You are... to me...

Water splashed against him. Lightsong shook his head, shocked. Thunder sounded, distant, in his head. n.o.body else seemed to notice.

It was growing dark.

What?

He was on a ship. Tossing, churning, on a dark sea. Lightsong stood on the deck, trying to stay upright on the slick boards. Part of him knew it was simply a hallucination, that he was still back in the prison cell, but it felt real. Very real.

The waves churned, black sky ripped by lightning ahead, and the ship's motion slammed his face against the outside wall of the ship's cabin section. Light from a pole-mounted lantern flickered uncertainly. It seemed weak compared to the lighting which was so violent and angry.

Lightsong blinked. His face was pressed up against something painted on the wood. A red panther, glistening in the lanternlight and the rain.

The name of the ship, he remembered, the Red Panther.

He wasn't Lightsong. Or he was, but he was a much pudgier version of himself. A man accustomed to being a scribe. To working long hours counting coins. Checking legers.

Seeking for lost money. That's what he'd done. People hired him to discover where they'd been cheated or if a contract hadn't been paid right. His job was to look through the books, searching out hidden or confusing twists of math. A detective. Just not the sort he had expected.

Waves crashed against the boat. Llarimar, looking a few years younger, yelled for help from the prow. Deckhands rushed to his aid. It wasn't Llarimar's ship, or even Lightsong's. This had been borrowed it for a simple pleasure trip. Sailing was a hobby of Llarimar's.

The storm had come suddenly. Lightsong lurched back to his feet, barely managing to stay up as he made his way forward, clutching the railing. Waves surged across the deck, and sailors struggled to keep the boat from capsizing. The sails were gone, tattered. Wood creaked and cracked around him. Dark, black water churned in the ocean just to his right.

Llarimar yelled to Lightsong, asking him to lash down the barrels. Lightsong nodded, grabbing a rope and tying one end to a deck clasp. A wave hit, and he skidded, almost falling over the edge into the water.

He froze, gripping the railing, looking into the sea's mad, terrifying depths. He shook himself free, then grabbed his rope, tying a wide slip knot. It came naturally to him. Llarimar had taken him on enough sailing trips now.

Llarimar called for help again. And, suddenly, a young woman left the cabin and ran across the deck, grabbing ropes as if to lend aid. "Tatara!" a woman called from the cabin. There was terror in her voice.

Lightsong looked up. He recognized the girl. He reached out, rope looped in his hands. He shouted for her to go back below, but his voice was lost in the thunder.

She turned to look at him.

The next wave tossed her into the ocean.

Llarimar cried out in despair. Lightsong watched, shocked. The deep blackness claimed his niece. Engulfed her. Swallowed her.

Such great, horrible chaos. The sea in a storm. He felt useless, his heart thumping with fright as he watched the young woman get swept into the churning current. He saw remnants of her golden hair twisting in the water. A weak splash of color pa.s.sing his side of the ship. It would soon be gone.

Men cursed. Llarimar screamed. A woman wept. Lightsong just stared into the bubbling deep, with its alternating froth and blackness. The terrible, terrible blackness.

He still held the rope in his hand.

Without thinking, he leaped up onto the railing and threw himself into the darkness. Icy water took him, but he reached out, thrashing and churning in the tempest. He barely knew how to swim. Something pa.s.sed him in the darkness.

He grabbed it. Her foot. He threw the loop around her ankle, somehow managing to get the knot tight despite the water and the waves. As soon as he did, a surge in the undulating water yanked him away.

Down. Into the black deep.

Claimed by the void.

He blinked, waves and thunder fading. He sat on the cool stones of his cell. The void had taken him, but something had sent him back. He'd Returned.

Because he'd seen war and destruction.

The man beside him was yelling in fear. Lightsong looked over as the fake priests grabbed Susebron, and Lightsong could see into the G.o.d King's mouth. No tongue, Lightsong though. Of course. To keep him from using all that BioChroma. It makes sense.

He turned to the side. Blushweaver's body lay red and bloodied. He'd seen that it in a vision. He'd thought she was blushing, but now he understood. He looked to the side. Llarimar, eyes closed as if asleep-though he now realized the man simply had them shut as he wept.

The G.o.d King in prison. Lightsong seen that too.

By the Colors... Lightsong thought, standing up as the priests forced the G.o.d King to his knees. I am a G.o.d.

Lightsong stepped forward, moving up to the bars of his cage. He saw pain and tears in the G.o.d King's face and somehow understood them. He did love Siri. Lightsong had seen the same thing in Siri's eyes. She had somehow come to care for the man who was to oppress her.

"You are my king," Lightsong whispered. "And lord of the G.o.ds."

The Pahn Kahl men forced the G.o.d King face down on the stones. One of the priests raised a sword. The G.o.d King's legs jutted out, his feet toward Lightsong.

I have seen the Void, he thought. And I came back. I understand now.

And then Lightsong reached through the bars and touched the G.o.d King's leg. A fake priest looked up with alarm.

Lightsong met the man's eyes, then smiled broadly.

Denth slashed, wounding Vasher in the leg.

Vasher stumbled, going down on one knee. Denth struck again, and Vasher barely managed to keep the sword away.

Denth backed off, shaking his head. "You are pathetic, Vasher. There you kneel, about to die. And you still think you're better than the rest of us. You judge me for becoming a mercenary? What else was I to do? Take over kingdoms? Rule and start wars, as you did?"

Vasher bowed his head. Denth growled and ran forward, lashing out with his sword. Vasher tried to defend himself, but he was just too weak. Denth knocked Vasher's weapon aside, then kicked him in the stomach, sending Vasher backward against the wall.

Vasher slumped down, sword lost. He reached for a knife on the belt of a fallen soldier, but Denth stepped up and put his booted foot on Vasher's hand.

