XLI

I IGNORE NETIQRET. HEART POUNDING.

Close my eyes, and focus.

I am in the dimly lit interior of Netiqret’s house; I launch Ahmose from his seat and make him take several strides until his back is toward the corner of the room.

“Sorry, Ahmose.” I have him whisper the words. “Netiqret is sending someone to kill you. Anything you need to tell me?” The faint sound of footsteps downstairs. I command him to respond as quietly as he can.

“I don’t know how to fight.” He breathes it.

I tell him to calm. To steady. I hate controlling him like this, and I know he will too, but better than the alternative. “I do. I’ll fight for you. Do you trust me?”

He does nothing for a long moment, then nods.

I take a half second to bring myself back, to open my eyes. Netiqret is crouched in front of me. Watching with intense curiosity.

“Call them off.”

“How?” she asks simply.

I stare at her. She’s not stopping me. Just… interested.

Vek.

She has no interest in getting rid of the risk Ahmose poses—or at least, it’s not the only reason she’s doing this.

I snarl and shut my eyes again. Footsteps on the stairs now. Ahmose’s heart races, but he’s steady.

I command him to give me control of his limbs, then extinguish the candles nearby, and draw back into the deepest shadows.

It’s not long before the half-light shows figures, little more than silhouettes against the window, entering. Three of them. Bigger than Ahmose, all wrapped in iunctii white. I see long, thin shapes in their hands, catch the glint of brass. They’re scanning the room, but the darkness has kept me hidden and the closest man has his back to me.

My mind races. I only imbued Ahmose with a small amount of Will—he reluctantly agreed to it as an emergency measure to communicate, the first day we found ourselves in Netiqret’s home—but I also had him keep one of my Vitaeria, in case he had to escape through the tunnels and back past the poison mists below the Infernis. And I know from Qabr that I can use a iunctus to imbue Will in an object, regardless of whether they’ve been through the Aurora Columnae.

I step soundlessly forward, touch the nearest intruder on the neck, and use Ahmose to Harmonically imbue him.

“Give me your sword,” I whisper, Ahmose’s voice odd in my—his—ears. “And then protect me.”

None of the usual sense of connection, and for an instant I panic at the lack. But then, I never felt it with regular imbuing, either. It’s Ahmose’s mind doing the work, now, not mine.

The other men are already turning as the iunctus hands his blade over without hesitation. It’s a sickle-shaped sabre. I’m not accustomed to the style, but it’s better than nothing.

The remaining two iunctii have seen me but I don’t give them a chance to go on the offensive; I dive and slash at the closest as the iunctus I’ve just commanded crashes into the other one, the two of them tumbling to the ground in a furious mess of flailing limbs. Metal abruptly protrudes through the back of my temporary ally. It doesn’t stop his struggling.

It’s an unnerving fight, from there. Awkward and mostly mute. I’m slower, unused to Ahmose’s proportions and strength, but the iunctii are unskilled. The one I’m engaged with thrusts but it’s simple and direct, no subtlety to the attack; I see it coming in time to slide around it and slice hard at his wrist. Hand and blade hit the ground together.

I close quickly, not allowing the maimed man a chance to react with more than a groan before thrusting my blade up, through his mouth and into his brain. He crumples. I don’t pause, extracting the sabre and bending to swing hard at the iunctus grappling on the floor near me. The bronze bites into his cheek, his eye; he thrashes and moans and I hack again, no skill to the motion, just intent. This time the metal penetrates. He flops, and is still.

The final iunctus, the one with the blade still protruding through him, is on the floor. Staring up at me, the other one’s half-removed head on its shoulder, unsettlingly little blood seeping from it in the semi-darkness.

I hurriedly command Ahmose to command him again. “Answer truthfully and fully. Are there any more of you?”

“No.”

“Am I in any further danger?”

“No.”

I exhale.

“Ahmose,” I eventually have Ahmose say aloud, “I am going to give up control now. I’ll be back soon. Find somewhere to hide until then.” I adjust his grip on the bronze sabre, and spear the final iunctus through the ear.

I open my eyes.

NETIQRET IS INFURIATINGLY NONCHALANT AS we make our way back to her house.

My blood still throbs in time to the lingering thud of Ahmose’s heart. It’s all I can do to focus on my guide’s movements, her pacing, as we ghost through the crowd. All I can do not to wreck our anonymity and explode at her.

“A test, Siamun. Just a test,” was all she said to me as I stared at her, hands twitching to fists, the sickly green of the Infernis flowing by behind her. “I had to be sure of some things, before we proceeded.”

