In that respect, these contests were almost in line with Idris sensibilities—yet, at the same time, they were ironically opposite.
The beauty of the games kept her distracted for much longer than she’d intended, her hair permanently locked into a deep maroon blush, even after she got used to the idea of men competing in so little clothing. Eventually, she forced herself to stand and turn away from the performance. She had work to do.
Her servants perked up. They had brought all kinds of luxuries. Full couches and cushions, fruits and wines, even a few men with fans to keep her cool. After only a few weeks in the palace, such comfort was beginning to seem commonplace to her.
“There was a god who came and spoke to me before,” Siri said, scanning the amphitheater, where many of the stone boxes were decorated with colorful canopies. “Which one was it?”
“Lightsong the Bold, Vessel,” one of the serving women said. “God of bravery.”
Siri nodded. “And his colors are?”
“Gold and red, Vessel.”
Siri smiled. His canopy showed that he was there. He wasn’t the only god to have introduced himself to her during her weeks in the palace, but he was the only one who had spent any amount of time chatting with her. He’d been confusing, but at least he’d been willing to talk. She left her box, beautiful dress trailing on the stone. She’d had to force herself to stop feeling guilty for ruining them, since apparently each dress was burned the day after she wore it.
Her servants burst into frantic motion, gathering up furniture and foods, following behind Siri. As before, there were people on the benches below—merchants rich enough to buy entrance to the court or peasants who had won a special lottery. Many turned and looked up as she passed, whispering among themselves.
It’s the only way they get to see me, she realized. Their queen.
That was one thing that Idris certainly handled better than Hallandren. The Idrians had easy access to their king and their government, while in Hallandren the leaders were kept aloof—and therefore made remote, even mysterious.
She approached the red and gold pavilion. The god she had seen before lounged inside, relaxing on a couch, sipping from a large, beautifully engraved glass cup filled with an icy red liquid. He looked much as he had before—the chiseled masculine features that she was already coming to associate with godhood, perfectly styled black hair, golden tan skin, and a distinctly blasé attitude.
That’s something else Idris was right about, she thought. My people may be too stern, but it also isn’t good to become as self-indulgent as some of these Returned.
The god, Lightsong, eyed her and nodded in deference. “My queen.”
“Lightsong the Bold,” she said as one of her servants brought her chair. “I trust your day has been pleasant?”
“So far this day I have discovered several disturbing and redefining elements of my soul which are slowly restructuring the very nature of my existence.” He took a sip from his drink. “Other than that, it was uneventful. You?”
“Fewer revelations,” Siri said, sitting. “More confusion. I’m still inexperienced in the way things work here. I was hoping you could answer some of my questions, give me some information, perhaps . . .”
“Afraid not,” Lightsong said.
Siri paused, then flushed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong. I—”
“No, nothing wrong, child,” Lightsong said, his smile deepening. “The reason I cannot help you is because I, unfortunately, know nothing. I’m useless. Haven’t you heard?”
“Um . . . I’m afraid I haven’t.”
“You should pay better attention,” he said, raising his cup toward her. “Shame on you,” he said, smilingly.
Siri frowned, growing more embarrassed. Lightsong’s high priest—distinguished by his oversized headgear—looked on disapprovingly, and that only caused her to be more self-conscious. Why should I be the ashamed one? she thought, growing annoyed. Lightsong is the one who is making veiled insults against me—and making overt ones against himself! It’s like he enjoys self-deprecation.
“Actually,” Siri said, looking over at him, lifting her chin, “I have heard of your reputation, Lightsong the Bold. ‘Useless’ wasn’t the word I heard used, however.”
“Oh?” he said.
“No. I was told you were harmless, though I can see that is not true—for in speaking to you, my sense of reason has certainly been harmed. Not to mention my head, which is beginning to ache.”
“Both common symptoms of dealing with me, I’m afraid,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.
“That could be solved,” Siri said. “Perhaps it would help if you refrained from speaking when others are present. I think I should find you quite amiable in those circumstances.”
Lightsong laughed. Not a belly laugh, like her father or some of the men back in Idris, but a more refined laugh. Still, it seemed genuine.
“I knew I liked you, girl,” he said.
“I’m not sure if I should feel complimented or not.”
“Depends upon how seriously you take yourself,” Lightsong said. “Come, abandon that silly chair and recline on one of these couches. Enjoy the evening.”
“I’m not sure that would be proper,” Siri said.
“I’m a god,” Lightsong said with a wave of his hand. “I define propriety.”
