41: A MOTHER’S LOVE
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin failed to bluff Gadrith
“Kihrin, are you all right?” Janel asked.
Kihrin slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. “It’s like you said—we know all the same people. Hey, at least I know what happened to my harp.”
Janel stared at him. “You play the harp?”
“Yes, I play the harp. And Valathea was my—” Kihrin trailed off as Janel’s eyebrows rose. Then he remembered what Teraeth had said about having a type. He cleared his throat. “It’s not like that. Teraeth and I are friends.”
“Oh, of course,” Janel agreed. “How could it be? You only run with mares.”1
“Wait, I don’t understand,” Qown said. “The person you both know is a harp? I apologize. I thought you were talking about Queen Miyane.”
Kihrin winced and raised his head, turning to Brother Qown. “That wasn’t Queen Miyane. Blue hair, yes, and they’re probably related, given the first syllable of their names, but not the same person.”
“Then who is she?”
Kihrin knocked his head against his chair several times. “No, it’s like you said, Relos Var loves to attack people through their families. That was my mother. And I’d go through all the weird genealogies involved, but the Stone of Shackles came into play. If we’re only trapped in here for a few weeks, I don’t know if we have the time.”
“She sounded worried about you,” Janel said.
“Yeah. I suppose she went to Relos Var for help after I was kidnapped, when my father’s search failed to produce any results. And Relos Var told her what she wanted to hear. I wonder what she’d say if she knew he sent a kraken to kill me.2 He does not want me healthy and in one piece.” He shook his head. “I should have known. I should have fucking known. Of course.”
Janel and Brother Qown exchanged a look.
“Right,” Janel said. “Well, I suppose I should tell the part about my mother.”
Janel’s Turn. The Afterlife.
I knew what had happened just as soon as I woke up in the Afterlife.
“Son of a mule,” I muttered under my breath and wondered if I had really died this time. Had I been given drugs or poison? I wouldn’t know until I woke up again.
Or didn’t.
***NOW WHAT HAVE WE TOLD YOU ABOUT BEING TOO TRUSTING?***
I drew my sword as I turned to face Xaltorath. Xaltorath’s tone didn’t indicate she planned a mother-daughter chat about the polite way to eat shellfish.
“You might have had a point this time.”
***YOUR DEATH ISN’T PART OF MY PLAN. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? I WILL NOT HAVE YOU TAKEN OUT BY SOME SPOILED LITTLE YORAN WHOSE AMBITIONS REVOLVE AROUND PUTTING HER BRAT ON A THRONE.***
“Look, I didn’t think—”
She backhanded me. That makes it sound like something a noblewoman might do to a courtier who displeased her. But Xaltorath’s backhand threw me twenty feet and would have slain me in the living world. And then she rushed toward me wielding a glaive, which hadn’t been there a second ago.
I raked my sword across her stomach, but the wound healed immediately. I stabbed her, but she grabbed the sword, grinning as the edges cut her hands. She broke the sword in half and threw the pieces to the ground behind me.
***I’M GOING TO HAVE TO TEACH YOU A LESSON.***
She reached for me.
“Let’s … not,” someone said.
I cried out as Xaltorath’s hand closed around my neck. She dragged me as she turned around. A woman stood before us.
I stared.
She had brown-red skin and black hair, and her eyes looked like mine. No laevos, no horse markings, but those details seemed like minor differences. Unlike me, however, she was swathed head to toe in a beautiful gown of shifting colors: green, red, and violet.
I knew at once who it was. Who it had to be.
Tya, Goddess of Magic.
“Our arrangement is over, Xaltorath,” she said, “for you promised to keep her safe, and you have done anything but, haven’t you?”
Xaltorath laughed and lifted me up, ignoring my struggling. ***SHOULD I KILL HER NOW THEN, TYA?***
“You won’t,” Tya said as she walked forward, “or you’d have done it years ago. So shall we have a fight? A battle until your pride is satisfied?”
Xaltorath opened her fingers and let me fall from them. ***NOT LONG NOW. THE PROPHECIES WILL BE FULFILLED.***
“So you claim,” Tya said. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
***YES, WE WILL.***
I winced and rubbed my neck, then looked around for the sword shards. When I looked up, Xaltorath had vanished, and only the other woman remained.
Tya.