Confusion and anger and the heat of battle warred to be let out, and I almost did and danger be damned. But she was watching me too closely. Too expectantly. A test, yes. But one that wasn’t over. This was as much about my character. My temperament. And with the possibility of an Overseer around every corner, even a loud remonstrance was a risk.

“I had to kill them,” I eventually snarled.

“They were already dead, young one,” was her sober reply.

A year ago, I would have walked away. Collected Ahmose and walked away and gods damn the consequences, confident I could make it on my own.

But Obiteum has shaped me into something less prideful, more practical. And responsibility has made me readier to suppress my rage. Responsibility to Ahmose. To Caeror. To my friends in Res. Gods, even my enemies there.

“I need your word, Netiqret.” I said it to the space between us, unable to look at her. Strained almost to breaking. “Ahmose remains unharmed. If you try and hurt him again, any deal you may want with me is finished.”

Chain your anger in the dark, and it will only grow.

But sometimes chains are the only way.

She nodded slowly. Thoughtfully. “You have it.” She leaned forward and for the first time in her regal smile, I saw her occupation embedded in her brown eyes. “But Siamun? Don’t ever tell me no again.”

I study her now as we slip invisible through the throngs. A woman accustomed to control. A woman who needs it, I think. That makes sense, given her vocation. It’s why I gave an appropriately reluctant nod to her last demand. She is used to getting her way. I’ve no intention of letting her have it, but for now, she will believe her point made.

“Surely there were better ways to test me.” We’re almost back. Enough time for her to think me stewing, chafing at the situation. If I’m too quiet, too accepting, then she’ll doubt it’s real.

“None as swift, or as informative.”

“Perhaps. But it doesn’t build trust.”

“I do not need you to trust me. I have a place in this city. You are a stranger and your iunctus is a fugitive. You exist through my goodwill alone.” She says it with quiet certainty, steering us to the right, just away from the sweeping gaze of an Overseer ahead. I think I’m beginning to see the patterns she sees, albeit still long after she does. “We are not allies. We are not friends. Your capabilities are of interest to me, but I needed a more thorough demonstration before we proceeded.”

Vek. So calm and cold.

“So what do you want from the Nomarch?” I raise an eyebrow at her glance. “I’m going to need to know eventually.”

She looks like she’s not going to tell me. Then she sighs. “Anonymity. I need to avoid having my face checked by the Overseers just as much as you do. I wish to be forgotten by Ka.”

She says it as if it is almost embarrassing to admit. Meets my gaze with a sheepish shrug.

It’s a good act. I pretend to believe it. “Why not just destroy the Nomarch, then, if you have access?”

She snorts. “There are fail-safes. Surrogate groups of iunctii housed in other cities, always connected to the primary. Always knowing what the Nomarch knows. Destroy the one here, and Ka will simply transport in a duplicate to take its place.” She frowns. “Quite aside from the fact that much of Duat would eventually break down without the Nomarch, of course. It operates the machinery that cleanses our air. It monitors the filtration system for our water. It maintains the farming on the upper level. Take it away, and everyone here likely dies within a few months. Which would be counterproductive,” she adds dryly.

I don’t say anything to that. If the Nomarch controls all those systems, then it surely must control the Gleaners. And perhaps any extra layers of security that sit around the pyramid.

On the other hand, if Ka is the one imbuing the Nomarch… vek.

“How long until you can get me in?”

“There should be a window in about six months. We can train you to—”

“I don’t have that kind of time. I need it to be weeks.”

We angle slightly to the right, passing behind the path of a large group and into the relative quiet of Netiqret’s street. She frowns. “We have to approach this cautiously, Siamun. Ka, the Nomarch—if they get any hint that we have found a weakness, they will adapt. Ruin our chances.”

“In six months, my need to get to the Nomarch will be irrelevant.” A lie—I have no idea how long I have—but I’ve already wasted too much time just getting over to this side of the river.

We stop outside the gate to Netiqret’s residence. She considers me. Frustrated, but she knows there has to be some give-and-take for this to work. Despite her previous assertion, I’m simply not a resource she can replace.

“It will be far more dangerous.”

So it’s possible. “Better than pointless.”

She nods slowly. “It is likely best if you speak to your iunctus before he sees me,” she observes. “Allow me to go and make some enquiries. I will return soon.”

She leaves and I enter the settling privacy of the house, calling Ahmose’s name loudly to let him know I’m not another iunctus coming to kill him. Silence is my only answer. I climb the first flight of stairs. Ahmose is sitting in a chair in the far corner of the darkened room. He twitches as I enter. Bronze sabre still gripped, too tightly.

