51: THREE LITTLE WORDS

(Kihrin’s story)

I wasn’t surprised when the practice room door opened, but I’d expected Therin or Janel or maybe even Doc.

My mother walked through the door and closed it behind her.

I paused from practicing forms. “Yes?”

“I wish to talk,” Khaeriel said.

“Fine.” I sheathed Dolgariatz’s loaner sword (which was nice). “Where do we start? Hmm. So many options. It’s like a buffet of guilt and pain. We could talk about Talon, but I’m stunned to realize she’s the least of my concerns at the moment. Hmm. Oh yes. I know. Why don’t we start with you killing every D’Mon at the Blue Palace. Why don’t we talk about that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You were dead.”

“What does that have—”

“It has everything to do with it,” she said. “You were dead at Darzin’s hands, who as far as I knew was still alive. Unpunished. Free. He had sacrificed you to a demon, and no one—not a single person there—had tried to stop him. So when I found myself free from that gaesh … I was so angry—” She swallowed and started over. “It happened. I cannot change it. I regret losing control.”

“You murdered Galen.”

“I refuse to apologize for killing people who enslaved me for twenty-five years.” She regarded me with all the calm reserve of a woman who had ruled the Manol for centuries. “You honestly blame me? Tell me you have not, while a slave yourself, felt such anger that you would have killed hundreds—nay, thousands—who would benefit from your existence as chattel?”

I paused.

I would kill you all if I had a knife.

I’d thought those words when they brought me to the auction block in Kishna-Farriga. Not one tiny bit of it had been in jest. I remember the impotent rage I’d felt waiting in the cages, one of hundreds waiting, trapped like animals. Not one of us able to do anything but wait to be sold, hoping against vain hope our buyers wouldn’t prove cruel.

As if there were any other kind of buyer.

I let out a long, unsteady breath.

Perhaps the question I should’ve asked was how she could possibly have forgiven Therin. She obviously had. I said, “Explain to me how someone who was a slave for twenty-five years justifies hooking up with her old owner.”

I didn’t understand either of them. But the sad truth was, I still cared about them.

“Oh, not you too.” She rolled her eyes.

“Do you love him?”

Her gold eyes focused on me. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t?” I fought back disbelief, battling with laughter. “You kidnapped a high lord and dragged him down here to be your … I don’t even know. I don’t want to know.”

“Oh, by the trees, this was not revenge,” she snapped. “Your father is heir to the Kirpis vané throne. I wanted him as a contingency plan in case the Founders refused to overturn the Law of Daynos. He has a legitimate claim to the throne.” She clenched and unclenched her fingers.

“But … do you love my father?” I repeated, not willing to give up on the idea. “I get he’s useful and the actual heir, and I’m going to try hard not to contemplate what that makes me, but do you love him?”

“Do I love him?” She scoffed under her breath and looked at a point somewhere over my shoulder. “We hurt each other so deeply. How can we ever openly acknowledge our vulnerability? We shielded our wounds, buried them. Admitting someone has power over you is not … easy.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” I said.

Her gaze sharpened, and she looked back at me, eyes narrowing. “Is it the young woman? I noticed how you two looked on each other at dinner.”

“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you.”

She tilted her head. “Or is it your other friend Teraeth? I saw his face when we found your body back in the Capital. For that matter, the passionate plea he made in your defense over dinner.” Khaeriel paused, tapping a finger against her lip. “Terindel’s son. Hmm. That marriage would be quite politically advantageous…”

“Mother.”

Khaeriel paused.

“We’re. Talking. About. You,” I repeated.

“Fine,” she said in a tone of voice that meant everything wasn’t fine nor was the conversation over. “None of this is why I sought you out. I would like to speak with you regarding Relos Var. Your words earlier left little doubt concerning your animosity, but I cannot imagine why you would feel that way.”

I blinked. That was unexpected. “Um, because he’s a monster? And besides the fact that’s not hyperbole, he’s a master manipulator and liar who’s responsible for so many deaths, we could be standing here for years if I had to count them out. He’s personally tried to kill me—”

“Kihrin, he would never do that,” my mother protested.

I clenched my teeth. “I’d forgotten you two are friends. He tried to kill me. When he didn’t win the bid for me in Kishna-Farriga, he absolutely tried to kill me.”

