Lightsong asked.
“Well what, Your Grace?”
“Petitions.”
Llarimar shook his head. “You aren’t hearing petitions today, Your Grace. Remember?”
“No. I have
you
to remember things like that for me.”
“Well, then,” Llarimar said, flipping a page over, “consider it officially remembered that you have no petitions today. Your priests will be otherwise employed.”
“They will?” Lightsong demanded. “Doing what?”
“Kneeling reverently in the courtyard, Your Grace. Our new queen arrives today.”
Lightsong froze.
I really need to pay more attention to politics.
“Today?”
“Indeed, Your Grace. Our lord the God King will be married.”
“So soon?”
“As soon as she arrives, Your Grace.”
Interesting
, Lightsong thought.
Susebron getting a wife.
The God King was the only one of the Returned who could marry. Returned couldn’t produce children—save, of course, for the king, who had never drawn a breath as a living man. Lightsong had always found the distinction odd.
“Your Grace,” Llarimar said. “We will need a Lifeless Command in order to arrange our troops on the field outside the city to welcome the queen.”
Lightsong raised an eyebrow. “We plan to attack her?”
Llarimar gave him a stern look.
Lightsong chuckled. “Fledgling fruit,” he said, giving up one of the Command phrases that would let others control the city’s Lifeless. It wasn’t the core Command, of course. The phrase he’d given to Llarimar would allow a person to control the Lifeless only in noncombat situations, and it would expire one day after its first use. Lightsong often thought that the convoluted system of Commands used to control the Lifeless was needlessly complex. However, being one of the four gods to hold Lifeless Commands
did
make him rather important at times.
The priests began to chat quietly about preparations. Lightsong waited, still thinking about Susebron and the impending wedding. He folded his arms and rested against the side of the doorway.
“Scoot?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Did I have a wife? Before I died, I mean.”
Llarimar hesitated. “You know I cannot speak of your life before your Return, Lightsong. Knowledge of your past won’t do anyone any good.”
Lightsong leaned his head back, resting it against the wall, looking up at the white ceiling. “I...remember a face, sometimes,” he said softly. “A beautiful, youthful face. I think it might have been her.”
The priests hushed.
“Inviting brown hair,” Lightsong said. “Red lips, three shades shy of the seventh harmonic, with a deep beauty. Dark tan skin.”
A priest scuttled forward with the red tome, and Llarimar started writing furiously. He didn’t prompt Lightsong for more information, but simply took down the god’s words as they came.
Lightsong fell silent, turning away from the men and their scribbling pens. What does it matter? he thought.
That life is gone. Instead, I get to be a god. Regardless of my belief in the religion itself, the perks are nice.
He walked away, trailed by a retinue of servants and lesser priests who would see to his needs. Offerings done, dreams recorded, and petitions canceled, Lightsong was free to pursue his own activities.
He didn’t return to his main chambers. Instead, he made his way out onto his patio deck and waved for a pavilion to be set up for him.
If a new queen was going to arrive today, he wanted to get a good look at her.
Annotations for Chapter 3
Four
Annotations for Chapter 4
Siri’s carriage rolled to a stop outside of T’Telir, capital of Hallandren. She stared out the window and realized something very, very intimidating: Her people had
no
idea what it meant to be ostentatious. Flowers weren’t ostentatious. Ten soldiers protecting a carriage was not ostentatious. Throwing a tantrum in public wasn’t ostentatious.
The field of forty thousand soldiers, dressed in brilliant blue and gold, standing in perfect rows,
“Well what, Your Grace?”
“Petitions.”
Llarimar shook his head. “You aren’t hearing petitions today, Your Grace. Remember?”
“No. I have
you
to remember things like that for me.”
“Well, then,” Llarimar said, flipping a page over, “consider it officially remembered that you have no petitions today. Your priests will be otherwise employed.”
“They will?” Lightsong demanded. “Doing what?”
“Kneeling reverently in the courtyard, Your Grace. Our new queen arrives today.”
Lightsong froze.
I really need to pay more attention to politics.
“Today?”
“Indeed, Your Grace. Our lord the God King will be married.”
“So soon?”
“As soon as she arrives, Your Grace.”
Interesting
, Lightsong thought.
Susebron getting a wife.
The God King was the only one of the Returned who could marry. Returned couldn’t produce children—save, of course, for the king, who had never drawn a breath as a living man. Lightsong had always found the distinction odd.
“Your Grace,” Llarimar said. “We will need a Lifeless Command in order to arrange our troops on the field outside the city to welcome the queen.”
Lightsong raised an eyebrow. “We plan to attack her?”
Llarimar gave him a stern look.
Lightsong chuckled. “Fledgling fruit,” he said, giving up one of the Command phrases that would let others control the city’s Lifeless. It wasn’t the core Command, of course. The phrase he’d given to Llarimar would allow a person to control the Lifeless only in noncombat situations, and it would expire one day after its first use. Lightsong often thought that the convoluted system of Commands used to control the Lifeless was needlessly complex. However, being one of the four gods to hold Lifeless Commands
did
make him rather important at times.
The priests began to chat quietly about preparations. Lightsong waited, still thinking about Susebron and the impending wedding. He folded his arms and rested against the side of the doorway.
“Scoot?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Did I have a wife? Before I died, I mean.”
Llarimar hesitated. “You know I cannot speak of your life before your Return, Lightsong. Knowledge of your past won’t do anyone any good.”
Lightsong leaned his head back, resting it against the wall, looking up at the white ceiling. “I...remember a face, sometimes,” he said softly. “A beautiful, youthful face. I think it might have been her.”
The priests hushed.
“Inviting brown hair,” Lightsong said. “Red lips, three shades shy of the seventh harmonic, with a deep beauty. Dark tan skin.”
A priest scuttled forward with the red tome, and Llarimar started writing furiously. He didn’t prompt Lightsong for more information, but simply took down the god’s words as they came.
Lightsong fell silent, turning away from the men and their scribbling pens. What does it matter? he thought.
That life is gone. Instead, I get to be a god. Regardless of my belief in the religion itself, the perks are nice.
He walked away, trailed by a retinue of servants and lesser priests who would see to his needs. Offerings done, dreams recorded, and petitions canceled, Lightsong was free to pursue his own activities.
He didn’t return to his main chambers. Instead, he made his way out onto his patio deck and waved for a pavilion to be set up for him.
If a new queen was going to arrive today, he wanted to get a good look at her.
Annotations for Chapter 3
Four
Annotations for Chapter 4
Siri’s carriage rolled to a stop outside of T’Telir, capital of Hallandren. She stared out the window and realized something very, very intimidating: Her people had
no
idea what it meant to be ostentatious. Flowers weren’t ostentatious. Ten soldiers protecting a carriage was not ostentatious. Throwing a tantrum in public wasn’t ostentatious.
The field of forty thousand soldiers, dressed in brilliant blue and gold, standing in perfect rows,
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