Siri is no threat, he thought. But if someone else were manipulating her? Would Allmother have the political savvy to understand the danger? Without his concerned guidance, would Blushweaver see that Siri wasn’t crushed?

If he did walk away, there would be a cost. He would be to blame, for he’d given up.

“Who was she, Llarimar?” Lightsong asked quietly. “The young woman in my dreams. Was she my wife?”

The high priest didn’t answer.

“I need to know,” Lightsong said, turning. “This time, I really need to know.”

“I . . .” Llarimar frowned, then looked away. “No,” he said quietly. “She was not your wife.”

“My lover?”

He shook his head.

“But she was important to me?”

“Very,” Llarimar said.

“And is she still alive?”

Llarimar wavered, then finally nodded his head.

Still alive, Lightsong thought.

If this city fell, then she would be in danger. Everyone who worshiped Lightsong—everyone who counted on him despite his best efforts—would be in danger.

T’Telir couldn’t fall. Even if there were war, the fighting wouldn’t come here. Hallandren was not in danger. It was the most powerful kingdom in the world.

And what of his dreams?

He had been given only one real duty in the government. That of taking command of ten thousand Lifeless. Of deciding when they should be used. And when they should not be.

Still alive . . .

He turned and walked toward the steps.
* * *

THE LIFELESS ENCLAVE was technically part of the Court of Gods. The huge building was built at the base of the court plateau, and a long, covered walkway ran down to it.

Lightsong moved down the steps with his entourage. They passed several guard posts, though he wasn’t sure why they needed guards in a hallway leading from the court. He had only visited the enclave a couple of times—primarily during his first few weeks as a Returned, when he had been required to give the security phrase to his ten thousand soldiers.

Perhaps I should have come more often, he thought. What would have been the point? Servants cared for the Lifeless, making certain their ichor-alcohol was fresh, that they exercised, and . . . did whatever else it was that Lifeless did.

Llarimar and several of the other priests were puffing from the long, brisk walk by the time they reached the bottom of the steps. Lightsong, of course, had no trouble, as he was in perfect physical condition. There were some things about godhood that never made him complain. A couple of guards opened the doors into the compound. It was gigantic, of course—it contained space for forty thousand Lifeless. There were four large ware house-like storage areas for the different groups of Lifeless, a track for them to run around, a room filled with various stones and blocks of metal for them to lift to keep their muscles strong, and a medical area where their ichor-alcohol was tested and refreshed.

They passed through several twisting passages, designed to confuse invaders who might try to strike at the Lifeless, then approached a guard post set beside a large open doorway. Lightsong passed the living human guards and looked in at the Lifeless.

He’d forgotten that they kept them in the dark.

Llarimar waved for a couple of priests to hold up lamps. The door opened onto a viewing platform. The floor of the ware house extended below, filled with line upon line of silent, waiting soldiers. They wore their armor and carried their weapons in sheaths.

“There are holes in the ranks,” Lightsong said.

“Some of them will be exercising,” Llarimar replied. “I have sent a servant to fetch them.”

Lightsong nodded. The Lifeless stood with eyes open. They didn’t shuffle or cough. Staring out over them, Lightsong suddenly remembered why he never felt any desire to return and inspect his troops. They were simply too unnerving.

“Everyone out,” Lightsong said.

“Your Grace?” Llarimar asked. “Don’t you want a few priests to stay?”

Lightsong shook his head. “No. I will bear this phrase myself.”

Llarimar hesitated, but then nodded, doing as ordered.

In Lightsong’s opinion, there was no good way of keeping Command phrases. Leaving them in the hands of a single god was to risk losing the phrase through assassination. However, the more people who knew the Command phrases, the more likely it was that the secret would be bribed or tortured out of someone.

The only mitigating factor was the God King. Apparently, with his powerful BioChroma, he could break Lifeless more quickly. Still, taking control of ten thousand would require weeks, even for the God King.

The choice was left to the individual Returned. They could let some of their priests hear the Command phrase so that if something happened to the god, the priests could pass the phrase on to the next Returned. If the god chose not to give the phrase to his priests, then he placed an even larger burden on himself. Lightsong had found that option silly, years before, and had included Llarimar and several others in the secret.

This time he saw wisdom in keeping the phrase to himself. Should he get the chance, he would whisper it to the God King. But only him. “Bottom line blue,” he said. “I give you a new Command phrase.” He paused. “Red panther. Red panther. Step to the right side of the room.”

A group of the Lifeless near the front—those who could hear his voice—moved over to the side. Lightsong sighed, closing his eyes. A part of him had hoped that Allmother had come here first, that she had already changed the Command phrase.

