Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(43)

“Not necessarily, Your Grace,” Llarimar said. “You may have come back to save one person. But, more likely, there is information about the future or the afterlife that you felt you needed to share. Or perhaps some great event in which you felt you needed to participate. Remember, it was the heroic way in which you died that gave you the power to Return in the first place. What you are to do might relate to that, somehow.”

Llarimar trailed off slightly, his eyes growing unfocused. “You saw something, Lightsong. On the other side, the future is visible, like a scroll that stretches into the eternal harmonics of the cosmos. Something you saw—something about the future—worried you. Rather than remaining at peace, you took the opportunity that your brave death afforded you, and you Returned to the world. Determined to fix a problem, share information, or otherwise help those who continued to live.

“Someday, once you feel that you’ve accomplished your task, you can use the petitions to find someone who deserves your Breath. Then you can continue your journey across the Iridescent Wave. Our job, as your followers, is to provide Breath for you and keep you alive until you can accomplish your goal, whatever it may be. In the meantime, we pry for auguries and blessings, which can be gleaned only from one who has touched the future as you have.”

Lightsong didn’t respond immediately. “And if I don’t believe?”

“In what, Your Grace?”

“In any of it,” Lightsong said. “That Returned are gods, that these visions are anything more than random inventions of my brain. What if I don’t believe that I had any purpose or plan in Returning?”

“Then maybe that’s what you came back to discover.”

“So . . . wait. You’re saying that on the other side—where I obviously believed in the other side—I realized that if I Returned I wouldn’t believe in the other side, so I came back with the purpose of discovering faith in the other side, which I only lost because I Returned in the first place?”

Llarimar paused. Then he smiled. “That last one breaks down a little bit in the face of logic, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” Lightsong said, smiling back. He turned, eyes falling on the God King’s palace, standing like a monument above the other court structures. “What do you think of her?”

“The new queen?” Llarimar asked. “I haven’t met her, Your Grace. She won’t be presented for another few days.”

“Not the person. The implications.”

Llarimar glanced at him. “Your Grace. That smells of an interest in politics!”

“Blah blah, yes, I know. Lightsong is a hypocrite. I’ll do penance for it later. Now answer the blasted question.”

Llarimar smiled. “I don’t know what to think of her, Your Grace. The court of twenty years ago thought bringing a royal daughter here was a good idea.”

Yes, Lightsong thought. But that court is gone. The gods had thought melding the royal line back into Hallandren would be a good idea. But those gods—the ones who believed they knew how to deal with the Idrian girl’s arrival—were now dead. They’d left inferior replacements.

If what Llarimar said was true, then there was something important about the things Lightsong saw. Those visions of war, and the terrible sense of foreboding. For reasons he couldn’t explain, it felt to him like his people were barely headfirst down a mountain slope, completely ignorant of a bottomless chasm hidden in the cleft of the lands before them.

“The full court assembly meets in judgment tomorrow, doesn’t it?” Lightsong said, still looking at the black palace.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Contact Blushweaver. See if I can share a box with her during the judgments. Perhaps she will distract me. You know what a headache politics gives me.”

“You can’t get headaches, Your Grace.”

In the distance, Lightsong could see the rejected petitioners trailing out of the gates, returning to the city, leaving their gods behind. “Could have fooled me,” he said quietly.

SIRI STOOD in the dark black bedroom, wearing her shift, looking out the window. The God King’s palace was higher than the surrounding wall, and the bedroom faced east. Out over the sea. She watched the distant waves, feeling the heat of the afternoon sun. While she was wearing the thin shift, the warmth was actually pleasant, and it was tempered by a cool breeze blowing in off the ocean. The wind teased her long hair, ruffling the fabric of her shift.

She should be dead. She had spoken directly to the God King, had sat up and made a demand of him. She’d waited all morning for punishment. There had been none.

She leaned down against the windowsill, arms crossed on the stone, closing her eyes and feeling the sea breeze. A part of her was still aghast at the way she had acted. That part was growing smaller and smaller. I’ve been going about things wrong here, she thought. I’ve let myself be pushed about by my fears and worries.

She didn’t usually take time to bother with fears and worries. She just did what seemed right. She was beginning to feel that she should have stood up to the God King days ago. Perhaps she wasn’t being cautious enough. Perhaps punishment would still come. However, for the moment, she felt as if she’d accomplished something.

She smiled, opening her eyes, and let her hair change to a determined golden yellow.