Everything you said, everything you told me—about me, aboutus—did you mean it? Was it real? Or were you only drawn to me because you’re... you’rehim?
No matter what they told him, no matter what they did to him, Ziziknew. His feelings for her belonged to him and him only.
Soon enough, a slow trickle of eager visitors curious about the new Fourth King arrived.
Zizi made his stupid jokes, got a few laughs. Eight was a man who reminded him of one of those finance types in the human realm. Arrogant and tedious to talk to. Five was extremely shy. Seven was a little girl who sang Zizi a lullaby about spiders and ate his food. Zizi liked her best.
Zizi never saw Ten. He wondered if the bastard was being punished for his transgressions in the human realm.
The Kings who did show up were excited to meet Zizi, until they realized he wasn’t some death god brother coming back into their fold. He didn’t remember anything apart from the few memories that returned in the tunnel. He didn’t understand the things they were saying to him. It felt like he’d failed a test he didn’t know he had to study for.
Eventually, an old crone dressed in tattered gray robes appeared, her wizened face half hidden by a hood. She was the Second King, and she’d asked to see his hands. He’d given them to her, palms faced up, and she held them in her withered ones.
“His soul is still asleep.”
“Well, that sounds ominous,” Zizi said, with a humor he didn’t feel. “What does that mean?”
“You are here to keep the balance of the Ten.”
“So I’ve been told.” A safer human realm meantRuiwould be safer. It was the only thing keeping him sane.
“But as of now, the balance is still tipped,” said the crone. “First, you must remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Everything.”
“You’re not being helpful,” Zizi scolded lightly.
The old crone leaned her head back. Her hood fell, revealing a skeletal face. Where her eyes should be, two black holes stared back at Zizi.
He’d shuddered, but he couldn’t look away.
“Time is running out,” she’d said. “You house the soul of a god, butthis body is that of a boy. It is human and mortal, a vulnerable vessel that will age and turn to dust. In our realm, this body cannot survive. You must not fight the change; you must let it happen.”
“What if I don’t want to change? Can’t you pull Four’s soul out of me and send me back to where I belong? I’mhuman, not a god.”
“Alas, we cannot extract Four’s soul from its vessel, not when his power now resides there too. They are fusing, even as we speak. It is too dangerous to separate them. Further chaos across the realms may ensue.”
“How lovely.”
“You are afraid,” Two murmured. When Zizi stared defiantly back at her, she whispered, “Wake up, sweet prince.”
After she left, Zizi looked in the mirror and saw that a lock of hair on his head had turned silvery white.
That very night, the black collar around his neck started to burn. It made his skin itch, and he’d tried to rip it off. Two men in expensive-looking suits appeared the next day. One was built like an ox, the other had a long face that reminded Zizi of a horse. They removed him from the Fourth Court and brought him to a dank cell and clamped thick manacles around his ankles and wrists.
“For security,” Ox-Head had said.
Zizi laughed bitterly. “Afraid I’ll escape again? Why can’t I stay in the villa? You can chain me up there.”
Horse-Face gave a snort that sounded more like a neigh. “This is the deepest part of Hell. There are ancient forces alive in here; it will help you remember.”
A while after, a visitor arrived. A young man, barely older than Zizi. He had large, haunted eyes, like he’d seen the worst of the world and beyond. The red candle shook in his hand as he held it up to his face.
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
“No,” Zizi replied.
