KNITE:

The land evened out. A soft green shone up from the horizon, far in the distance. The clop of Qaniin’s hooves hushed, and her tread deepened as the ground grew softer, dry soil giving way to mud. Past the farms and fells of the capital’s outskirts, the tall peaks of the Leaves came into view, green like poison.

I carried house Yabiskus’ standard. The flag did more to distinguish Bainan’s House; his crest was large and central, and Yabiskus’s was small and pushed to the corner of the large blue square of alchemically treated silk. Merchants and other travelers moved out of my way. Guards bowed as I passed. Men, women, and children scattered out of sight as I cut through The Muds and The Roots. All knew how close death was when a godling was near.

A procession of Yabiskus’ children greeted me at the gates to his estate. At the front stood the prodigal son, Lugel. I did not appreciate them making a ceremony out of my return. Less so because, par for the course of being Yabiskus, I was expected to express the opposite.

“Welcome home, Father.” Lugel stepped forward and bowed deep. Those lining the path towards the main house followed suit.

“Are the members of the table present?” I asked, wanting to confirm that the ruling members were in attendance or, failing that, close at hand.

“After news of Muraad’s defeat had reached us, Lilac is on her way to Durum to see what advantages we might reap there. Severson went to your brother’s estate in the city for much the same reason. The other two are present.” While Lugel spoke, Qaniin nipped at him, pulling hairs and tearing skin from his head and neck. The boy did not react.

“Call them to the table,” I said. “We have matters to discuss.”

“Yes, Father.”

The table, as circular as the tower and room it was in, was on the floor below Yabiskus’ office. Before the staircase leading up sat the largest of the chairs and the only one to occupy its half of the room. Not quite a throne but far from ordinary, my seat was wrapped in blue velvet and stuffed with something too forgiving to be natural. I sat there. Across me, before the door to the rest of the Yabiskus estate and in the position and chair marking him as the favorite, sat Lugel. The seats beside his were empty—Lilac’s and Severson’s. The last two seats were filled by the last two members of the table: Klisa, the Tripler I’d first seen in the Bainan-affiliated merchant’s estate, and Floreo, a gangly Seculor with a long face and the annoying habit of frequently and loudly chewing on sunflower seeds.

“Congratulations, Father,” Lugel said. He was the only house member who dared speak without being spoken to.

“For what?” I asked, wearing an expression that suggested I already knew the answer but wanted to hear it nonetheless. Playing at being Yabiskus took more effort than being Merkus. While Merkus was a living mask grown out of my soul using another’s as a means to change its signature, the Yabiskus mask was wholly disconnected from me, more a shell I’d inhabited than a mask I had grown, and as such, far more removed than the part of me that used to be Merkus.

“Word has spread that you defeated Muraad, took his Named for yourself, and sent him scuttling back to the frontier with his tail between his legs.” Lugel smiled at me, pride in his eyes. “Grandfather will surely see your worth once he hears of your victory.”

“He will or he won’t,” I said, once again letting my expression contradict my casual words, though being reminded of Muraad’s true fate helped sell the satisfaction I painted on my face. “In the meantime, tell me of the Taragats.”

Klisa lowered her head before she spoke. “May I, Patriarch?”

“You may.”

“I went to visit Jivron—the head of their family—while you were… handling graver matters. She reported several skirmishes between them and the Grifals.”

I snorted. “Tell me news of import, silly girl. Otherwise, remain quiet.”

Klisa shivered and lowered her head further. “Apologies, Patriarch. She had also reported that our venture into the lower churches has stagnated due to the interference of well-respected Barks and the agents of other houses who’ve seen through our ploy.” Yabiskus planned to sow a preference for House Bainan into the lower masses, further replicating their numerical advantage in the higher plateaus. This spelled troubles for House Lorail, who suffered the lowest population of followers.

I waved Klisa on. She remained quiet.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“Yes, Patriarch.”

I shook my head. “Tell me, Lugel, why did you elevate her to the table?”

“I didn’t, Father.”

“It was your seed she sprung from, was it not? She has your scent about her.”

“Yes, Father, but I had not claimed her. Blint, who had shared his bed with her mother more recently, appointed her his avatar while he is off completing his mission.”

“I shall have to speak to him about how poor of a choice he’s made once he returns.” I returned my gaze to Klisa. Despite being a Reaper, Klisa let her mind and soul shake her limbs and soak her skin in sweat—another reason for Yabiskus to find her wanting. “Disappointing. But still, I cannot blame you, Lugel. I find the winds of fate often blow a seed far from its origin. Your many brothers and sisters are a testament to that reality. Once we are done here, do as I have done and see to it she’s returned to whence she came.”

