Page 20 of The Shape of Monsters
Amado shakes his head, catching one blood-red braid on the structured silk of his outer robe. “A conversation, to begin. The arrival of Lyric and Lyric’s wife has the Pit court astir. Our Moon-Eater does not declare friendship or protection often, of course, especially to someone wearing the Moon-Eater’s skin.”
Lyric frowns. He has noticed there are no miran here, none with the same auburn-red skin as the Moon-Eater and himself. Even the numen seems to prefer the silver-pink of Aharté’s moon. Before he can ask, Amado clarifies.
“Though there is little illegal or taboo in this crater city when it comes to design, historically that old fairy vaporizes anyone caught wearing skin and eyes and hair like Lyric Aharté. Including the fruit of the Moon-Eater’s own womb.”
That’s not information Lyric expected to have casually dropped upon him, that he might have been killed instantly for just looking mirané. And the Moon-Eater had said he was perfectly designed.Lyric presses his lips together and attempts to retain some control of this conversation. “Does Amado know of a person called Maimeri Sarenpet?”
Amado shakes his head immediately. “Though Amado’s line of Chimera kings is directly descended from the Sarenpet dynasty that came to the crater some three hundred years ago. Perhaps Lyric will find the one sought through time spent in friendship with Chimera fortress?”
Pushing away disappointment, Lyric nods. The Amado Reconciler of the histories, who co-led the miran during the initial generation of Holy Design, was well liked in firsthand accounts, and if this Amado Reconciler is the same, or connected, it would be good for Lyric to maintain contact at least. And perhaps alliance. There is so much to consider, but it is sounding more and more like either he and Iriset interrupted the events of the Holy Syr’s arrival here, or theyarethe events. “Amado is a small king in the city? Chimera fortress?”
“Yes. Thirteen fortresses spread throughout the city right now, with three outside the crater walls. Chimera is not the wealthiest, but perhaps the most influential.” Amado says it lightly, with an affected shrug. Then he turns the full power of a smile toward Lyric, who senses the falling force tugging him in. The same dominant force as Amaranth. “Amado can claim it, and back it up. Few, if any, would dispute the fact.”
“Bold,” Lyric murmurs, but he doesn’t mind. He dislikes politicking, dislikes the simpering, flirtatious, cutting steps of the dance. It’s the reason he’s always led with his faith before him, his real mask. Let Amaranth shine at politics in his stead—though perhaps it was a mistake, given how far she took the trust he gave her.
“The Moon-Eater’s city rewards boldness,” Amado says, canine filigrees glinting in the lowering sun as he continues to smile. “Until, naturally, one dies.”
Lyric nods, assuming that Amado means boldness is rewarded until it kills you.
“Is it not so where Lyric Aharté comes from?”
The question is lobbed gently, to catch him off guard, and Lyric almost laughs. He glances with disapproving amusement at Amado. Lyric will not be tricked into revealing anything so easily. “Where does the Moon-Eater say Lyric and Iriset come from?”
Amado taps his narrow blackwood cane to the slate border of the nearest moss island. “The Moon-Eater has said nothing but that Lyric and wife are friends. Friends to be treated with respect and ‘left the fuck alone until ready.’” Amado’s voice at the end turns into a light drawl, surely meant to not quite mock the Moon-Eater. “This humble husband trusts that enjoying the gardens suggests a modicum of readiness.”
Lyric nods again, wishing Amaranth was here to do this instead, despite her betrayals. Or Singix—Iriset. They’re all better at conversing with intent than he is. “Lyric is ready enough. Amado is married?”
“Twice, to beautiful spouses.”
The phrasing in Old Sarenpet makes it unclear if Amado means twice consecutively, or at the same time. Amado leans toward Lyric and adds, “Perhaps Lyric and wife would join Amado Chimera for a family feast soon.”
“Iriset,” he murmurs. There is no benefit he can see to denying the possibility of friendship with anyone here, much less a powerful small king. He won’t know his position with regard to the Moon-Eater until the god deigns to meet him again, and despite the display of interest in who Lyric is and how he was made, Lyric suspects Iriset will be the more sought of the two of them. She’s more dynamic, passionate, argumentative. She wants to be here. Lyric will need friends whether they attempt to go home or not. Blessed Silence, hedoesn’tbelong here.
“Iriset,” Amado says slowly. “And Lyric Aharté.”
Lyric grimaces slightly. “Aharté is a god.” He pauses, because Aharté’s other name in mirané won’t translate directly. “The One Who Loves Silence,” he says.
“Aharté is known to the crater city. A god of peace in Saria, no?” Amado says.
“Yes,” Lyric says, but he hears Iriset’s voice cut harshly through his mind:Peace? A goddess whose people conquer and slaughter? Where is there brutality in peace, Lyric méra Esmail Your Glory?“Balance,” Lyric adds softly. “Aharté is the peace to be found in balanced design, balanced breathing. The intricate connections linking life and death, the whole design of the world. Holy Design.”
“Lyric sounds devoted. A priest perhaps?”
The smile bending Lyric’s mouth feels self-deprecating. “It was a childhood wish, yes.”
Amado the Reconciler hums. “Well, Lyric Priest of Aharté, there is little balance in this city of monsters.”
“That is apparent in the dance of forces,” Lyric says, reaching a hand out, playing his fingers through the wind. He cannot touch threads of force, but he can feel the energies slipping, pinging, sparking, dragging all around him in a mess too tangled to parse. But Lyric imagines he can pull at rising, his dominant force, to draw his spine up, clear his head. “Amado introduced, ah, Amado’s self.” Lyric stumbles with the grammar a little. “Chimera. But Amado Chimera does not appear redesigned to such an extent.”
Amado laughs, quiet and real. “It is only the name of the fortress Amado rules. Amado is no chimera.”
Lyric glances again at the bodyguards with obvious apostasy redesigning their bodies. “Amado does not partake of human architecture?” He asks it, knowing the tricolor of Amado’s hair is very likely designed.
“Some.” Amado taps his high brown cheekbone, indicating something Lyric can’t see. “How old does Lyric think Amado is?”
“Thirty?” Lyric says, though it must be a trick question.
Amado’s smile widens. “Thirty is the age of Amado’s oldest grandchild.”
