“I would prefer that you not do so, naturally.” Remath delivered this with sculptured calm. “A good heir represents a substantial investment of time and energy. But she is Arameri, Lord Sieh, and our fundamental mission has not changed since the days of our founding Matriarch. We rule by the grace of the gods; therefore, we serve the gods in all things.”

Shahar threw me a look more raw than anything I’d seen since her childhood, full of betrayal and bitterness and helpless fury. Ah — now that was the Shahar I remembered. Not that this was as terrible as she seemed to think; our oath meant she had nothing to fear from me. Had she told Remath about that? Was Remath counting on a childhood promise to keep her heir safe?

No. I had lived among the Arameri for a hundred generations. I had seen how they raised their children with careful, calculated neglect; that was why Shahar and Dekarta had been left to wander the palace as children. They believed any Arameri stupid enough to die in a childhood accident was too stupid to rule. And I had also seen, again and again, how Arameri heads found ways to test their heirs’ strength, even at the cost of their heirs’ souls.

This, however … I felt my fists clench and had to work hard not to become the cat. Too dangerous, and a waste of magic.

“How dare you.” It came out a snarl, anyway. “You think I’m some petty, simpleminded mortal, delighting in the chance to turn the tables? You think I need someone else’s humiliation to know my own worth? You think I’m like you?”

Remath lifted an eyebrow. “Given that mortals are made in the gods’ image, no, I think we are like you.” That infuriated me into silence. “But very well; if it doesn’t please you to use Shahar, then don’t. Tell her what will please you. She’ll see it done.”

“And is this to take precedence over my other duties, Mother?” Shahar’s voice was as cool as Remath’s, though higher pitched; they sounded much alike. But the fury in her eyes could have melted glass.

Remath glanced over her shoulder and seemed pleased by her daughter’s anger. She nodded once, as if to herself. “Yes, until I inform you otherwise. Morad, please make certain Shahar’s secretary is informed.” Morad murmured a polite affirmative, while Remath kept watching Shahar. “Have you any questions, Daughter?”

“No, Mother,” Shahar replied quietly. “You’ve made your wishes quite clear.”

“Excellent.” In what I considered a brave gesture, Remath turned her back on her daughter and faced me again. “One more thing, Lord Sieh. Rumors are inevitable, but I would advise that you not make your presence — or rather, your nature — known during your time here. I’m sure you can imagine what sort of attention that would draw.”

Yes, every scrivener and godphile in the palace would drive me to distraction with questions and worship and requests for blessings. And since this was Sky, there would also be the inevitable highbloods who wanted a little godly assistance with whatever schemes they had going, and a few who might try to harm or exploit me to gain prestige for themselves, and … I ground my teeth. “Obviously it would make sense for me to keep a low profile.”

“It would, yes.” She inclined her head — not the bow of a mortal to a god, but a respectful gesture between equals. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Was she insulting me by not bothering to show reverence, or was she paying me the compliment of honesty? Damn, I couldn’t figure this woman out at all. “I’ll take my leave of you now, Lord Sieh.”

“Wait,” I said, stepping closer so that I could look her in the eye. She was taller than me, which I liked; it made me feel more my old self. And she was at least wary of me, I saw when I stood closer. I liked that, too.

“Do you mean me harm, Remath? Say you don’t. Promise it.”

She looked surprised. “Of course I don’t. I’ll swear any oath you like on that.”

I smiled, showing all my teeth, and for the barest instant I did smell fear in her. Not much, but even an Arameri is still human, and humans are still animals, and animals know a predator when one draws near.

“Cross your heart, Remath,” I said. “Hope to die. Stick a needle in your eye.”

She lifted an eyebrow at my nonsense. But the words of a god have power, regardless of what language we speak, and I was not quite mortal yet. She felt my intent, despite the silly words.

“Cross my heart,” she replied gravely, and inclined her head. Then she turned and swept out, perhaps before she could reveal more fear, and certainly before I could say anything else. I stuck my tongue out at her back as she left.