65: THE PARLIAMENT OF FLOWERS
(Teraeth’s story)
Teraeth had excellent focus. Which was handy, because at the moment, what he wanted to do and needed to do were very different things. He wanted to go after Kihrin. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kill, oh, anyone. Everyone.
He needed to keep calm and pay attention to his mother. Teraeth knew Thaena well enough to recognize her mood: smug. Oh, she was sincerely sorry to see Therin dead. She was probably even sincerely fond of Khaeriel and Therin. She’d honor the deal.
But she hadn’t gotten her way yet. First, Khaeriel had to retake the Manol throne, and then and only then could she go through the ritual to make the vané people mortal, so they’d age like any other race. And maybe that would be enough. They’d imprison Vol Karoth again and this time, this time, they wouldn’t waste the opportunity. They’d figure out how to destroy that abomination once and for all. For Kihrin’s sake as well as the world’s.
Teraeth watched as his father picked up Therin’s corpse. Dolgariatz finished making arrangements with his people. Janel had her arms crossed under her breasts, her helplessness mirroring his own. Valathea took Khaeriel by the hand and led her to the open gate.
As the two women approached, Thaena tilted her head, and her expression shifted from satisfaction to shock. “Valathea?”
“What a pleasure to see you, Khaemezra,” she said. “Thank you so much for your assistance.”
Thaena’s nostrils flared. “You’re welcome.” She met the vané woman’s eyes.
Teraeth winced. That wasn’t a fight Valathea could win. He’d seen his mother stare down dragons, god-kings, Relos Var.
Valathea held Thaena’s stare without flinching, even as she gestured toward Teraeth. “I should compliment you on your son. He’s lovely. You must be proud.” She didn’t make it sound like an insult.
Janel caught Teraeth’s eye. She’d noticed the staring contest too. She raised an eyebrow at him, but all he could do was shrug.
He’d thought Valathea unimportant. Doc’s wife and not much more.1 Brought back by Khaeriel to bribe some favor from Doc himself.
But unimportant people didn’t win staring contests with the Goddess of Death.
A flash of disbelief crossed Thaena’s face. “I’m surprised to see you be so gracious.”
“I can hardly be jealous,” Valathea said. “Terindel thought I was dead. And truthfully, I may as well have been. I like to think you were looking after him for me.”
Valathea sounded so … sweet. Genuine, warm, not even slightly cloying. So pleasantly agreeable and respectful in tone, Teraeth couldn’t point to any single word as mockery or condescension. And yet …
Knives lurked in Valathea’s words. Sharp, deadly edges. So well hidden he could see his mother struggle to find justification for complaint.
His father cleared his throat. “We should go.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Teraeth said. He caught Janel’s attention and gestured toward the gate.
“Where are we going?” Janel whispered.
“The Parliament of Flowers,” he whispered back.
“The what of Flowers?”
“It’s the legislature. I’ll explain later.” Teraeth eyed his mother and stepmother. The contest of wills between them hadn’t quite finished.
Then Valathea smiled brightly and led Khaeriel through the gate, followed a few seconds later by Doc, carrying Therin’s body.
As soon as Valathea left, a scowl settled onto Thaena’s expression. Teraeth wondered if there might be jealousy after all—but not from Valathea’s side. Kihrin had once insisted Doc and Thaena shared a venom between them reserved for failed romances, for soured love. If his mother still harbored feelings, however …
Well, Teraeth wouldn’t want to be Valathea, that’s for sure.
Dolgariatz followed and then Janel. As Teraeth started to take his turn, his mother caught his gaze. “My grandson won’t give up his throne willingly.”
His mouth quirked. “Does anyone?”
Teraeth felt his mother’s will settle on him, and he flinched. This was the ugly side to being one of the Thaena’s chosen, her angels, the side never mentioned in any recruitment pitch. To be a god’s angel wasn’t quite the same as a gaesh, but it meant being open to a god’s will—for good or ill.
You’ll have to kill him.
Teraeth swallowed and nodded. Understood.
And if Khaeriel won’t do what is needed, you know your task there too.
