19: MAKE IT DARKER
Kihrin’s story Inside Vol Karoth’s prison
“Can we run?” Janel whispered. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or deeply worried that she wasn’t even considering fighting, but then again, Vol Karoth had pretty handily demonstrated how futile fighting was.
“You two should,” I said. “But the closer he gets to me, the harder it is—” I paused and bit my lip. “We can feel each other.” He was a dark stain nestled up right against my heart, heavy and numb.
You might as well come out. I know you’re here.
“We’re not leaving you,” Teraeth whispered.
“And how much good are you going to do if you stay?” I knew, knew, just from looking at both of them that Teraeth was right; neither was going to leave me. Which meant that I either needed to run—which we’d already established wasn’t going to work—or …
I jumped out of one of the windows.
Teraeth and Janel both cursed behind me. I’d certainly not won myself any points for repeating exactly the same thing they’d just revealed they were furious at me for doing previously. I just didn’t see any alternative. None of us were powerful enough to take on Vol Karoth.
The jump down would have killed me if this had been the real world, but lucky me, this wasn’t. So I landed softly in the middle of the street and hoped it hadn’t been too obvious where I’d come from.
Vol Karoth whirled in my direction.
I stood up and brushed myself off. “I’ll make you a deal,” I said.
Vol Karoth paused. The whole world seemed to pause, and given the nature of what the world was, perhaps that was even true.
A deal? What kind of deal?
I was stalling.
There was no plan. Or rather, the plan had fallen apart when I’d realized to my horror that Vol Karoth wasn’t going to be some small child I could kiss on the forehead and make all the hurts go away. Vol Karoth was as bad as Relos Var, as bad as Xaltorath—but the difference was that Vol Karoth was here and I couldn’t avoid him.
I had to figure out a solution.
Scratch that. Thurvishar, Teraeth, and Janel. They had to find a solution. Clearly, I wasn’t contributing anything useful.
“I’ll surrender,” I offered, ignoring the gasp that signaled that those two idiots hadn’t used this time to their advantage to escape, “but only if you can prove that you’re right. That love is a lie. That friendship is meaningless. That people will always desert you. But”—I raised a finger—“you can’t lie. No making shit up. It has to have really happened. And”—this was the most important part—“you have to agree not to attack anyone else. No trying to kill my friends.”
And you expect me to believe you’ll just … give up? I’m not a fool.
“We both know what you want, and we both know it will be much easier to obtain if I don’t fight you. You win, you prove to me that you’re right? Why would I fight after that?” I swallowed down thick, sticky despair. “Why would I even care enough to do that? You won’t have to worry about whether or not my word is good. I won’t want to do anything but give up.”
Vol Karoth cocked his head. At some point, the sword in his hand had vanished. I hadn’t noticed.
And if you win?
“Let me take over,” I said. “You let me do what I need to.”
This time, his voice was quieter, but much sharper. And you trust me to honor such a bargain? That would make you the fool.
“If you won’t do it, then we’re right back to where we started.” I gestured around the cold, vacant remains of a dead city. “Chasing each other around, fighting. But I think we’re both going to get pretty bored with that, so I’m offering an alternative.”
Like I said, stalling.
Stalling for what, though, I didn’t know.
Fine. We have a deal, and it’s my turn.
The world changed.
Qown’s reaction The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor
Right after his memory at the Rose Palace
Qown lunged at Talon as soon as his vision cleared. “You! You—! How could you!” He had no idea what he would have done if he’d actually succeeded at reaching the monster. He didn’t have any weapons except a bag of lentils, which sprayed—oh, just everywhere. But he didn’t think he’d ever been this angry or embarrassed in his entire life. It was just awful. All of it. Awful.
And it wasn’t even a lie. Talon hadn’t changed a thing.
The mimic laughed as she bounded out of the way, dodging around one of the couches. “Oh, Qown, sweetheart! I was helping you. Didn’t you want someone to prove you weren’t trying to seduce Galen? But now Galen knows you’re far too much of a fumbling panicky mess to ever do something like that on purpose. You did it entirely by accident!”
Qown stood there, panting, nearly growling. He refused to look at Galen.
But that didn’t change the fact that Galen was in the room, that he had heard, felt, seen, experienced the whole thing. “Talon,” Galen said. “Your name is Talon, right?”
Talon stopped smirking like a child that had just been caught sneaking papers in class. “Uh … yes. Weren’t you paying attention? I think we’ve established that by now.”
“Okay, Talon. Mind leaving my healer the fuck alone?” Galen kept his voice level. It somehow managed to be simultaneously polite and intimidating.
“Uh…” Talon scrunched up her nose. “Sure?”
Qown dared to sneak a peek then. Galen wore a pleasant smile and a kind expression that showed nothing of what was roiling underneath. Except that smile was just a little too bright, just a bit too forced. He held himself with too much tension. Qown had grown comfortable enough reading the man to know that underneath that mask, Galen was furious.