I sat on the ground and folded my legs under me.
The woman turned around. “Janel—”
“‘Our arrangement is over’?” I said. “And what arrangement would that be? How do you know me?”
“Janel, please let me explain.”
“That’s what I’m asking you to do.”
“I’m your mother,” Tya said. “Your real mother.”
I fought to keep calm. The furious rage didn’t help. “All my life, I’ve been told my mother’s name was Frena. Or more recently that my mother was a dancing girl. You don’t strike me as either.”
“Who would have said your mother was—oh. Let me guess. Relos Var?”3 She sighed and walked over to me. “I suppose that description held some accuracy once. It’s been a long time, however.” She sat down across from me, ignoring how her beautiful dress trailed through the muck.
I stared at her. “Do you have any idea what Xaltorath’s done to me, over the years?”
My mother looked away, her expression pained. “I … have some idea. None of this was supposed to happen.”
“What a comfort that is.”
She winced at my bitter tone. “I chose your parents carefully. They were good people who wanted a child and would have raised you well.”
“I loved them,” I admitted, feeling my throat tighten.
“And I thought myself so clever,” she said, “because even though I followed the prophecies, the ‘recipes,’ with your father, I also made you hard to find. I didn’t try to keep you. I didn’t leave you with anyone who had any connection to me. Except somehow Xaltorath knew. A fact she made clear when she attacked Lonezh. So I had a choice: agree to her terms or watch as she killed you.”
“You’re a goddess, aren’t you?” I stopped studying my hands for long enough to glare at her. “I mean, you’re here, you drove away Xaltorath. She called you Tya. You’re one of the Eight. Yet you couldn’t dismiss a single demon?”
“She’s not a single demon. She’s Xaltorath. A million screaming souls make up her identity, and some of those souls belong to god-kings.4 I risked your annihilation in such a fight. When a demon kills, it eats its victims, absorbs their souls. It’s never certain a soul can be recovered, and when it’s Xaltorath…” Tya shook her head. “Xaltorath wouldn’t have gone down easily. So we came to terms.”
“And what was it she wanted?”
“You. Access to you. And my noninterference.”
I closed my eyes. “Do you know why?”
“No, but Taja assures me we should look at it as a good sign. I don’t expect you to forgive me—”
“Good.”
Tya sighed. “I had my reasons.”
I found myself incapable of dealing with my tumult of emotions. I have no idea why the whole field didn’t spontaneously combust. I felt so angry at her, so angry at Qoran Milligreest. And both had proven they would have sacrificed thousands for me. But why? For what?
Why was I so important? Because I fit some demonic prophecy’s requirements? Because I’d “volunteered” for this in a life I didn’t remember? I wanted to scream at them both. I wanted to call them out as fools. The prophecies were a lie. I knew because demons had created them.
If there was one lesson I’d learned on Xaltorath’s knee, it was this: demons lie.
Demons always lie.
I opened my eyes again. “So my father is the reason Duke Kaen didn’t have me killed. And you’re the reason Relos Var didn’t have me killed. Because he likes to strike at his enemies through family members.”
“Yes.”
“Is your real name Irisia?”
Tya frowned. “Where did you hear that name?”
“An old woman named Wyrga.”
“There aren’t many who would remember my real name. Whoever she is, I imagine she’s quite a bit older than she appears.”
“And she appears quite old.” I sighed. “Fine. I know you’re my mother now. You may leave.”
Tya looked both surprised and saddened. “Janel, I had thought—”
“Thought what? Thought we’d have a happy reunion? I would hold out my arms and welcome you into them as the mother I always wished I had? The mother I always wished I had died when I was eight, slaughtered by demons. You abandoned me. You may have thought your reasons sound, but it doesn’t change the result. And when you gave me up, you gave me up for good. You don’t get to pretend all is well and forgiven. It isn’t. It never will be.”
Her expression hardened.
She vanished.
I screamed into the void left by her absence.
“My count?”
My eyes widened, and I scrambled to my feet, turning to see Arasgon standing there. “What? No, what happened? You shouldn’t be here…”
I only knew one reason Arasgon would be in the Afterlife: his death. But even as the panicked thought rampaged across my mind, I realized Arasgon’s appearance had changed.
