I’m not going home.
But I’m not going to let Inshara have the satisfaction of seeing my pain. I’m not going to give her anything. So somehow, from somewhere, I find a casual voice that sounds like it’s coming from someone else. “I’m not sure red is your color, Insha.”
She gives me just the tiniest flicker of irritation for the fact that I’ve chopped the goddess part off the end of her name, and then it’s hidden. She smiles, glancing down at the robe and smoothing it with one hand. “I wear what duty dictates,” she says with a wry smile. “Interesting to see that you do too.” Her gaze is a little keener as she takes in my sash, a match for her robe.
She’s wearing Nimh’s crown, and she still has on the odd assortment of trinkets and necklaces she wore when she first broke into the temple. When her hand slides down the chain that hangs around her neck, my eyes involuntarily follow it. My gaze stops short when I realize what’s at the end of it. A small, square face, green numbers faintly glowing.
A chrono.
“It’s a holy relic,” she says, following my gaze, fingers tightening around its illuminated face. “Fallen from the gods above centuries ago. But, of course, you know what it is.”
I manage to keep my mouth shut, because Idoknow what it is. Better than she does, apparently.
That thing isn’t centuries old. I’d be surprised if it was evendecadesold. My grandfather has the same model, claims he can’t figure out the controls on the latest designs, or focus his eyes on the holographic displays.Where did she get it?
“I’m interested that you wear holy relics,” I say, “when a few days ago I saw you murder a high priest.”
Beside her Techeki very nearly winces—it’s just a slight narrowing of his eyes, and then he’s as smooth as ever. I can hardly believe this guy. He spent most of Nimh’s life serving her, and now he’s here beside her greatest enemy without even a hint of an apology.
Inshara sighs, eyes lowering. “I would have preferred not to kill anyone,” she says. “But Daoman ruled the temple with an iron fist. Nimh was discovered so much younger than any divinity before her. Did you not wonder why? It was so he could control her completely, after my mother was such a disappointment to him. He was an ambitious man. He found Nimh, he raised her, and he taught her to see the world just as he wanted it seen. He used her, and she was owed justice for it, as much as anyone was.”
I want to tell her to take her false sympathy for Nimh and shove it where the birds don’t fly. But I have to admit her thoughts are eerily similar to my own, when I first learned about Nimh’s childhood.
Inshara’s eyes are grave as she watches me, and I get the sense that she can see and measure exactly the impact of her words. “I want you to help me find Nimh,” she says simply.
I snort involuntarily. “Why would I even consider doing that? Didn’t we just finish discussing how you wish people didn’t have to die, but apparently sometimes they do?”
There’s not even a ripple in her calm. “You should consider it,” she replies. “Because once you’ve assisted me, I can send you back to the sky, Your Highness.”
My heart just about stops. She has a chrono. Could she have other tech?
But even as I want to shout ayesat her, the rest of what she’s said strikes home.
Your Highness?
I’ve told exactly one person in this world about my family: Nimh.
“How could you … ,” I begin, though words fail me before I can get any further.
Inshara raises one eyebrow. “Idohave the spirit of the true Lightbringer speaking to me, North. He tells me many things. Like, for instance, that the boy Nimhara has cast in her version of the prophecy is actually a prince in the cloudlands. That he fell to this world by accident, not because of destiny. That his mothers worry about him very much and want nothing more than to see him safely home.”
I stare at her, the bottom dropping out of my stomach. “Magic,” I whisper weakly, one part of my mind marveling at the way I’ve come to accept magic, so much so that I’m willing to use it as a defense against the idea of divine intervention. “This is just some kind of trick.”
Inshara sighs, leaning forward, her expression grave. “Believe what you must, North. I have a way to travel the sky. I only needyouto tell me how it works.”
I blink at her. “Leaving aside that I wouldn’t help you even if I could, I havenoidea what you’re talking about.”
Irritation flickers across her face. “The Lightbringer tells me otherwise.” She reaches up to take Nimh’s crown from her head, holding it up for me to see. “This is the key. Techeki already knew. The Lightbringer told me that, as well.”
My eyes snap across to the Master of Spectacle, who looks as calm as ever.
“Had I but known you desired to return to your world, I would have shared the information immediately,” he says, oozing sincerity. “I only regret that I do not know how the key is used, Divine One.”
Something brushes my leg, and I glance down. The cat’s there, his fur fluffed up so much he’s twice as big as usual. My heart swells at having someone on my side, then nearly stops—does this mean Nimh’s nearby? I have to do something.
When I lift my gaze, my heart does a backflip. Elkisa’s lifted her head, and she’s looking at the cat as well. A moment later she meets my eyes, and though the whole thing takes only a couple of seconds, it changes everything.
Inshara’s control over her has slipped. Perhaps I’ve distracted her—because Elkisa’s easing a step forward, the movement slow.
