward.

He cursed, spinning, throwing his hands up to wrestle with whatever had him. An Awakened rope. Men started to fight behind him. Vasher grunted, pulling out the knife in his boot, then slicing the Awakened rope. A body tackled him as he got free, however, and he was thrown back against the wall.

He grabbed his attacker by the face with one of his arm ta.s.sels, then twisted the man back and threw him into the wall. Another figured charged him from behind, but Vasher's Awakened cloak caught that one, tripping him.

"Grab things other than me," Vasher said quickly, s.n.a.t.c.hing the cloak of one of the fallen men. That cloak whipped about, taking down another man, whom Vasher then killed with a swipe of his dagger. He kicked another man, throwing him backward, opening a pathway.

Vasher lunged, making for Nightblood, but three more figures burst out the rooms around him, cutting him off. They were the same kind of brutish men that were now fighting over the sword. Figures were all around. Dozens of them. Vasher kicked out, breaking a leg, but one man pulled Vasher's cloak off with a lucky twist. Others piled on top of him. And then, another Awakened rope snapped out, tying his legs together.

Vasher reached for his vest. "Your Breath to-" he began, trying to draw in some Breath to use for an attack, but three men grabbed his hand and pulled it away. Within seconds, he was wrapped up in the Awakened rope. His cloak still fought against three men who were struggling to cut it up, but Vasher himself was pinned.

A figure left the room to his left.

"Denth," Vasher spat, struggling.

"My good friend," Denth said, nodding for one of his lackeys-the one known as Tonk Fah-to move down the hallway toward the queen's room. Denth knelt beside Vasher. "Very good to see you."

Vasher spat again.

"Still as eloquent as ever, I see," Denth said with a sigh. "You know the best thing about you, Vasher? You're solid. Predictable. I guess I am too, in away. Hard to live as long as we have without falling into patterns, eh?"

Vasher didn't reply, though he did try to yell as some men gagged him. A piece of him noticed with satisfaction that he'd taken down a good dozen opponents before they'd managed to force him down.

Denth eyed the fallen soldiers. "Mercenaries," he said. "No risk is too great, a.s.suming the pay is right." He said it with a twinkle in his eye. Then he leaned down, his jovialness gone as he met Vasher's eyes. "And you were always to be my payment, Vasher. I owe you. For Shashara, even still. We've been waiting, hiding in the palace here for a good two weeks, knowing that eventually the good Princes Vivenna would send you to save her sister."

Tonk Fah returned with a bundle held in a blanket. Nightblood.

Denth eyed it. "Throw that out somewhere in the city," he said, grimacing.

"I don't know, Denth," Tonk Fah said. "I kind of think we should keep it. It could be very useful..." The beginnings of the l.u.s.t began to show in his eyes, the desire to draw Nightblood, to use the sword. To destroy evil. Or, really, just to destroy.

Denth stood and s.n.a.t.c.hed the bundle away. Then he smacked Tonk Fah on the back of the head.

"Ow!" Tonk Fah said.

Denth rolled his eyes. "Stop whining; I just saved your life. Go check on the queen then clean up that mess. I'll take care of the sword myself."

"You always get so nasty when Vasher's around," Tonk Fah grumbled, waddling away. Denth wrapped Nightblood up securely; Vasher watched, hoping to see the l.u.s.t appear in Denth's eyes. Unfortunately, Denth was far too strong-willed to be taken by the sword. He had nearly as much history with it as Vasher did.

"Take away all his Awakened clothing," Denth said to his men, walking away. "Then hang him up in that room over there. He and I are going to have a long talk about what he did to my sister."

Chapter Fifty-Two.

Lightsong sat in one of the rooms of his palace, surrounded by finery, cup of wine in his hand. Despite the very late hour, servants moved in and out, piling up furniture, paintings, vases, and small sculptures. Anything that could be moved.

The riches sat in heaps. Lightsong lounged back on his couch, ignoring empty plates of food and broken cups, which he refused to let his servants take away.

A pair of servants entered, carrying a red and gold couch. They propped it up by the far wall, nearly toppling a pile of rugs. Lightsong watched them leave then downed the rest of his wine. He dropped the empty cup to the floor beside the others, and held out his hand for another full one. A servant provided, as always.

He wasn't drunk. He couldn't get drunk.

"Do you ever feel," Lightsong said, "like something is going on? Something far greater than you are? Like... a painting you can only see the corner of, no matter how you squint and search?"

"Every day, your grace," Llarimar said. He sat on a stool beside Lightsong's couch. As always, he watched events calmly, though Lightsong could sense the man's disapproval as another group of servants piled several marble figurines in the corner.

"How do you deal with it?" Lightsong asked.

"I have faith, your grace, that someone understands."

"Not me, I hope," Lightsong noted.

"You are part of it. But it is much larger than you."

Lightsong frowned to himself, watching more servants enter. Soon, the room would be so piled with his wealth that people wouldn't be able to move in and out. "It's odd, isn't it," Lightsong said, gesturing toward a pile of paintings. "Arranged like this, none of it looks beautiful anymore. When you put it together in piles, it just seems like junk."

Llarimar raised an eyebrow. "The value in something relates to how it is treated, your grace. If you see these items as junk, then they are, regardless of what someone else would pay for them."

"There's a lesson in there somewhere, isn't there?"