“Ahmose.” I focus on him, rather than the bodies and rent flesh between us. Make my voice gentle. “Gods. Are you alright?”

He stares at me, then gives a bitter, slightly manic laugh. “Perfectly.”

I take a place beside him. Not saying anything. Not sure what I can say. We sit for almost a full minute, just gazing at the bodies.

Ahmose moves first. Slowly extends his hand, offering me the stained bronze blade. Hilt first.

“I know you had to,” he says.

I take the sword. I cannot imagine what it must have been like, for him. He is a naturally anxious man; for him to be attacked is one thing, but to not be in control of his own body during the ordeal… “I’ve told Netiqret that if anything like that happens again, we walk away.”

“We’re not doing that already?” His eyes are fixed on the shadowed pools of gore.

“We need her.”

“You need her.”

“I need her,” I agree.

Another long pause, and then he nods. Seems to break from his sombreness and introspection, just a little. “Then we need her.” He gives me a tight smile, and the tension eases from the room. “So. Did you see the funeral?”

“We even went into the Temple of Ka.”

“You got into the courtyard? You saw Ophois open the gates to the west?” He sighs regretfully when I nod. “I saw it once, as a child. I always meant to go again.”

“You obviously did.”

He pauses, and then chuckles. “True. But I didn’t much get to appreciate it, the second time.”

A lull. I gaze at my dim reflection in the metal in my hand. “What was it like?”

“Dying?”

“Dying.” I’ve wondered, plenty of times, since we met. Have thought about asking before. “Sorry. I don’t know if that’s rude, or…”

“No. Not rude.” He’s contemplative. “You know something’s wrong. Something’s different. I was ill, but I’d been ill before and this felt… worse. Not in terms of the pain. It wasn’t even that painful. But I could feel my body not resisting. I could feel it giving in. I wanted it to fight, but it just wouldn’t.” He says it all in a vaguely melancholy murmur. Like it’s the first time he’s really thought about it. “Then there’s a point where you know everything is stopping and you start to panic, you want to call out and get help, but you physically can’t. And then that fades and it’s like going to sleep. You’re tired, and there’s just… nothing.” He glances up at me. “Not until you wake up again.”

“Were you happy when you did?”

He dips his head. “For a time,” he says softly. “You start out knowing that even without the promise of the Field of Reeds, the work needs to be done for those remaining in the east. The three-and-thirty years is a sacrifice most are willing to make, and I believed—we all believed—that Ka would not bring anyone back who was not worthy of the task.” He shakes his head. “Then, the days start to drag. You begin to feel less than you were. You begin to feel trapped, and you wonder if maybe there’s a kind of beauty in simply fulfilling a purpose, and resting. But then you fear, because those thoughts are profane, and the profane do not reach Aaru. You hate yourself for your doubt. So you keep going.” He finishes quietly, staring at the bodies on the ground.

Neither of us say anything for a while. I regret asking the question; we have strayed too far into a topic that Ahmose still struggles with. It took him a long time to accept that Aaru, the Field of Reeds, is just another of Ka’s lies. A false promise of paradise to coax everyone into line. Even now, I can see the vestiges of anger and dismay warring on his face.

Eventually, I stir. Decide to move the conversation on. “Have you seen Kiya, since the attack?”

“No. Not since you left. I imagine Netiqret told her to stay locked in her room.” Bitterness at the last part.

“I haven’t seen a iunctus as young as her before.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Nor I. There are no children in the west.” The observation seems to draw him out, just a little. “There is an assumption that if a child dies, they are taken straight on to the Field of Reeds. Netiqret would not be able to take her out often, I would imagine. It would risk…”

He trails off as we hear footsteps on the stairs; a few moments later, Netiqret herself appears. She crosses her arms and purses her lips as she surveys the gore and damage, apparently not having overheard anything of our conversation. “What a mess,” she mutters. Her gaze goes to Ahmose. “I apologise for what happened. They were instructed not to harm you.”

His eyes widen slightly at the concession, and even I admit to a flicker of surprise. Ahmose has assured me previously that the living never, ever apologise to Westerners. “I understand.” Deferent to a fault, even in this.

Netiqret nods brusquely, then turns to me. Examining me with an uncomfortably assessing stare for much longer than I’d like.

“I have a way in, and it’s only a few months away,” she says eventually.

I see her hesitation. “But?”

Her lips, for some reason, quirk in wry amusement.

“But you’re not going to like it.”