30: CYCLES OF HISTORY

Kihrin blinked. “Your father and Doc“…?”

Thurvishar tilted his head. “So it would appear.”

“Wow.” Kihrin clearly fought back laughter. “I suddenly understand where Teraeth gets it from.”

(Kihrin’s story)

I consoled myself that at least they hadn’t captured Janel and Thurvishar.

Which was when the meadow where we’d appeared flashed with a blinding light. A second later, soldiers moved in our direction, dragging Janel and Thurvishar between them. Both looked unconscious.

I prayed they were just unconscious.

Teraeth still focused on the king and on Queen Miyane’s sword. “Oh, I see. This was all about deniability. If we couldn’t identify who sent us into the Blight, we couldn’t snitch on you to the gods after we died—” He broke off as the soldiers pulled Janel and Thurvishar into the circle where we stood. His face took on that calm I associated with the worst and most murderous aspects of the man’s temper, that moment just before the poisoned knives appeared.

“A plan that has unfortunately come to naught,” Kelanis said. “Given how many royal family members have survived being sent on the Traitor’s Walk, I am honestly starting to wonder why we even bother.” He pursed his lips as he regarded Teraeth. “I must admit it feels odd to have an uncle so much younger than oneself.”

I blinked, then looked over at Teraeth. It hadn’t occurred to me, but Teraeth was Kelanis’s uncle. I somehow didn’t think it would bring Teraeth any clemency.

Seriously, this family was proving themselves even worse than the D’Mons.

King Kelanis snapped his fingers before Thurvishar and Janel. A shudder passed through both as they visibly woke. Whatever magic had kept them asleep hadn’t fully left them; they couldn’t stand without assistance.

“Thank you.” Thurvishar didn’t sound grateful for some reason.

Janel lifted her head. She didn’t say a word, but she glared swords and mayhem at the vané king.

“I hope you are all intelligent enough to realize the Eight are not in any position to rescue you at the moment,” King Kelanis said. “And with all the wards here in this place, they would be unlikely to hear you even if you called out to them.”

Thurvishar raised his head, tried to focus. “Why do this, Your Majesty? We didn’t come with an army to try to force you to do what you promised.” He ignored or didn’t notice the annoyed glare Teraeth gave him.¹

“True,” Kelanis said. “I gave my word. Now, I have broken it. Alas.” King Kelanis tilted his head as he examined the D’Lorus wizard. “But I lacked important information when I made that promise, so I refuse to be bound by an oath made under false pretenses.”

“What false pretenses?” I asked. I glanced over at Teraeth. He didn’t seem to be about to try anything rash, at least for the moment, but I was worried; his instincts ignored self-preservation. Previously, his mother would always resurrect him. This time, though? Probably not.

Kelanis turned back to me. “I have always considered myself a historian. Making up for my young age, I suppose. The first time they performed the Ritual of Night, Vol Karoth stayed imprisoned for over two thousand years. Remember that number. The second time they performed the ritual, it imprisoned Vol Karoth for a thousand years. This last time? Just over five hundred years. Are you noticing the pattern? The next Ritual of Night buys us two hundred and fifty years. We vané will lose everything—our culture, our history, our knowledge—for two hundred and fifty measly years. Meanwhile, I die, and all the Founders who help me perform the ritual die. That is a price too dear for such meager returns; I refuse to pay it.”

“It buys us time,” Janel said. “Time we can use to plan and find a solution—”

“You have had three thousand years!” King Kelanis screamed.

Silence descended on the Well of Spirals. No one uttered a word. The acolytes at the well itself all stopped their activities. Everyone stared. In the distance, a crow cawed from a tree.

King Kelanis calmed himself, smoothing the creases on his robes. “The Eight Guardians have had over three thousand years, to be precise. The Eight Guardians have known about the danger imprisoned in the Korthaen Blight for millennia. Yet no solutions have been suggested. No one has even offered up a good theory on dealing with Vol Karoth. Just books of dubious prophecies and no plans at all. Every time a race gives up their immortality, people sigh with relief, go back to their lives, and forget the clock is still ticking. So perhaps it would be better motivation if the danger stayed imminent. Perhaps a little pressure is what the Eight Guardians need, what we all need, to solve this problem.”

“Huh,” I said. “That’s a really good point.”

King Kelanis spun back toward me. “What was that?”