Teraeth’s eyes widened, and he glanced over at the gate Kihrin’s mother had just walked through. “But, Mother—”
Thaena narrowed her eyes.
Pain arced through him. He shuddered and took a deep breath before bowing his head. As you say. Teraeth walked through the gate, and the Goddess of Death closed the portal behind him.
He wouldn’t enjoy killing Khaeriel, but he would if it came to that. Teraeth could kill anyone, no matter how he felt about them, no matter how much they might mean to himself or others.2
It was, after all, the job his mother had created him for.
Teraeth approached Janel. He curled his fingers into a fist instead of putting an arm around her. She looked in a mood to burn anyone who touched her. Instead, he tilted his head and said, “Your mouth is open.”
Yes. Much better. Fantastic.
Janel shut her mouth and glared.
He understood the gawking, though. The Parliament of Flowers was worth gawking at. Unlike the Mother of Trees, which sat in darkness broken by phosphorescence and mage-light, the parliament had been raised up above the tree line to glory in the sun’s splendor.
The flowers grew better that way.
Flowers didn’t cover every surface of the ornate building, but one might be forgiven for thinking they did. The building spiraled asymmetrically into lotus-like terraced petals, seemingly delicate but in fact enormously strong, lush with blooms. The scent of flowers mingled into a perfume that encompassed all flowers and none, heady sweet. Butterflies and bees and the sound of nearby birds hummed in the surrounding branches.
Teraeth watched Janel take it all in, and he couldn’t help but smile. Up ahead, Dolgariatz and Valathea were speaking to the golden-skinned Kirpis vané who had greeted them.
If the parliament didn’t grant their request for asylum, it would be short adventure.
“Teraeth,” Janel said. “Something about that conversation between your mother and Valathea is bothering me…” She bit her lip and hesitated.
“Just say it,” he told her.
“Well, if this was Jorat,” Janel said, “I’d have thought Valathea was giving proper deference to Thaena’s greater idorrá. But since it’s not”—she tilted her head to the side—“it was the opposite, wasn’t it?”
Teraeth almost looked back toward his mother, as if a thousand miles didn’t separate them now. Kihrin had told him to ask Janel to explain idorrá. Teraeth wished he’d listened. The word clearly meant authority or prestige, which Thaena should have had in abundance.
Janel was right, though. Valathea had acted like a queen. A queen graciously thanking a subordinate for all her hard work. And Thaena hadn’t corrected her.
“You know,” he said, “all this time, I’ve known that the Eight Guardians were picked out, chosen, to represent the different races, but I’ve never once asked myself who did the choosing.”
They both stared at Valathea, still talking to the vané reception. Teraeth couldn’t help but notice she’d taken charge, when he’d have expected that honor to have fallen to one of the two deposed royals.
Of course, Doc and Khaeriel had both just lost someone dear to them. Maybe Valathea was trying to save them the effort of negotiating political arrangements before they’d recovered.
While Valathea spoke, vané guards approached Doc, who allowed them to remove the body.
As if she’d heard her name, Valathea walked straight over to Teraeth and Janel.
Or rather, just to Janel.
“Parliament has agreed to hear our case and provide amnesty until the final ruling. They’ll allow us to use a safe house until then. We’d be well advised to retire to the main chamber until then. I expect King Kelanis will arrive shortly.”
“And you want us surrounded by Founders when he does,” Janel said.
“It would be prudent,” Valathea agreed. “The easiest way for Kelanis to deal with the hearing is to never have it because we’ve all conveniently ‘vanished.’”
Janel laughed. “This family does seem to prefer its politics served with a side of murder.”
Teraeth frowned at the interplay between them. When had Janel and Valathea become friends? He was missing something. He hated that feeling. And he couldn’t resort to his normal solution: asking his mother. He had a feeling “Who the fuck is Valathea?” wasn’t an acceptable discussion topic even if Thaena had been around to ask.
Teraeth started to gesture for Janel to go first, realized she would, anyway, and aborted the movement. “Ready?”
Janel nodded and followed the vané contingent into the building.