Disbelief shone on my mother’s face. “Kihrin, the only reason he was trying to buy you was because I asked him to. When we realized you were missing and began to piece together events, I went to Relos Var! Therin thought you had run, but I knew you would never leave Galen behind, certainly not like that. So I asked Relos Var for his aid. He said you had been kidnapped and sold to a slave ship heading to Kishna-Farriga. He went there to free you.” She took a deep breath. “You cannot listen to Thaena. She is not to be trusted.”

“She’s your grandmother,” I reminded her.

“Who gaeshed me and sold me into slavery!” Khaeriel said. “I am well aware of her qualities. I have known her far longer than you. She truly believes she is never wrong, and that is a dangerous quality in a monarch.”

“She’s not a monarch,” I protested.

“What do you think a god is?”

“Relos Var is worse!”

“I am not sure of that,” my mother said. “I am not sure of that at all.”

I started to say something and then stopped. “Nice job.”

She raised an eyebrow at me.

“You came really close to successfully changing the subject.”

My mother scowled. “It is not changing the subject if you have exhausted the previous topic of conversation.”

“It’s two words,” I said. “Yes or no? You’ve known my father for over a quarter century. Surely, you’ve figured out how you feel by now.”

My mother clenched her fists at her sides and scowled at the ceiling for a long beat. “Fine! I hate him. He is the weakest man I have ever known. For twenty-five years, I watched him give up piece after piece of who he could have been, the great man he might have become. I watched him take a coward’s path and hide from what he knew was wrong instead of doing something. Anything. There, you have your answer.”

“If you hate him, why did you—” I glanced toward the door and stopped.

The door was still open.

My father stood just inside the threshold, leaning against the jamb. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“How long have you been standing there?” Horror lurked in my mother’s expression.

“Long enough to hear your critique of my character.” Therin walked over to us. “I’ll need a moment with your mother.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like leaving is the last thing I should do?” I fought down dread. I knew my father was capable of violence. And while I never imagined he’d unleash his temper on Khaeriel, that was before she slaughtered our family, kidnapped him, and enchanted his mind. I couldn’t be sure what he was capable of at that moment. Anything.

“Therin, let me explain—” Khaeriel stood straighter.

“What’s to explain?” His voice was so calm and soft. “Go, Kihrin. Some conversations are private.”

“I don’t think—”

“I promise I won’t hurt her.” He still wasn’t looking at me.

I sighed. “Sure. Fine. I’d appreciate it if neither of you murdered the other. Think of the children, by which I mean me. I’ve already been an orphan once. I’d rather not repeat the experience.” I walked to the door and slammed it shut.

I didn’t leave, mind you. They were staring so hard at each other, neither was in any position to tell if I’d actually left. I hadn’t. I’d turned invisible and slammed the door shut a second later. Risky, because my father wasn’t wrong; some conversations should be private.

It’s just that I didn’t trust either one not to do something we’d all regret.

“Funnily enough,” Therin said after a long silence, “it’s not the idea you don’t love me that feels like knives right now. It’s the fact you enchanted me because you didn’t think I was capable of forgiving you. That hurts.”

Surprise flickered across her face. “What?”

“After everything I’ve done. After what I’ve done to you. You thought I was this much of a hypocrite? That I wouldn’t understand? Or I wonder, am I overthinking this? Was it just that forgiveness requires apology, and your pride will never let you do that?”

“I slaughtered your family!” She glanced around the room then, as if assessing where she was and what tools she might have at her disposal if it did come to a fight. Quite a lot—it was the practice room, after all. Weapons lined the walls. “What decent person would forgive me for such a crime?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

That brought Khaeriel’s gaze back to my father. Her eyes narrowed. “What do you think?”

Therin laughed then, ugly and bitter. “I think you loved it. The surprise on their faces. The fear in their eyes. Don’t think I’m judging; it’s not like I don’t understand, even if I ‘take a coward’s path,’ which I’ll assume refers to my drinking—”

She tried to protest, but Therin continued. “If you and I sat down and compared the number of D’Mons we’d slain, you wouldn’t win the contest. And none of the family I murdered kept me as a slave. Yet I certainly liked the screams…”

“Stop it,” Khaeriel said. “Pedron deserved every sword blow.”

“True.” Therin walked to her; she backed away. “But my hands aren’t clean. I was a Quuros high lord, not to mention the criminal hobbies I inherited from Pedron.¹ I’ve killed a lot of people, and most didn’t deserve it.” Her back hit the wall. Therin framed her with his arms, hands resting to either side of her. “What decent person would forgive you? I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. I’ve been a fiend all my life. I thought you knew that.”

