29: THE BATHHOUSE

(Therin’s story)

After confirming Doc hadn’t given himself a concussion, Therin sobered the man up using magic, forced him to eat something, and dragged him to a bathhouse.

All the Royal Houses had their own private bathhouses, but enough rich merchants, wizards, Voices, bureaucrats, and priests lived in the Upper Circle to create their own demand. So Therin took Doc to one of the less exclusive bathhouses, too easily accessible to be exclusive enough for a royal, but not seedy enough to appeal to the same princes who might be looking for a fun time slumming.

Therin had tried to pay extra for their own room, only to discover private rooms were unavailable at any price. A rumor had spread that since demons liked fire, water provided protection; all the bathhouses had been filled to capacity since. Therin didn’t think it mattered; in his experience, some businesses always fared best when everything else was at its worst. The brothels, the bars, gambling houses, and social halls like bathhouses would do all the business they could stand and more as people tried to forget how terrible everything was. Mostly by gossiping about how terrible everything was.

Crowds created their own odd kind of privacy, the clamor of the flock as effective a wall of secrets as the hush of isolation. Eventually, having been steamed, soaped, and folded like the wash, Therin and Doc reaching the soaking stage. They jammed themselves in a small corner of a steaming pool filled with men, old and young, who grappled with their own private griefs. Everyone else in the pool thought Therin sat next to someone who looked like what he’d grown used to seeing Doc looking like—a taller-than-normal Quuros man with a bald head and a comfortable middle. Heavens only knew what they thought he looked like. But for Therin, Doc looked like a stranger—a beautiful vané with green eyes to put any House D’Aramarin member to shame. Which was deeply weird. Therin wondered if Sandus had known what Terindel really looked like. It would have explained some things. The crowd gave them an unusually wide berth, likely because they imagined a great deal more people lingered in this corner than happened to be true.

“You know, I came looking for you because I … I needed someone to talk to,” Therin finally said.

“What happened with Miya this time?” Doc said. He floated entirely submerged except for his face and the floating strands of ebony hair spiraling out like silken thread.

Therin made a noise not unlike a laugh and knocked his head against the tile wall. “Her name isn’t even Miya. It’s Khaeriel.” He raised his head again. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“Some secrets aren’t mine to tell.”

Therin bit back on the urge to say, “Since when?” or the very appealing alternative, which was to try drowning the man. The whole reason he’d gone to the bathhouse (besides the fact that Doc had stunk like a man drinking for two weeks straight) was for the same reason any royal met with dangerous people in a bathhouse—so they wouldn’t be armed when a fight broke out. Somehow, Therin suspected that precaution would prove only a minor inconvenience to the former vané king.

“She enchanted me.” Therin scowled. “I don’t mean metaphorically. She kidnapped me and tried to warp my mind so I’d…” Therin didn’t want to explain the particulars, how she’d twisted one addiction into a different kind. “I escaped, Galava found me, and that’s how I ended up back here.”

Doc’s voice sounded sleepy and not particularly concerned. “So what’s the problem?”

“I’m still in love with her.”

Doc stood, pushing his hair from his eyes as steam rose from his body. No one else in the room reacted. To their right, an old man suddenly broke out into sobbing crying, and a much younger man—probably a grandson—put his arms around the other man’s shoulders, eyes full of misery. Everyone else in the pool began studiously admiring the artful ceiling tiles.

Doc turned around. “No surprise. You’ve always been in love with her. Fortunately, you’re perfect for each other, since you’re both terrible people.” Doc sat back down again, this time on a bench across the way. “But hey, since I’m also a terrible person, I’ve always liked that about you.”

“She slaughtered my family, Doc.”

“And clearly that’s important to you,” Doc replied, “since you’re here mothering me and not back at the Blue Palace actually giving a shit about them.”

Therin felt each word twist in his gut. But if the words cut, it was only because the truth had sharpened them. Therin had practically turned somersaults at the Culling Fields to keep his grandson from spotting him. “I suppose I deserve that.”

