Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(111)

He erased. And so, when I speak of beauty, I must speak of things other than these colors. And you are different. I do not know how to describe it.

He looked up, and suddenly Siri was aware of just how close they were to each other. She, only in her shift, with the thin sheet covering her. He, tall and broad, shining with a soul that made the colors of the sheets bend out like light through a prism. He smiled in the firelight.

Oh, dear . . . she thought. This is dangerous.

She cleared her throat, sitting up, flushing yet again. “Well. Um, yes. Very nice. Thank you.”

He looked back down. I wish I could let you go home, to see your mountains again. Perhaps I could explain this to the priests.

She paled. “I don’t think it would be good to let them know that you can read.”

I could use the artisan’s script. It is very difficult to write, but they taught it to me so I could communicate with them, if I needed to.

“Still,” she said. “Telling them you want to send me home could hint that you’ve been talking to me.”

He stopped writing for a few moments.

Maybe that would be a good thing, he wrote.

“Susebron, they’re planning to kill you.”

You have no proof of that.

“Well, it’s suspicious, at least,” she said. “The last two God Kings died within months of producing an heir.”

You’re too untrusting, Susebron wrote. I keep telling you. My priests are good people.

She regarded him flatly, catching his eyes.

Except for removing my tongue, he admitted.

“And keeping you locked up, and not telling you anything. Look, even if they aren’t planning to kill you, they know things they’re not telling you. Perhaps it’s something to do with BioChroma—something that makes you die once your heir arrives.”

She frowned, leaning back. Could that be it? she wondered suddenly. “Susebron, how do you pass on your Breaths?”

He paused. I don’t know, he wrote. I . . . don’t know a lot about it.

“I don’t either,” she said. “Can they take them from you? Give them to your son? What if that kills you?”

They wouldn’t do that, he wrote.

“But maybe it’s possible,” she said. “And maybe that’s what happens. That’s why having a child is so dangerous! They have to make a new God King and it kills you to do so.”

He sat with his board in his lap, then shook his head, writing. I am a god. I am not given Breaths, I am born with them.

“No,” Siri said. “Bluefingers told me you’d been collecting them for centuries. That each God King gets two Breaths a week, instead of one, building up his reserves.”

Actually, he admitted, some weeks I get three or four.

“But you only need one a week to survive.”

Yes.

“And they can’t let that wealth die with you! They’re too afraid of it to let you use it, but they also can’t let themselves lose it. So, when a new child is born, they take the Breath from the old king—killing him—and give it to the new one.”

But Returned cannot use their Breath for Awakening, he wrote. So my treasure of Breaths is useless.

This gave her pause. She had heard that. “Does that mean only the Breath you’re born with, or does it include the extra Breaths that have been added on top?”

I do not know, he wrote.

“I’ll bet you could use those extra Breaths if you wanted,” she said. “Otherwise, why remove your tongue? You may not be able to access and use that Breath that makes you Returned in the first place, but you have thousands and thousands of Breaths above that.”

Susebron sat for a few moments, and then finally he rose, walking across to the window. He stared out at the darkness beyond. Siri frowned, then picked up his board and crossed the room. She got off the bed and approached hesitantly, wearing only her shift.

“Susebron?” she asked.

He continued to stare out the window. She joined him, careful not to touch him, looking out. Colorful lights sparkled amidst the city beyond the wall of the Court of Gods. Beyond that was darkness. The still sea.

“Please,” she said, pushing the board into his hands. “What is it?”



He paused, then took it. I am sorry, he wrote. I do not wish to appear petulant.

“Is it because I keep challenging your priests?”

No, he wrote. You have interesting theories, but I think they are just guesses. You do not know that the priests plan what you claim. That doesn’t bother me.

“What is it, then?”

He hesitated, then erased with the sleeve of his robe. You do not believe that the Returned are divine.

“I thought we already talked about this.”

We did. However, I realized now that this is the reason why you treat me as you do. You are different because you do not believe in my godhood. Is that the only reason I find you interesting?

And, if you do not believe, it makes me sad. Because a god is who I am, it is what I am, and if you do not believe in it, it makes me think you do not understand me.

He paused.

Yes. It does sound petulant. I am sorry.

She smiled, then tentatively touched his arm. He froze, looking down, but didn’t pull back as he had times before. So she moved up beside him, resting against his arm.