‘But you don’t really want that, because then it would leave you vulnerable to that other voice in your head. The sweet woman murmuring all those endearing words — do I recall ever hearing such when she was alive?’
Stop.
‘In the cage of your imagination, blissfully immune to all that was real — the cruel indifferences, yes — you make so much of so little, Nimander. A chance smile. A look. In your cage she lies in your arms, and this is the purest love, isn’t it? Unsullied, eternal-’
Stop, Phaed. You know nothing. You were too young, too self-obsessed, to see anything of anyone else, unless it threatened you.
‘And she was not a threat?’
You never wanted me that way — don’t be absurd, ghost. Don’t invent-
‘I invent nothing! You were just too blinded to see what was right in front of you! And did she die at the spear of a Tiste Edur? Did she truly? Where was I at that moment, Nimander? Do you recall seeing me at all?’
No, this was too much.
But she would not relent. ‘Why do you think the idea of killing Sandalath was so easy for me? My hands were already stained-’
Stop!
Laughter, ringing through his head.
He willed himself to say nothing, waited for those chilling peals of mirth to dwindle, grow ever fainter.
When she spoke again in his mind there was no humour at all in her tone. ‘Nenanda wants to replace you. He wants the command you possess, the respect the others hold for you. He will take it, when he sees his chance. Do not trust him, Nimander. Strike first. A knife in the back — just as you acted to stop me, so you must do again, and this time you cannot fail. There will be no Withal there to finish the task. You will have to do it yourself.’
Nimander lifted his gaze, looked upon Nenanda, the straight back, the hand resting on pommel. No, you are lying.
‘Delude yourself if you must — but not for much longer. The luxury must be shortlived. You will need to show your. . decisiveness, and soon.’
And how many more kin do you want to see dead. Phaed?
‘My games are done with. You ended them once and for all. You and the swordsmith. Hate me if you will, but I have talents, and I gift them to you. Nimander — you were the only one to ever listen to me, the only one to whom I opened my heart-’
Heart? That vile pool of spite you so loved to swim in — that was your heart?
‘You need me. I give strength where you are weakest. Oh, make the bitch murmur of love, fill her mouth with all the right words. If it helps. But she cannot help you with the hard choices a leader must make. Nenanda believes he can do better — see it in his eyes, so quick to challenge.’
‘It’s growing light,’ Desra said from the window. She turned. ‘I think we should go out. To the tavern. It may be he is wounded. It may be he needs our help.’
‘I recall him not asking for it,’ growled Nenanda.
