Asteria had said that her illness drained Ame’s—Odessa’s—strength daily, no matter how long she rested. And despite my attempts, I couldn’t purge it completely from her body. If it was left untreated, I knew it would eventually consume her whole.
It frustrated me that I was helpless here. I was supposed to be the best; the one the patterns favored the most, the one with the brightest, most powerful aether-gate. In my arrogance, I assumed I’d be different from the rest of her healers.
I shrank the shadow until it was no more than the size of a pea, but I couldn’t eradicate that final spot. And I knew that the next night would find it grown again, nearly as large.
“How long have you had this?”
“All my life. Mother and the Devoted try to keep it a secret. Wouldn’t be good for morale.”
“I’ll heal you,” I said, before I could stop myself. It didn’t condone her lies, but I understood now why she might have wanted to pretend. “I swear it. I’ll find a way.”
Her face brightened as she looked up at me, her beautiful hair swirling into hues of pink and lavender, and I was momentarily struck dumb all over again. But then her smile faded. “Thank you,” she mumbled. “Are you—are you going to tell Mother?”
I sighed. “No. Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I—” Her hands pressed down against her sternum, and she took a long, shuddering breath. “Okay.”
“Get some rest. I’ll be right next door. If there’s anything you require, don’t hesitate to call for me, even if it’s in the middle of the night.”
“Okay.” She rolled to her side, facing away.
I hated sounding so formal, so aloof. I used to talk about everything with Ame. In the several weeks I’d known her, I’d told her bits about my work as a ranger, even touching lightly on the reasons for my enforced leave. The smatterings of education Asteria had forced on me actually stuck, and I remembered enough to discuss classics like de la Croix’s Histories of the Known World or Merchaud’s Letters of a Devoted with her—there was no awkwardness between us then.
“I got something for you.”
She looked back at me, and her eyes lit up when she saw the books I held out to her. Her fingers ran through the first two covers, then halted at the third. “It’s a first-edition print of the Creation Divine,” she breathed, looking like I’d just spun straw into gold.
“You mentioned you’d never read it. Old Wallof found a copy. I badgered him not to tell you until I could buy it from him.” Ancient legends of past goddesses—the irony was not knowing she was one when I’d bought it. “Nothing about your mother, but it’s got a few illustrations. Some look a bit like you—”
That wasn’t entirely accurate. The book had poorly drawn pictures of drab women staring mournfully out at me with bulging eyes, bull noses, and perplexed expressions. There wasn’t much information either, save the usual vague yarn about generations of twin goddesses protecting the world since time immemorial. Everyone knew that.
But that was before the Breaking. Before Asteria’s twin tried to kill her, and her daughter. Before Asteria’s twin had killed Odessa’s own twin.
The only features the women in these illustrations had in common with Ame—Odessa—was their long multitoned hair, which ended in a flame-like trail behind them. They couldn’t capture vividness and beauty like that in books. We didn’t have color in Aranth the way Odessa wore colors in her hair.
She’d spotted the tear in the leather, her eyes widening. “What happened?”
“Just a small mishap, Your Holiness.”
She flinched from that. “I—don’t call me ‘Your Holiness.’”
“It wouldn’t be proper, Your Holiness.” I knew I was a hypocrite, but a line had to be drawn before I could be tempted to step over it. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
When I left the room, she was still staring after me, her arms wrapped tightly around the book and a look of pure misery on her face. The desire to step back in and comfort her was overwhelming.
I pushed the ache aside. She was unreachable now. It didn’t matter how I felt about it.
Asteria looked up as I entered her study, pausing in the act of brushing her own long, impossibly colored hair. I placed my sword on her table, still in its sheath. “Is Odessa asleep?” she asked. “I noticed you brought a history book for her.”
“The Creation Divine—a first edition.”
“I remember reading that. I was quite young then,” she sighed, though did not explain further. The past was a painful subject, I knew, a place she was reluctant to visit. She set the brush down. “How did you know what books she’d like?”
“Research,” I said shortly, not eager to elaborate and betray myself.
“Not stolen, I would hope?”
“Of course not.” I’m not a woman of many principles, but I learned early on in life that you don’t need logical reasons for wanting to do things. And I wasn’t going to insult Ame—Odessa, my mind snarled—by giving her stolen presents.
“Lan, you tried to pick my pocket at our first meeting. You had no idea I was the goddess of the very city you lived in. You’ve gotten better at following the law over the years, but old habits die hard.”
“I’ve been behaving.”
“You palmed one of the Windshifters’ brooches last week.”
Nothing gets past Asteria. “Filia can afford the loss.”
“What did you do with the money?”
I shifted uneasily. “I don’t see why that’s important.”
“You lived in Mistress Daliah’s orphanage for a time, did you not? I pay you enough coin to live comfortably on, and any vices of yours—those I know of, at least—require little extravagance. You come here with a book and a feather behind your ear. Mistress Daliah was ever fond of giving away those feather pins.”
I gave in. “I bought the book with my own money. As for the rest . . . Filia’s a vain little hen. Losing brooches will only improve her character. She is constantly misplacing her trinkets and blaming the servants for it. So I said I’d start taking her jewelry so she wouldn’t have anything to accuse them of stealing.” She dared me to. I could never resist a challenge. “Besides, the orphans could stand to have a few more supplies this month.”
She actually laughed. “I can’t say I disapprove.”
“You’ve been giving the Devoted freer rein than usual. I had to try and balance it out in other ways, Your Holiness.”
“I want to know how far they’ll push when they think I’m not watching. Perhaps I should favor the Catseyes tomorrow instead of the Starmaker.”
“Rather you didn’t.” I’d never really liked being part of the Devoted and rarely interacted with the others. I was always more at ease with my fellow rangers—
No. Don’t think about that now.
“I know you hate politics, but that’s how the game is played. Pitting them against each other means they’ll be too busy to plot against me.”
“They wouldn’t dare.” How could anyone think to go against the goddess who was literally keeping their city afloat?