“Yes.”
I thought of the half-dozen slurs and insults he should’ve thrown at me in place of that quiet affirmative, and frowned. Something was wrong. But I could not exactly ask him n fwhether he was all right. He would laugh at my attempted concern.
So I tried a different tack. “They’re yours, you know. Shahar, Dekarta. Your grandchildren. Great-grand, actually.”
This, at least, drew his attention. He frowned at me. “What?”
I shrugged. “I assume you slept with T’vril Arameri’s wife before you left Sky.”
“I slept with half of Sky before I left. What does that have to do with anything?”
I stared at him. “You really don’t know.” And here I’d thought he’d done it as part of some scheme. I frowned, putting my hands on my hips. “Why the hells did you leave Sky anyhow? Last I saw, you were on the brink of being adopted into the Central Family, maneuvering your way toward becoming the next family head. A bare century later, you’re a whoremonger, living among the commonfolk in the seediest part of town?”
His eyes narrowed. “I got tired of it.”
“Got tired of what?”
“All of it.” Ahad looked away now, toward the center of town — and the great omnipresent bulk of the World Tree, a brown and green shadow limned by the slanting afternoon sun. Almost hidden in the first crotch of the trunk was a glimmer of pearlescent white: Sky.
“I got tired of the Arameri.” Ahad turned the flower again. It looked like something common — a dandelion, one of the few flowers that still bloomed in Shadow’s dimness. He’d apparently plucked it from between the walkway stones that led up to the back door. I wondered why he was so fascinated by it. “T’vril married a fullblood to cement his rule. She was his third cousin on his father’s side or something. Didn’t give a damn about him, and the feeling was mutual. I seduced her on behalf of a branch family from outside Sky; they wanted their own girl married to T’vril instead. I needed the capital to boost my investments. So I took the money that they offered and made sure he found out about the affair. He wasn’t even upset.” His lip curled.
I nodded, slowly. It amazed me that it had taken so much for him to understand. “Not much different from what you did when we were slaves.”
Ahad’s glare was sharp and dangerous. “It was by my choice. That makes all the difference in the world.”
“Does it?” I leaned against one of the porch columns, folding my arms. “Being used one way or another — does it really feel all that different?”
He fell silent. That, and the fact that he’d left Sky afterward, was answer enough. I sighed.
“T’vril’s wife must’ve been pregnant when you left.” I would look up the timing when I got back to Sky, though that was hardly necessary. Deka was all the evidence that mattered.
“I can’t have children.” He said it wearily, with the air of something often repeated. Did so many women want his bitter, heartless seed? Amazing.
“You r ocouldn’t,” I said, “not while there was no goddess of life and death. Not while you were part of Naha, just a half-time reflection of him. But Yeine made you whole. She gave you the gift that gods lost when Enefa died. We all regained it when Yeine took Enefa’s place.” Except me, I did not add, but he already knew that.
Ahad frowned at the flower that dangled in his fingers, considering. “A child …?” He let out a soft chuckle. “Well, now.”
“A son, I’m told.”
“A son.” Was there regret in his voice? Or just a different sort of apathy? “Come unknown and gone already.”
“A demon, you fool,” I said. “And Remath, Shahar, and Dekarta are probably demons as well.” How far removed from a godly forbear did mortals have to be before their blood lost its deadly potency? Shahar and Dekarta were one-eighth god, and their blood had not killed me. Could only a few generations make such a difference? We had all overestimated the danger of the demons, if that was the case — but then, no god would ever have been stupid enough to sample a possible demon’s blood and find out.
Ahad chuckled again. This time it was low and malicious. “Are they, now? From god-enslavers to god-killers. The Arameri are so endlessly interesting.”
I stared at him. “I will never understand you.”
“No, you won’t.” He sighed. “Keep me apprised on everything. Use the damned messaging sphere I gave you; don’t just play with it or whatever it is you do.”