Meanwhile, Talon had the strangest expression on her face. She gazed at Galen with fond pride, like her baby had taken his first steps. Qown frowned at her. Why…? He wagged a finger between them, his own problems forgotten for the moment. “How do you two know each other?”
“She ate Kihrin,” Galen reminded him.
“Oh, that’s not the only person—” Talon shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. Almost. “I worked for your father, Galen. Truthfully, I’ve known you for years.”
“As who?” Galen demanded.
“You so do not want to know,” someone muttered.1
“Let’s not,” Senera interrupted before Talon—or anyone else—could answer. “I have zero interest in watching that fun little drama play out. That’s not why we’re here.”
Which told Qown that the answer would very much have been something Galen would’ve hated. He decided not to push it. Not right then.
“Fine. Let’s go over why we’re here one more time, then,” Kalindra said. “Because I don’t understand how any of this”—she gestured around the small room—“is helping Kihrin. That’s why we’re here, right? Not to force us to share our memories and private thoughts. This isn’t some sort of sacred confessional.”
Sheloran began sweeping up lentils. “For that matter, all of us can’t be so pivotal to his failure or victory. I only met Kihrin once.” She pulled out a pot and started measuring more beans again, set a fire going with a snap of her fingers.
Kalindra was still pacing back and forth, but finally she stopped. “I’m out. Just … I’m out. I don’t want any part of this. I’m not going to be any help to Kihrin. Go ahead and open up a gate, Senera. Send me home.”
Senera sighed. “We can’t leave.”
Kalindra leaned over the table. “Why? You explained that I won’t be able to come back. Fine. I don’t want to come back. Just let me go.”
Senera stood up. “Perhaps a demonstration might make this clearer.”
She did the same trick she’d done before, the one that had Qown squinting because—yes, that was his writing spell she’d somehow modified to speed up the gate creation process. She pulled up the glyphs, let them linger in the air for a second as lines of yellow energy, and then pushed out until the shapes hit the wall and folded in on themselves in the swirl of a magical portal opening.
Except … this looked wrong. A rainbow sheen of colors lay over the open entrance, thick enough to make it difficult to see what was on the other side. Qown dropped the herbs he’d started chopping and walked over. “That—are you causing that?”
Senera scoffed. “No, of course not. I told you I linked Shadrag Gor with Vol Karoth’s prison. Come on, Qown, you’re not this stupid.”
Qown flushed and started to protest, but then what she’d just said sank in. If she’d linked those two sites, yes, it meant time had probably been affected. Faster for Vol Karoth, slower for Shadrag Gor. How much slower was an interesting question, but it also meant that Vol Karoth—and Kihrin—had access to Shadrag Gor. What did that mean for the wards?
“We’re inside Vol Karoth’s prison too,” Qown said. “So we’re trapped by the same ward crystals keeping him locked up.”
“By the wards powered by the Eight Immortals, yes,” Senera said. “Until we figure out how to help Kihrin defeat Vol Karoth, Vol Karoth is freed, or both. I didn’t say we shouldn’t leave, I said we can’t.” She gave Kalindra a cool look. “You’re not going anywhere. None of us—”
The world changed.
Xivan’s memory The Upper Circle of the Capital City, Quur
Six days after the Battle of the Well of Spirals
“Well, I have to say it’s looked better,” Talea commented as they both stood in front of the smoking ruin.
Upon arriving by Senera’s gate to the Upper Circle, Xivan had made her way over to a particular section near the center set aside for visiting dignitaries from around the empire. Yor, in particular, had a house at the duke’s disposal under the assumption he’d use it when visiting the Capital. He never had.
Unfortunately, at some point in the last two weeks, the entire edifice had burned to the ground. Xivan wasn’t even sure anyone had bothered to put out the fire—she suspected it had eventually died down from lack of fuel. Some of the embers in the ashes still glowed red.
Xivan raised an eyebrow at Talea. “You say that like you’ve been here before.”
Talea shrugged and took the older woman’s hand. “I say that like it’s a smoking hole in the ground, but as a matter of fact, I have been here before.” She shrugged. “My first owner’s town house is about a mile”—she pointed—“that way.”
Xivan studied her carefully. “Would you like to see if it’s still there? We could set it on fire. I bet no one will notice. Half this city seems to have burned down in the last month.”
Talea smiled, clearly delighted. “Aw, that’s so sweet. But it’s fine. My old owner had his throat ripped out. I’m good.”2
Xivan had a moment of … concern. Two armed women walking alone would be fine in many parts of the world, but not here in the Capital City. Then she remembered that they were honestly wearing so many furs their gender might not be evident to a casual observer. Talea would overheat soon and need to remove hers. Xivan didn’t have to. As long as she didn’t draw any attention to herself, most people would assume they were a couple—true enough—and let them be.
And anyone who didn’t would have a sword ripped through their liver as Xivan drained their souls.
“But where are we going to stay—” Talea blinked and opened her eyes wide, astonished.