“Let’s not forget you kept Khaeriel a slave for how many years? And then there’s Kihrin. I seem to recall you literally wouldn’t allow her to acknowledge Kihrin was her own child. That is … not good, Therin. Not good at all. I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but you’re an asshole.”

Therin frowned. “What? How do you know that?” He waved a hand. “Not the asshole part. That’s common knowledge. I mean how did you know about the rest of it?”

“Because Kihrin told me.” Doc wrinkled his nose. “Oh yeah, I should probably mention I haven’t been around here for the past few years because I’ve been off on a tropical island training your youngest how to use a sword. He’s pretty good. Unfortunately, he’s going to need to be.”

Therin stared at the man. “What?”

“Oh, come on. With everything else that’s happening right now, that had better not be the thing that throws you.”

“Just—okay.” Therin rubbed his nose. “I guess—thanks? I’m told Kihrin killed Gadrith.”

“That is also my understanding.” Doc frowned over where several loud, boisterous men were starting to intrude into their cleared zone. They began having an animated, push-turning-to-shove conversation with empty air—no doubt the result of whatever Doc was making them see.

“—and probably made it stick this time, unlike some people.”

Those green eyes focused on him again. “Again, fuck you. And you have no idea if he made it stick. I thought I’d made it stick too.” But Doc straightened, splashing water as he pulled a leg under himself. “Wait. That’s not right. Sandus killed Gadrith, not Kihrin.”

“Gadrith wore the Stone of Shackles,” Therin explained. “Sandus did kill Gadrith—and you know what happened next. And Kihrin killed—well, it wasn’t Sandus.”

“How? If Gadrith had the Stone…”

“The Ruin of Kings,”¹ Therin said. “Kihrin found the sword.”

Doc’s whispered curse was so quiet, Therin almost didn’t hear it. Then Doc started laughing. He didn’t stop for a long time. There was some private, dark jest at work that Therin simply didn’t have the context to understand. A joke Doc found not at all funny.²

Therin didn’t ask him to explain the punch line. He just asked, “Do you have a son?”

Doc stopped laughing.

“Because after the conversation I had with Galava—” Therin rubbed his forehead. “I still can’t quite believe I casually spoke to one of the Eight in person.”

“Trust me, you get used to it.”

Therin let that comment fall into the water and drown an early death. “It’s pretty clear to me Gadrith and Pedron weren’t the only people trying to force that damn Four Fathers prophecy. And apparently, you were right to be skeptical Gadrith ever sired a child—Thurvishar D’Lorus was never Gadrith’s son—he’s Sandus’s. So I can’t help thinking that means all four of us have a son out there somewhere.”

Doc went back to leaning his head against the side of the pool. He didn’t answer.

Therin sighed and contemplated calling for a cup of wine. The vendors were doing terrific business selling drinks and snacks to the bathers looking for any reason to linger. Except if he did that, Doc would want one too, and damn it, at least one of them needed to stay sober.

But then Doc surprised him and answered the question after all. “Yes, I have a son. And yes, he’s the right age, and yes, he’s involved in all this garbage. His mother’s made sure of it. Qoran’s got some tadpole running around out there too. Honestly, the shock would be if he didn’t, considering how many beds that man was always skipping through.”

“So where have you been hiding yours?”

“Ah, now who’s forgetting the prophecy? His mother never told me. I had to find out by meeting the little brat in person.”

“Ouch. Takes after you that much, does he?”

“Oh yes. He’s a top-grade dick.” Doc raised an eyebrow. “Want to switch? I like your son.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Therin said. “I hardly know the kid.” He scowled. “I suppose I should say I hardly know the man.”

“Trust me, he’s a hell of a lot better than either of us. Honestly, I have no idea where he gets it from.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Have you met our family?”

“Apparently, no, I haven’t. For fuck’s sake, I just found out that Khaeriel’s grandmother is Death herself.”

“Heh, yeah … that—that’s not even half of it.”

“You’re not really a Milligreest, though, right? Even though you used the name when we first met? I’m not secretly related to Qoran? Because I’d rather not be.”

