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The hundred thousand kin.., p.1
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       The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, p.1

           N. K. Jemisin
The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

  Dekarta Arameris face did not change;

  I could not read it.

  For my heir, Granddaughter. I intend to name you to that position today.

  The silence turned to stone as hard as my grandfathers chair.

  It came to me that some response was expected.

  You already have heirs, I said.

  Not as diplomatic as she could be, Viraine said in a dry tone.

  Dekarta ignored this. It is true, there are two other candidates, he said to me. My niece and nephew, Scimina and Relad. Your cousins, once removed.

  I had heard of them, of course; everyone had. Rumor constantly made one or the other heir, though no one knew for certain which. Both was something that had not occurred to me.

  If I may suggest, Grandfather, I said carefully, though it was impossible to be careful in this conversation, I would make two heirs too many.

  Indeed, he said. But just enough for an interesting competition, I think.

  I dont understand, Grandfather.

  He lifted his hand in a gesture that would have been graceful, once. Now his hand shook badly. It is very simple. I have named three heirs. One of you will actually manage to succeed me. The other two will doubtless kill each other or be killed by the victor. As for which lives, and which die He shrugged. That is for you to decide.

  By N. K. Jemisin

  The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms


  Copyright S 2010 by N. K. Jemisin

  Excerpt from The Broken Kingdoms copyright S 2010 by N. K. Jemisin

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.


  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

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  First eBook Edition: February 2010

  Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-07597-8



  1: Grandfather

  2: The Other Sky

  3: Darkness

  4: Magician

  5: Chaos

  6: Alliances

  7: Love

  8: Cousin

  9: Memories

  10: Family

  11: Mother

  12: Sanity

  13: Ransom

  14: The Walking Dead

  15: Hatred

  16: Sar-enna-nem

  17: Relief

  18: The Oubliette

  19: Diamonds

  20: The Arena

  21: First Love

  22: Such Rage

  23: Selfishness

  24: If I Ask

  25: A Chance

  26: The Ball

  27: The Ritual of the Succession

  28: Twilight and Dawn

  29: The Three

  Appendix 1

  Appendix 2

  Appendix 3



  Meet the Author





  I AM NOT AS I ONCE WAS. They have done this to me, broken me open and torn out my heart. I do not know who I am anymore.

  I must try to remember.

  * * *

  My people tell stories of the night I was born. They say my mother crossed her legs in the middle of labor and fought with all her strength not to release me into the world. I was born anyhow, of course; nature cannot be denied. Yet it does not surprise me that she tried.

  * * *

  My mother was an heiress of the Arameri. There was a ball for the lesser nobilitythe sort of thing that happens once a decade as a backhanded sop to their self-esteem. My father dared ask my mother to dance; she deigned to consent. I have often wondered what he said and did that night to make her fall in love with him so powerfully, for she eventually abdicated her position to be with him. It is the stuff of great tales, yes? Very romantic. In the tales, such a couple lives happily ever after. The tales do not say what happens when the most powerful family in the world is offended in the process.

  * * *

  But I forget myself. Who was I, again? Ah, yes.

  My name is Yeine. In my peoples way I am Yeine dau she Kinneth tai wer Somem kanna Darre, which means that I am the daughter of Kinneth, and that my tribe within the Darre people is called Somem. Tribes mean little to us these days, though before the Gods War they were more important.

  I am nineteen years old. I also am, or was, the chieftain of my people, called ennu. In the Arameri way, which is the way of the Amn race from whom they originated, I am the Baroness Yeine Darr.

  One month after my mother died, I received a message from my grandfather Dekarta Arameri, inviting me to visit the family seat. Because one does not refuse an invitation from the Arameri, I set forth. It took the better part of three months to travel from the High North continent to Senm, across the Repentance Sea. Despite Darrs relative poverty, I traveled in style the whole way, first by palanquin and ocean vessel, and finally by chauffeured horse-coach. This was not my choice. The Darre Warriors Council, which rather desperately hoped that I might restore us to the Arameris good graces, thought that this extravagance would help. It is well known that Amn respect displays of wealth.

  Thus arrayed, I arrived at my destination on the cusp of the winter solstice. And as the driver stopped the coach on a hill outside the city, ostensibly to water the horses but more likely because he was a local and liked to watch foreigners gawk, I got my first glimpse of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms heart.

  There is a rose that is famous in High North. (This is not a digression.) It is called the altarskirt rose. Not only do its petals unfold in a radiance of pearled white, but frequently it grows an incomplete secondary flower about the base of its stem. In its most prized form, the altarskirt grows a layer of overlarge petals that drape the ground. The two bloom in tandem, seedbearing head and skirt, glory above and below.