“I think I’ll sit anyway,” Siri said, smiling, though she did stand and have her servants bring the chair farther under the canopy so that she didn’t have to speak so loudly. She also tried not to pay too much attention to the contests, lest she be drawn in by them again.
Lightsong smiled. He seemed to enjoy making others uncomfortable. But, then, he also seemed to have no concern for how he himself appeared.
“I meant what I said before, Lightsong,” she said. “I need information.”
“And I, my dear, was quite honest as well. I am useless, mostly. However, I’ll try my best to answer your questions—assuming, of course, you will provide answers to mine.”
“And if I don’t know the answers to your questions?”
“Then make something up,” he said. “I’ll never know the difference. Unknowing ignorance is preferable to informed stupidity.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Do so and you defeat the point. Now, your questions?”
“What happened to the previous God Kings?”
“Died,” Lightsong said. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. It happens to people sometimes, even gods. We make, if you haven’t noticed, laughable immortals. We keep forgetting about that ‘live forever’ part and instead find ourselves unexpectedly dead. And for the second time at that. You might say that we’re twice as bad at staying alive as regular folk.”
“How do the God Kings die?”
“Gave away their Breath,” Lightsong said. “Isn’t that right, Scoot?”
Lightsong’s high priest nodded. “It is, Your Grace. His Divine Majesty Susebron the Fourth died to cure the plague of distrentia that struck T’Telir fifty years ago.”
“Wait,” Lightsong said. “Isn’t distrentia a disease of the bowels?”
“Indeed,” the high priest said.
Lightsong frowned. “You mean to tell me that our God King—the most holy and divine personage in our pantheon—died to cure a few tummy aches?”
“I wouldn’t exactly put it that way, Your Grace.”
Lightsong leaned over to Siri. “I’m expected to do that someday, you know. Kill myself so that some old lady will be able to stop messing herself in public. No wonder I’m such an embarrassing god. Must have to do with subconscious self-worth issues.”
The high priest looked apologetically at Siri. For the first time, she realized that the overweight priest’s disapproval wasn’t directed at her, but at his god. To her, he smiled.
Maybe they’re not all like Treledees, she thought, smiling back.
“The God King’s sacrifice was not an empty gesture, Vessel,” the priest said. “True, diarrhea may not be a great danger to most, but to the elderly and the young it can be quite deadly. Plus, the epidemic conditions were spreading other diseases, and the city’s commerce—and therefore the kingdom’s—had slowed to a crawl. People in outlying villages went months without necessary supplies.”
“I wonder how those who were cured felt,” Lightsong said musingly, “waking to find their God King dead.”
“One would think they’d be honored, Your Grace.”
“I think they’d be annoyed. The king came all that way, and they were too sick to notice. Anyway, my queen, there you go. That was actually helpful information. You now have me worried that I’ve broken my promise to you about being useless.”
“If it’s any consolation,” she said, “you weren’t all that helpful yourself. It’s your priest who actually seems useful.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve tried for years to corrupt him. Never seems to work. I can’t even get him to acknowledge the theological paradox it causes when I try to tempt him to do evil.”
Siri paused, then found herself smiling even more broadly.
“What?” Lightsong asked, then finished off the last of his drink. It was immediately replaced by another, this one blue.
“Talking to you is like swimming in a river,” she said. “I keep getting pulled along with the current and I’m never sure when I’ll be able to take another breath.”
“Watch out for the rocks, Vessel,” the high priest noted. “They look rather insignificant, but have sharp edges under the surface.”
“Bah,” Lightsong said. “It’s the crocodiles you have to watch for. They can bite. And . . . what exactly were we talking about, anyway?”
“The God Kings,” Siri said. “When the last one died, an heir had already been produced?”
“Indeed,” the high priest said. “In fact, he had just been married the year before. The child was born only weeks before he died.”
Siri sat back in her chair, thoughtful. “And the God King before him?”
“Died to heal the children of a village which had been attacked by bandits,” Lightsong said. “The commoners love the story. The king was so moved by their suffering that he gave himself up for the simple people.”
“And had he been married the year before?”
“No, Vessel,” the high priest said. “It was several years after his marriage. Though, he did die only a month after his second child was born.”
Siri looked up. “Was the first child a daughter?”
“Yes,” the priest said. “A woman of no divine powers. How did you know?”
Colors! Siri thought. Both times, right after the heir was born. Did having a child somehow make the God Kings wish to give their lives away? Or was it something more sinister? A cured plague or healed village were both things that, with a little creative propaganda, could be invented to cover up some other cause of death.