“No, no. I’m just that crazy uncle that’s been around forever. Not related to Qoran or—” His expression fell.

Therin knew exactly why.

“I’m sorry about Sandus,” Therin finally said. “I had assumed you’d gotten over him. Or did you two rekindle things after his wife died?”

Doc’s eyes opened all the way. “You knew about that?”

Therin scoffed. “Of course I knew about that. Everyone knew about that. You practically handed out signed confessions every time you snuck into each other’s tents while we were traveling. You honestly think I never noticed?” He paused. “Okay, Qoran probably didn’t notice. He’s always been adorably oblivious about some things.”

“There’s no way you saw anything,” Doc protested. “I was using—” He gestured to the tsali around his neck. “I was using magic. You never saw me sneak into Sandus’s tent.”

“No,” Therin said, “but I still knew. Body language always gave the two of you away, and you may have been using magic to conceal what you look like, but you often forgot to hide that just-kissed flush you and Sandus used to show up around the campfire wearing. And how old was Sandus? Literally fresh off a farm in Marakor? The lovestruck stares he would send your way…”

“Shit.” Doc scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, we rekindled things.”³

“Figured as much. Generally speaking, people don’t go on several-week benders over old friends dying. Old lovers are a different matter.”

“It kills me that last time we spoke was a fight,” Doc said. “I was so angry at him.”

“Let me guess—you’d found out he asked Qoran to give Valathea to my son.”

Doc’s eyes were too bright as he nodded. “Exactly so. I demanded he get her back. Which, uh…” He barked out a harsh laugh. “He did. But before I could come back and claim her, I find out Sandus has been murdered and someone else has stolen the harp I’d originally ordered stolen in the first place.”

“Wait. You were the one who stole Kihrin’s harp?”

“Technically, I’m pretty sure the Devoran priests did that.” Doc pointed an angry finger at him. “She’s not Kihrin’s harp. I like your kid, but she doesn’t belong to him.”

Therin thought back to his experiences with Khaeriel, delivering the harp Valathea to the Well of Spirals earlier that day. Hell, had it really only been earlier that day? He dismissed Doc’s comment with a hand wave. “Fine.”

“Now what was that you said about stopping the Ritual of Night?” Therin asked. “Because that’s exactly the opposite of what the Eight Immortals want.”

“With all respect, the Eight Immortals can suck my cock,” Doc replied easily.

Therin stared.

“Oh, have I offended? Did you decide to rekindle things with the ol’ Pale Lady? Couldn’t help but notice how you were dressed…”

“I just think maybe a little reverence…”

Doc leaned forward from the bench so quickly, he sent a wave of water splashing against the side. “No. Absolutely not. They’re not gods. And I know they’re not gods because I’m old enough to remember when nobody worshipped them. When nobody would have even thought to worship them.”

Therin decided to let that pass for the moment. He didn’t know how old Doc was, but … old. Older than the Empire of Quur seemed obvious enough. Maybe what Doc said was true, but it seemed hard to imagine. “So you were going to explain how you performed the Ritual of Night when everyone else says you refused? Or was that just a fantasy of how you wished it had gone?” Therin frowned. “But—the business with the sun. You refused to perform the Ritual of Night during Atrin Kandor’s reign … the sun didn’t look like that five hundred years ago.”

“No, but it looked like that fifteen hundred years ago. That’s when I performed the ritual. Tried, anyway. It just didn’t work.” Doc shrugged. “As it happens, Queen Shahara of the voramer drew the lot to do it. And she performed the ritual perfectly, and the voramer lost their immortality. Never saw Thaena as angry in my life as the day her people became mortal. She didn’t make any secret of the fact she thought it should have been the vané.”

“So why wasn’t it?”

“I messed up a glyph. Screwed up my own heroic sacrifice. It happens.” His green eyes were dark and bitter.

Therin couldn’t tell whether or not he was lying.

“Okay, so you didn’t have time, the voramer had to step in and do it instead, fine. But why doesn’t anyone seem to know that? Why does everyone think you refused?”