  This was the city called Sky. On the ground, sprawling over a small mountain or an oversize hill: a circle of high walls, mounting tiers of buildings, all resplendent in white, per Arameri decree. Above the city, smaller but brighter, the pearl of its tiers occasionally obscured by scuds of cloud, was the palacealso called Sky, and perhaps more deserving of the name. I knew the column was there, the impossibly thin column that supported such a massive structure, but from that distance I couldnt see it. Palace floated above city, linked in spirit, both so unearthly in their beauty that I held my breath at the sight.

  The altarskirt rose is priceless because of the difficulty of producing it. The most famous lines are heavily inbred; it originated as a deformity that some savvy breeder deemed useful. The primary flowers scent, sweet to us, is apparently repugnant to insects; these roses must be pollinated by hand. The secondary flower saps nutrients crucial for the plants fertility. Seeds are rare, and for every one that grows into a perfect altarskirt, ten others become plants that must be destroyed for their hideousness.

  * * *

  At the gates of Sky (the palace) I was turned away, though not for the reasons Id expected. My grandfather was not present, it
seemed. He had left instructions in the event of my arrival.

  Sky is the Arameris home; business is never done there. This is because, officially, they do not rule the world. The Nobles Consortium does, with the benevolent assistance of the Order of Itempas. The Consortium meets in the Salon, a huge, stately buildingwhite-walled, of coursethat sits among a cluster of official buildings at the foot of the palace. It is very impressive, and would be more so if it did not sit squarely in Skys elegant shadow.

  I went inside and announced myself to the Consortium staff, whereupon they all looked very surprised, though politely so. One of thema very junior aide, I gatheredwas dispatched to escort me to the central chamber, where the days session was well under way.

  As a lesser noble, I had always been welcome to attend a Consortium gathering, but there had never seemed any point. Besides the expense and months of travel time required to attend, Darr was simply too small, poor, and ill-favored to have any clout, even without my mothers abdication adding to our collective stain. Most of High North is regarded as a backwater, and only the largest nations there have enough prestige or money to make their voices heard among our noble peers. So I was not surprised to find that the seat reserved for me on the Consortium floorin a shadowed area, behind a pillarwas currently occupied by an excess delegate from one of the Senm-continent nations. It would be terribly rude, the aide stammered anxiously, to dislodge this man, who was elderly and had bad knees. Perhaps I would not mind standing? Since I had just spent many long hours cramped in a carriage, I was happy to agree.

  So the aide positioned me at the side of the Consortium floor, where I actually had a good view of the goings-on. The Consortium chamber was magnificently apportioned, with white marble and rich, dark wood that had probably come from Darrs forests in better days. The noblesthree hundred or so in totalsat in comfortable chairs on the chambers floor or along elevated tiers above. Aides, pages, and scribes occupied the periphery with me, ready to fetch documents or run errands as needed. At the head of the chamber, the Consortium Overseer stood atop an elaborate podium, pointing to members as they indicated a desire to speak. Apparently there was a dispute over water rights in a desert somewhere; five countries were involved. None of the conversations participants spoke out of turn; no tempers were lost; there were no snide comments or veiled insults. It was all very orderly and polite, despite the size of the gathering and the fact that most of those present were accustomed to speaking however they pleased among their own people.

  One reason for this extraordinary good behavior stood on a plinth behind the Overseers podium: a life-size statue of the Skyfather in one of His most famous poses, the Appeal to Mortal Reason. Hard to speak out of turn under that stern gaze. But more repressive, I suspected, was the stern gaze of the man who sat behind the Overseer in an elevated box. I could not see him well from where I stood, but he was elderly, richly dressed, and flanked by a younger blond man and a dark-haired woman, as well as a handful of retainers.

  It did not take much to guess this mans identity, though he wore no crown, had no visible guards, and neither he nor anyone in his entourage spoke throughout the meeting.

  Hello, Grandfather, I murmured to myself, and smiled at him across the chamber, though I knew he could not see me. The pages and scribes gave me the oddest looks for the rest of the afternoon.

  * * *

  I knelt before my grandfather with my head bowed, hearing titters of laughter.

  No, wait.

  * * *

  There were three gods once.

  Only three, I mean. Now there are dozens, perhaps hundreds. They breed like rabbits. But once there were only three, most powerful and glorious of all: the god of day, the god of night, and the goddess of twilight and dawn. Or light and darkness and the shades between. Or order, chaos, and balance. None of that is important because one of them died, the other might as well have, and the last is the only one who matters anymore.

