40: BAS-RELIEFS

(Janel’s story)

Janel opened her eyes. She immediately slammed her hand down against the mattress, hard enough to make the whole thing jump. “Damn it!”

Something had happened with Xaltorath. Janel didn’t know what, but she knew she was missing time.

Then she simultaneously realized two things. First, her inner thighs ached.

Second, she was alone.

Janel sat up. The room wasn’t large enough to miss Kihrin’s absence. She looked behind herself and immediately felt a fool. Did she think Kihrin had fallen behind the mattress?

The smell of sex and sweat lingered in the air, mixing with the odor of cold, dusty stone. No sign of blood or violence, but anything could have happened while she had been in the Afterlife.

“Irisia, please, I need your help.” Janel called out her mother’s name, her mother’s real name.

Nothing. No response at all.

She didn’t know why she’d expected otherwise.

Then Janel noticed a rainbow shimmer sweep over the stone sink. She blinked, but it remained, a chatoyant sheen against the marble. Something new.

She’d avoided drinking the water for fear their jailers had drugged it. The effects clearly needed to be renewed regularly—she woke feeling only slightly woozy—which meant regular dosing. The drinking water and food seemed obvious.

Janel went over to the sink, which included a single spigot from which flowed a thin stream of water. Not fantastic for washing, but enough to give a prisoner drinking water. Janel stared at the stream with the intensity of a starving cat eyeing a sleeping rabbit. Was the rainbow glimmer on the stone meant as a warning? Or meant to say the water was now safe?

There was only one way to find out.

Janel picked up the cup, filled it, and drank. Then repeated the action. Her tongue felt like a jungle insect had crawled inside her mouth and died, but the light-headed wonderment of the previous night didn’t return.

Janel sat on the bed, collected and dressed herself, then considered the night before. To say she was annoyed with herself was a vast understatement. It’s not like she hadn’t wanted to have sex with Kihrin, but she’d also wanted to do so while sober. Especially for their first time.

Kihrin had seemed enthusiastically willing—she dimly remembered him asking the questions she had forgotten—but she still found herself furiously angry at Kelanis for putting them in a situation where their intentions toward each other could ever be in doubt. And then there was Teraeth …

Gods, Teraeth. Janel felt torn between wishing Kihrin and Teraeth would just fuck already to being terrified of where she’d fall in their lives once they finally did. Whatever had possessed her to involve herself with two stallions who didn’t understand her culture or place within it?

Except she knew that too. What had possessed her were the echoes of other lives, the seeping memories of wounded souls and loves she’d inherited rather than earned. S’arric. Kandor. Men she’d never known and yet whose shadows fell across her heart. Counting the moments until they realized what they had with her was nothing more than a fading reflection.

Janel shook off her fugue. She drank some more water, used the commode. Finally, she returned to the sink, grabbed the sides, and yanked the entire basin right off the wall.

Water surged into the air. Janel dropped the stone basin and returned to bed, curling up against a wall as still drugged. A flood pooled inside the room, washing out under the door.

It didn’t take long for someone to respond.

The door opened. A vané guard tipped his head inside, spotted her, then motioned for someone else to join him. The second man raised an eyebrow at the sink. “What … happened here?”

Janel ignored the question and rocked back and forth, not looking at them directly. One guard was Manol vané, the other Kirpis vané. She knew she could take them if she had the advantage of surprise.

The Manol vané approached her. “Come on, then. Everything’s fine. You’re safe now.” His voice was soothing. He held up his hands, as if trying not to startle a deer.

When he reached the bed, the vané bent down and tried to put an arm around her. She twisted, grabbed, and slammed his head into the stone wall.

Or rather, she tried. Janel wasn’t fast enough. The guard grabbed her arm, arrested her swing, and then forced her down to the bed. Her strength meant nothing to him. How?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he growled. “Would you stop that?”

She had zero intention of stopping anything, but the sharp snap of his voice flashed through her with recognition. She stared up at the man’s face. “Terindel?”

