“Agriculture meeting?” I asked. “No, I’m not going to that.”
Ilmatar looked at me like I’d taken a shit on the table. He’d already seemed annoyed when he’d brought breakfast for two and found me alone, starfished on the bed, staring at the canopy above me with a dazed look in my eyes.
Now that I was changing my schedule, he seemed even more offended. “Don’t look at me like that, Ilmatar,” I said. “From now on, we’ll go over the next day’s schedule each afternoon, and I’ll tell you if I have any changes.”
“I must ask, are you and the High Priestess not getting along? Perhaps I could put out inquiries as to whether other suitable candidates might be—”
“Be careful what you say,” I warned, looking up at him, daggers in my eyes. He had been looming over the table while I ate breakfast as if hanging on my reaction to the food. And now he reminded me of Desdemona’s precarious position, as if he thought this would win him favor.
I glared at him and wondered if I could pull off lighting Ilmatar on fire. He was a much bigger target than the bowl of a hookah, and at least for the moment, I was far more motivated to ignite him. So, probably. But it seemed excessive, a step down a worrying path for me.
I still valued my humanity, I supposed, or what vestiges remained. That was doubly true now that a dam had burst in my head, and I somehow remembered everything. Countless memories of working at the museum, giving planetarium shows and guided fossil tours. Growing up in Albuquerque. Riding my bike everywhere. My friends. My parents. My Mom, who passed when I was young. And the love of my past life, Maria Isabella Chavez—both our first and last days together. The sudden return of my memories made me feel as if I had a psychic hangover. As if last night, I had become someone else, at least a little bit.
Something in the way I looked at Ilmatar must have convinced him of my ill regard because, for the first time in days, he looked at me with a hint of fear. He cast his eyes down and stepped backward, away from the dining table. “Never mind, Dark Lord.”
I closed my eyes for what would hopefully be construed as a slow blink, gazing at Ilmatar through my magical sight. Now that I had recognized Mona as possessing the same soul as Maria, I couldn’t help but wonder if that had happened to everyone. Before he was Ilmatar Lampshade, who was he? Was he less annoying, or even more so?
And had he really suggested that I replace Mona, just like that?
I’d been flipping through Fundamentals of Pyromancy as I ate breakfast, a bit of light reading since my brain still felt fried from last night’s Gravity and Time study binge. I’d just reached a section on a spell called “Orb of Flame” which I thought I recognized. It had been the spell Mona was trying to cast when the paladin cut through it with her sword, disrupting it. It looked useful, and was based on fragments of the incantation I already knew. But I supposed there were more pressing matters. Like giving Ilmatar a talking to.
I slammed the book closed and pushed it to one side. “It is a sin to destroy kindness or beauty,” I said, quoting from the Book of Grievances. Chapter Four, Verse Eighteen. The downside of having a near-flawless memory was that I could no longer forget anything.
I hated to admit it, but I had picked up on fragments of the Book that I found enticing. Most of it was brutal or weird, of course, but there were nuggets that pleased me, though I chose to interpret them as philosophy rather than religion. But I suppose any religion must feel different to the one being worshiped—that is, unbelievable.
“Kindness?” Ilmatar asked, incredulous. “Are we still speaking of Lady Desdemona?”
I gave him that look again, the one which had frightened him before, and his eye twitched, but he did not retreat. “You may not believe it, Ilmatar, but the High Priestess has more kindness than you know.” She refused to run away and leave you wretches to your fate. She would have made things a lot easier for me if she’d agreed to get out of here together. “She cares a great deal for this city and the people in it.”
I honestly wish she cared for them a little less.
“She cares for her own neck,” he said, and I was surprised he still hadn’t backed down. Surprised, then confused, as I wondered if Ilmatar had forgotten the order of things. Over the past few days I had let him think he could do whatever he wanted. Well, that had grown tiresome. In truth, he had been bothering me all morning, and I had warned him to be careful, hadn’t I?
