“Of course I know. Who do you think told him what to research? What your little ability to call on kashonim with Asherah is called?”
“You told him? The first night you came to see him here?”
Mercurial grinned like a cat.
Rhyan had been with me at the end of the night. He’d told me Mercurial had come by but he’d never mentioned that they discussed my kashonim. He could have—we’d had privacy—the one and only time we had it.
But he’d said nothing.
“There’s a special word for what you can do,” Mercurial said. “Rakashonim.Your kashonim.” He snapped his fingers, and there was another flash of light. A second nahashim cried out in pain, its black scaly body flopping onto the floor. “Kashonim,” Mercurial said slowly, like I was a child, “is taking on and absorbing all of the power of your lineage. A false lineage created by force, by the letting, and mixing of blood between you and those who came before, those who trained you, and those who trained them. When it’s yours, and yours alone … it means just that.Rakashonim.Your own personal lineage. Who you once were. Who you still are. It’s calling on the full power of your soul.”
“My kashonim with Asherah,” I said. “I already know all of this.”
Mercurial laughed. “Are you sure? It drains you, doesn’t it, when you call on it? And not like normal kashonim. How could it be? Strong as your previously not-lord is, and … my most muscular, reinstated lord isverystrong, one of the strongest in the Empire. But he is nothing compared to the strength of a God. Or … a Goddess. How else did you defeat the Imperator’s nine nahashim on your own?”
“Asherah,” I said.
Mercurial nodded.
“But it’s dangerous,” I said carefully, avoiding phrasing it as a question.
“Not just dangerous. It’s volatile. Deadly. Especially for you.”
I groaned. “For God’s sake! You’re not going to tell me what it means. Or tell me what to do to stop all of this. I assume you at least want me to get away from theImperator with the orange shard, so I can track down the red.”
“No. I never told you to go after the orange shard.”
“But you would have,” I said. “I’m going to go after all of them, aren’t I?”
Mercurial shrugged. “It’s a fair guess.”
“Then help me! Help me get the orange shard so I can claim the red.”
“I told you. You are out of favors. I will not break your contract with Imperator Hart.”
“Then get out!” I yelled.
He tilted his head to the side, refusing to move, his eyes dancing with mischief. “You Guardians always think you’re in charge. That you can defy the Council of Forty-Four, that you can do whatever you want—steal lights from Heaven, break them into pieces, drown empires, and still make demands of the Afeya. No. I leave when I want to.”
“That’s always it! What you want. When you want it. The power you reference is gone—was gone thousands of years ago. And the Council of Forty-Four? What they do even do now? They might as well be a myth.”
“A myth? A myth! They are no more myth than you are,Asherah—than the Godsdamned light inside your mortal little heart. You would not stand where you are today if not for the Council of Forty-Four! They are the ones who ordered Canturiel to make the light! They are the ones who began the war with the akadim. Who moved the Valalumir to the Hall of Records. Who determined there should be seven Guardians. You don’t remember? You were nothing before they selected you. Before they banished you. Before they cursed you! And trust me, if you don’t believe anything else I am saying. They are still watching your every move. And still very much in power—when they deign to take action.”
“Sounds like Afeya to me.”
He laughed. “Do not insult me.”
“Fine, they’re not a myth. They’re still in power. And if that’s the case,” I looked up at the ceiling, “I hope they’re enjoying the show! Just as much as you are.” My anger was growing at his nonsense, at his riddles, at his refusal to offer true assistance. “I’m not dealing with the Council now am I? I’m dealing with you. And you sure have a talent for cherry picking when you’ll help.”
His anger flared into his aura. The flames in the fireplace extinguished with a groaning hiss, then came back to life. “You think I am the one pulling the strings? The puppet master in control of this play,Asherah? I am not. I am merely a player, a member of the orchestra forced to play the notes I am commanded. I cannot be any more helpful than I am. And if you do not find a way to fulfill our bargain, I swear to you, you will burn from the inside out.”
My body warmed. Heat rising up my legs, and out through my arms. I could feel it rushing through my body, like the nahashim, aware of every place they touched when I’d been examined. Sweat beaded my forehead, and I stared down at my green dress. The bodice began to loosen, the laces in the back sliding open until the Valalumir star between my breasts appeared. It had been pale gold for weeks, not heating or flaring since Kane. But suddenly, the lines darkened with black, then white, then red and back to gold.
“Mercurial,” I shouted. “What are you doing?”
The gold outline of the star vanished from my skin, as if the Valalumir had never existed, as if the contract were gone. The heat intensified. Hotter and hotter.
I stumbled back, the pain excruciating. I bit down on my lip, sweat forming all over my skin, my stomach twisting, my breath coming short. I was starting to panic. No. No, I was panicking. The pain. Fuck. Fuck! My knees gave out as Isank to the floor, tears rolling down my eyes until I couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed.
