Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(131)

“How did you get to Nanrovah?” he finally asked.

“I didn’t,” Blushweaver said. “I don’t know why he changed his mind. I wish he hadn’t done it so quickly—it seems suspicious and makes people think I manipulated him. Either way, I’ll take the support.”

“You wish for war so much?”

“I wish for our people to be aware of the threat,” Blushweaver said. “You think I want this to happen? You think I want to send our people to die and to kill?”

Lightsong looked at her, judging her sincerity. She had such beautiful eyes. One rarely noticed that, considering how she proffered the rest of her assets so blatantly. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you want a war.”

She nodded sharply. Her dress was sleek and trim this day, as always, but it was particularly revealing up top, where her breasts were pressed up and forward, demanding attention. Lightsong looked away.

“You’re boring today,” Blushweaver said.

“I’m distracted.”

“We should be happy,” Blushweaver said. “The priests have almost all come around. Soon there will be a call for attack made to the main assembly of gods.”

Lightsong nodded. The main assembly of gods was called to deliberate only in the most important of situations. In that case, they all had a vote. If the vote was for war, the gods with Lifeless Commands—gods like Lightsong—would be called upon to administrate and lead the battle.

“You’ve changed the Commands on Hopefinder’s ten thousand?” Lightsong asked.

She nodded. “They’re mine now, as are Mercystar’s.”

Colors, he thought. Between the two of us, we now control three-quarters of the kingdom’s armies.

What in the name of the Iridescent Tones am I getting myself into?

Blushweaver settled back in her chair, eyeing the smaller one that Siri had vacated. “I am annoyed, however, at Allmother.”

“Because she’s prettier than you, or because she’s smarter?”

Blushweaver didn’t dignify that with a verbal response; she just shot him a look of annoyance.

“Just trying to act less boring, my dear,” he said.

“Allmother controls the last group of Lifeless,” Blushweaver said.

“An odd choice, don’t you think?” Lightsong said. “I mean, I am a logical choice—assuming you don’t know me, of course—since I’m supposedly bold. Hopefinder represents justice, a nice mix with soldiers. Even Mercystar, who represents benevolence, makes a kind of sense for one who controls soldiers. But Allmother? Goddess of matrons and families? Giving her ten thousand Lifeless is enough to make even me consider my drunk-monkey theory.”

“The one who chooses names and titles of the Returned?”

“Exactly,” Lightsong said. “I’ve actually considered expanding the theory. I am now proposing to believe that God—or the universe, or time, or whatever you think controls all of this—is all really just a drunk monkey.”

She leaned over, squeezing her arms together, seriously threatening to pop her bosom out the front of her dress. “And, you think my title was chosen by happenstance? Goddess of honesty and interpersonal relations. Seems to fit, wouldn’t you say?”

He hesitated. Then he smiled. “My dear, did you just try to prove the existence of God with your cleavage?”

She smiled. “You’d be surprised what a good wriggle of the chest can accomplish.”

“Hum. I’d never considered the theological power of your breasts, my dear. If there were a Church devoted to them, perhaps you’d make a theist out of me after all. Regardless, are you going to tell me what specifically Allmother did to annoy you?”

“She won’t give me her Lifeless Commands.”

“Not surprising,” Lightsong said. “I hardly trust you, and I’m your friend.”

“We need those security phrases, Lightsong.”

“Why?” he asked. “We’ve got three of the four—we dominate the armies already.”

“We can’t afford infighting or divisiveness,” Blushweaver said. “If her ten were to turn against our thirty, we’d win, but we’d be left badly weakened.”

He frowned. “Surely she wouldn’t do that.”

“Surely we’d rather be certain.”

Lightsong sighed. “Very well, then. I’ll talk to her.”

“That might not be a good idea.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“She doesn’t like you very much.”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “She has remarkably good taste. Unlike some other people I know.”

She glared at him. “Do I need to wriggle my breasts at you again?”

“No, please. I don’t know if I’d be able to stand the theological debate that would follow.”

“All right, then,” she said, sitting back, looking down at the priests who were still arguing.

They sure are taking a long time on this one, he thought. He glanced toward the other side, where Siri had paused to look out over the arena, her arms resting on the stonework; it was too high for her to do so comfortably.

Perhaps it wasn’t thinking of her husband’s death that bothered her, he thought. Maybe it was because the discussion turned to war.