I was up from the table in a flash as if possessed, my hand on Ilmatar’s tunic. I had six inches and fifty lean pounds on him, plus whatever my divinity counted for, though I had never really noticed that until now, never really processed the magnitude of that difference until I lifted him by his collar with ease, holding him at my eye level.
Ilmatar’s legs kicked underneath him. His eyes were full of fear and panic. I looked at the other servants who had accompanied him, but they were all averting their eyes. None would intervene.
His mouth opened, but only a scream came out. I squeezed his throat with my other hand, and the scream faded. I could feel his pulse beating against my palm. I had warned him, hadn’t I? I had told him to be careful.
The guards were still outside the door. No doubt they had heard him, but there was no reaction. This was probably what they had expected from me to begin with.
Looking down at my hand, its thick scales and long claws, I realized it had grown larger. The scales now looked like plates of armor, and my claws now extended into dagger-like tips. I must have grown larger too, because I was looking down on him again.
The Majordomo didn’t even try to resist—he hung there, his back straight, staring at me as if in acceptance of whatever I might do to him. Part of me wanted to shake him like a doll, teach him a lesson, and quiet him for good.
I felt the skin at my back begin to stretch, forming two taloned wings that burst through the fabric of my uniform. It was painful, I realized, this kind of transformation. My bones had fractured, grown, then fused back together. My muscles had gained mass as if from nowhere. It felt strange and unnatural. None of the parts of my body were in the places I expected. Every sensation felt wrong. I saw our shadows against the wall, a beast from hell and his victim.
Something in me caught up with reality, and I wondered how I had arrived here. I hadn’t even known I could do this. I wished being a god had come with a training manual.
It had taken a couple days, but I had finally lost my shit. I closed my eyes so that I did not have to look into Ilmatar’s terrified gaze any more. But I should have known—when my two eyes closed, another opened.
Ilmatar’s soul trembled with fear, flickering in my hands, a tiny, pale light. Such a weak, insignificant thing. I could have snuffed it out with one hand. And it shocked me then, the fragility of his life, and the speed at which I had fallen.
I dropped him and stepped backward. Ilmatar fell to his feet and staggered, but I reached out to steady him and keep him from falling to the floor. He gasped, holding his throat with his free hand, wheezing. I pulled out one of the dining chairs and sat him down.
I’m sorry, I thought, but I couldn’t say that. There were so many things I couldn’t tell him, and it infuriated me. I looked at the other servants, still standing patiently by the wall, pointedly ignoring us. And I hated them too, for doing nothing.
“Get out of here,” I commanded, and they almost tripped over themselves in their hurry to flee. Then I pulled my chair over and sat down next to Ilmatar.
I took a deep breath, then another. I felt my body returning to its usual shape. It was painful, but a relief. My wings were starting to shrink. I understood now why Asmodeus had said such things were a low priority. Though I had grown them, they had felt strange and imbalanced, out of my control. I had been nothing more than an unwieldy brute.
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I shouldn’t have done that, Ilmatar, I thought. I really am sorry. You didn’t deserve that.
“You’re right,” I said, and he looked at me in surprise. “She cares for herself, as do you. As if any of us could do otherwise. Don’t pretend to be so selfless, Ilmatar. None of us are. We all play our best with the hand we’ve been dealt. Desdemona Fell is not your problem.” My voice grew quieter, barely a whisper between us, as I was always aware of the guards outside my room. “You and I both know our problem is that our military is in fucking shambles and severely outnumbered.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes wide, then nodded. “I take your point, Master. I am sorry for my impertinence.” He was still shaking a little.
I realized I had barely touched my plate and shoveled a couple of mouthfuls down. Today’s meal was yet another type of mystery meat, gravy, and some starchy mashed potato-adjacent dish. I carefully scraped the murder root off the top. I was tired of taking an aphrodisiac. Ilmatar could think whatever he wanted. But as I ate, part of me was still dreaming of an old kitchen, waiting for Maria to make chilaquiles. They’d been one of my favorites.
