I frowned, unwilling to concede the point. “We have to do something. The thing is dangerous.”

“Very well. Shall we capture Usein Darr, torture her to learn her secrets? We could threaten to give her unborn child to Lil, perhaps.” Lil, who had been staring at the plate of food, smiled and said “Mmmmm” without taking her eyes away from it. “Or shall we dispense with subtlety and smite Darr with fire and pestilence and erasure, until its cities are in ruins and its people forgotten? Does that sound at all familiar to you, Enefadeh?”

Every voluntary muscle in my body locked in fury. En pulsed once, questioningly, against my chest — did I want it to kill someone again? It was still tired from my rage at Remath, but it would try.

That, and that alone, calmed me. I put my hand over En, stroking it through my shirt. No more killing now, but it was a good little star for wanting to help. With another pulse of pleasure, En cooled back into sleep.

“We are not the Arameri,” Ahad said, speaking softly, though his eyes stayed on me. Demanding my acknowledgment. “We are not Itempas. We cannot repeat the mistakes of the past. Again and again our kind have tried to dominate mortalkind and have harmed ourselves in the doing. This time, if we choose to dwell among mortals, then we must share the risks of mortality. We must live in this world, not merely visit it. Do you understand?”

Of course I did. Mortals are as much Enefa’s creations as we ourselves. I had argued this with my fellow prisoners a century ago as we contemplated using a mortal girl’s life to achieve our freedom. We’d done it anyway, and the plan had been successful — more in spite of our efforts than because of them — but I had felt the guilt keenly back then. And the fear: for if we did as Itempas and his pet Arameri had done, did we not risk becoming just like them?

“I understand,” I said, very softly.

Ahad watched me a moment longer, then nodded.

Glee sighed. “I’m more concerned about this Kahl than any mortal magic. No godling by that name is on any city registry. What do the rest of you know of him?” She looked around the table.

No one responded. Kitr and Nemmer looked at each other, and at Eyem-sutah, who shrugged. Then they all looked at me. My mouth fell open. “None o th? know of hf you knows him?”

“We thought you would,” Eyem-sutah said. “You’re the only one who was around when all of us were born.”

“No.” I chewed my lip in consternation. “I could swear I’ve heard the name before, but …” The memory danced on the edge of my consciousness, closer than ever before.

forget, whispered Enefa’s voice. I sighed in frustration.

“He’s elontid,” I said, staring at my own clenched fist. “I’m sure of that. And he’s young — I think. Maybe a little older than the War.” But Madding had been the last godling born before the War. Even before him, Enefa had made few children in the last aeon or so — certainly no elontid. She had lost the heart for childbearing after seeing so many of her sons and daughters murdered in the battle against the demons.

Would that you were a true child, she would say to me sometimes while stroking my hair. I lived for such moments. She was not much given to affection. Would that you could stay with me forever.

But I can, I would always point out, and the look in her eyes would turn inward and sad in a way that I did not understand. I will never grow old, never grow up. I can be your little boy forever.

Would that this were true, she would say.

I blinked, frowning. I had forgotten that conversation. What had she meant by —

“Elontid,” said Ahad, almost to himself. “The ones borne of god and godling, or Nahadoth and Itempas.” He turned a speculative look on Lil. She had begun to stroke one of the strawberries on the platter, her bony, jagged-nailed finger trailing back and forth over its curve in a way that would have been sensual in anyone else. She finally looked away from the platter but kept fingering the strawberry.

“I do not know a Kahl,” she said, and smiled. “But we do not always wish to be known.”

Glee frowned. “What?”

Lil shrugged. “We elontid are feared by mortals and gods alike. Not without reason.” She threw me a glance that was pure lasciviousness. “You smell delicious now, Sieh.”

I flushed and deliberately took something off the platter. Cucumber slathered with maash paste and comry eggs. I made a show of stuffing it into my mouth and swallowing it barely chewed. She pouted; I ignored her and turned to Glee.

“What Lil means,” I said, “is that the elontid are different. They aren’t quite godlings, aren’t quite gods. They’re” — I thought a moment —“more like the Maelstrom than the rest of us. They flux and wane, create and devour, each in their own way. It makes them … hard to grasp.” I glanced at Lil, and when I did, she scooped up a cucumber slice and downed it in a blur, then stuck her tongue out at me. I laughed in spite of myself. “If any god could conceal his presence in the world, it would be an elontid.”