I shrugged, or at least as much as I could with two guards holding my arms. “I hadn’t thought about it like that, but now that I’ve heard your position, I think you have a good point. Maybe you’re even right. The Ritual of Night doesn’t buy us much, does it? And even you’re giving the ritual too much credit. Because if there’s anything to this prophecy business, well, events are in play now. So what do we gain? A few months? A year? I’m sure the demons would love it if we re-imprisoned Vol Karoth. They’ll go right back to Hellmarching. Clearly, we need to find a different solution, because this one is, at best, temporary.” I chewed on my lower lip. “I’m just not sure what we can do.”

“Is that so?” King Kelanis’s expression turned unreadable.

“Yes,” I said. “It honestly is.”

The king walked over to me and grabbed my throat. Kelanis turned my head from side to side. “You remind me of someone. Who could that be?”

My friends gave each other uneasy looks. I had to hope no one was about to say or do something rash. Especially Teraeth. Or Janel.

Probably not Thurvishar. At least we had one person with us who was levelheaded.²

I tried to ignore the fingertips digging into my skin. “I can’t imagine who, Your Majesty. I was born in Quur.” I looked down as far as I could without moving my head. “I didn’t know you were into this sort of thing.”

Okay, so or myself should have been added to that list. I could actually hear Teraeth roll his eyes.

To my surprise, Kelanis laughed.

The king released me and walked away, chuckling. Then he turned back. “Your mother was just here, you know. You missed her by less than a day.”

My throat dried. When we’d shown up at court, I’d introduced myself as, well, Kihrin D’Mon. I’d played up the role of a Quuros royal prostrating himself before vané might, figuring the idea would tickle their pride. I’d never suggested, not even once, I might be related to vané royalty. The last thing we’d wanted was to complicate negotiations with the mistaken belief I schemed to claim the vané throne.

“My mother?” I tried to sound skeptical. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t think so. My mother was a D’Mon family slave.”

Kelanis smiled. “Not bad.” He pointed at me. “I almost believe you. Khaeriel’s a fantastic liar too. I’m sure you get it from her.” He paused. “You do realize your tenyé betrays your ancestry?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Again, Your Majesty, that’s unlikely—”

The king slowly pointed a finger at Queen Miyane, who winked at me. At no point had she moved her sword away from Teraeth’s throat.

“Shit,” I muttered. Because Queen Miyane was sister to the assassin who’d murdered my mother. Miyane was my aunt by blood, because my mother had ended up permanently residing in said sister’s body before I was born. The Stone of Shackles and all that.

My tenyé would indeed give that away.

The king shook a finger at me, like a teacher scolding a student. “I did not discover the Stone of Shackles’ true nature until I searched through old family records. Historian, remember? I found this fascinating account of a voras wizard giving a Cornerstone to my uncle Terindel. But what happened to the Cornerstone after Terindel’s ‘death’? It has been left in a jewelry box, discarded as a trinket—one claimed by my sister. By the time I pieced together the truth, it was too late to do anything but hope your mother had died in the Blight. And yet, here you are, nephew. Such a shame about the timing. We would have thrown you such a party.”

“Surprise…?” I said weakly.

Teraeth leaned away from the blade’s edge. “This doesn’t change anything. Kihrin has no claim to your throne; we’ve committed no crime. Why execute us when all you have to do is refuse to cooperate?”

“Now, now. The humans did trespass here,” King Kelanis pointed out.

“That’s not worth killing them over,” Teraeth responded.

“Let’s not make matters even worse than they are,” I said. “Teraeth’s mother is Thaena, and Janel’s mother is Tya. There’s refusing to conduct the ritual, and there’s killing their children.”

“You can’t use us as hostages if we’re dead,” Janel added.

“What about him?” King Kelanis pointed to Thurvishar. “I suppose his mother is Taja?”

“No, I’m just pretty,” Thurvishar offered.

Okay, so maybe all of us belonged on that list.

Kelanis paced before us. “No one would argue this is a fantastic situation. And you are quite right. Killing you would likely not help me. Turning you into tsali, however—”

“No!” Janel said.

Several well attendants looked in our direction.

“Darling,” Queen Miyane said, “not here.”

He tilted his head in her direction. “You make an excellent point. No sense upsetting the attendants. And if Khaeriel refuses to leave hiding to reclaim Valathea, perhaps she will for her son.”

I grimaced. Great. Perfect. “You know she didn’t raise me, right? And I can count the years I’ve spent with her using one finger? Half of one finger? I wouldn’t assume she cares that much.”

“For your sake, I hope she does. Your execution will be both public and excruciating. It would be a shame if she refuses to turn herself in and I’m forced to carry it out.” The king motioned to his guards. “Take them to the Quarry. And be gentle with this one. He is a prince, after all.”