“That’s not all,” I said. “I know you and the High Priestess aren’t friends, but I want you to pretend to get along.”
“In truth, I had been on my best behavior recently until I observed, and I mean absolutely no disrespect…” Ilmatar paused, folding his hands in front of him, and taking a deep breath before continuing. “This morning, you seemed rather out of sorts, a disposition I assumed had at least some connection to the High Priestess’s absence, and this made me angry at her failure to you, so I hadn’t really intended, you know, to upset you at all, Master—but I clearly did, and I am truly sorry about that.”
“I see.” That was his excuse? That he got so worked up on my account that he thought it would be a good idea to have Desdemona killed? I sighed. These fucking demons. “My disposition is not the High Priestess’s fault. She left early to prepare for services today, that’s all.”
“My mistake, Master. I will redouble my efforts to get along with Lady Desdemona,” Ilmatar said, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Uh, Dark Lord, you said you did not wish to review the agricultural production reports with the farming guild representative this morning. And, of course, that is your prerogative. But you did not tell me what you would like to include on your schedule instead.”
“Oh, I thought it was obvious,” I said, and Ilmatar’s sinking expression told me he’d figured it out. “I’m going to the morning service.” There were some things I needed to say to the High Priestess.
“Ah,” Ilmatar said. “Outstanding, Master.” He was a poor actor, however, and judging from the scowl on his face, he actually did not find it outstanding at all.
But while Ilmatar may not have liked it, Mona would get her wish—she would finally have a chance to read the Book to me.
But before I went, there was one last problem. I looked down at the shredded ribbons of my clothing, and sighed. “Majordomo, I’m going to need a new uniform.”
It took every ounce of my self-control not to apologize, or thank him for the replacement.
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I could tell when Mona noticed me, out in the temple pews, because something in her voice changed, and her gaze lingered on me for a long time. It had been awkward when she questioned everyone’s faith without apparently knowing I was sitting in the farthest back row. I’d felt a wave of fear and dread pass through the audience, probably assuming that I was about to do something excessive.
But I sat there quietly, listening to Mona share the story of Greg-Theryx, Monster Rights Lawyer. I recognized the passage from the Book. It wasn’t half bad. If I had tried to write a story expressly to make myself look clever and honorable, I could scarcely have done a better job of it than the Book itself. In this chapter, Greg-Theryx spoke on behalf of the accused and pointed out that none of them were in town when the murder happened. However, the three Void-touched were accused of being in town for months, merely hiding in human form.
The Void-touched began to panic. They had no other defense, no other proof. But Greg-Theryx merely smiled. “I mean, I’ve been hiding among you for years, and I’ve never done anything wrong.”
A murmur passed through the court as many nobles began to whisper in the pews. Soon suspicion fell upon Greg-Theryx himself, this mysterious figure who had appeared out of nowhere to represent them.
The King narrowed his eyes and said, “I was under the impression you were a visitor who had arrived only today.”
“I did not,” Greg-Theryx said. “You see, my King, I am your faithful servant.” And Greg-Theryx revealed himself to be none other than one of the King’s other trusted advisors.
The King looked between Greg-Theryx and Naal Tiran.
“He lied to you, my King,” Naal Tiran said. “You cannot trust The Great Deceiver.”
Sadly, I was both the Great Deceiver and the Great Devourer, depending on who you asked. Funny enough, no one except for me disputed the “Great” part.
The King raised his hand, waving away Naal Tiran, as a wave of whispers passed through the court. “No, he had the right of it. If he speaks the truth, that is all that matters.” The King fixed his eyes upon Greg-Theryx. “You served me well, but your dishonesty cannot be ignored, either. You must go into exile. Leave, and do not return. Take these three with you.”
The three accused began to embrace each other as they cried in happiness. But Greg-Theryx only nodded coldly, his eyes full of grief. He had hoped to convince the King to leave the Void-touched alone, but he had lost any political power he had once possessed. He had saved three innocents, but may have doomed many more.
But it would not have been a true Book of Grievances tale if it didn’t end in blood.
