Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(153)

He waited, hands on hips, as the priestess went to do his bidding. Allmother could give them orders and commands, but she couldn’t tell them to completely ignore Lightsong. After all, he was a god too. As long as he asked them to something other than what Allmother had explicitly forbidden, they had to obey.

Even if it annoyed their goddess.

“I’m developing a new skill,” Lightsong said. “Irritation by proxy!”

Llarimar sighed. “What about your speech to Goddess Blushweaver a few days ago, Your Grace? It seemed to imply that you were not going to annoy people as much.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” Lightsong said. “I simply said that I was coming to recognize within myself a little more of the person I used to be. That doesn’t mean I’m going to discard all the progress I’ve made over the last few years.”



“Your sense of self-awareness is remarkable, Your Grace.”

“I know! Now, hush. The priestess is coming back.”

Indeed, the woman approached and bowed before Lightsong on the grass. “My apologies, Your Grace. Our goddess, however, has now requested that no priestess be allowed to ask her if you can come in to see her.”

“Did she tell them that they couldn’t ask if she would come out here?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the priestess said. “And every other phrasing that would imply asking her to come within Your Grace’s proximity, or communicate with him by letter, or relay messages from him in any form.”

“Hum,” he said, tapping his chin. “She’s getting better. Well, I guess there’s nothing to be done.”

The priestess relaxed visibly.

“Scoot, set up my pavilion here in front of her palace,” Lightsong said. “I’m going to be sleeping here tonight.”

The priestess looked up.

“You’re going to do what?” Llarimar asked.

Lightsong shrugged. “I’m not moving until I meet with her. That means staying until she acknowledges me. It’s been over a week! If she wants to be stubborn, then I’ll prove that I can be equally stubborn.” He eyed the priestess. “I’m quite practiced at it, you know. Comes from being an insufferable buffoon, and all. I don’t suppose she forbade you from allowing squirrels into the building?”

“Squirrels, Your Grace?” the woman asked.

“Excellent,” Lightsong said, sitting down as his servants erected the pavilion. He pulled the Lifeless squirrel from its box and held it forward.

“Almond grass,” he said quietly, giving the new Command he’d had his people imprint on the Lifeless. Then he spoke louder, so that the priestess could hear. “Go into the building, search out the Returned who lives in it, and run around in circles squeaking as loudly as you can. Don’t let anyone catch you. Oh, and destroy as much furniture as you can.” Then, more quietly, he repeated, “Almond grass.”

The squirrel immediately jumped off his hand and shot toward the palace. The priestess twisted her head to follow it, horrified. The squirrel began to screech with a sound that seemed amazingly un-squirrel-like. It disappeared into the building, slipping between the legs of a startled guard.

“What a delightful afternoon it’s becoming,” Lightsong said, reaching for a handful of grapes as the priestess rushed after the squirrel.

“It won’t be able to follow all of those orders, Your Grace,” Llarimar said. “It has the mind of a squirrel, despite the power that Breath gives it to obey Commands.”

Lightsong shrugged. “We shall see.”

He began to hear shouts of annoyance from inside the palace. He smiled.

It took longer than he had expected. Allmother was stubborn, as proved by Blushweaver’s complete inability to manipulate her. As he sat—idly listening to a group of musicians—a priestess occasionally checked on him. Several hours passed. He didn’t eat or drink very much so he didn’t need to visit the privy.

He ordered his musicians to play louder. He had picked a group with a lot of percussion.

Finally, a frazzled-looking priestess came out of the palace. “Her Grace will see you,” the woman said, bowing before Lightsong.

“Hum?” Lightsong said. “Oh, that. Do I have to go now? Can’t I finish listening to this song?”

The priestess glanced up. “I—”

“Oh, very well then,” Lightsong said, rising.
* * *

ALLMOTHER WAS STILL IN her audience chamber. Lightsong hesitated in the doorway—which, like those in every palace, was designed at the godly scale. He frowned to himself.

People still waited in a line and Allmother sat on a throne at the front of the room. She was stocky for a goddess, and he had always considered her white hair and wrinkled face an oddity within the pantheon. In bodily age, she was the oldest of the gods.

It had been a while since he’d come to visit her. In fact . . . The last time I was here was the night before Calmseer gave up her Breath, he realized. That evening, years ago, when we shared what would be her last meal.

He’d never come back. What would have been the point? They’d only gotten together in the first place because of Calmseer. On most of those occasions, Allmother had been quite vocal about what she thought of Lightsong. At least she was honest.

That was more than he could say for himself.