Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(35)

Balam studied his cousin. The freshly laundered clothes, the thick gray hair neatly coiffed. “Did you? Have something better to do?” If Balam had to guess, Powageh had been waiting, breath bated, for his summons.

“Of course not,” his cousin said, “but that’s not the point. The point is—”

Balam waved Powageh’s protests away. “I have news from Tova, come from my man in Golden Eagle. Do you want it or not?”

Powageh’s eyes flickered, annoyed, but xe could not hide xir eagerness. “You know I do. Did our boy succeed? Have the Watchers fallen?”

It was not the first time Powageh had referred to Saaya’s son as “our boy.” Balam certainly did not think of Serapio with such affection, but he had not spent years with him as Powageh had. And thank the jaguar god for that. Because what he must ask of his cousin would be difficult.

“He did. The Watchers are dead but for a handful of the young or feeble, and they have scattered back from whence they came.”

Powageh nodded, but xe did not look entirely happy. “Ah, he was a fine young man in the end. I hate that this is the fate we laid for him.”

The same lament as before.

“Well, I have some spectacular news for you,” Balam said. “He’s not dead.”

Powageh’s face clouded. “Your humor leaves much to be desired.”

“Then it is good that I am serious.”

Powageh sat forward, rubbing at xir throat as if trying to dislodge whatever emotion was stuck there. “Tell me.”

“While he succeeded in killing the Sun Priest, unbeknownst to myself, Golden Eagle had already staged a coup of the Watchers and installed their own Sun Priest.” He glanced at his cousin, letting his contempt show. “A priest who was not invested.”

Balam watched the news sink in.

“Seven hells,” Powageh breathed. “Now I hope you do jest.”

“If only, Cousin. If only.”

Powageh’s laugh was half amusement and half sob. “Twenty-two years of planning, only to be foiled by Golden Eagle’s scheming.”

“More than twenty-two,” Balam observed dryly, “if you count our years of research. The star charts you mapped, the hundreds of glyph books deciphered, me translating those obscure workings Paadeh dug up from the gods know where.”

“And Saaya.” Powageh’s voice was soft.

Balam would not have mentioned her sacrifice, but he was glad for Powageh to say it. Balam was not sure he had loved Saaya, but if he had ever loved anyone, it was her. She had been his equal in all ways, and their time together had been a rare and precious thing. But in the end, Saaya had loved revenge more than either of the people sitting now at this table.

He cleared his throat, and with it those bittersweet memories.

Powageh’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “How is it possible he lives?”

Balam shrugged. “I am but a lowly merchant lord.”

“Humility has never suited you.”

“And yet.” Balam sighed dramatically.

“Your best theory, then, Cousin.”

“That the true Sun Priest, the one invested with the sun god’s power, is alive somewhere in the city. As long as she lives, a part of the sun god lives in Tova. Likewise, my guess is that Saaya’s son must have survived because the crow god is not done with him. He still needs a body to spill Sun Priest blood.”

“If she lives, will she rally the remaining Watchers? Attempt to recreate the priesthood?”

“Who can say? I imagine her days are few, and the Odo Sedoh will not rest until he has hunted her down.”

“But the more time passes, the more the sun’s power returns. The crow god may have missed his window of opportunity.”

“Interesting that you should mention that. It appears the eclipse still hangs over Tova, the sun caught behind the moon, both neither rising nor setting.”

“Impossible!”

“Apparently not.”

“The gods locked in battle?” xe ventured.

“Until one of their earthly champions is victorious. It does seem that way. But I am doing what I can to aid our cause.”

Powageh’s gaze narrowed in suspicion. “Is that why you look like shit? What sorcery are you working, Balam? Are you spending time in the shadow world?”

“No. Something better.” He had brought the thief’s sack down to his office with him, and he pulled the book out and set it on the table. Powageh rotated it around and read the cover, eyes growing wide.

“Seven hells,” xe murmured. “Where did you get this?”

“I had dinner a month ago with Lord Tuun, who mentioned hearing that it was in the royal library here. All this time, I’d thought it was locked away in the celestial tower.”

“They confiscated everything related to dreamwalking after the Treaty was signed.” Powageh ran a hand reverently over the cover. “I thought this burned three hundred years ago.”

“I don’t know how it came to be in Cuecola. I imagine there is a story there. But for my needs, Lord Tuun’s gossip and an enterprising thief were enough.” His mind flashed back to the spill of warm blood against his chest as he sank his knife into the thief’s belly, the light leaving the man’s eyes. The image stretched in his mind, the dead man’s mouth moved, called his name. He shook off the vision. “It is considered only a relic these days. No one takes dreamwalking seriously in this modern era.”