Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(100)

“So, you think someone else followed the man with the sword, killed the only witness, and then . . .”

“Both of them vanished,” Lightsong said. “I found a trapdoor. I’m thinking there must be passages beneath the palace. It all seems fairly obvious to me. One thing, however, is not obvious.” He glanced at Llarimar, slowing before they reached the main group of priests and servants.

“And what is that, Your Grace?” Llarimar asked.

“How in the name of the Colors I figured all of this out!”

“I’m trying to grasp that myself, Your Grace.”

Lightsong shook his head. “This comes from before, Scoot. Everything I’m doing, it feels natural. Who was I before I died?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace,” Llarimar said, turning away.

“Oh, come now, Scoot. I’ve spent most of my Returned life just lounging about, but then the moment someone is killed, I leap out of bed and can’t resist poking around. Doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?”

Llarimar didn’t look at him.

“Colors!” Lightsong swore. “I was someone useful? I was just beginning to convince myself that I’d died in a reasonable way—such as falling off a stump when I was drunk.”

“You know you died in a brave way, Your Grace.”

“It could have been a really high stump.”

Llarimar just shook his head. “Either way, Your Grace, you know I can’t say anything about who you were before.”

“Well, these instincts came from somewhere,” Lightsong said as they walked over to the main group of watching priests and servants. The head priest had returned with a small wooden box. Wild scratching came from inside. “Thank you,” Lightsong snapped, grabbing the box and passing by without even breaking stride. “I’m telling you, Scoot, I am not pleased.”

“You seemed rather happy this morning, Your Grace,” Llarimar noted as they walked away from Mercystar’s palace. Her priest was left behind, a complaint dying on his lips, Lightsong’s entourage trailing after their god.

“I was happy,” Lightsong said, “because I didn’t know what was going on. How am I going to be properly indolent if I keep itching to investigate things? Honestly, this murder will completely destroy my hard-won reputation.”

“My sympathies, Your Grace, that you have been inconvenienced by a semblance of motivation.”

“Quite right,” Lightsong said, sighing. He handed over the box with its furious Lifeless rodent. “Here. You think my Awakeners can break its security phrase?”

“Eventually,” Llarimar said. “Though it’s an animal, Your Grace. It won’t be able to tell us anything directly.”

“Have them do it anyway,” Lightsong said. “Meanwhile, I need to think about this case some more.”

They walked back to his palace. However, the thing that now struck Lightsong was the fact that he’d used the word “case” in reference to the murder. It was a word he’d never heard used in that particular context. Yet he knew that it fit. Instinctively, automatically.

I didn’t have to learn to speak again when I Returned, he thought. I didn’t have to learn to walk again, or read again, or anything like that. Only my personal memory was lost.

But not all of it, apparently.

And that left him wondering what else he could do, if he tried.

27

Something happened to those previous God Kings, Siri thought, striding through the endless rooms of the God King’s palace, her servants scurrying behind. Something that Bluefingers fears will happen to Susebron. It will be dangerous to both the God King and myself.

She continued to walk, trailing a train made from countless tassels of translucent green silk behind her. The day’s gown was nearly gossamer thin—she’d chosen it, then had asked her servants to fetch an opaque slip for her. It was funny how quickly she’d stopped worrying about what was “ostentatious” and what was not.

There were many much more important problems to worry about.

The priests do fear that something will happen to Susebron, she thought firmly. They are so eager for me to produce an heir. They claim it’s about the succession, but they went fifty years without bothering. They were willing to wait twenty years to get their bride from Idris. Whatever the danger is, it’s not urgent.

And yet the priests act like it is.

Perhaps they’d wanted a bride of the royal line so badly that they’d been willing to risk the danger. Surely they needn’t have waited twenty years, though. Vivenna could have borne children years ago.

Though perhaps the treaty specified a time and not an age. Maybe it just said that the king of Idris had twenty years to provide a bride for the God King. That would explain why her father had been able to send Siri instead. Siri cursed herself for ignoring her lessons about the treaty. She didn’t really know what it said. For all she knew, the danger could be spelled out in the document itself.

She needed more information. Unfortunately, the priests were obstructive, the servants silent, and Bluefingers, well . . .

She finally caught sight of him moving through one of the rooms, writing on his ledger. Siri hurried up, train rustling. He turned, glimpsing her. His eyes opened wide, and he increased his speed, ducking through the open doorway into another room. Siri called after him, moving as quickly as the dress would allow, but when she arrived, the room was empty.