“I wondered what exactly was the point of framing me,” Vanth said, “whether getting me in trouble at court, or whether you simply were too desperate to worry about me retaliating when I learned about it. Of course it was neither, but I couldn’t put the pieces together until you kidnapped him. You thought I was already a card in your hand, and you took Azul because you knew he had the bracelet.”

  “What?” I said. Vanth squeezed my shoulder, but didn’t look away from Nina.

  “Not quite,” she said. “I, too, only saw the bracelet after taking him away. See, he wanted to come with us. And I suggest we get going if he’s to catch that flight.”

  Nina turned on her heel and took a dirt path that snaked next to the jungle, only stopping to let Amankay catch up with her and offer the other woman her hand. She seemed to take it for granted that everyone else would follow.

  Vanth raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Yeah, it’s true. It’s not important right now, though. I don’t get what’s going on, but she wasn’t lying either, right? You’re oathed to do some shit for her.”

  Some shit? The same shit I’d been pnning to do all along!

  He leaned his forehead on mine. “I can bring you to safety first.”

  I swallowed. If I could, I would’ve stayed like that all night—right then I didn’t care about any Rainbow Snakes or impending flights or murder plots. “Yeah, well. That’s the thing. I’m not any safer anywhere else. And I want some answers. Now even more than ever. And—“ I hesitated, but Vanth deserved to know this much. “I want what she wants.”

  Vanth just looked at me, patient and unsurprised. How much did he know, anyway? Everyone seemed to know way more than me!

  I looked at the Snakes, walking away without any hurries or worries. At least that’s what they looked like. And I believed it from Nina, though the others were up in the air.

  She acted as if she knew I’d follow her. Was that true, or just a bluff? Then again, only a stupid person would want to upset a woman who soothed rampaging gods like they were angry kittens.

  “Just one thing.” All of a sudden, the night felt far colder. “That time I went to Vorsa, twelve years ago—did we meet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then—“ I grabbed his arms, harder than necessary—probably too hard, but I wasn’t thinking right at the time. “You know, right? I forgot most of it, but you didn’t. You knew it all along.”

  That sounds so weird now. Back then, it didn’t sound confusing at all to me. Probably ‘cause I was tired and hungry. But Vanth knew what I meant, and that’s all the proof I needed.

  “Yes,” he said. “If you want to know why I didn’t tell you—“

  “It’s fine. We can talk about that ter.” The impenetrable darkness swiveled into the starry sky; for a moment I thought I might faint. But I stood firm and it went away.

  “Azul?” He held my shoulders, tenderly, as if too much pressure would shatter me.

  This time, it didn’t feel such a silly thing to worry about.

  “I’m fine. No, I’m not fine. I want to throw up. But I can manage for a few more hours.”

  Vanth touched the back of his hand to my forehead. “Let me know if you feel worse, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you.”

  I nodded and hurried up to Nina’s side. She didn’t even gnce at me.

  “You don’t look that old.” I spoke loud enough for Vanth to hear.

  “Guess not,” she said.

  “So what is the deal? Do you remember your past lives or what?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that don’t make sense.”

  To be fair, it did—far more than her being immortal or something. It’s just very, very unusual. And when people do remember their past lives, it’s only a few isoted details, like locating their room in the house they used to live in. But they won’t be able to tell you, for example, the names of all their neighbors. Nina spoke as if she could remember whole conversations she’d had centuries ago. When someone talks like that, they’re just trying to scam you.

  After all, since this Holy City of P’uncu didn’t exist anymore, I had only Nina’s word to prove she was a third acolyte instead of a janitor or whatever.

  “I told you,” Nina said, “unresolved issues keep me around.”

  “Still not making sense. I mean, you know how many people have wanted to murder the Megarchon in the st seven centuries? If all of them stuck around, we’d be seriously overpoputed.”

  She chuckled. “I’m uncommonly stubborn.”

  Vanth caught up with us, walking his motorcycle by my side. I think he was keeping an eye on me in case I felt worse, and that was really sweet, but I’d gotten wrapped up on finding some information out of Nina.

  I looked behind. The Snakes followed us, of course. “I don’t believe they’ve reincarnated just to murder someone, even if the someone’s the Megarchon.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then why do you keep them around?”

  “Don’t you think you’ve made Willka mad enough at you?”

  “No, he did that all by himself.”

  “Fair enough,” Nina said.

  Though, regardless of my feelings, I had to admit one thing about him and all the others—they were exactly what I’d been looking for. The thing I secretly wished for, but would never have allowed myself to hope for.