“Yes, Father.”

“No!” Klisa jumped to her feet, the same fear that had locked her into a sweaty shiver pushing her into action. “Patriarch, please let me—”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I have a solution.”

“Very well.” I nodded my approval.

“Father said you wished to be more direct in your conflict with House Elur—”

I held up a hand to forestall her. Moments ago, Floreo, whose silence made him easy to ignore, no longer was. He’d scooped a handful of sunflower seeds from a small bag, threw them into his mouth, licked the remnants from his palm, and was now gnashing them between his teeth loud as can be.

I ripped off his lower jaw. Some of his neck meat and half his left ear came away, too. I tossed the bone and the flesh and skin dangling from it into the center of the table and returned to my seat. I had given him a look of warning in our last meeting. The news he’d brought me about Muraad and Halga had saved him from more. Pale-faced and chagrined, he’d put the bag of sunflower seeds away. That he even carried it on his person was a bad sign. An inauspicious sign. So much so that I wondered if he was aiming for my reaction. Given how Yabiskus had warped the minds of his children…

“Continue,” I said to Klisa.

“Uhm, I—”

“Floreo,” I said, “do not heal yourself or dull the pain until I have given you permission to do so.” The jawless man did not answer me, but the surge of Reaper Arts around his injury faded away. Homeless, his tongue hung there, poised like a pink-skinned snake preparing to strike. I turned back to the Tripler. “Now, where were we?”

A shivering Klisa stuttered for an answer.

“Direct conflict with House Elur,” I prompted.

“Uhm, yes,” she said, pealing her eyes from Floreo’s naked flesh. “I propose we make use of the recent strife in Halor.”

“The slave revolt? Already considered.”

“I was thinking of another possible ally.”

“Aslian, Munis, Fralk, Ramla, and Trisel are all too weak to contest Elur,” Lugel explained. “As for the other two, Nikal is religiously independent, and Lira will not trust us. She and our patriarch share a history she’ll not soon forget.”

“What about Polerma?” Klisa asked.

She knows, I thought. Thankfully, my faint look of surprise came off as skepticism. But how? And of everyone, a lowly Tripler had figured it out. The girl is sharper than I gave her credit for. Young and clever—a dangerous combination.

“Polerma?” Lugel asked. “I thought her dead. How do you imagine she’d help us with affairs in Halor anyhow?”

“Polerma rules Snowliar.”

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Lugel stood erect. “Polerma is Stone? That is not good. Not good at all. Polerma is the mightiest Fiora House Grono has ever produced. Among all the Leaves, few could contend with her. Her alliance with Elur spells disaster.”

Klisa shook her head. “Not an alliance.”

“A bond? Even worse.”

“You misunderstand, Father.”

Lugel frowned. “Do not call me that.”

Klisa ignored the disavowment. “Elur is not Lira; she lacks the skills to securely Tunnel someone as formidable as Polerma.”

“Then how?”

“From what I understand, Elur had partially blocked the connection between Polerma’s body and soul, thus enfeebling the Grononian Fiora.”

“Had?” Lugel asked.

“Polerma is free of Elur’s matrix,” Klisa said, smiling in victory. I knew where she was going with this. She was right to feel victorious.

“Lira?” Lugel asked.

“That, I do not know,” Klisa admitted. “But the recent decline in the Grifal’s slave trade suggests she rescued Polerma.”

Lugel snorted. “That could just as well be the rebels.”

“Word is, all the slaves sold in Halor are going through Lira. As you know, the Grifals are servants of house Elur, not House Lorail, and though the other Leaves bicker and compete with ours, none but Elur consider us outright enemies.”

Lugel frowned. “Alright, ignoring your failure to inform me, say your reading of this is accurate. What then?”

A flicker of tension passed her face, some emotion too perilous to let show. “I’d say Polerma has a vendetta against her once captor.”

“A safe bet, but—”

“She currently holds the greatest influence in Halor’s slave trade,” I said, answering the Lugel’s question. “With the city’s port no longer in Elur’s control, your daughter thinks we should help advance whatever duplicitous plans Polerma has in store for Elur.”

“Are we certain she’s going after her, Father?” Lugel asked.

“Why else would she remain in Snowliar, a minor free city of little worth besides its slave trade?” Klisa asked. “As you said, Polerma is a formidable Leaf, and with the full breadth of her powers restored, her place is in the Partum or the capital.”

“Granted, if the news regarding the slave trade in Halor is accurate, Snowliar has likely sided with Lira,” Lugal said, “but is there any evidence Polerma is planning to do more than shift allegiances?”