  The Arameri get their power from this remaining god. He is called the Skyfather, Bright Itempas, and the ancestors of the Arameri were His most devoted priests. He rewarded them by giving them a weapon so mighty that no army could stand against it. They used this weaponweapons, reallyto make themselves rulers of the world.

  Thats better. Now.

  * * *

  I knelt before my grandfather with my head bowed and my knife laid on the floor.

  We were in Sky, having transferred there following the Consortium session, via the magic of the Vertical Gate. Immediately upon arrival I had been summoned to my grandfathers audience chamber, which felt much like a throne room. The chamber was roughly circular because circles are sacred to Itempas. The vaulted ceiling made the members of the court look tallerunnecessarily, since Amn are a tall people compared to my own. Tall and pale and endlessly poised, like statues of human beings rather than real flesh and blood.

  Most high Lord Arameri, I said. I am honored to be in your presence.

  I had heard titters of laughter when I entered the room. Now they sounded again, muffled by hands and kerchiefs and fans. I was reminded of bird flocks roosting in a forest canopy.

  Before me sat Dekarta Arameri, uncrowned king of the world. He was old; perhaps the oldest man I have ever seen, though Amn usually live longer than my people, so this was not surprising. His thin hair had gone completely white, and he was so gaunt and stooped that the elevated stone chair on which he satit was never called a throneseemed to swallow him whole.

  Granddaughter, he said, and the titters stopped. The silence was heavy enough to hold in my hand. He was head of the Arameri family, and his word was law. No one had expected him to acknowledge me as kin, least of all myself.

  Stand, he said. Let me have a look at you.

  I did, reclaiming my knife since no one had taken it. There was more silence. I am not very interesting to look at. It might have been different if I had gotten the traits of my two peoples in a better combinationAmn height with Darre curves, perhaps, or thick straight Darre hair colored Amn-pale. I have Amn eyes: faded green in color, more unnerving than pretty. Otherwise, I am short and flat and brown as forestwood, and my hair is a curled mess. Because I find it unmanageable otherwise, I wear it short. I am sometimes mistaken for a boy.

  As the silence wore on, I saw Dekarta frown. There was an odd sort of marking on his forehead, I noticed: a perfect circle of black, as if someone had dipped a coin in ink and pressed it to his flesh. On either side of this was a thick chevron, bracketing the circle.

  You look nothing like her, he said at last. But I suppose that is just as well. Viraine?

  This last was directed at a man who stood among the courtiers closest to the throne. For an instant I thought he was another elder, then I realized my error: though his hair was stark white, he was only somewhere in his fourth decade. He, too, bore a forehead mark, though his was less elaborate than Dekartas: just the black circle.

  Shes not hopeless, he said, folding his arms. Nothing to be done about her looks; I doubt even makeup will help. But put her in civilized attire and she can convey nobility, at least. His eyes narrowed, taking me apart by degrees. My best Darren clothing, a long vest of white civvetfur and calf-length leggings, earned me a sigh. (I had gotten the odd look for this outfit at the Salon, but I hadnt realized it was that bad.) He examined my face so long that I wondered if I should show my teeth.

  Instead he smiled, showing his. Her mother has trained her. Look how she shows no fear or resentment, even now.

  She will do, then, said Dekarta.

  Do for what, Grandfather? I asked. The weight in the room grew heavier, expectant, though he had already named me granddaughter. There was a certain risk involved in my daring to address him the same familiar way, of coursepowerful men are touchy over odd things. But my mother had indeed trained me well, and I knew it was worth the risk to establish myself in the courts eyes.

  Dekarta Arameris face did not change; I could not read it. For my heir, Granddaughter. I intend to name you to t
hat position today.

  The silence turned to stone as hard as my grandfathers chair.

  I thought he might be joking, but no one laughed. That was what made me believe him at last: the utter shock and horror on the faces of the courtiers as they stared at their lord. Except the one called Viraine. He watched me.

  It came to me that some response was expected.

  You already have heirs, I said.

  Not as diplomatic as she could be, Viraine said in a dry tone.

  Dekarta ignored this. It is true, there are two other candidates, he said to me. My niece and nephew, Scimina and Relad. Your cousins, once removed.

  I had heard of them, of course; everyone had. Rumor constantly made one or the other heir, though no one knew for certain which. Both was something that had not occurred to me.

  If I may suggest, Grandfather, I said carefully, though it was impossible to be careful in this conversation, I would make two heirs too many.

  It was the eyes that made Dekarta seem so old, I would realize much later. I had no idea what color they had originally been; age had bleached and filmed them to near-white. There were lifetimes in those eyes, none of them happy.

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