The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms - By N. K. Jemisin Page 0,71
one corner. A marble beside the bedding. No, not a marble; a tiny, mostly blue globe, its nearer face a mosaic of brown and white. I know whose room this is.
Shhh, says a new voice, and abruptly there are people in the room. A slight figure, half-draped across the lap of another body that is larger. And darker. Shhh. Shall I tell you a story?
Mmm, says the smaller one. A child. Yes. More beautiful lies, Papa, please.
Now, now. Children are not so cynical. Be a proper child, or you will never grow big and strong like me.
I will never be like you, Papa. That is one of your favorite lies.
I see tousled brown hair. A hand strokes it, long-fingered and graceful. The father? I have watched you grow these long ages. In ten thousand years, a hundred thousand
And will my sun-bright father open his arms when I have grown so great, and welcome me to his side?
A sigh. If he is lonely enough, he might.
I dont want him! Fitfully, the child moves away from the stroking hand and looks up. His eyes reflect the light like those of some nocturnal beast. I will never betray you, Papa. Never!
Shhh. The father bends, laying a gentle kiss on the childs forehead. I know.
And the child flings himself forward then, burying his face in soft darkness, weeping. The father holds him, rocking him gently, and begins to sing. In his voice I hear echoes of every mother who has ever comforted her child in the small hours, and every father who has ever whispered hopes into an infants ear. I do not understand the pain I perceive, wrapped around both of them like chains, but I can tell that love is their defense against it.
It is a private moment; I am an intruder. I loosen invisible fingers, and let this dream slip through them and away.
* * *
I felt the poor sleep keenly when I dragged myself awake well into the next day. The inside of my head felt muddy, congealed. I sat on the edge of the bed with my knees drawn up, gazing through the windows at a bright, clear noon sky and thinking, I am going to die.
I am going to DIE.
In seven daysno, six now.
Die.
I am ashamed to admit that this litany went on for some time. The seriousness of my situation had not sunk in before; impending death had taken second place to Darrs jeopardy and a celestial conspiracy. But now I had no one yanking on my soul to distract me, and all I could think of was death. I was not yet twenty years old. I had never been in love. I had not mastered the nine forms of the knife. I had nevergods. I had never really lived, beyond the legacies left to me by my parents: ennu, and Arameri. It seemed almost incomprehensible that I was doomed, and yet I was.
Because if the Arameri did not kill me, I had no illusions about the Enefadeh. I was the sheath for the sword they hoped to draw against Itempas, their sole means of escape. If the succession ceremony was postponed, or if by some miracle I succeeded in becoming Dekartas heir, I was certain the Enefadeh would simply kill me. Clearly, unlike other Arameri, I had no protection against harm by them; doubtless that was one of the alterations they had applied to my blood sigil. And killing me might be the easiest way for them to free Enefas soul with minimal harm. Sieh might mourn the necessity of my death, but no one else in Sky would.
So I lay on the bed and trembled and wept and might have continued to do so for the rest of the dayone-sixth of my remaining lifeif there had not come a knock at the door.
That pulled me back to myself, more or less. I was still wearing the clothes Id slept in from the day before; my hair was mussed; my face was puffy and my eyes red. I hadnt bathed. I opened the door a crack to see Tvril, to my great dismay, with a tray of food in one hand.
Greetings, Cousin He paused, took a second look at me, and scowled. What in demons happened to you?
N-nothing, I mumbled, then tried to close the door. He slapped it open with his free hand, pushing me back and stepping inside. I would have protested, but the words died in my throat as he looked me up