She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, it’s not a mantle I would accept.”

“Then why should I?”

“Because, Jorim, you may be like the Empress Cyrsa. You may be late come to your true talent.”

Jorim waved that idea away. “I’ve had my talent since I was born. I’m an Anturasi and am a cartographer and explorer. It’s all I’ve ever been and all I ever wanted to be.”

“And that has nothing to do with your talent.” Anaeda smiled. “Don’t I remember you telling me that your mother is a bhotcai? Her talent is for dealing with plants.”

“Yes.”

“Then why would the Anturasi talent run any more strongly in your veins than her talent? Could it be that you just chose to develop your cartography skills, but the other talent is there, too? Remember, the plants thrived when you shone on them.”

“And animals died.”

“And how many of those same sorts of animals have you killed in your explorations so you would have samples to study? Perhaps your emerging talent, your god-talent, amplifies what you already have.”

Jorim closed his eyes. The things she was saying made sense, but he didn’t want them to. If she was right, then he was a god, or was becoming a god, which meant the power he had handled before was a fraction of what he might handle in the future. The results could be a disaster.

Especially if you do not learn to control that power.

“Captain, this is not idle speculation, and not something borne of this incident.”

“No, it’s not. You’ll recall that I told you that Borosan Gryst is my cousin. He’s skilled at tinkering with things. It’s the Gryst talent. My mother, on the other hand, comes from a family of mariners. While I am a ship’s captain and work hard at it, I also know how things work and how to fix them. This is why, during your time in the dark here, I have been able to maintain the chronometer, which allowed you to calculate longitude.”

“I had forgotten about that.”

“And your negligence has been noted in my log. There will be consequences for that, Master Anturasi.”

Jorim shook his head. “You’re rejecting my argument that I’m no longer under your command?”

“God or no god, I am responsible for you, Jorim. Not only are you a valuable asset for my fleet and mission, but you are a friend.”

“So, being a ship’s captain is like being a god?”

“Not at all.” She smiled. “Gods are limited by their aspects.”

“Yes, I guess they are. Their aspects, or their fears.”

“I’ve been checking. Tetcomchoa knows no fear.”

Jorim scratched at his forehead and more dead skin fell away. Before he could comment, Nauana came through the doorway, holding Shimik. The Fennych’s fur had gone completely white.

Anaeda looked at the Amentzutl sorceress. “He may be at a point to listen to reason.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Nauana set the Fenn down and Shimik sat, clutching his legs to his chest. “Has she convinced you to emerge, Tetcomchoa?”

“More like she’s convinced me there is no purpose in hiding anymore. I…” He raised his arms toward her, then slowly let them drop away. “If Tetcomchoa knows no fear, then I am not Tetcomchoa.”

Nauana smiled quickly, then shook her head. “The translation was not clear. It is not that Tetcomchoa knows no fear, it is that he does not show it.”

Jorim snorted. “Well, hiding down here for… however long it’s been, that’s a pretty good show of fear.”

“It has not been seen as such, my lord.” Nauana smiled. “You are the snake, and you have been shedding your skin. All have heard; all rejoice.”

“All except Shimik.”

At the sound of his name, the Fenn’s head came up. “Jrima smart again?”

Anaeda looked down at the Fenn. “The best we’re going to get for a while.”

“And it will get better.” Jorim brushed his arms off and watched a blizzard of dried flesh fall away.

Nauana nodded. “It must. You are to begin a series of purification rituals.”

“Why?”

“News of your transformation has reached the highest circles.” She pressed her hands together at her breastbone. “When you are ready, you will meet the Witch-King, and through him you will receive the remainder of that which you left behind when you last walked among us.”

Chapter Thirty-two

23rd day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Kunjiqui, Anturasixan

Nirati was certain she’d never seen her grandfather so happy before, and this scared her. She’d seen him pleased in the past-by a new discovery or, more usually, someone else’s misfortune. Often enough, Qiro had even been the cause of that misfortune. She’d even seen him tenderly pleased, as when she had brought him a picture or a sweetcake-things she had done as a child.

But no matter the cause of his pleasure, it had always been an adult pleasure-self-satisfied and controlled. Now, however, he exhibited a boyish glee that bordered on madness. In fact, she was fairly certain that he had become unhinged. This realization, which had been growing in her mind as Nelesquin had given Qiro more and more work, shook her to the core. Qiro had always been constant and strong. While he could be impulsive-especially when meting out punishment-decorum had established some boundaries beyond which he did not stray.

She looked at him, sitting there on a muddy flat at low tide, mud caking him and streaking his hair and beard. He reached down with a filthy hand, scooped up mud, spat in it, mixed it up, and shaped it into strange little creatures. He added new mudmen to the crews on the little boats he’d shaped from reeds.

He has utterly lost his mind.

From where she stood, his little armada looked nothing like Nelesquin’s fleet. The Durrani had marched onto their ships in good order, whereas her grandfather’s troops sagged and slumped against each other. The Durrani had all been tall and strong, clean of limb and keen of eye, whereas these creatures had little definition at all.

And when the tide comes in, they will be washed away forever.

Qiro looked up from his place in the mud, then struggled to his feet. “Oh, Nirati, you’ve come. Good, excellent. If it wasn’t for you, I could not have done this. Tell me you approve.”

She blinked back her surprise and felt Takwee cling to her back a bit more tightly. Grandfather asking for approval? “I think it’s wonderful, Grandfather. But I have to ask. What is it?”

The old man laughed warmly-an alien sound from his throat. “This is your brother’s salvation, silly girl.” He nodded toward the west and the area from which Nelesquin’s Durrani kept launching more ships. “I would not bother Prince Nelesquin with such a trifling matter. I can handle it myself. Smaller task, smaller fleet, but nonetheless effective.”

He waved her forward and began walking at the water’s edge, as if a general reviewing his troops. He pointed to several boats jammed with globs of mud that looked like little more than lumps to her. “These are my Neshta. They’re small, but quick, with claws and fangs. Hundreds of them, thousands perhaps-they are the first wave. They are like your Takwee there, but her darker, bellicose cousins, bred for war.”

She nodded. “Ah, very good.”

“And here, these larger ones-hence the larger boats-are my Provocs. They’re as big as Viruk, but have four arms, not just two. When they begin to fight, there will be no standing against them. Oh, the havoc they will wreak!”

Nirati forced herself to smile. “And these here, Grandfather, the ones with golden sand sprinkled on their heads?”

“Clever girl, I knew you would notice.” He clapped grimy hands, his fingernails black. “They are the Dernai. Half-handed, all of them, but with fierce claws, strong bodies, and a conqueror’s will. They know no fear.”