“I couldn’t take the chance,” Khaeriel said, “that you wouldn’t help me.”

“All right.” He pulled his arms away from her, backed up. “Well, now, you don’t need me. Terindel’s agreed to help you and doesn’t even want the crown. I’m superfluous.” He paused and added, “I went back to Quur, you know. From the well.”

Khaeriel didn’t seem surprised. “I suspected. I assumed I would never see you again.”

“And yet, you seemed happy to be proven wrong.”

“I was happy to see you were still alive.”

“The man you hate? I’m shocked at your generous spirit, my love.”

Khaeriel looked away.

Therin’s mouth quirked into something not quite a smile. “I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m that good in bed, not compared to all the vané boys and girls with centuries of experience. I’d amuse myself thinking you just enjoyed having me as a toy, except for one little thing: you never once told me you loved me.”

“What?” My mother tilted her head, her confusion quite evident. “That makes no sense.”

“Why not lie to me while I was enchanted? If I’m just a tool to be used and discarded, why would you care whether or not you spun a falsehood around your feelings? It would’ve helped strengthen the enchantment. You should’ve lied. Why didn’t you?”

“I have my pride,” she said.

He shook his head slowly. “That’s not it. Try again.”

“What answer would you like to hear? Why not start there.”

Therin smiled coldly. “You never said the words because they wouldn’t have been a lie. And that’s where your pride comes in.”

“Because they wouldn’t have been—?” She began laughing. “So now a refusal to say I love you means I do love you? The broken enchantment has clearly affected your mind.”

“Nothing you said before was wrong, Khaeriel. I’ve been weak. I’ve taken the coward’s way out, again and again. The easy paths expected of me were the paths I chose. And I’m done with it. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused, to you and so many others. Truly sorry. I’m not going back to Quur.”

“An apology makes it all better?”

“Oh no. It won’t ever make it all better, which is something you’ll learn when those screams come back to haunt you in the middle of the night. This isn’t sums on a slate board. My good deeds don’t cancel out my bad ones.”

She stared mutely at him.

Therin spoke again into the silence. “How many times must I spell this out? You are my soul, Khaeriel. I love you. You’re every good thing I cherish in the world, every reason I have to draw breath, the only reason I will ever need to smile. I’d pay that necklace of star tears or a thousand like them just to hear you laugh. It hurts to know you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

“Yes, it is indeed such a mystery why I would ever think the man willing to rupture my eyes might not be willing to forgive me.”

“Now, let’s be fair, Khaeriel. You had just murdered my grandson.”

“Said as if you’d ever given a damn about Galen.”

He laughed darkly. “A fair point. But, Khaeriel, I’d forgive you anything. Anything. Including what you did to my family. All you have to do is ask.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking simultaneously miserable and defiant. “So what do you plan now if Quur is no longer your destination?”

“That depends on you, my love. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. If you want me to stand by your side while you retake your throne, I’ll do that. All I need from you are three little words.”

“If you expect me to say—”

He counted off his fingers. “I. Am. Sorry. Those three little words. It won’t fix what you’ve done, but at least I’ll know I’m in love with a woman who still has a single redeeming bone in all her body. If I’m wrong, let me know now so I can have the dignity of a clean escape and the hope neither of us ever sees each other again.”

“And if I don’t love you?”

“Look me in the eyes, and tell me you don’t love me.”

She stared at him and didn’t answer.

“This isn’t about love,” Therin continued. “This is about being adult enough to own our mistakes. Admit to me you made one, and maybe we can still have a future together.”

Her stare was flat and cool. “Then leave. Because it was not a mistake, and I am not sorry.” Khaeriel launched herself away from the wall and toward the door.

He watched her go and didn’t make a move to stop her.

Therin just looked out at nothing, his expression distant. Then my father shook his head, sighed, and turned to me. “Eavesdropping is not the most endearing quality in the world, you realize.”

I let out a dark laugh as I let myself turn visible. “I was afraid you might hurt each other.”

“Oh, weren’t you watching? We did.” Therin walked to a bench and sat down. “Are you really this ‘Hellwarrior’? Gadrith thought he was, and he killed so many people in pursuit of that.”

I sat down next to him. “It’s not just one person. There’s more than one Hellwarrior.”

He didn’t say anything.

