But then she realized?—
He doesn’t know.
Her passenger had been slow to change her, but change her it had.Extraordinary resilience—this being who called himself a god didn’t know the half of it.
“I will also admit,” Tharanoth said, “I’m curious how you survived the incident in the canyon.” His alien gaze settled on hers and hardened. Something ugly seethed beneath that surface of polite detachment, something he must have thought Ysira too primitive to notice. “Extraordinary events demand an extraordinary explanation.”
“You still haven’t told me where Neri is,” Ysira said flatly, though her heart beat faster.
“Safe.” The word came out a long hiss. “But as I said, we caution you away from demons for a reason. And the demon of the canyon is . . . singular.”
Tharanoth sounded almost resentful. It was the most human thing Ysira had heard from him, a tone she’d assumed herself more often than she liked to admit—struggling to speak well of a gift she could never possess. The demon that was Tharanoth might grant its vessel strength and longevity, butnotwhatever power Neri now wielded. And the Lord of Hunger coveted it.
Tharanoth must have spoken to Neri first. If he was speaking toYsiranow . . . he hadn’t gotten what he wanted. Horror built in the pit of her stomach, threatening to erupt into panic.
“Tell me what you’ve done with Neri.”
Tharanoth raised both hands in a gesture of appeasement. “Nothing. But that power is not safe in any hands but mine. It is responsible for the Cataclysm that nearly destroyed your planet. I am trying to prevent such a thing from happening again.”
Ysira operated under the assumption he was lying. She shook her head. “You may be powerful, and you may be from another world. But what makes you so different from any telepath who wields a demon, or the Zal valak?” Or from Neri. Or fromher.
She gestured at the strange purple star and its lonely planet, drifting past her. “You found us; you didn’t create us. You’re not a god.”
“Aren’t I?” Tharanoth clicked his tongue. “Semantics. I shaped your civilization. I have seen tens of thousands of years. I possess power the likes of which you could never imagine. The weapons at my disposal could end your world with athought.”He snapped his fingers. The stars vanished, leaving them in darkness. “One might say that your obedience—even your worship—is simply what I am owed.”
But Ysira had seen the destroyed skeleton in the canyon and the way Nabatar had feared to touch Neri. She owed these self-styledgodsnothing. She would not bow.
That smile again. Time seemed to slow and stretch, trapping her in that moment where those bright, alien eyeswould not leave her.She still sensed Tharanoth’s mind like a tickle at the back of her neck, searching for a way in.
After a long, long silence, he blinked. “I know this has been overwhelming for you. I’m immortal—I’m patient.” He motioned up and down at her person. “Clean yourself up. Take some time to rest, and think on this.”
The Lord of Hunger did not entertain further questions. He dismissed Ysira, leaving her to find her way back to the bedroom. Alone but unmistakably a prisoner. She had no doubt that somehow, he watched her every move.
She found no obvious exit, just another sliding door to an adjoining washroom. After a great deal of fruitless, frustrated searching, fiddling with every dial and lever she could reach, she decided she might as well bathe. It was the strangest experience she’d had yet today—grossly wasteful, jets of hot water from the walls and ceiling, sweet-smelling liquid soap she used to scrubevery inch of herself. When she emerged, she caught a glimpse of her naked body in the too-clear mirror. Her heart constricted.
The white web of scars from her pregnancy, across her hips, breasts, and stomach, were some of the last things her passenger had failed to heal. Those, her missing finger, and the ragged line across her throat. They shone against her light brown skin, poorly concealed by her spiraling tattoos.
Ysira studied the woman in the mirror, searching that drawn face and scarred body for any trace of someone she wanted to be. She tried to hold her own gaze and found she couldn’t stand it.
She shoved her dirty clothing into a wall compartment labeled with a pictogram of a shirt. An invisible force suctioned it down with awhooshthat made her jump.Seconds later, an identical, fresh set dropped out of an adjacent compartment. She stared at it until she’d recovered enough to put it on. She sat on the floor and began to braid her wet hair. Her fingers trembled.
On the precarious edge of breaking, it took her too long to notice the fog.
It seeped from the ceiling, settling around her in an acrid cloud.
With the next breath she took, her passenger spasmed. Her vision blurred—then sharpened. She breathed again. The room swam, and so did her head.
Ysira lurched to her feet.
Her passenger tightened around her brainstem. Her pulse thudded, blood concentrating there, and with it, a surge of panic. She was being poisoned, and her demon couldn’t keep up with the damage.
Ysira staggered toward the washroom exit, fighting to stay conscious. Her passenger worked furiously, but the fog grew thick and heavy. She’d already inhaled too much.
Suddenly, her mind was too crowded. In trying to keep her alive, her demon had given her no warning at all. She washelpless as something invaded her headspace, insidious as an intracranial bleed. She swayed and hit the ground face-first.
18
TORMENT