Fire burned from his eyes and hooves. Instead of tiger stripes along his legs, his mane was a mass of flame and sparks. I’d have thought him demonic if the flames were blue instead of red. And yet, I would have known Arasgon anywhere. The curve of his flanks, the arch of his neck, the gentle bend of his nose. This wasn’t Xaltorath.
He walked up to me and bent his head to nuzzle my shoulder.
I threw my arms around him and started to cry.
“Did … how?” I lacked any coherence.
“Your mother,” he answered. “She thought you might like my company and so showed me how to join you here.”5
I hadn’t even suspected such a thing might be possible or how Tya might have accomplished it. And yet I could assume the Goddess of Magic knew one or two more things than I did.
“If she thinks I’m going to forgive her just because she—” But the words choked in my throat.
Because as gestures went, this was a good start.
I sobbed into his hide, until Arasgon had enough and butted me with his head. “Come on, then. I want to run.”
“You always want to run.” Laughter and tears fought with each other, and I wiped at my eyes.
He gave me a silent laugh and shook his head in agreement. “Running is one of life’s great joys. You two-legs always want to complicate the matter with duties and obligations and punishments. Just run. Remember how you used to love to run?”
“Just run?” I echoed. “I’m not running anymore, Arasgon.”
“Of course you are. You’re just not running away.”
I felt laughter shudder through my chest as I petted his nose, always the softest velvet. No, I wasn’t running away anymore. I felt a moment’s regret, though, for my canton, Tolamer. I had abandoned it, even as I’d promised myself this was necessary to save it.
And I thought of what my mother had done with me.
So I was a hypocrite. Aren’t we all?
But then I had a different thought. “Wait, are you with Dorna? I mean, in the Living World?”
Arasgon nodded. “And with Talaras, Sir Baramon, and Ninavis. We’re in hiding now, because we have prices on our heads.” He drew back his lips. “Foolish two-legs.”
“Foolish two-legs indeed,” I murmured. “Do you think you’ll be able to come back here again? Since Tya has shown you the trick?”
“It isn’t a trick. She has told me I will know when you’re sleeping and will have the choice to join you. That may not be possible every night, depending on the timing.”
My eyes widened. I had a way to communicate with Ninavis and Dorna. I had a way to pass messages, to pass along the information I’d gleaned from the duke’s invasion map plans on his parlor wall. Even if I didn’t help the duke, I could move forward with his plans myself. And if they thought I was helping him …
Well. I had to find a way to examine his plans and maps, didn’t I?
Wasn’t I Janel Danorak? Time to make that work to my favor.
I grinned. “Perfect. Then we have a lot of work ahead of us. We’re going to steal a rebellion.”
I didn’t stay in the Afterlife for as long as I normally do, because I had been rendered unconscious rather than sleeping. I felt relief when I woke; I wasn’t dead.
That relief lasted five seconds, at which point I realized white surrounded me.
Snow. Snow swirling around me and ice underneath me. I tried to stand, a fact made more difficult because I lay in a puddle, making the ice below slippery.
Veixizhau had dumped me outside the castle, straight into the arctic weather surrounding the Ice Demesne. Ice water soaked through my wool dress, worse than no protection at all.
No sooner did I realize this than I noticed an additional fact:
I didn’t feel cold. Senera had stolen my strength, but not my magic.
I started laughing, the sound caught and tangled in the storm winds surrounding me. I’d realized that with my Khorveshan father and my immortal mother, I was as Blood of Joras as they came. So not a witch to my own people.
Only to the rest of Quur, who only cared that I was female.
The snow made it difficult to see any distance, but a series of loud whoops echoed from nearby. I recognized the sound from the plains of my home: hyenas. I’d seen white hyenas in the duke’s hall too, thicker-furred and larger than their southern counterparts.
Hyenas could prove a problem, depending on their clan size. I thought I could fight off a couple easily enough, but if they were anything like their southern cousins, I might easily find myself facing thirty or forty of the cursed creatures. I began seeing shapes in the snow as they closed in.
A whoop cut off abruptly.
Thunder cracked the sky, and the ground rumbled. The sky’s gray blanket rolled back, and steady snowfall lifted around me. A razor of teal sky sliced the gray clouds from apex to horizon, like the curtains drawn back on the start of the world.
And into that gap in the cloud cover flew the ice dragon, Aeyan’arric, heading straight for me.