“She was Elur’s slave. However,” I turned to Klisa, and her smile faltered under the weight of my attention, “that only removes one of many who stand against our plans, and it does not align with my intention to be more forceful with our efforts.”

“She is our greatest opposition in the matter,” Klisa tried.

“For now. I’m sure one of the others will take Elur’s place willingly enough. With our troubles in Durum and The Old Queen’s war still raging, we need more people, more funds, and more control. Whoever achieves this for our House will gain Bainan’s favor.”

“House Grono and House Silas care little for the disposition of political power.”

“But they do care about actual power. It is one thing to hold sway over governance; it is another to hold sway over those it governs.”

Klisa bowed her head. “I concede to your wisdom, Patriarch.” The girl was clever. Modesty and flattery in but a few words, all tailored for the man I was pretending to be—too clever by a league. Almost as if…

“Go and prepare,” I said. “You leave for Snowliar in the morning.”

Klisa sighed in relief and excitement. “Yes, Patriarch.”

The door closed behind her. I turned to Floreo. His bleary-eyed expression begged me to release him from his pain.

“Heal yourself,” I said. “You have until I am done with Lugel.”

The man scrambled onto the table, snatched up his jaw, and pressed it to his face, eyes closed as he concentrated on his Reaper Arts.

“I have a task for you, Lugel,” I said.

“I am at your service, Father.”

“Are Velusni and Brittle still alive?” Of the five ruling branches of House Bainan, Yabiskus had little interest in these two. Muraad he kept a close eye on; his was the most prominent. Kalisa, too; she was ambitious and talented and ruthless enough to challenge him. The other two were less of a threat. Brittle’s house was a common refuge for the Fioras who fell off the path of leafdom and were disowned by their more immediate kin—the sweetness of victory does less than nothing for the victor’s urge to taste the blood of those who were once their fellow contenders. The Fioras who’d failed to ascend and no longer had the protection of their parents or benefactors were quick to swear allegiance to avoid death. They were competent, as anyone who was once a Leaf candidate was sure to be, but that very failure, by Bainan’s decree, barred them from having their own houses. And though they joined her house, they’d done so to protect each other, not to elevate Brittle herself, which was just as well, considering she had no political aspirations. All her attention was focused on The Academy and her research into the lost Art. Then there was Velusni, the last Fiora to hold the fourth seat. But that was over a hundred years ago. Yabiskus’ low estimations of the fellow told me he had likely been replaced.

“No, Sir,” Lugel said. “The seats have remained the same for some time.”

A knock came at the door. I ignored it.

“Velusni lives?” I asked.

“Yes, Father.”

“Interesting.”

Another knock.

“A little over eighty years ago,” Lugel explained, “he integrated the body of a fallen Kolokasian god. Even though the soul had passed, the merging of flesh gave him a degree of skill with poisons. None of the four newly titled Leaves who came to duel him for his seat since then have survived.”

Another knock. Harder and louder. More insistent.

“All remain in Durum?” I asked.

“Except Brittle and Muraad.”

The knocking continued, growing frantic.

“Enter,” I said, readying a nasty little Surgeon matrix for whoever appeared.

Klisa, white as a sheet, entered. “Apologies, Patriarch, but you have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“She bade me not to announce her.”

I got to my feet. Few had the power, authority, or influence to countermand orders I’d given to one of my godlings. And a woman. Only two came to mind. I gripped the Yabiskus shell and wrapped it tighter around my soul.

Then she entered.

Lorail barged past Klisa. The Tripler’s body collapsed, empty. Trailing Lorail was an opaque shadow reminiscent of the soulless body it was snatched from.

“An impressive girl.” Lorail’s voice was how I remember it: high and lively, each word laced with seductive poison.

“Put her back,” I said. My voice was the reverse: low and deathly cold, a blunt promise of violence.

Lorail dragged Klisa’s soul closer. On bended knee, the tetherless Tripler found itself face-to-face with a god who gazed upon her with all-seeing eyes. “Crafty, this one.”

“I know,” I said, surprising even myself. My hunger had never been so acute, so all-consuming. Here was Lorail, one of my greatest enemies, a being whose soul was head and shoulders above the most succulent I’d ever had the pleasure of consuming, yet I found enough in me to resist action.

“One moment.” Lorail put her hand in the specter of Klisa’s soul. Out came a crystal marble the color of dawn—her core. I had not known Lorail could extract cores the way she’d just done. A new trick? I asked myself. An old one made known?

I pointed behind her at Klisa’s body. “Unharmed, if you please.”

