Just a harmless trick.

No one person is to blame, Itempas’s daughter had said.

I closed my mouth against the taste of old, ground-in guilt.

In my silence, Glee spoke again. “As for what kind of man he is now …” I thought she shrugged. “He’s stubborn, and proud, and infuriating. The kind of man who will move the earth and skies to get what he wants. Or to protect those he cares for.”

Yes. I remembered that man. How minute of a change was sanity to insanity and back? Not much, across the expanse of time.

“I want to see him,” I whispered.

She was silent for a moment. “I will not allow you to harm him.”

“I don’t want to harm him, damn it —” Though I had, I remembered, on one of the last occasions I’d seen him. She must have heard about that. I grimaced. “I won’t do anything this time, I promise.”

“The promise of a trickster.”

I forced myself to take a deep breath against my own temper, releasing that held breath rather than the furious words in my thoughts. It was not right, the way I thought of her. Mortal. Inferior. It was not right that I struggled to respect her. She was as much a child of the Three as I.

“There’s no promise I can offer that you’ll trust,” I said, and was relieved that my voice stayed soft. “You shouldn’t, really. I only have to keep promises to children. And honestly, I don’t know if evove0em">

Nahadoth could hear any words spoken at night, if he wanted.

“Please let me see him,” I said again.

She watched me steadily. “You should know that his magic works only in certain circumstances. It’s not powerful enough to stop whatever’s happened to you — not in his current form.”

“I know. And I know you have to keep him safe. Do what you have to do. But if it’s possible …”

I could see her, very faintly, beyond my reflection. She nodded to herself slowly, as if I’d passed some sort of test. “It’s possible. I can’t promise anything, of course; he may not want to see you. But I’ll speak to him.” She paused. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Ahad.”

Surprised, I glanced at her. My senses were not so dull that I couldn’t still distinguish scents, and the faint whiff of Ahad — cheroots and bitterness and emotions like long-clotted blood — clung to her like stale perfume. It was a few days old, but she had been in his presence, close to him, touching him. “I thought you had a thing with him.”

She had the grace to look abashed. “I find him attractive, I suppose. That’s not ‘a thing.’

” I shook my head, bemused. “I’m still amazed that he had enough of a soul to be made into a complete and separate being. I don’t know what you see in him.”

“You don’t know him,” she said, with a hint of sharpness that told me there was more to the “thing” than she was letting on. “He does not reveal himself to you. He loved you once; you can hurt him as no one else can. What you think of him, and what he truly is, are very different things.”

I rocked back a little, surprised at her vehemence. “Well, clearly you don’t trust him —”

She flicked a hand impatiently, dismissively. Gods, she was so much like Itempas that it hurt. “I’m not a fool. It may be a long time before he sheds the habits of his former life. Until then, I’m cautious with him.”

I was tempted to warn her further: she needed to be more than cautious with Ahad. He had been created from the substance of Nahadoth in his darkest hour, nurtured on suffering and refined by hate. He liked to hurt people. I don’t think even he realized what a monster he was.

But that impatient little flick had been a warning for me. She wasn’t interested in whatever I had to say about Ahad. Clearly she intended to judge him for herself. I couldn’t really blame her; I wasn’t exactly unbiased.

I wasn’t tired, but clearly Glee was. She fell silent after that, and I turned back to the window to let her sleep. Presently her breathing evened out, providing a slow and curiously soothing background noise for my thoughts. The people in the common room had finally shut up. There was no one but me and the city.

And Nahadoth, appearing silently in the window reflection behind me.

I was not surprised to see him. I smiled at the pale glimmer of his face, not turning from the window. “It’s been a while.”

The change to his face was minute; a slight drawing together of those fine, perfect brows. I chuckled, guessing his thoughts. A while; two years. Barely noticeable, to a god. I’d taken longer naps. “Every passing moment shortens my life, Naha. Of course I feel it more now.”