Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(179)

“You’re hardly wily, my dear,” Lightsong said. “A wily man is one who fights with a small, carefully hidden dagger in reserve. You are more like a man who crushes his opponent with a stone block. Regardless, I do have another method of dealing with you, one that you shall likely find quite flattering.”

“Somehow I find myself doubting.”

“You should have more faith in me,” he said with a suave wave of the hand.

“I am, after all, a god. In my divine wisdom, I have realized that the only way to truly compliment one such as you—Blushweaver—is to be far more attractive, intelligent, and interesting than you.”

She snorted. “Well, then, I feel rather insulted by your presence.”

“Touché,” Lightsong said.

“And are you going to explain why you consider competing with me to be the most sincere form of compliment?”

“Of course I am,” Lightsong said. “My dear, have you ever known me to make an inflammatorily ridiculous statement without providing an equally ridiculous explanation to substantiate it?”

“Of course not,” she agreed. “You are nothing if not exhaustive in your self-congratulatory made-up logic.”

“I am rather exceptional in that regard.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Anyway,” Lightsong said, holding up a finger, “by being far more stunning than you are, I invite people to ignore you and pay attention to me. That, in turn, invites you to be your usual charming self—throwing little tantrums and being overly seductive—to draw their attention back to you. And that, as I explained, is when you are most majestic. Therefore, the only way to make certain you receive the attention you deserve is to draw it all away from you. It’s really quite difficult. I hope you appreciate all the work I do to be so wonderful.”

“Let me assure you,” she said, “I do appreciate it. In fact, I appreciate it so very much that I would like to give you a break. You can back off. I will bear the awful burden of being the most wonderful of the gods.”

“I couldn’t possibly let you.”

“But if you are too wonderful, my dear, you will completely destroy your image.”

“That image is getting tiresome anyway,” Lightsong said. “I’ve long sought to be the most notoriously laziest of the gods, but I’m realizing more and more that the task is beyond me. The others are all naturally so much more delightfully useless than I am. They just pretend not to be aware of it.”

“Lightsong!” she said. “One could say you begin to sound jealous!”

“One could also say that my feet smell like guava fruit,” he said. “Just because one could say it doesn’t mean it’s relevant.”

She laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Really? I thought I was in T’Telir. When did we move?”

She held up a finger. “That pun was a stretch.”

“Perhaps it was just a feint.”

“A feint?”

“Yes, an intentionally weak joke to distract from the real one.”

“Which is?”

Lightsong hesitated, glancing at the arena. “The joke that has been played on all of us,” he said, voice growing softer. “The joke the others in the pantheon have played by giving me so much influence over what our kingdom will do.”

Blushweaver frowned at him, obviously sensing the growing bitterness in his voice. They stopped on the walkway, Blushweaver facing him, her back to the arena floor. Lightsong feigned a smile, but the moment was dying. They couldn’t go on as they had. Not amidst the weighty matters in motion all around them.

“Our brothers and sisters aren’t as bad as you imply,” she said quietly.

“Only a matchless group of idiots would give me control of their armies.”

“They trust you.”

“They’re lazy,” Lightsong said. “They want others to make the difficult decisions. That’s what this system encourages, Blushweaver. We’re all locked in here, expected to spend our time in idleness and pleasure. And then we’re supposed to know what is best for our country?” He shook his head. “We’re more afraid of the outside than we’re willing to admit. All we have are artworks and dreams. That’s why you and I ended up with these armies. Nobody else wants to be the one who actually sends our troops out to kill and die. They all want to be involved, but nobody wants to be responsible.”

He fell silent. She looked up at him, a goddess of perfect form. So much stronger than the others, but she hid it behind her own veil of triviality. “I know one thing that you said is true,” she said quietly.

“And that is?”

“You are wonderful, Lightsong.”

He stood there, looking into her eyes for a time. Widely set, beautiful green eyes.

“You’re not going to give me your Command Phrases, are you?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I brought you into this,” she said. “You always talk about being useless, but we all know that you’re one of the few who always goes through every picture, sculpture, and tapestry in his gallery. The one who hears every poem and song. The one who listens most deeply to the pleas of his petitioners.”



“You are all fools,” he said. “There is nothing in me to respect.”