Lorail kissed her teeth. “Too bad. I’d hoped she had some talent as an Auger. Alas…”

“Have you come here to start a war? Your presence alone will—”

“Gods, you’re as dramatic as your father.” Lorail returned Klisa’s core and threw her specter back without a care. Klisa’s phantom burst into smoke and seeped back into its vessel. “No, I’ve only a question. And, depending on your answer, a warning.”

“Ask your question.”

She smiled and twirled her hair with a finger. I almost attacked her there and then. A memory burned itself into my vision in an angry shade of blood:

***

I swung from a rope, trussed up with hands and feet tied behind my back. The room was bathed in red. As was I. My doing. Unwillingly, of course. Blood was rarely a thing someone freely gave. A year of torture had sprayed, slathered, and dripped far and long enough to paint the room in shades of red, purple, brown, and black.

Lorail’s feet came into view. My head hung low. It had never felt so heavy. This was true for every new day I spent in my prison.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” she said.

“Release me,” I begged.

“Why?”

“Because I am your brother.”

“Half.”

“Then because it is wrong not to.”

“We are gods. Wrong and right are but what we have the strength to enforce.”

“Did you know?” The words came weak. I was breathless. Tired. Oh, so tired.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose telling you won’t change anything. Yes, I knew.”

“Did you help?”

“We all did.”

“I’ll kill you.” My voice was hoarse. Like stone scraping on stone.

Lorail giggled and grabbed my shoulders, halting the gentle sway of the rope. “Unlikely.”

I raised my head. It took all I had, everything I was. My sensus was locked, my body verging on the edge of failure. A state Elonai worked hard to maintain. Pain was not yet a friend. Friendly, but not yet a friend; where it had once shackled my mind, screaming into my senses, it now only whispered to me.

Lorail stood there, smiling and twirling her hair.

“Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or a year from now,” I said. “Maybe not for a century, or even for millennia, but I promise you, you soul-sucking parasite of a woman, I… Will… Kill… You.”

Lorail, a god of Evergreen, master of souls, and daughter of Merkusian, stepped back. My pitiful laugh—a mixture of coughs and wheezes—did nothing to ease her concerns. I saw the intent to kill me flash in her eyes. I noticed a greater fear stay her hand.

Spent, I let my head drop. My words came slurred, filled with bubbles of spit and blood. “Coward. Kill me if you dare. Make me a liar.”

Lorail leaned in close, grabbed a handful of my hair, and pulled. She was cold now. Seemingly fearless. Her mask was back on. “No. Taking your life is easy for you and… troublesome for me. No, I’ll not take your life, but…”

I smiled weakly. “But what? There’s nothing but my life left to take. Everything else your mother has already exhausted.”

Lorail leaned in closer, lips to my ear and a hand to my neck. “I’ll take from you the only thing you cherish—all your memories of joy and happiness, of contentment. I’ll take all but the emptiness the memories leave behind. And there, there I’ll place countless copies of this moment.”

And she did. I did not forget Merkusian, or Manar, or the woman who’d nursed me as a babe, or Helena, or the few others I held dear. Instead, I forgot why I held them dear, the weight of the moments we shared, and the color of the memories on which our relationships were built.

The door opened. Elonai strolled in, a new set of implements in tow. “Leave, Lorrie.”

“Yes, Mother.” Lorail turned to me and, registering the shock of my sudden loss from my wide eyes, smiled and twirled her hair. “I’ll be seeing you.”

***

“What have you done to your soul?” Lorail asked.

The words shattered the memory, and I came back to myself. The shell I wore distended, struggling under the weight of my expanding soul. Concentrating, I compressed myself once more. Not yet, I told myself.

“Is that your question?” I asked.

Lorail’s lips curled into a smirk. “No.”

“What is?”

“Why did you kill one of my granddaughters?”

I frowned. “Because I wanted to.”

“Then consider this your warning. My agreement with your father prohibits the deaths of any godlings outside official challenges. We cannot afford a full-on conflict. However, understand that if you break this rule once more, your soul will be the price he pays. I doubt The Old Queen will allow him to refuse the exchange. Her war is too important to her to let our squabble thwart her plans.” Lorail watched me. I felt her sensus reach out and do the same. “Well, then, I believe my business here is done.”

Lorail’s soul flared. Lugel and Floreo wore expressions of confusion. I fabricated one of my own. To them, she had disappeared. Only gods could see past Lorail’s skill to erase her presence. I watched her leave from the corner of my eye, skipping away without a care.

I stood there for a moment, getting a handle on the deep ache left behind by my bloodlust. The urge to attack had been boundless. Almost more than I could bear.

Thankfully, my goals—and thus my conviction—were greater.