The illusion vanished in tattered wisps. She still lay on the bed; no one had touched her.

Doc¹ leaned against the wall he’d been holding up with a shoulder, while his chestnut-haired companion stayed by the door, watching out for interruptions. They both dressed in guard uniforms, but with closer inspection, she noticed the bloodstains left by the original owners.

Therin watched Janel with idle curiosity. “Do you know her?” he asked his companion.

Doc’s mouth quirked to the side. “No, not at all. I’d say my reputation precedes me, but not many people know what I look like these days.”

“It’s a long story.” She clambered out of the bed, although it meant squeezing into a space that now held two more people than its original builders had ever intended. “And nothing would please me more than to go into greater detail,” she lied, “but might we first find my friends and leave?”

Therin pointed toward the still-gushing plumbing. “How did that happen?”

“How do you think it happened? I ripped it off the wall.”

He blinked at her. “Gods, how old are you? Sixteen?”

“I’m twenty,” she corrected. “I’d ask how old you are, but I’ll simply assume ancient beyond belief.”

Doc started snickering.

“Shut it, you. You’re the old man here,” Therin said. He turned back to Janel. “You’re also not drugged. We were told they keep the prisoners insensate.”

“I was given an antidote,” Janel said.

He held up a vial of a wine-colored liquid. “Looks like we won’t need this, then.”

“Maybe for the others?” Doc said. “Let’s go.” He started to reach for Janel for real.

At least, she thought he was. Chainbreaker made it hard to know for sure.

“Wait,” Janel said. “Do you know where they’ve taken Kihrin? When I woke up, he was gone.” Even as she asked the question, she realized she’d assumed they’d know who Kihrin was.

“My wife’s taking care of that,” Doc said. “Don’t worry.”

“They put you in the same cell as my son?” A wry smile formed on Therin’s lips.

Janel found herself looking at the bed, at the state of her clothing, at the unmistakable scent lingering in the air. Well. No sense trying to pretend nothing had happened.

“Your son—” Janel floundered, her brain unwilling to make the proper connections, until she realized the man’s amused, twinkling eyes were indeed the same blue as Kihrin’s. “You’re High Lord Therin D’Mon.”

“You don’t need to make it sound like a disease.”

“Don’t I?” She tilted her chin and put her hands on her hips.

Doc started laughing again. Janel’s glare in his direction just made his laugh harder. He pointed a finger at her. “You’re Qoran’s daughter. The one Tyentso was talking about.”

“Since I wasn’t there for your conversation with Tyentso, I’ve no idea if she meant me.” Janel scowled. “But yes to the first statement.”

Therin cleared his throat. “Much as I would love to continue this conversation about how Qoran is going to first murder my son and then me, she’s right. We need to go.”

“Hold up there,” Doc said as Janel started to leave. “It’ll look better if we’re pulling you.”

“Then do so.”

She had no idea why Therin D’Mon seemed to find her impatient retort so humorous.

They “dragged” her outside, walking at the normal, determined pace of two guards in no particular rush. The dawn light was turning the morning sky green, and fog lingered at the tree line, spilling down the quarry sides to wander along the stone paths like ghosts.

“I don’t remember where they put Thurvishar or Teraeth,” she admitted. Janel didn’t stop talking—she’d been running off like a wild horse the night before, so she didn’t think any watching guards would find chattiness unusual.

“Not a problem,” Therin said. “We’ve already checked with the guards.”

“Give her the antidote,” Doc said, “and we’ll throw her in the next cell. Should look like a prisoner transfer.”

“The two cells at the end there,” Therin said.

“You don’t have a key?” Janel asked.

Doc laughed. “As a matter of fact, we do.” He gave her a vial as Therin unlocked the cell door. They pushed her inside and closed the door behind her.

For a second, she wondered if they’d made a mistake, but then her eyes adjusted to the light.