On Greg-Theryx’s way out of the kingdom, he hunted down the actual murderer and left only their head, as a gift for the King. The demons in the pews cheered at this—it was supposedly a happy ending. Afterwards, Greg-Theryx packed his things in a rucksack and headed for the Voidlands.
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After her sermon, I watched Mona leave the podium, and my eyes followed her until she passed through a black curtain near the back of the dais. She looked over her shoulder, and our eyes met, for a moment, before she was gone.
I wanted to follow her, but I supposed she knew where to find me and would do so when she was ready. Another priestess took over for her, pale blue, with short, dark hair and a slim figure—but the service seemed essentially over. The priestess read several closing announcements, including a charity drive for plague-stricken citizens in the lower tiers. Mona made that happen, like I had asked for.
The audience had already started to file out, even though the priestess hadn’t finished. I supposed they didn’t consider that rude. Otherwise I doubt anyone would have tried it with me sitting there. Demons were not one for manners.
I leaned back in the pew, trying to get comfortable—a task most certainly doomed to failure on the rigid stone benches—as I watched the audience file out. A few of them hadn’t noticed me, or pretended not to, and walked past me, blissfully unaware. This was my preferred reaction.
The alternative seemed to be a look of paralyzed fear followed by bowing, or attempts to avoid eye contact altogether. They were far more timid than the crowd outside the guild had been. Perhaps they were only less desperate.
The priestess finished and bid the congregation farewell, and the rest of the crowd began to file out at last. I noticed the dais still held the sarcophagus I had awakened from, off to one side—my first memory of this world.
The blue priestess descended from the dais, then walked down the aisle towards me, giving a warm smile as she approached. “Dark Lord,” she said. “It is a pleasure for us that you were here. I hope you found today’s services to your satisfaction.”
“I’m satisfied.” This seemed a safe amount of praise. Or at least, I hoped so.
Her smile widened. She seemed scarily happy to see me. “That makes me so pleased, Master. The name you gifted to me is Yeni Duskblade, and I wanted to make myself available if there was anything you needed help with.” Her cheeks looked flushed as she spoke, but there was a cold determination in her eyes.
I blinked at her, mulling over her words for a moment. Was she implying what I thought she was implying? “I’m quite content. I’m waiting for the High Priestess.”
“Oh,” she said, and her eyes fell. “I understand.” She took a step backward and began to turn away. “Please let me know if you ever need anything from me.” She met my eyes one last time. “Anything.”
“Wait,” I said, a suspicious feeling in the back of my mind. “Did Ilmatar put you up to this?”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No, Master … No one put me up to anything.” There was a hint of concern in her voice as if she had stumbled onto a level of intrigue she didn’t wish to know. “I was only…” Her voice broke off again, and her lips began to tremble. I watched her patiently, waiting for her to find her words.
But then she began to cry.
It started slow at first, redness welling in her eyes before it trickled down her pale blue cheeks. Though I had seen that demons cried blood—a strange detail of their physiology I still didn’t understand—seeing it up close, from a stranger, was still quite alarming.
Yeni cried soundlessly, her hands shaking as she did so. Her eyes squeezed shut. “It’s just … I don’t understand. Not a single one of us besides the High Priestess? Not a single offering?”
I didn’t know what to say. I wondered if she had closed her eyes because it was the only way she could find the courage to speak to me. If I was really that intimidating. Red tears squeezed past her eyelids, pattering on the floor.
Thankfully I was saved by Mona, whose Will I could feel approaching even before she emerged from the curtain and descended the dais. The look in her eyes was one of curiosity as Yeni turned around, her back suddenly straightening, as if she’d been caught at something nefarious. When Yeni saw Mona, she raised her hands to her face, as if trying unsuccessfully to cover her tears, and speed-walked in the opposite direction, towards the elevator and the stairwell.
Mona raised an eyebrow at me as she approached. “Do I need to guess what that was about?”
“No,” I said. “You probably don’t. But I’ll tell you anyway.”