"You think I should just go back to the way I was before?" Denth spat. "The happy, friendly man that everyone loved?"

"You were a good man," Vasher whispered.

"That man saw and did terrible things," Denth said. "I've tried, Vasher. I've tried going back. But the darkness I know... it's inside. I can't escape it. My laughter has an edge to it. I can't forget."

"I can make you," Vasher said. "I know the Commands."

Denth froze.

"I promise," Vasher said. "I will take it all from you, if you wish."

Denth stood for a long moment, foot on Vasher's arm, sword pointed down. Then, finally, he shook his head. "No. I don't deserve that. Neither of us do. Goodbye, Vasher."

He raised his blade to strike. And, Vasher moved his arm up, touching Denth's leg.

"My life to yours, my Breath become yours."

Denth froze, then stumbled. Fifty Breaths fled from Vasher's chest and surged into Denth's body. They would be unwelcome, but he couldn't turn them away. Fifty Breaths. Not many.

But enough. Enough to make Denth shake with pleasure. Enough to make him lose control for just a second, falling to his knees. And, in that second, Vasher stood-ripping the dagger free from the corpse beside him-then slashed it through Denth's throat.

The mercenary fell back, eyes wide, neck bleeding. He shook amidst the pleasure of gaining new Breaths even as his life flowed from him.

"n.o.body ever expects it," Vasher whispered, stepping forward. "Breath is worth a fortune. To put it into someone, then kill them, is to lose more money than most men will probably ever know. They never expect it."

Denth stopped moving, life fading away, new Breaths and old both vanishing.

"You wanted to learn how I killed Arsteel," Vasher said, spitting blood to the side. "Well, now you know."

Bluefingers picked up a knife. "The least honor I can do," he decided, "is to kill you myself, rather than letting the Lifeless do it. I promise it will be quick. We will make it look like a pagan ritual afterward, sparing you the need to die in a painful way." He turned to her Lifeless captors. "Tie her to the altar."

Siri struggled against the Lifeless which were holding her by the shoulders, but it was useless. They were terribly strong, and even without them, her hands were tied together. "Bluefingers!" she snapped, holding his eyes. "I will not die tied to some rock like a useless maid from one of the stories. You want me dead, then have the decency to let me die standing up."

Bluefingers hesitated, but the authority in her voice actually seemed to make him cringe. He raised a hand, stopping the Lifeless as they pulled her to the altar.

"Very well," he said. "Hold her tightly."

"You realize the wonderful opportunity you waste by killing me," she said as he approached. "The wife of the G.o.d King would make a wonderful hostage. You are a fool to kill me, and..."

He ignored her this time, taking the knife, placing it against her chest. She started to feel numb. She was going to die. She was actually going to die.

And the war would start.

"Please," she whispered.

He looked at her, hesitated, then grew grim and pressed with the dagger.

The building began to shake.

Bluefingers looked to the side in alarm, glancing toward several of his scribes. They shook their heads in confusion.

"Earthquake?" one asked.

The floor began to turn white. The color moved like a wave of sunlight across the land as the sun rose above the mountains. The walls, the ceiling, the floor-all of the black stone faded. The priests stepped away from it, looking frightened, one hopping onto a rug to keep from touching the strange white stones.

Bluefingers looked at her, confused. The ground continued to tremble, but he raised his blade anyway-raised it, held in fingers that had been stained repeatedly by ink. And, strangely, Siri saw the whites of his eyes bend and release a rainbow of colors.

The entire room burst with color, the white stones fuzzing and splitting, like light through a prism. The doors to the room exploded. A twisting ma.s.s of colorful cloths shot through it, like the hundred tentacles of an enraged sea leviathan. They churned and curled, and Siri recognized tapestries, carpets, and long lengths of silk from the palace decorations.

Awakened cloth slapped aside Lifeless, curling around them, tossing them into the air. Priests cried out as they were s.n.a.t.c.hed up, and a long, thin length of violent cloth snapped forward and wrapped around Bluefinger's arm.

The surging ma.s.s undulated, churning, and Siri could finally see a figure walking in the middle of it. A man of epic proportions. Black of hair, white of face, youthful in appearance, but of great age. Bluefingers struggled to ram his knife into Siri's chest, but the G.o.d King raised a hand.

"You will stop!" Susebron said in a clear voice.

Bluefingers froze, looking toward the G.o.d King in amazement. The dagger slipped from his stunned fingers as an Awakened carpet twisted around him, pulling him away from the Siri.

Siri stood, dumbfounded. Susebron's cloth lifted him up and over beside her, and a pair of small silken handkerchiefs reached forward, twisting around the ropes around her hands, untying them with ease.

Freed, she grabbed him, letting him lift her into his arms, weeping.

Chapter Fifty-Eight.

The closet door opened, letting in lanternlight. Vivenna looked up, gagged and bound, at Vasher's silhouette. He drug Nightblood behind him, covered-as always-by his silver sheath.

Looking very tired, Vasher knelt and undid her gag.

"About time," she noted.

He smiled wanly. "I don't have any Breath remaining," he said quietly. "It was very hard to locate you."

"Where did it all go?" she asked as he undid the ropes on her hands.

"Nightblood devoured most of it."

I don't believe him, Nightblood said happily. I... can't really remember what happened. But we did slay a lot of evil!

"You drew him?" Vivenna asked as Vasher untied her feet.

Vasher nodded.

Vivenna rubbed her hands. "Denth?"

"Dead," Vasher said. "No sign of Tonk Fah or the woman, Jewels. I think they took their money and fled."

"So it's over."

Vasher nodded, sliding down to seat himself, resting his head back against the wall. "And we lost."

She frowned, grimacing at the pain of her wounded shoulder. "What do you mean?"