  Isn’t reality a pain? Now that I’d met the Rainbow Snakes, and that they were trying to do the exact thing I’d pnned to do all along—I didn’t know what to think. That I didn’t trust them went without saying. But, regardless of my feelings, I couldn’t miss this chance.

  ‘Cause what were the odds of ever finding another group dedicated to murdering the Megarchon that might want me?

  “You know, I came to High Tomenedra looking for you.”

  “Us?”

  I told her about the sawmill woman and the dead guard with a dog’s head and why I decided to come to the former High Tomenedra. That was news to Vanth, too, but he said nothing. Better for him to hear about it, though—if he didn’t like being left out, I’d apologize ter.

  As I told Nina my story, I remembered about Omedura, and how I’d seen a connection between the bck market people trying to kidnap me and the strikers rising against Cassel’s forces. I told Nina about this, too.

  “Since then,” I said, “I’ve suspected the Megarchon might be dying.”

  “That rumor has been circuting in court the st month,” Nina said.

  “All I’ve heard,” Vanth said, “is that the Megarchon is in poor health. Not that I believe it.”

  “As well you shouldn’t.” Nina looked at me. “I don’t bme you for reaching that conclusion, though.”

  “He got something right,” Amankay said. “People were acting like they believed the Megarchon is dying. But they too were mistaken.”

  “How do you know she’s not dying, though?” I didn’t mind being proved wrong, but I was curious. “Do you know her healer?”

  I’d assumed Nina had informants in Vorsa, probably even in court, and it turned out to be accurate, but not really relevant this time.

  “I don’t need to. When the Megarchon dies, it’s not gonna be like that. She’s never going to let herself die without a successor that can quicken the Imperium lined right up.”

  It was right then that I had an inkling of the truth, but I refused to make any more assumptions. I was too tired and feared I’d get it wrong.

  No, that’s not true. I think it’s more that I feared I’d get it right.

  “Why does she even care?” I asked. Remember, I’d met Letheia VII, and despite my blurry memories, I can’t say she’d ever struck me as overly concerned with her family line.

  Nina looked at me. I couldn’t see her eyes very well in the moonslight, and I’m not sure I wanted to.

  “Because Letheia VII is the same as Letheia VI, and Letheia V, and so on to Letheia I.”

  “Oh, so she doesn’t just remember her past lives, she can even decide how to reincarnate. That’s what you’re saying.”

  I didn’t manage to sound as skeptical as I wanted. That inkling was slowly growing into a firm, horrible certainty.

  “Not quite. She doesn’t truly reincarnate, not in the normal way. It’s the Imperium, you see. It can propel her soul into a different body. I don’t cim to know the exact details; those are definitely beyond my ken.”

  “You could even say,” Amankay put in, “she might be wrong.”

  “About the details,” Nina said. “Not the general concept.”

  “So you mean the Megarchon—“ I struggled to find the right words, “—every Megarchon was the same person? Letheia I Lemarezin?”

  “Not every Megarchon,” Vanth said. “Most of them. Letheia II was already an adult when she was possessed, and it didn’t stick. Cadmo I and Pirra II weren’t possessed at all. As for the others, they were all Letheia I.”

  “And you always knew?”

  “All Kings of the Dying Sun since Ada Umbra knew. It comes packaged together with the family curse. But then, it’s our duty to stop malignant spirits who possess the living. Not that the Megarchon seems to have noticed we know.”

  “Are you confident she doesn’t know?” Nina asked.

  “I am.”

  Nina shrugged.

  “Wait.” I stopped, as if thinking and walking at the same time had gotten to be too much. Everyone else stopped too. Pretty considerate, to be honest, but I was too wrapped up in my own troubles to feel thankful. “Do you mean that’s why the Megarchon puts the King of the Dying Sun under a bunch of oaths? So that she could keep possessing her successors and nobody could stop her?”

  “Exactly,” Vanth said. “Did you know that before the Protectorate, every Rellian city-state would have its own King of the Dying Sun? Yes? Well, there’s no point in giving that duty to only one person. It’s only when you realize the Megarchon wanted to prevent her ploy from being discovered that it makes sense.”

  “Wait.” I didn’t trust myself to give another step. The world might be pulled from under my feet like a rug in a comical py. All I wanted was a different expnation for all this. “Wait. So when the Megarchon’s heir quickens the Imperium, what really happens is the Megarchon chooses a descendant of theirs to possess. Is that how it goes?”