Llarimar shrugged. "I am a priest, after all."

Lightsong snorted, then waved toward the servants. "That's enough," he said. "You can go now."

The servants, growing more resigned to being banished, left the room. Soon, Lightsong and Llarimar were alone with piles and piles of riches, all stolen from other parts of the palace and brought into this one room.

Llarimar surveyed the mounds. "So what is the point of all this, your grace?"

"This is what I mean to them," Lightsong said, gulping down some more wine. "The people. They'll give up their riches for me. They sacrifice the Breath of their souls to keep me alive. I suspect that, even, they would die for me."

Llarimar nodded quietly.

"And," Lightsong said, "all I'm expected to do is choose their fates for them. Do we go to war or do we remain at peace? What do you think?"

"I could argue for either side, your grace," Llarimar said. "It would be easy to sit here and condemn the war on mere principle. War is a terrible, terrible thing. And yet, it seems that few great accomplishments in history ever occur without the unfortunate truth of military action. Even the Manywar, which caused so much destruction, can be pointed to as the foundation of modern Hallandren power in the inner sea area."

Lightsong nodded.

"But," Llarimar continued. "To invade our brethren? Despite provocation, I cannot help but think that attacking is too extreme. How much death, how much suffering, are we willing to cause simply to prove that we won't be pushed around?"

"And what would you decide?"

"Fortunately, I don't have to."

"And if you were forced to?" Lightsong asked.

Llarimar sat for a moment. Then, carefully, he removed the large miter from his head, revealing a head of thinning black hair plastered to the skull with sweat. He set aside the ceremonial headgear.

"I speak to you as a friend, Lightsong, not your priest," Llarimar said quietly. "The priest cannot influence his G.o.d for fear of disrupting the future."

Lightsong nodded.

"And as a friend," Llarimar said, "I honestly have trouble deciding what I would do. I didn't argue on the floor of the court."

"You rarely do," Lightsong said.

"I'm worried," Llarimar said, wiping his brow with a kerchief, shaking his head. "I don't think we can ignore the threat to our kingdom. The fact of the matter is, Idris is a rebel faction living within our borders. We've ignored them for years, suffering under their almost tyrannical control of the northern pa.s.ses."

"So you're for attacking?"

Llarimar paused, then shook his head. "No. No, I don't think that even Iris's rebellion would justify the slaughter it would take to get those pa.s.ses back."

"Great," Lightsong said flatly. "So, you think we should go to war, but not attack."

"Actually, yes," Llarimar said. "We declare war, we make a show of force, and we frighten them into realizing just how precarious their position is. If we then hold peace talks, I'll bet we could forge more favorable treaties for use of the pa.s.ses. They formally renounce claim on our throne; we give them official sovereignty. Wouldn't we both get what we want?"

Lightsong sat thoughtfully. "I don't know," he said. "That's a very reasonable solution, but I don't think those who are calling for war would accept it. It seems that we're missing something, Scoot. Why now? Why are tensions so high after the wedding, which should have unified us?"

"I don't know, your grace," Llarimar said.

Lightsong smiled, standing. "Well then," he said, eying his high priest. "Let's find out."

Siri would have been annoyed if she hadn't been so terrified. She sat alone in the black bedchamber. It felt wrong for Susebron to not be there with her.

She'd hoped that maybe he would still be allowed come to her when night fell. But, of course, he didn't arrive. Whatever the priests were planning, it didn't require her to actually be pregnant. Not now that they'd played their hand and locked her up.

The door creaked, and she sat up on the bed, hope sparking. But it was only the guard checking on her again. One of the cra.s.s, soldier-like men who had been guarding her in recent hours. Why did they change to these men? she wondered as the guard closed the door. What happened to the Lifeless and the priests who were watching me before?

It didn't really matter. She lay back down on the bed, staring up at the canopy, still dressed in her fine gown. Her mind kept flashing to her first week in the palace, when she'd been locked inside for her 'Wedding Jubilation.' It had been difficult enough then, and she'd known when it would be over. Now she didn't even have an a.s.surance that she'd live through the next few days.

No, she thought. They'll keep me around for a few more months. Long enough for my 'baby' to be born. I'm insurance. If something goes wrong, they'll still need me to provide an heir.

That was little comfort. The thought of six months cooped up inside the palace-not allowed to see anyone lest they see that she wasn't really pregnant-was frightening enough to make her want to scream.

But what could she do?

Hope in Susebron, she thought. I taught him to read, and I gave him the determination that he needed to break free from his priests.

That will have to be enough.

"Your grace," Llarimar said, his voice hesitant, "are you certain you want to do this?"

Lightsong crouched down, peeking through the bushes toward Mercystar's palace. Most of the windows were dark. That was good. However, she still had a number of guards patrolling the palace. She was afraid of another break in.

And rightly so.

"Your grace?" Llarimar asked, sounding more nervous. The portly high priest knelt on the gra.s.s beside Lightsong, the darkness having masked their approach.

"I should have brought a sword," Lightsong said thoughtfully.

"You don't know how to use one, your grace."

"We don't know that," Lightsong said.

"Your grace, this is foolishness. Let's go back to your palace. If we must see what is in those tunnels, we can hire someone from the city to sneak in."

"That would take too long," Lightsong said. A guard patrol pa.s.sed their side of the palace. "You ready?" he asked once the patrol had pa.s.sed.