Even with that many things Awakened, he still had enough Breath to make every color they passed glow brightly. Of course, that didn’t work for many of the stones they passed. Though large chunks of the building were still black, at least half of it had been turned white.

Not just the grey of normal Awakening. They had been made bone white. And, becoming that white, they now reacted to his incredible BioChroma, splitting back into colors. Like a circle, somehow, she thought. Colorful, then white, then back to color.

He led her into a particular chamber, and she saw what he’d told her to expect. Scribes crushed by the carpets that he’d awakened, bars ripped from their mountings, walls broken down. A ribbon shot from Susebron, turning over a body so that she wouldn’t have to see its wound. She wasn’t paying much attention. In the midst of the rubble were a pair of corpses. One was Blushweaver, bloody and red, facedown. The other was Lightsong, his entire body drained of color. As if he were a Lifeless.

His eyes were closed, and he seemed to sleep, as if at peace. A man sat next to him—Lightsong’s high priest, holding the god’s head in his lap.

The priest looked up. He smiled, though she could see tears in his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking at Susebron.

“Lightsong gave his life to heal me,” the God King said. “He somehow knew that my tongue had been removed.”

“The Returned can heal one person,” the priest said, looking down at his god. “It’s their duty to decide who and when. They come back for this purpose, some say. To give life to one person who needs it.”

“I never knew him,” Susebron said.

“He was a very good person,” Siri said.

“I realize that. Though I never spoke to him, somehow he was noble enough to die so that I might live.”

The priest smiled down. “The amazing thing is,” he said, “Lightsong did that twice.”

He told me that I couldn’t depend on him in the end, Siri thought, smiling slightly, though sorrowful at the same time. I guess he lied about that. How very like him.

“Come,” Susebron said. “We must gather what is left of my priests. We have to find a way to stop our armies from destroying your people.”

“THERE HAS TO BE a way, Vasher,” Vivenna said. She knelt next to him.

He tried to push down his rage, his anger at himself. He’d come to the city to stop a war. Once again, he’d been too late.

“Forty thousand Lifeless,” he said, pounding his fist against the floor. “I can’t stop that many. Not even with Nightblood and the Breaths of every person in the city. Even if I could somehow keep up with their marching, one would eventually get in a lucky strike and kill me.”

“There has to be a way,” Vivenna said.

Has to be a way.

“I thought the same thing before,” he said, putting his head in his hands. “I wanted to stop it. But by the time I realized what was happening, it had gone too far. It had taken on a life of its own.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Manywar,” Vasher whispered.

Silence.

“Who are you?”

He kept his eyes closed.

They used to call him Talaxin, Nightblood said.

“Talaxin,” Vivenna said, amused. “Nightblood, that’s one of the Five Scholars. He . . .”

She trailed off.

“. . . he lived over three hundred years ago,” she finally said.

“BioChroma can keep a man alive a long time,” Vasher said, sighing and opening his eyes. She didn’t argue.

They used to call him other things, too, Nightblood said.

“If you’re really one of them,” Vivenna said, “then you’ll know how to stop the Lifeless.”

“Sure,” Vasher said wryly. “With other Lifeless.”

“That’s it?”

“The easiest. Barring that, we can chase them down and grab them one at a time, then break them and replace their Command phrases. But even if you had the Eighth Heightening to let you break Commands instinctively, changing so many would take weeks.”

He shook his head. “We could have an army fight them, but they are our army. The Hallandren forces aren’t large enough to fight the Lifeless on their own, and they wouldn’t be able to get to Idris with any semblance of speed. The Lifeless will beat them by days. Lifeless don’t sleep, don’t eat, and can march tirelessly.”

“Ichor-alcohol,” Vivenna said. “They’ll run out.”

“It’s not like food, Vivenna. It’s like blood. They need a new supply if they get cut and drained or if it gets corrupted. A few will probably stop working without maintenance, but only a small number.”

She fell silent. “Well then, we Awaken an army of our own to fight them.”

He smiled wanly. He felt so light-headed. He’d bound his wounds—the bad ones, anyway—but he wouldn’t be doing more fighting anytime soon. Vivenna didn’t look much better, with that bloody stain on her shoulder.

“Awaken an army of our own?” he said. “First, where would we get the Breath? I used all of yours. Even if we find my clothing, which still has some in it, we’ll only have a couple hundred. It takes one per Lifeless. We’re severely overmatched.”

“The God King,” she said.

“Can’t use his Breath,” Vasher said. “The man’s tongue was removed when he was a child.”

“And you can’t get it out of him somehow?”

Vasher shrugged. “The Tenth Heightening allows a man to Command mentally, without speaking, but it can take months of training to learn how to do that—even if you have someone to teach you. I think his priests must know how, so they can transfer that wealth of Breath from one king to another, but I doubt they’ve trained him yet. One of their duties is to keep him from using his Breaths in the first place.”

“He’s still our best option,” Vivenna said.

“Oh? And you’ll use his power how? Make Lifeless? Are you forgetting that we’ll need to find forty thousand bodies?”

She sighed, resting back against the wall.

Vasher? Nightblood asked in his mind. Didn’t you leave an army behind here last time?

He didn’t reply. Vivenna opened her eyes, however. Apparently Nightblood had decided to include her in all of his thoughts now.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Vasher said.

No, no it’s not, Nightblood said. I remember. You talked to that priest, told him to take care of your Breath for you, should you need it again. And you gave him your army. It stopped moving. You called it a gift for the city. Don’t you remember? It was just yesterday.

“Yesterday?” Vivenna asked.

When the Manywar stopped, Nightblood said. When was that?

“He doesn’t understand time,” Vasher said. “Don’t listen to him.”

“No,” Vivenna said, studying him. “He knows something.” She thought for a moment, then her eyes opened wide. “Kalad’s army,” she said, pointing at him. “His phantoms. You know where they are!”

He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“Where?”

“Here, in the city.”

“We have to use them!”

He eyed her. “You’re asking me to give Hallandren a tool, Vivenna. A terrible tool. Something worse than what they have now.”

“And if that army of theirs slaughters my people?” Vivenna asked. “Could what you’re talking about give them more power than that?”

“Yes.”

She fell silent.

“Do it anyway,” she said.

He glanced at her.

“Please, Vasher.”

He closed his eyes again, remembering the destruction he had caused. The wars that had started. All because of the things he’d learned to create. “You would give your enemies such power?”

“They’re not my enemies,” she said. “Even if I hate them.”

He regarded her for a moment, then finally stood. “Let’s find the God King. If he even still lives, then we shall see.”

“MY LORD AND LADY,” said the priest, bowing with his face down before them. “We heard rumors of a plot to attack the palace. That’s why we locked you away. We wanted to protect you!”