A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

day soon, you'll see, that pup on the throne
will come here. For me, his Queen. You, whore, you're
nothing – the House is not for you. You blind Rhulad
to the truth, but his vision will clear, once,' her voice
dropped to a whisper and she leaned forward, 'we are rid of
you.'
    'I came,' Nisall said, 'to see if you needed anything—'
    'Liar. You came in search of allies. You think to steal him
away. From me. From our true master. You will fail! Where's
my son? Where is he?'
    Nisall shook her head. 'I don't know. I don't even know
if he's still alive – there are those in the court who claim he
is, whilst others tell me he is long dead. But, Empress, I will
seek to find out. And when I do, I will return. With the
truth.'
    'I don't believe you. You were never my ally. You were
Ezgara's whore, not mine.'
    'Has Turudal Brizad visited you, Empress?'
    For a moment it seemed she would not answer. Then she
managed something like a shrug. 'He does not dare. Master
sees through my eyes – tell Rhulad that, and he will understand
what must be. Through my eyes – look closer, if you
would know a god. The god. The only god that matters
now. The rest of them are blind, as blind as you've made
Rhulad, but they're all in for a surprise, oh yes. The House
is big – bigger than you imagine. The House is all of us,
whore, and one day that truth will be proclaimed, so that
all will hear. See me? I am on my knees, and that is no
accident. Every human shall be on their knees, one day,
and they will know me for their Queen. As for the King in
Chains,' she laughed, a sound thick with phlegm, 'well, the
crown is indifferent to whose skull it binds. The pup is failing,
you know. Failing. There is . . . dissatisfaction. I should
kill you, now, here. Come closer, whore.'
    Instead, Nisall backed away a step, then two, until she
was once more in the doorway. 'Empress, the Chancellor is
the source of Rhulad's . . . failings. Your god should know
that, lest it make a mistake. If you would kill anyone, it
should be Triban Gnol, and, perhaps, Karos Invictad – they
plot to usurp the Edur.'
    'The Edur?' She spat. 'Master's almost done with them.
Almost done.'
    'I will send servants down,' Nisall said. 'To clean your
chamber, Empress.'
    'Spies.'
    'No, from your own entourage.'
    'Turned.'
    'Empress, they will take care of you, for their loyalty
remains.'
    'But I don't want them!' Janall hunched lower. 'I don't
want them . . . to see me like this.'
    'A bed will be sent down. Canopied. You can draw the
shroud when they arrive. Pass out the soiled bedding
through a part in the curtain.'
    'You would do this? I wanted you dead.'
    'The past is nothing,' Nisall said. 'Not any more.'
    'Get out,' Janall rasped, looking away. 'Master is disgusted
with you. Suffering is our natural state. A truth to
proclaim, and so I shall, when I win my new throne. Get
out, whore, or come closer.'
    'Expect your servants within the bell,' Nisall said, turning
and walking from the grisly chamber.
    As the echo of the whore's footsteps faded, Janall, Queen of
the House of Chains, curled up into a ball on the slick,
befouled floor. Madness flickered in her eyes, there, then
gone, then there once more. Over and over again. She
spoke, one voice thick, the other rasping.
    'Vulnerable.'
    'Until the final war. Watch the army, as it pivots round,
entirely round. These sordid games here, the times are
almost past, past us all. Oh, when the pain at last ends,
then you shall see the truth of me. Dear Queen, my power
was once the sweetest kiss. A love that broke nothing.'
    'Give me my throne. You promised.'
    'Is it worth it?'
    'I beg you—'
    'They all beg me, and call it prayer. What sour
benediction must I swallow from this eternal fount of dread
and spite and bald greed? Will you never see? Never understand?
I must find the broken ones, just do not expect my
reach, my touch. No-one understands, how the gods fear
freedom. No-one.'
    'You have lied to me.'
    'You have lied to yourself. You all do, and call it faith. I
am your god. I am what you made me. You all decry my
indifference, but I assure you, you would greater decry
my attention. No, make no proclamations otherwise. I
know what you claim to do in my name. I know your
greatest fear is that I will one day call you on it – and that
is the real game here, this knuckles of the soul. Watch me,
mortal, watch me call you on it. Every one of you.'
    'My god is mad.'
    'As you would have me, so I am.'
    'I want my throne.'
    'You always