wear forms of power. Only … hadn’t she once wanted those … for her mother? Wasn’t that the point?
You will be great, he said within her gemheart. Everyone will recognize your majesty.
“Well, I want nimbleform soon,” she whispered to Ulim, stepping out of the chamber. “It has been too long since warform. My sister and her sycophants get to tromp around the cities on display like heroes.”
Let them. Those are your grunts, who will be sent to die fighting the humans once our plot is accomplished. You should take time “finding” nimbleform. It will be too suspicious for you to find another so soon.
She folded her arms, listening to the new rhythm praise her. The city buzzed with activity, thousands of listeners from a dozen families passing by. Eshonai and the others had made great strides toward true unity, and the elders of the various families were talking to one another.
Who would get the glory for that? Venli had orchestrated this grand convergence, but everyone ignored her.
Perhaps she should have taken warform. Ulim had urged her to be one of the first, but she’d hesitated. She hadn’t been frightened, no, but she’d assumed she could manipulate better without taking the form.
That had been a mistake, and this was her reward: Eshonai taking all the credit. Next time, Venli would do it herself.
“Ulim,” she whispered, “when will the other Voidspren be ready?”
Can’t say for certain, he replied. That stupid Herald is still standing strong all these years later. We have to work around him.
“The new storm,” Venli whispered.
Yes. It’s been building in Shadesmar for centuries. We need to get our agents close enough to it on this side—a place that is out in the ocean, mind you—so they can use gemstones to pull my brothers and sisters across. Then those stones have to be physically transported here. You have no idea how much of a pain it all is.
“I’m well acquainted by now,” she said to Derision. “You never shut up about it.”
Hey, you’re the only one I get to talk to. And I like to talk. So …
“Nimbleform. When?”
We have bigger problems. Your people aren’t ready to accept forms of power. At all. They’re far too timid. And the way they fight …
“What’s wrong with the way we fight?” Venli asked to Conceit. “Our warriors are powerful and intimidating.”
Please, Ulim replied. The humans have remembered how to make good steel all these centuries, and even figured out some things we never learned. Meanwhile, your people throw spears at each other like primitives. They yell and dance more than they fight. It’s embarrassing.
“Maybe you should have gone to the humans then.”
Don’t be childish, Ulim said. You need to know what you’re facing. Imagine a hundred thousand men in glistening armor, moving in coordinated blocks, lifting a wall of interlocking shields—broken only by the spears coming out to bite your flesh.
Imagine thousands upon thousands of archers loosing waves of arrows that sweep in a deadly rain. Imagine men on horseback charging—thunder without lightning—and riding down anyone in their path. You think you can face that with a few semicoherent boasts?
Venli’s confidence wavered. She looked out toward the Shattered Plains, where their warforms trained on a nearby plateau. She’d nudged them toward that, following Ulim’s suggestions. He knew a lot about manipulating people; with his help she could get the others to do pretty much anything.
A part of her thought she should be concerned about that. But when she tried to think along those lines, her mind grew fuzzy. And she ended up circling back to whatever she’d been thinking about before.
“Eshonai guesses that the humans are bluffing about how many cities they have,” she said. “But if they have dozens like they told us, then our numbers would be roughly equal. If we can get all the families to listen to us.”
Roughly equal? Ulim said, then started laughing. An outrageous sound, uproarious. It made her gemheart vibrate. You and them? Even? Oh, you blessed little idiot.
Venli felt herself attune Agony. She hated the way he made her feel sometimes. He’d whisper about how great she was, but then they’d get deep into a conversation and he’d speak more freely. More derogatorily.
“Well,” she said, “maybe we don’t have to fight them. Maybe we can find another way.”
Kid, you’re not gonna have a choice on that one, Ulim said. They will make sure of it. You know what they’ve done to all the other singers in the world? They’re slaves.
“Yes,” Venli said. “Proof that