“I do not want to talk about this,” Doc said.

“I do,” Therin replied.

“I believe the technical term for your situation is tough shit.”

“Yes, but I know where Valathea is.” Never mind that Therin happened to be telling the truth; he also knew that this tactic wouldn’t exactly endear him.

Doc growled, “You son of a bitch. Seriously?”

“My son is apparently in the middle of this mess, and I have gods and my best friend telling me two very different stories that don’t add up. So yes, seriously. Help me understand why you think the Ritual of Night is a bad idea—something beyond the death of people performing the ritual and your race becoming mortal. Do that and I’ll tell you where you can find your damn harp.”

Doc’s glare was decidedly unfriendly. “Fine. I don’t want them to perform the ritual because it won’t work. It won’t work for them, exactly the same way it didn’t work for me. It can’t work. There’s no happy ending to any story where that ritual is performed a fourth time.”

An ugly sense of dread settled over Therin. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that’s all the explanation you’re getting. You don’t know Thaena the way I do. You don’t know what she’s capable of doing when she feels betrayed, and I promise you, when this is all over, she’s going to feel betrayed. Even if no one actually did.”

“I don’t know Thaena?” Therin scoffed. “She’s my goddess!”

“And she’s the mother of my son,” Doc retorted. “Turns out when people talk about sleeping in Thaena’s bed, it’s not always a metaphor for dying.”

Therin’s mouth fell open. “Uh…”

“Now where the fuck is my wife?” Doc’s expression suggested he had run out of patience.

Therin was so in shock from that particular reveal—worse, in its way, than the whole grandmother thing with Khaeriel—that he answered instantly. “The Well of Spirals.”

Terindel’s eyes went very wide and then very narrow. “… why?”

“I honestly don’t know, but when Khaeriel took it there, she told the attendants the harp was an ‘unconventional’ tsali stone.”

Every trace of expression fled Doc’s face.

“What am I missing about that, Doc? I mean, even if that’s true, what are they going to do about it at a vané temple? It’s not like Thaena will Return her. Even if her souls are intact, which after five hundred years seems unlikely—”

“It’s a tsali stone?” Doc wasn’t asking Therin the question. “All this time, I thought it was a curse … I’ve been trying to break a curse.” His expression was a curious mixture of horror and something Therin couldn’t quantify. Not hope exactly, but some related emotion that wanted to make friends with hope. “A tsali stone? That’s the easiest thing in the world to fix…”

“No, it’s not. She doesn’t have a body. You’d need both Thaena’s and Galava’s consent.”

Doc splashed his way over to Therin and grabbed him by the shoulders. “No, you don’t. That’s what the Well of Spirals is, my friend. It’s where my people go when we want new bodies, and we use tsali to keep our souls safe until we make the transfer. Don’t you see? They’re bringing back my wife!” The Manol vané started laughing. “Come on, then. We’re going to the Well of Spirals.”

Therin grabbed the man’s hands. “You, maybe. I don’t know if you remember, but that’s where Khaeriel is. And in spite of how I feel about her, I also have to acknowledge she’s unlikely to be happy with me right now.”

Doc scoffed. “Nonsense. The Well of Spirals is the last place in the world where you’re going to find Khaeriel. She’s too smart to stick around—I guarantee you someone already alerted her brother, and he’s shown up with soldiers on the off chance she had an attack of stupid. It’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Perfectly safe when I’m a known associate of hers? They’re not morons, Doc.”

“Pssh. The odds we’ll see the same people you encountered are so small it’s a leaf in the forest.” He hopped out of the pool, not bothering with wading through the crowds to the shallow steps. “Come on, Therin. Let’s go! When was the last time you left the Capital City?” He paused before Therin could answer. “When was the last time you left the Capital City of your own free will?” Doc pulled a towel off a shelf and wrapped it around his waist. “Remember when we used to have fun?”

“Remember when we almost ended up dead on numerous occasions?”

Doc clapped Therin on the arm. “That’s called fun. And trust me, after the first thousand years or so, you learn to enjoy it.”