I sighed. “Yes, it’s me. Destined to destroy the world. Save the world? Something like that. I forget.”

“Destiny can go piss in Rainbow Lake,” my father said.

That made me smile. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

“Still, it gives me some hope.”

“What?” That wasn’t even on the same continent as what I’d expected him to say.

Therin smiled. “If Gadrith had fulfilled the prophecies, it would have been an endless horror. He was a monster, body and soul.” Therin clasped me on the shoulder. “But you? I’ve never been prouder of any of my children than I am of you. If anyone can figure out a solution to this mess, it’s going to be you. Whatever happens, I believe in you.”

I could only stare. It wasn’t that I didn’t hear the words. On the contrary, each word vibrated, sank into my soul, shattered me. But Therin spoke a language I only vaguely understood—I had to stop and puzzle over each sentence. Even then, it took a few seconds for the meaning to settle in, for me to realize my father was serious.

He misunderstood my widening eyes, the look on my face. “I know…” Therin scowled. “I know I haven’t been there. I can’t make apologies—”

“You don’t need to. It wasn’t your fault.” My throat tightened until the words came out as a whisper.

“But I also don’t regret what happened.” He winced. “That sounded callous. I just think Surdyeh did a better job of raising you than I ever would have. At least, every other child of mine stands as testament to my poor parenting skills. If you’re the only one who turned out to be worth a damn, it’s probably because you weren’t raised by me.”

I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but … he probably wasn’t. I’d never really known my brothers except for Darzin, but I suspect none of them were wonderful people. Having one’s every whim and wish catered to at all times is probably not a recipe for sterling depth of character. At the same time, I’m not sure Therin gave his own father, Pedron, nearly enough credit for warping Darzin into what he became. Galen proved it didn’t have to be that way.

I put my hand on top of his, paid no mind at all to the tears falling down my cheeks. The one thing Darzin had been good for was teaching me to embrace all the behaviors Darzin claimed as intolerable in a Quuros prince. Crying was on the list. So were more ephemeral qualities like mercy, compassion, and love.

Finally, I wiped my eyes. “Do you think she’ll come around?”

“Your mother? I hope so. But I don’t know.” Therin stared down at his hands before speaking again. “Kihrin … Doc told me he already performed the Ritual of Night.”

I blinked. “Obviously, he hasn’t.”

“He says he did. Not the last time. The time before that. Attempt number two. And he claims it didn’t work, that he ‘made a mistake’ with one of the glyphs. But I think there’s more he’s not telling.”

“That—” I shook my head. That contradicted every story about Terindel I’d ever heard.

Therin said, “I can’t help but feel someone is lying to us about what’s really going on. I’d hate to think it’s one of my oldest friends, but I’d equally hate to think it’s the Eight either.”

“Easy,” I said. “It’s Relos Var. But the fact that I haven’t seen Relos Var is starting to worry me.”

“I’ve seen him recently. He gave Valathea to Khaeriel,” Therin said, “as well as the news you were alive.”

“Huh.” I chewed on my lip. “I need to talk to Doc.”

“Not today,” my father said. “I doubt he and Valathea are going to leave their bedroom until at least tomorrow.”

I laughed. “You’re right. Of course not.” I stood and spun back around before I’d taken a step toward the door. “Speaking of bedrooms, you don’t happen to have a spare Blue House ring, do you? Kelanis took mine.”

“Why would you need—oh right. Janel.” Therin seemed curiously relieved. “I swear Doc has such a strange sense of humor sometimes.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Therin held out his hand. “I’ll need a ring.”

I pulled one of Dolgariatz’s loaners off my hand, hoping the Manol vané wouldn’t mind me keeping it for slightly longer than originally planned. I handed the ring to my father.

“I suppose I should at least be glad you’re taking precautions,” Therin said. “At least this time.”

I glanced at my father’s hands as he took the ring. Therin wasn’t wearing any rings on his hands at all. And sure, Blue House rings didn’t have to be rings, but they usually were. Therin would wear his as a ring, I was sure. It wasn’t my business, but I couldn’t help but wonder if in eight months or so, I’d find myself with another sibling.

Therin caught me staring, and his expression turned rueful. “That’s … a different complication.”

There was no point pretending I hadn’t understood. “Is my mother pregnant?”

“Probably.” He studied the ring, letting the silence settle over us before handing it back. “Whether she’ll keep the baby is a different question.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I should go,” I said.

He nodded. I left him there, staring at the weapons.