Kirven’s legs ached. So many stairs, and her head also ached from walking through the upper chambers of the spire. She rarely did it more than once in a day because she knew how it affected her, but on this day she had been unable to stop herself. Once Venn had landed they had spoken to her only to ask to return to their rooms and she had let them. Watched them walk away while the Rai spoke to her and she spoke to them, but what they talked of she could not remember.
She had returned to her workroom as if in a daze. High, as if drugged, astounded that her child, her precious, wonderful child was back and alive after coming so close to a creature as dangerous as Cahan Du-Nahere. She did not generally read of the false Cowl-Rai, for they were of little interest to her. Let the hunters do the work. She was only there at the end when they were effectively neutered and awaiting their fate. Hetton or duller.
But in the time between recognising his face, and Venn coming back, she had read what they held on Cahan Du-Nahere. At first she was comforted by it. That he was a known quantity. Then tortured by it. Torturing herself with it. The sensible part of her saying there was no reason to worry, Vanhu was strong. The mother in her unable to stop herself, exploring every awful possibility.
In her workroom she could not concentrate. Could only think of her child and eventually she knew that she would remain distracted and confused unless she spoke to Venn. Not only to know whether they were well, but to know if Vanhu had been successful before he died. If Venn had risen to be something else, something new and wonderful that would assure their survival in the world of the new Cowl-Rai. She stopped outside Venn’s room, Falnist sitting on their stool, head in a parchment while she ached in leg and head.
“Are they asleep?” she said. Falnist shook their head.
“I heard them moving about.” They blinked at her. The whites of their eyes were bloodshot.
“How do you stand being in the heights?” she said, waving a hand at the walls, and her robe of the lightest, thinnest wool, moved strangely, as if she were in water. “Does it not make you ill?”
“I read,” said Falnist, “and when I must walk about then I keep my eyes on the floor.”
“And it stops the headaches?”
“Not really,” they said, and returned to their scroll. She waited a little, in case they said more but they did not even look at her.
“You can go,” she said.
“But who will…”
“I will call if you are needed,” she said. Falnist waited a little, and she had no doubt the trion was annoyed. Good. She had not forgiven them for manipulating her and would not have them listening in to her and Venn talk. They could not disobey her, not openly.
“Very well, High Leoric,” they said. She waited, watching them walk away down the disquieting corridor, her head throbbing. When they were gone and she heard the gentle tap of feet going down the stairwell she opened the door and walked in.
Venn stood by the window. Staring out over Harnspire, and north towards the faraway Wyrdwood. They did not seem aware the door had opened, and she took a count, a moment, to stand and watch her child. Were they different? She thought so but was not sure why. Maybe they held themselves a little straighter? Maybe it was something ineffable that she could only sense in the back of her mind, the animal part. The same place that revolted when the Hetton were near, though there was no sense of revulsion here.
Maybe they had grown up a little.
“Venn,” she said softly. They turned. Clean, white make-up and blue stripe newly applied, short, black hair damp.
“Mother,” they said.
“You still do not wear your clanpaint.”
“No,” they said.
“I was frightened for you, Venn.” She stepped forward. It felt odd not to be locking the door behind her, but she did not. There had been a change, she knew it even though she did not know what it was. “As soon as I realised, as soon as what the man in the cage was registered, I sent you help, Venn.”
“He would have killed me,” said Venn softly.
“I know, he is…”
“Not the prisoner,” said Venn, “Vanhu. He made it quite clear. He would have killed me.”
“I gave him orders, Venn, he was not allowed to hurt you. He was trying to scare you.” Her child walked up to her. They were as tall as she was now.
“You may have given orders,” they said. “I looked him in the eye while he threatened me.” Something in her cracked at that, at the expression on their face. The ache left by terror was never forgotten, it remained for a lifetime and in a bid to erase it, rubbing at its tracks, she knew the scars were only made deeper.
“Venn, do you remember Madrine? The Rai?” Venn stared at her.
“Your firstwife? I remember everyone was frightened of her. You were frightened of her.” Kirven nodded.
“She used to say she would kill me, came close more than once. Drowning was what she liked, Venn. When she said she would kill me, I did not doubt she meant it. Never once, not until she was dead did I realise she never meant it. It was the fear she enjoyed, it let her control me, all of us. The act of hurting me, bringing me close to death, that was simply so I believed her.”
“But she killed her firsthusband, thirdwife, and my firstfather, you told me.”