Teraeth lay on the bed with his elbow under his head, eyes half-lidded, reminding her of a jaguar lazing about on a hot afternoon. A particularly beautiful jaguar. Her breath caught at the sight.

His gaze sharpened fractionally. “Are you real?”

“Fortunately for you, yes.” She knelt next to him. A small cup sat by his side—clearly, he’d been drinking the water.

“Oh.” He pondered her with a deep, serious regard. “Has anyone told you that you look just like this woman I married?”

She stopped and made a face. Lovely. Just perfect. “You weren’t married to anyone. Atrin Kandor was. You live your own life now.”

“I was an idiot. I was the biggest idiot.” He paused. “Did I ever apologize?”

“No, you didn’t. Since that was another lifetime, I don’t require any. You haven’t done anything wrong to me.” She held up the vial Doc had given her. “I need you to drink this.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Janel inhaled. While she’d started remembering her past life, Teraeth had always remembered his, with perfect clarity. Which wasn’t a good thing, in her opinion. This whole past-life business had proven more annoying than useful.

“C’indrol,” Janel murmured. She looked away, frowning. Who was C’indrol?

“Who’s that?” Teraeth asked.

She bit her lip. “I have no idea. I don’t remember.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” He shrugged.

Janel scowled. She’d asked Kihrin about the name the night before.

But today? She’d forgotten the context.

She thrust the bottle at Teraeth. “Drink this.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t.” Teraeth whispered sotto voce, “I think they’re putting something in the water.”

“That’s why I need you to drink this,” she repeated. “Can you do that for me?”

“I don’t want to,” Teraeth said.

Janel sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she thumbed off the cork and said, “I understand. I couldn’t convince Kihrin to drink his either.”

“Give me that,” Teraeth said.

She handed him the vial. He drank it in one go, gasping. “Holy—That’s disgusting.” Teraeth closed his eyes, made a face, and then shook his head violently from side to side.

“I suspect that’s on purpose.” Janel set the bag down. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“What’s that?” Teraeth reached for her, rather than the change of clothing.

“What?” She didn’t understand what he could possibly mean, then his fingers touched her hip, where the drawstring pants had settled low enough to uncover the love bite left there the night before. “Oh.”

Teraeth traced the pattern of ruptured blood vessels with a fingertip. “Kihrin did this.” It wasn’t a question. The Manol vané looked at her with hooded eyes, his mouth quirked in a smile. Far from being upset or jealous, he looked aroused.

She bit her lip as a shiver swept over her body.

Janel made a soft noise. Much as Teraeth had been driving her to the brink of frustration lately, his touch left her dizzy. She clasped her hand over his, which had started to hook two fingers over the gathered fabric. “We don’t have time for this.”

He stood slowly, cupped his hand against her cheek. “We might have a little time.”

She reached up until her lips almost met his. “Your father,” she whispered, “is waiting outside this cell, and I don’t know where the guards have taken Kihrin.”

Teraeth stopped smiling and removed his hand. “You’re right; such a shame we don’t have time for this.”

She pushed the uniform and mail into his hands. “Your father brought you a present. I know it doesn’t make up for all those missed birthdays, but let’s applaud the effort.”

“What did you make me drink? The antidote?”

“I assume. That present is from Kihrin’s father, also outside.”

His laughter was midnight dark. “Oh, this just gets better and better.” Teraeth dressed quickly and, much like his father, looked the part perfectly. He threw her a wary, worried look. “Does my father know who you used to be?”²

“Who I—?” Janel lowered her voice. “Oh. Kihrin told you.” She reminded herself to have a long talk with Kihrin once they’d escaped this mess.

“In his defense, he thought I already knew.” Teraeth paused. “So does Terindel—?”

“No. And let’s keep it that way.”

Teraeth exhaled. “Nothing would make me happier.” He eyed the club that had been included with the outfit, rolled it around his arms a few times experimentally. “This’ll do.”

“Good. Let’s leave. We still need to find Thurvishar—”

A bell started ringing somewhere in the compound. Then another.