  “Pretty much,” Nina said. “That’s why almost all of them have been strawberry-blonde matricial women. She waits for a suitable baby to be born, then marks them for possession and lets herself die. There’s been a few wrinkles here and there through the centuries, but that’s the general pattern.”

  Cold sweat in my eyes, and I wiped my entire forehead with my sleeve, hard. “So why is it that nobody can quicken the Imperium anymore? Is Letheia VII really that picky? Can’t she just possess a brunette baby and dye her hair?”

  “That’s an excellent question. My best guess is that the baby she possesses does need to be—let’s say compatible with the Imperium, so that Letheia can be able to wield it in her new body.”

  “That’s all you know?”

  Nina looked at me with interest. “Why don’t you go to Vorsa and find out the rest?”

  “The fuck!”

  “I mean it.”

  I gave a couple of steps away. It seemed safe to do so—the ground felt firm under my feet again. “If that’s true, and I do mean if—“

  I honestly don’t know what I was going to say after that. Without warning, a memory seized me, more powerful than anything I could see or hear.

  A crimson dusk covered the sky; I sat on an antique chair, looking at an endless manicured garden surrounded by whitewashed brick walls. A tall woman sat across an equally antique table that carried a tea service almost as antique; a strawberry blonde with her hair piled up in a way that should’ve looked old-fashioned, but instead came off as timelessly cssic.

  “Eudoro built this house,” she said, “for me, as he spent most of the year traveling. It’s nothing special, but I still like it. I’l bequeath it to you.”

  I grabbed my head in both hands. She was always saying things like those, things that made no sense, and you just nodded and went along with it, ‘cause you didn’t argue with her and you absolutely for no fucking reason told her to start making sense, it wasn’t worth it. And I’d gotten used to not asking questions after the first few times; I did not think about the incongruences and contradictions, ‘cause I knew nothing good would come of it.

  “It was a coincidence.” I barely noticed I was speaking out loud. “That don’t mean anything.”

  She’d never told me who Eudoro was supposed to be, but once I found out Letheia I’s husband, who died in the war against the Khachimik Empire before the birth of the Protectorate, had that name, and I supposed it was one of those old-fashioned names that had fallen out of favor but had stuck with the Lemarezins because of family history.

  I was starting to remember just how much time I’d spent rationalizing things Letheia said or did.

  “It’s nothing,” I said.

  “Azul?” Vanth kneeled facing me, so he could have a good look at my face.

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  He sat on the ground and pulled me down to sit on his p. I rested my head on his chest, thankful for his scent of sweat and leather.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes. I think—I think it’s true.” I trembled all over, and Vanth scooped me up on his arms, to share more of his body heat with me. “You’re so kind, you really are, but I don’t think that’s gonna make a difference.”

  “I don’t care. You just said I was kind.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I can imagine you don’t hear that often. Wait, that sounds terrible.”

  Incredibly, Vanth chuckled too. “That’s because I’m terrible.”

  I curled myself up even more on his p.

  “Just wondering,” I said, “is there any proof of those things you said?”

  “Probably. You might think it’s all circumstantial evidence, but you’re welcome to review it any time.”

  “I’ll give it a look.”

  He rested his chin on top of my head.

  I sighed. “In a way, it’s kind of a relief. If she’s not gonna die before I kill her. If it’s not pointless to kill her. I mean, if she was just an old woman about to die of old age, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. But if it’s all true—well, we pretty much have to kill her, right? Before she finds a successor she can possess.”

  “See, I was cursed to kill her before I was even born, but since you want her dead, I won’t do it simply because I must.” Vanth lifted my hand to his lips. “As long as you want her dead, I want her dead, too.”

  Not knowing how to find the right words, I pulled his head down and kissed him. I threw my arms around his neck and hid my head on his curls. They didn’t feel quite as soft as usual, and the scent was all wrong—not the usual floral fragrance, but a thin apple perfume. Oh, it was the hotel soap, or something of the sort.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You don’t have—“

  “No, I really have to. I feel incredibly thankful to you and you’ve gotta know. And it makes me happy, too, that you want to help me.”

  Vanth looked away. It was barely noticeable, but you’d think he was feeling bashful—no, I’d gotten it right. That’s what a bashful Vanth looked like.

  What an amazing discovery!

  “I’m sorry.” It was Willka’s voice, and he couldn’t have sounded less sorry if he tried. “Do we really have to stand by and look at this? I mean, how is he gonna be of any help?”

  I didn’t need to ask who he meant, thank you.

  broccolifloret