Gates of Thread and Stone(46)

I shook my head. “There’s a temple in the North District, but I don’t know who it’s for.”

“You’ve seen one just for me, though,” he said.

“I have?” I asked, racking my memory and coming up with nothing.

“The day we met.”

I snorted softly. “Are you talking about your bread . . . model thing?”

He almost smiled. “I’m working on the details of my replicas. But yes. The defining feature of my temples was the image the humans painted of me: a rider with black robes.”

“Was sugar their signature offering?”

He did smile then, but there was something darker hidden behind it that I couldn’t identify, like trying to see beyond the mist that cloaked Etu Gahl.

“Everyone has their weakness,” he said. “Yours is human emotion. Mine is the brief rush of sweet, if false, happiness.”

The way he said “happiness” snagged against my thoughts. “Why is happiness a weakness?”

“Look at who I am,” he said, without an ounce of sarcasm. His eyes searched mine, and the room slipped away, plunging me into blackness. Then he blinked, and the moment ended. “Happiness is not my natural state.”

I didn’t think he was trying to intimidate me—just drive his point home. So I shook off the lingering sensation and tried for a light “But horse rider is?”

The pall over him lifted. “I wouldn’t be much of a rider now.” He sounded wistful. “I was much younger then. And I haven’t seen a horse in ages.”

“How old are you?”

“Even the Infinite are tied to the River’s flow. And its current has carried me a very long ways. This may sting.”

I winced as the needle pricked my skin, sinking into the vein. The vial attached to the end began filling with blood. It looked like magic, but Irra insisted it wasn’t. Drawing blood by magic would hurt more.

After a few seconds, he removed the needle and pressed a clean bit of gauze over the small wound.

“Hold this,” he instructed.

I did, watching as he reached across the counter and retrieved a slim piece of metal. My original ID, which I’d tossed into my bag that day we left Ninurta, lay beside my arm. He picked it up and held both against the light.

“See how yours has a red tint?” he asked.

I studied the way the light slid across the metal. My old ID held the barest tint of red. I nodded, slightly unnerved.

“I can re-create my own version of the enchantment, one that should pass a cursory inspection. Ninu will only seek out a trace if he’s given reason.”

“If every ID is created with a bit of blood, why does he need energy drives to find the mahjo? Wouldn’t it be simpler for Ninu to snatch away babies and raise them as his soldiers?”

“Even before Rebirth, mahjo only came into their powers as they matured. The blood of a newborn would contain no magic for Ninu to detect.”

The words newborn and blood used together made my stomach turn.

“I’ll have the new IDs ready soon. You will, of course, have to leave your old one here.” He took the gauze from me and examined the red spot on my arm. The skin around it had begun to bruise.

I almost snatched back my ID. “Thanks. For doing all of this.”

He only nodded. “This will be your new information,” he said, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Name: Nel Souin. Age: Seventeen. Born May twenty-third in the North District. You lived with your parents until you were fifteen, when the Academy offered you early admittance based on exceptional scores on your aptitude tests. After completing the preliminary exams for graduation, you were ushered into the Tournament with quick approval. Congratulations.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Can’t wait.”

“If anyone asks about your time at the Academy, be as vague as possible. Their enrollment numbers are high enough that no one should question not having seen you before.”

“Got it.”

“Next!” he called abruptly, and I stood.

Outside, Avan lounged on the nearest cot. He looked too relaxed for it to be real. What was he thinking? Was he regretting his decision, whatever that was? I hoped he had chosen to go home. I truly did.

Despite the ache inside me, I did.

I swept my arm to the side to indicate it was his turn. Once he was in the room with Irra, I sat in the slight indentation left on the cot. It was still warm.

G-10 had briefed us in training this morning. He would lead us into Ninurta, all the way into the White Court. I didn’t know how he planned to get us in, and with G-10 in full-on instructor mode, I hadn’t dared to ask. Our false identities had already been added to the citizen registry by Irra’s spies.

If Avan chose to go home, then G-10 had designated a hidden location for him to surface in the North District. We would arrive the night before the Tournament, allowing me to slip easily into the preliminary rounds.

Weapons weren’t allowed in the matches, but G-10 had shown us his torch blade. Torch blades were the exclusive weapon of the sentinels. It was a beautiful sword, forged with subtle traces of magic that transformed the metal into something lightweight and iridescent. The silvery blade moved with silken ease in G-10’s practiced hands.

He taught us a few ways to block it. Then he showed me how to strike with my knife, quickly and deadly. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need to use these skills. But if things didn’t go according to plan, I’d have to use all my abilities to get us out of there.