The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms - By N. K. Jemisin Page 0,128

room would have considered suicide: he touches Nahadoth. It is a brief gesture, just a light brush of his fingers against the cracked porcelain of Nahadoths face. There is such yearning in that touch that my heart aches.

But does it matter anymore? Itempas has killed Enefa; he has killed his own children; he has killed me. He has killed something in Nahadoth as well. Can he not see that?

Perhaps he does, because his soft look fades, and after a moment he takes his hand away.

So be it, he says, going cold. I tire of this. Enefa was a plague, Nahadoth. She took the pure, perfect universe that you and I created and fouled it. I kept the Stone because I did care for her, whatever you might think and because I thought it might help to sway you.

He pauses then, looking down at my corpse. The Stone has fallen into my blood, less than a handbreadth from my shoulder. Despite Nahadoths care in setting me down, my head has flopped to one side. One arm is curled upward as if to try and cup the Stone closer. The image is ironica mortal woman, killed in the act of trying to lay claim to a goddesss power. And a gods lover.

I imagine Itempas will send me to an especially awful hell.

But I think its time our sister dies completely, Itempas says. I cannot tell if he is looking at the Stone or at me. Let her infestation die with her, and then our lives can be as they were. Have you not missed those days?

(I notice Dekarta, who stiffens at this. Only he, of the three mortals, seems to realize what Itempas means.)

I will hate you no less, Tempa, Nahadoth breathes, when you and I are the last living things in this universe.

Then he is a roaring black tempest, streaking forward in attack, and Itempas is a crackle of white fire bracing to meet him. They collide in a concussion that shatters the glass in the ritual chamber. Mortals scream, their voices almost lost as cold, thin air howls in to fill the void. They fall to the floor as Nahadoth and Itempas streak away, upwardbut my perception is drawn to Scimina for an instant. Her eyes fix on the knife that killed me, Viraines knife, lying not far from her. Relad sprawls dazed amid glass shards and chunks of the broken plinth. Sciminas eyes narrow.

Sieh roars, his voice an echo of Nahadoths battle cry. Zhakkarn turns to face Kurue, and her pike appears in one hand.

And at the center of it all, unnoticed, untouched, my body and the Stone lie still.

* * *

And here we are.

Yes.

You understand what has happened?

Im dead.

Yes. In the presence of the Stone, which houses the last of my power.

Is that why Im still here, able to see these things?

Yes. The Stone kills the living. Youre dead.

You mean I can come back to life? Amazing. How convenient that Viraine turned on me.

I prefer to think of it as fate.

So what now?

Your body must change. It will no longer be able to bear two souls within itself; that is an ability only mortals possess. I made your kind that way, gifted in ways that we are not, but I never dreamt it would make you so strong. Strong enough to defeat me, in spite of all my efforts. Strong enough to take my place.

What? No. I dont want your place. You are you. I am me. I have fought for this.

And fought well. But my essence, all that I am, is necessary for this world to continue. If I am not to be the one who restores that essence, then it must be you.

But

I do not regret, Daughter, Little Sister, worthy heir. Neither should you. I only wish

I know your wish.

Do you really?

Yes. They are blinded by pride, but underneath there is still love. The Three are meant to be together. I will see it done.

Thank you.

Thank you. And farewell.

* * *

I can ponder for an eternity. I am dead. I have all the time I want.

But I was never very patient.

* * *

In and around the glass room, which no longer has glass and probably no longer qualifies as a room, battle rages.

Itempas and Nahadoth have taken their fight to the skies they once shared. Above the motes they have become, dark streaks break the gradient of dawn, like strips of night layered over the morning. A blazing white beam, like the sun but a thousand