“They acted against her.” Kirven was losing Venn and knew it. Could feel a moment of empathy slipping away. “But that is not the point. What I mean is the Rai are very good at frightening people to get what they want. I would not have sent you if I truly believed Vanhu would hurt you.”
“You put me in the blooming room,” they said. She didn’t answer. Not at first.
“I never doubted you, I know you are strong.”
“Twice, you have been happy to let me die.”
“No,” she shouted it. Calmed herself. “Never that. The moment I realised what sort of creature they had imprisoned on that raft I sent Galderin for you.”
“Creature?” said Venn. “He was only a man.”
She shook her head. “No, he was something else.”
“What?” She stopped. What she knew she was sworn to keep secret. It was a thing not shared, not spoken of. But one day Venn would rule with her, would know anyway. And she needed their trust. Venn was staring at her, intense, as if they could steal what she knew from her eyes.
“Before the new Cowl-Rai, Venn, there was chaos. A thousand dark forest gods, all mostly the same, rising in the north, the south, the east and west, everywhere. Every monk of some filthy little copse claiming they had the Cowl-Rai, all lies, of course. Most were tricksters. Many, many people died because they believed their lies. My whole family among them.” Venn’s brows creased, as if they were letting what she said sink in. “But sometimes, and none know how, they would manage to raise a cowl user. They are mostly weak, these false Cowl-Rai. But with surprise, well, you saw what they could do in the forest.” Venn blinked. Said nothing. Let her continue. “These forest cults simply misunderstood the words of Tarl-an-Gig, that is why they were so similar. But not the one of Cahan Du-Nahere.”
“What is different about him?” said Venn softly.
“He came from a monastery of a god called Zorir. They were different. They did not believe the Cowl-Rai came to better the people of the north.”
“No?” said Venn. Kirven shook her head.
“No, they believed that Crua must be destroyed, burned, that fire should rage across the entire land and only by every man, woman and trion being sent to the Star Path could our land be set to rights.” She bowed her head a little. “All the false Cowl-Rai are dangerous in their way, Venn, all of them. But this Cahan Du-Nahere? He would kill us all given the chance, and think it to our benefit.” Venn did not speak, not straightaway.
“He did not kill me,” they said eventually. “And never spoke of killing others.”
“The best killers, Venn, are never suspected. It could be he saw you as important, as a way towards his goal, whatever that is.” She wanted to know what had happened in the forest, but did not want to push the trion. They were talking to her, it felt like a healing of their relationship. “You saw him die?”
“When I left,” said Venn, “I thought it unlikely he would survive.” For a moment, a single moment, she wanted to scream. How could her child not know about the way the cowlbound healed? How hard they were to kill? They were surrounded by Rai. But she bit it back. Held it in. Gentleness, now, at this moment. Heartwood hardness later if it was needed. There were more important things for now.
“Good,” she said, “good.” Looked away, knew there was no simple easy way to phrase what came next. “Before Vanhu died, Venn. Did you…” her voice tailing off. Venn’s face hardening. Then softening. Were they remembering what they went through? Were they remembering fighting it? Had all her worry and fear been for nothing? She could see a war going on in their features, as if they had some secret. Defiance there too. She wondered if Venn was aware they bunched their fists, bit their lip as they thought. Then they bowed their head.
“Yes,” they said. “Yes, I did it.”
“I knew you were different,” she said, and embraced them. Felt them stiffen for a moment then relax and it was as if something unwound inside her. Like some key she did not know needed turning was twisted and a pain within was released from its cage.
“Am I still confined, Mother?” they said. She stood back, keeping her hands on their upper arms. Looking at them.
“To the room, no, the spire is yours, Venn. Go where you will. I will arrange a guard, and I imagine Rai Galderin will want to teach you in the use of your cowl—”
“No.”
“No?”
“I do not understand the cowl,” they said. “But I know I am different, I am trion after all. I must find my own way.” She stared at them, taking that in, weighing it up.
“Well, of course,” she said. Then smiled. “Of course. I will still assign you a guard, Venn, you are too important not to be guarded.” They nodded.
“I am tired now, Mother,” they said, “I would like to rest.”
“What about your clanpaint, Venn,” she said. “Will you wear it again.” They looked away.
“Maybe when I have earned it, Firstmother,” they said.
“I understand,” said Kirven, and she backed away, standing in the doorway for a moment before leaving. Looking at them. Proud of them. She had waited so long, so very, very long for Venn embrace their power. That they had finally done it filled her with such joy that she did not once consider they might lie to her. Or, that in exchange for their freedom, her child might only be telling her what they knew she wanted to hear.