N. Jemisin - The Broken Kingdoms

Enough of that , I told myself sharply as my eyes stung with the warning of tears. You can’t do him any good if you don’t figure out how to get out of here.

Jont came with me, leaning against the side of the tub. I wished she would go away, but I supposed part of her role was to act as my guard as well as my guide.

“The Maroneh have always honored Itempas first among the Three, just like we Amn,” she said. “You don’t worship any of the lesser gods. Isn’t that right?”

Her phrasing warned me immediately. I had met her type before. Not all mortals were happy that the godlings had come. I had never understood their thinking, because—until recently—I had assumed Bright Itempas had changed His mind about the Interdiction; I thought He’d wanted His children in the mortal realm. Of course, more devout Itempans would realize it before I, lapsed as I was. The Bright Lord did not change His mind.

“Worship the godlings?” I refused to use her phrasing. “No. I’ve met a number of them, though, and some of them I even call friend.” Madding. Paitya. Nemmer, maybe. Kitr—well, no, she didn’t like me. Definitely not Lil.

Shiny? Yes, I had once called him friend, though the quiet goddess had been right; he would not say the same of me.

I could almost hear Jont’s face screwing up in consternation. “But… they’re not human.” She said it the way one would describe an insect, or an animal.

“What does that matter?”

“They’re not like us. They can’t understand us. They’re dangerous.”

I leaned against the tub’s edge and began to plait my wet hair. “Have you ever talked to one of them?”

“Of course not!” She sounded horrified by the idea.

I started to say more, then stopped. If she couldn’t see gods as people—she barely saw me as a person—then nothing I could say would make a difference. That made me realize something, however. “Does your Nypri feel the way you do about godlings? Is that why he dragged my friends into that Empty place?”

Jont caught her breath. “Your friends are godlings ?” At once her voice hardened. “Then, yes, that’s why. And the Nypri won’t be letting them out anytime soon.”

I fell silent, too revolted to think of anything to say. After a moment, Jont sighed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, are you finished? We have a lot to do.”

“I don’t think I want to do anything you have in mind,” I said as coldly as I could.

She touched my shoulder and said something that would keep me from ever seeing her as innocent again: “You will.”

I got out of the tub and dried myself, shivering from more than the cold air.

When I was dry and wrapped in a thick robe, she led me back to my room, where I dressed in the garments she’d brought: a simple pullover shirt and an ankle-length skirt that swirled nicely about my ankles. The undergarments were generic and loose, not a complete fit but close enough. Shoes too—soft slippers meant for indoor wear. A subtle reminder that my captors had no intention of letting me go outside.

“That’s better,” said Jont when I was done, sounding pleased. “You look like one of us now.”

I touched the hem of the shirt. “I take it these are white.”

“Beige. We don’t wear white. White is the color of false purity, misleading to those who would otherwise seek the Light.” There was a singsong intonation to the way Jont said this that made me think she was reciting something. It was no teaching poem I’d ever heard, in White Hall or elsewhere.

On the heels of this, a heavy bell sounded somewhere in the House. Its resonant tone was beautiful; I closed my eyes in inadvertent pleasure.

“The dinner hour,” Jont said. “I got you ready just in time. Our leaders have asked you to dine with them this evening.”

Trepidation filled me. “I don’t suppose I could pass? I’m still a bit tired.”

Jont took my hand again. “I’m sorry. It’s not far.”

So I followed her through what felt like an endless maze of hallways. We passed other members of the New Lights (Jont greeted most of them but did not pause to introduce me), but I paid little attention to them beyond realizing that the organization was much, much larger than I’d initially assumed. I noted a dozen people just in the corridor beyond my room. But instead of listening to them, I counted my paces as we walked so that I could find my way faster if I ever managed to escape the room. We moved from a corridor that smelled like varsmusk incense to another that sounded as though it had open windows along its length, letting in the late-evening air. Down two flights of stairs (twenty-four steps), around a corner (right), and across an open space (straight ahead, thirty-degree angle from the corner), we came to a much larger enclosed space.

Here there were many people all around us, but most of the voices seemed to be below head level. Seated, maybe. I had been smelling food for some time, mingled with the scents of lanterns and people and the omnipresent green of the Tree. I guessed it was a huge dining hall.

“Jont.” An older woman’s contralto, soft and compelling. And there was a scent, like hiras blossoms, that also caught my attention because it reminded me of Madding’s house. We stopped. “I’ll escort her from here. Eru Shoth? Will you come with me?”

“Lady Serymn!” Jont sounded flustered and alarmed and excited all at once. “O-of course.” She let go of me, and another hand took mine.

“We’ve been expecting you,” the woman said. “There’s a private dining room this way. I’ll warn you if there are steps.”

“All right,” I said, grateful. Jont had not done this, and I’d stubbed my toe twice already. As we walked, I pondered this new enigma.

Lady Serymn, Jont had called her. Not a godling, certainly, not among these godling haters. A noblewoman, then. Yet her name was Amn, one of those tongue-tangling combinations of consonants they so favored; the Amn had no nobility, except—But, no, that was impossible.

We passed through a wide doorway into a smaller, quieter space, and suddenly I had new things to distract me, namely the scent of food. Roasted fowl, shellfish of some kind, greens and garlic, wine sauce, other scents that I could not identify. Rich people’s food. When Serymn guided me to the table where this feast lay, I belatedly realized there were others already seated around it. I’d been so fascinated with the food that I’d barely noticed them.

I sat among these strangers, before their luxurious feast, and tried not to show my nervousness.

A servant came near and began preparing my plate. “Would you like duck, Lady Oree?”

“Yes,” I said politely, and then registered the title. “But it’s just Oree. Not ‘Lady’ anything.”

“You undervalue yourself,” said Serymn. She sat to my right, perpendicular to me. There were at least seven others around the table; I could hear them murmuring to each other. The table was either rectangular or oval-shaped, and Serymn sat at its head. Someone else sat at the other end, across from her.

“It is appropriate for us to call you Lady,” Serymn said. “Please allow us to show you that courtesy.”

“But I’m not ,” I said, confused. “There isn’t a drop of noble blood in me. Nimaro doesn’t have a noble family; they were wiped out with the Maroland.”

“I suppose that’s as good an opening as any to explain why we’ve brought you here,” Serymn said. “Since I’m certain you’ve wondered.”

“You might say so,” I said, annoyed. “Hado…” I hesitated. “ Master Hado told me a little, but not enough.”

There were a few chuckles from my companions, including two low, male voices from the far end of the table. I recognized one of them and flushed: Hado.