The door to the cell slammed open, and Doc stuck his head inside. “Come on, you two. I’m guessing they found the bodies.”

“Father,” Teraeth said.

Doc waved a hand. “Yes, yes. Heartfelt, tender family reunion later.³ Hurry!”

Teraeth grabbed Janel by the arm and pulled her outside, acting for all the world like another guard dealing with a prisoner. Hopefully with the alarm, no one had been watching for long enough to notice they’d gained a guard or question why three guards would be needed for a single prisoner.

A guard shouted at them. “Forget that one! We need everyone up top!” The guard promptly ran off, paying no more attention to them.

“Should be at the end,” Therin said, pointing.

They moved as quickly as they could without running. When they reached the door, Janel reached out and broke the lock before Therin found his key. She raised an eyebrow at Therin’s stunned surprise. “It’s quicker this way.”

Teraeth smirked at the two men. “We’ll be right back.”

Janel and Teraeth ducked inside the cell, both expecting to grab Thurvishar and leave. Instead, they both stopped and stared.

Teraeth slowly closed the door behind him.

The prison cell, if it could be called such, had a beautifully polished floor inlaid with black and white marble to form an orchid flowering from a book—the symbol of House D’Lorus. An elaborate sink and commode lined one wall, both more ornate than the plain built-ins from their cells. Above the sink hung a polished silver mirror. A full marble Zaibur board with all the pieces and an eggshell-thin chalcedony goblet rested on a small marble table. A high-backed marble chair had been pushed under the table. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, mage-lights sparkling as they lit up the corners of the room with rainbows.

Most palaces weren’t this ornately decorated.

And the walls—the walls had been shaped into sumptuous bas-reliefs. Writhing dragons—each one different—encircled the wall where the bed attached, while the wall behind them had been turned into a montage of the Eight Immortals. A celestial map decorated the opposite wall, charting the planets, stars, and innumerable constellations. An open passage broke the pattern of that wall, complete with a lighted stairway.

Also, the room was empty.

Teraeth opened the door again. “Get in here.”

Janel walked over to the open passage and waved a hand through it. It wasn’t a trick—a tunnel led straight back into the quarry bedrock.

“What the—?” Doc said as he and Therin stepped inside.

“You know, this is the last place I’d have expected to see a symbol of House D’Lorus,” Therin D’Mon said. “How on earth did this happen?”

“The obvious answer is Thurvishar,” Janel said. “I’m just not sure why.”⁴

“That’s you, Janel.” Teraeth sounded awed.

“What?” Janel turned back around.

The last stone wall had been carved with a bas-relief of seven figures, all posed in heroic stances, as if frozen just seconds from running off to fight evil. The one that Teraeth touched was indisputably, unmistakably Janel, carved in stone. But other likenesses were also recognizable.

“Not just her,” Doc said. “You and Tyentso too. I don’t recognize the others.”

“I do,” Janel said, breath catching. She pointed at each in turn. “That’s … Talea.” She inhaled. “And that’s Relos Var’s minion, Senera.” She ran her fingers over the last one’s surface. “This is Xivan Kaen.” She shook her head. “He’s made it look like we’re all on the same side.”

“You think Thurvishar did all this?” Teraeth sounded dumbfounded.

“Who else could have done it? I cannot imagine how, but it seems unlikely the vané put him in a cell personalized with family crest and escape tunnel.” Janel shook her head.

“Where’s Kihrin?” Therin said. “I’m surprised there’s no carving of him.”

“Gods,” Doc said. “Look up.”

Behind the chandelier, an enormous dragon had been meticulously sculpted, sparkling like opal in the reflected rainbow spray. It was locked in battle with another figure—a black silhouette, roughened and turned matte so it somehow reflected no light at all. The black figure held an equally black sword, and since both carvings drank the light, it seemed as though man and sword merged.

No one said a word. In the background, the alarm bells continued to ring.

“I’ve seen the dragon before,” Janel finally said. “That’s Relos Var.”

