Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(102)

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.”