But she hadn’t. He opened his eyes then took the steps down to the ware house floor. He spoke again, changing the phrase for another group. He could do about twenty or thirty at a time—he remembered the process taking hours the last time.

He continued. He would leave the Lifeless with their basic instructions to obey the servants when they asked the creatures to exercise or go to the infirmary. He’d give them a lesser Command that could be used to move them about and make them march to specific locations, as when they had been placed in ranks outside the city to greet Siri, and another to make them go with members of the city guard to provide extra muscle.

Yet there would only be one person with ultimate command of them. One person who could make them go to war. When he was done in this room, he would move on, taking utter command of Allmother’s ten thousand as well.

He would draw both armies to him. And in doing so, he would take his place at the very heart of the fate of two kingdoms.

48

Susebron didn’t leave in the mornings anymore.

Siri lay in the bed beside him, curled slightly, her skin against his. He slept peacefully, chest going up and down, the white bed sheets throwing out prismatic colors around him as they inevitably reacted to his presence. A few months back, who could have understood where she’d find herself? Not only married to the God King of Hallandren, but in love with him as well.

She still thought it amazing. He was the most important religious and secular figure in the whole of the Inner Sea area. He was the basis for worship of the Hallandren Iridescent Tones. He was a creature feared and hated by most people in Idris.

And he was dozing quietly at her side. A god of color and beauty, his body as perfectly sculpted as a statue. And what was Siri? Not perfect, of that she was sure. And yet, somehow, she’d brought to him something that he needed. A hint of spontaneity. A breath from the outside, untamed by his priests or his reputation.

She sighed, head resting on his chest. There would be a price to be paid for their enjoyment these last few nights. We really are fools, she thought idly. We only have to avoid one thing: giving the priests a child. We’re aiming ourselves straight toward disaster.

She found it hard to berate herself too firmly. She suspected that her act wouldn’t have fooled the priests for much longer. They would grow suspicious, or at least frustrated, if she continued it without producing an heir. She could imagine them interfering if faced with more stalling.

Whatever she and Susebron did to change events, they would have to do it quickly.

He stirred beside her, and she twisted, looking at his face as he opened his eyes. He regarded her for a few minutes, stroking her hair. It was amazing how quickly they had become comfortable in their intimacy.

He reached for his writing board. I love you.

She smiled. It was always the first thing he wrote in the mornings. “And I love you,” she said.

However, he continued, we are probably in trouble, aren’t we?

“Yes.”

How long? he asked. Until it’s obvious that you will bear a child, I mean?

“I’m not sure,” she said, frowning. “I don’t have much experience with this, obviously. I know that some of the women back in Idris complained of not being able to have children as quickly as they wanted, so maybe it doesn’t always happen immediately. I know other women who bore children almost exactly nine months after their wedding night.”

Susebron looked thoughtful.

A year from now, I could be a mother, Siri thought. She found the concept daunting. Up until a short time ago, she hadn’t really thought of herself as an adult. Of course, she thought, feeling a bit sick, according to what we’ve been told, any children I bear the God King would be stillborn anyway. Even if that was a lie, her child would be in danger. She still suspected that the priests would spirit it away, then replace it with a Returned. In all likelihood, Siri would then be made to disappear as well.

Bluefingers tried to warn me, she thought. He spoke of danger, not only to Susebron, but to me.

Susebron was writing. I’ve made a decision, he wrote.

Siri raised an eyebrow.

I want to try making myself known to the people, he wrote, and the other gods. I want to take control of my kingdom for myself.

“I thought we decided that would be too dangerous.”

It will be, he wrote. But I’m beginning to think that it is a risk we must take.

“And your objections from before?” she asked. “You can’t shout out the truth, and your guards are likely to rush you away if you try something like escaping.”

Yes, Susebron wrote, but you have far fewer guards, and you can yell.

Siri paused. “Yes,” she said. “But would anyone believe me? What would they think if I just started screaming about how the God King is being held prisoner by his own priests?”

Susebron cocked his head.

“Trust me,” she said. “They’d think that I was crazy.”

What if you gained the confidence of the Returned you often speak about? he wrote. Lightsong the Bold.

Siri gave that some thought.

You could go to him, Susebron wrote. Tell him the truth. Perhaps he will lead you to other Returned he thinks might listen. The priests will not be able to silence us all.

Siri lay beside him for a moment, head still resting on his chest. “It sounds possible, Seb, but why not just run? My serving women are from Pahn Kahl now. Bluefingers has said that he will try to get us out, if I ask. We can flee to Idris.”

If we flee, Hallandren troops will follow, Siri. We would not be safe in Idris.

“We could go somewhere else, then.”

He shook his head. Siri, I have been listening to the arguments in the court of judgment. There will soon be war between our kingdoms. If we run, we will be abandoning Idris to invasion.