“But the silhouette—” Teraeth started to say.

“That’s not Kihrin,” Janel insisted.

“No. It can’t be.” Teraeth exhaled forcefully.

“Well, this is … something,” Doc said. “And in case you’re curious, no, none of this is an illusion.”

Janel looked up the stairs. Each step’s riser was mage-lit, illuminating the passage. Here too the walls were decorated, but nothing so grand or illustrative as the bas-reliefs below. Janel choked off a hysterical laugh as she began climbing the steps. “He made handrails. Handrails.”

Teraeth followed her. “Note to self: Thurvishar does nothing by halves. Also, I’m asking him to build my next house.”

Doc’s laughter echoed up the long passage.

Thurvishar had also made landings. Each had benches and little alcoves whose purpose eluded Janel until she realized they were reading nooks, apparently existing for no other reason than Thurvishar couldn’t imagine going that long without stopping to read something.⁵ Then they turned a corner and the stairway opened onto the jungle floor, near the edge of the quarry grounds.

Thurvishar sat on the ground, studying a flower. He wore an elegant black misha and kef trimmed with silver thread, with matching boots, nothing like the prisoner garb they’d been issued.

Thurvishar looked up and beamed a wide, happy, deeply drugged grin.

“My friends!” He held out his hands. “You must join me. I was about to have a picnic.” He pointed. “We’re having flowers.”

Janel blinked. Thurvishar was still drugged. He was still drugged? She’d assumed he’d thrown off the effects, or he’d faked eating the food, or something …

The whole point of drugging their food and water had been to keep their thoughts too disorganized and scattered for spellcasting. Except Thurvishar had gone right ahead and kept casting spells. And had done so beautifully.⁶

“Oh, how interesting,” Therin said. “He’s still drugged.”

Teraeth pointed to the tunnel. “Thurvishar, you’re up in the clouds right now. How the hell did you manage all that? Handrails?”

“Oh! Thank you for reminding me. I need to fix those. They’re not the right shape.” He started crawling on his hands and knees back to the tunnel entrance.

“Oh no you don’t.” Doc caught the man by the neck of his robes. “There’s no reason to go back there right now. Or ever.”

Teraeth was trying desperately not to laugh. “Have you practiced casting spells while, um,… blissful?”

“Oh yes.” Thurvishar grinned. “This reminds me of finals week, my first year at the Academy. We were all so … so stewed. Beyond stewed. We were supposed to animate a dead frog, and Mazor D’Aramarin made the damn thing twelve feet tall.” He began laughing at the memory. “Never did figure it out. You should have seen the dean’s face … It breathed fire.”

“Oh yes,” Therin said. “That does bring back some memories.”

“Well,” Janel said, “this is … delightful. We would, all of us, love to hear about your unexpectedly drug-filled Academy years, but first, drink this.” She uncapped the last vial and held it out to Thurvishar.

“Oh? Sure.” He took the vial and tipped it back into his mouth. He winced. “Oh, that tastes like book paste and shame.”

A few seconds after he drank the vial, Thurvishar blinked, his eyes widened, and then he focused on the group. “Oh.”

Janel smiled. “Welcome back.”

Thurvishar brushed himself off. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Did I do anything?”

“You redecorated,” Therin said. “Bit unorthodox, but who am I to judge? And don’t worry; I won’t tell House D’Kard.”⁷

“Oh no.” Thurvishar looked extremely embarrassed.

“There is no need to blush,” Janel said. “I’ve never seen its like.”

“And just so you know,” Teraeth said, “I really do want to hear about your college years.” He stage-whispered, “They sound fantastic.”

“He’s kidding,” Doc said.

Teraeth shook his head. “Oh no. I’m not kidding. I’m hoping he remembers recipes.”

Janel crossed her arms over her chest. “We need to find Kihrin.”

Just then, an explosion lit up the trees behind them, coming from the Quarry.

“Easy.” Teraeth pointed. “He’s that way.”