Almost, almost, I forgave him.

But that could not be, either. I hunched and looked away. Itempas lowered his eyes, and a long, solid silence formed in the enclosed space.

“Tell Glee to come back and get you,” I said at last, annoyed. “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

“Glee is mortal, and I have no magic. We cannot speak as gods do; we must use words. And actions.”

I frowned. “What, then, you’re staying here?”

“And traveling with you to the new palace, yes.”

“Yeine will be here, too.” At this to I clenched my fists and resumed pacing, in tight angry arcs. “Oh, but you must know that. You came here for her.” The two of them, entwined, his lips on the nape of her neck. I forced this image from my mind.

“No. I came for you.”

Words. Actions.

Both meaningless. They should not have made my throat clench the way they did. I fought them with anger, glaring at his back. “I could call Naha. I could ask him to kill you over and over, until you beg to truly die.” And because I was a brat, I added, “He’ll do it, too, for me.”

“Is that truly what you wish?”

“Yes! I’d do it myself if I could!”

To my surprise, Itempas pivoted and came toward me, opening his coat. When he reached into one of the inner-breast pockets, I tensed, ready to fight. He pulled out a sheathed dagger, and I grabbed for En. But then he handed the dagger to me, hilt-first. It was a small, light thing, I found when I took it; a child’s weapon, in those parts of the world where mortals gave their children sharp toys. Not altogether different from the dagger I’d used to damage Shahar’s innocence, ten years before — except this dagger was strapped securely into the leather sheath, held in place by a loop about the guardpiece. No one would be able to draw this blade by accident.

As I turned the thing in my fingers, wondering why in his own name Itempas had given it to me, my nose caught the faint whiff of old, dried blood.

“A gift from Glee,” he said. “To me. If death ever becomes preferable to living.”

I knew what it was, then. The gift of mortality, Enefa had called it. Glee’s blood was on the knife — her terrifying, poisonous demon blood. She had given Itempas a way out of his imprisonment, if he ever found the courage to take it.

My hand clenched convulsively around the knife’s hilt. “If you ever use this, the mortal realm will die.”

“Yes.”

“Glee will die.”

“If she hasn’t already died by then, yes.”

“Why would she give this to you?”

“I don’t know.”

I stared at him. He wasn’t being deliberately obtuse. He must have asked her. Either he hadn’t believed her answer, or — more likely, given how much she’d taken after him — she hadn’t bothered to answer. And he had accepted her silence.

Then he knelt before me, flicking his coat behind himself in the process, so that it spread out gracefully along the white stone floor. He lifted his head, too, partly because he was an arrogant son of a demon and partly to give me easy access to his chest and throat. Such a handsome, proud offering.

“Bastard,” I said, clenching my fist around the knife hilt. Death. I held the deat. th of the universe in my fist. “Arrogant, selfish, evil bastard.”

Itempas merely waited. The knife was small, but I could angle it just so, get it between the ribs easily to prick his heart. Hells, if Oree Shoth had been a demon, too, then her daughter was more than half god. Even a scratch tainted with her blood might do the trick.

I unfastened the loop, but my fingers were shaking. When I took the hilt in my hand to draw it, I couldn’t. My hands just wouldn’t move. Eventually I let them — and the dagger — drop to my sides.

“If you want me to die —” he began.

“Shut up,” I whispered.

“Shut up, gods damn you. I hate you.”

“If you hate me —”

“Shut up!” He fell silent, and I cursed and threw the dagger to the floor between us. The sound of leather on daystone made an echoing crack from the chamber’s walls. I had begun to cry. I raked my hands through my hair. “Just shut up, all right? Gods, you’re so insufferable! You can’t make me choose something like that! I’ll hate you if I damn well please!”

“All right.” His voice was soft, soothing. Against my will, I remembered times — rare but precious — when we had sat together in his placid realm, watching time dance. I had always been conscious of the fact that he and I would never be friends. Lovers was out of the question. But father and son? That much we could do.