Xivan followed her gaze. The next building over—which had not burned to the ground—was the Joratese embassy. Xivan had always thought it looked a great deal fancier than the Yoran house, but that was probably because it had been built by Atrin Kandor, and the Yoran house had been built by Gendal, as an afterthought, and probably to the barest acceptable specifications. In any event, an old woman was walking up to the building, baskets in hand, annoyed and muttering to herself. She must have been Joratese, because she had parti-color skin, in her case, black and white splattered over each other like wet paint.
Talea began waving her hand and crossing the street before Xivan could stop her. “Excuse me? Excuse me! Is your name Dorna?”
The old woman stopped. “I didn’t do it. You can’t prove a thing.”
Talea started grinning happily. Xivan sighed and followed.
“You’re Dorna, right?” Talea put a hand to her chest. “I’m Talea. I’m a friend of Janel’s. I mean, we both are. She’s told me so much about you, I feel like I know you.” She gestured back toward Xivan. “This is Xivan Kaen.”
“Oh?” The old woman narrowed an eye and scrutinized them both. Then she nearly dropped the basket. “Oh! Oh, I know who you are. And you—” She paused, finger still pointed at Xivan. She tucked the finger back into her fist. “You’re taller than I thought ya’d be. Just as scary, though.” Dorna tilted her head toward the burned Yoran house. “I’m guessing y’all need a place to put up for the night? Any friends of Janel’s is welcome here, of course. Especially if you have news about what the little beast’s been up to. She don’t write, and I’m about ready to give her a piece of my mind over the matter. Come in, come in, might as well take your tack off and make yourselves comfortable. I was fixing to start a tamarane shield roast going.3 If you’ve never tried it, you’re in for a treat.”
Dorna opened the door and walked inside, clearly expecting them to follow.
Talea grinned as she turned back to Xivan. She flipped the silver coin in her hand and caught it with a laugh. “This was so unbelievably lucky!” She turned to follow Dorna inside.
Xivan bit her lip and frowned.
“Yes,” she said. “It really was.”
They spent the rest of the evening talking to Dorna and, perhaps more interestingly, to Ninavis Theranon, who was in the Capital to petition the High Council to acknowledge her claim as Duchess of Jorat. Xivan thought Hell would catch on fire before that happened, but she admired the attempt. And both Ninavis and Dorna proved anxious to hear any news about Janel. They were so persistent in the matter that finally, Xivan relented and told them as much as she knew.
But she didn’t know what to say when it came time to describe the Battle of the Well of Spirals.
“I—” She grimaced.
“Who won?” Ninavis asked.
“No one,” Xivan said. “We all lost. Argas is dead. Thaena’s dead. Taja and Galava too—”
“What?” Dorna stared at her, open-mouthed. “Galava?”
Ninavis frowned at the old woman’s obvious distress. “I thought you were an angel of Tya.”
“Oh, I am, foal, I am.” Dorna looked absolutely heartbroken. “But Galava—oh sweet fields. There’s no Festival of the Turning Leaves without Galava. There’s no—” Her voice broke, and she wiped her eyes. “Anyone in Jorat who’s ever prayed to have their body match their souls was praying to Galava. And she always listened. Without her, that’s all gone. Gone! Oh, I just weep for those poor dears who won’t ever have the same chances—the same choices—that I did. That Aroth did.4 Oh, it’s not fair…” She made a hand into a fist and slammed it against her thigh. “Xaltorath. I would pull apart every seam that bastard has if I could!”5
Xivan wasn’t quite sure she understood, but the tears made it obvious enough that whatever it was Galava had been to the Joratese people, it was irreplaceable.
Talea, being Talea, crossed over to where Dorna was sitting and threw her arms around the woman, who broke down crying.
Ninavis gave them both a sad look and walked over to Xivan, clearly meaning to give Dorna some space. “So I’m to understand we’re neighbors.” She was a lean, leathery woman with a vicious wine-stain birthmark across half her face—or, well, she was Joratese, so it probably wasn’t a birthmark in the traditional sense.6 One had only to examine Dorna to realize that normal ideas about skin tones were absolute nonsense in Jorat. Xivan had learned that herself the first time she’d seen Janel take a bath and realized the black “socks” on her arms and legs weren’t makeup or affectation but an actual change in skin tone.
“Not neighbors for much longer,” Xivan said.
Ninavis tilted her head. “You’re not planning to take over as Duchess of Yor?”
Xivan snorted and drank some more of the ara they’d given her. She couldn’t get drunk, but the memory of ara was nice. Azhen had been quite fond of the stuff and went to great effort to import it for his use.
So maybe the memory of ara wasn’t that nice.
“I’ve lost any reason I might have ever cared to be Duchess of Yor,” Xivan admitted. “Why in all of Hell’s frozen fields would I put myself, put Talea, in a position where people who will hate us both for no other reason than our sex and our nationality can plot to kill us at their leisure? Yor doesn’t want to be ruled by the Quuros, and at least for my part, the feeling is quite mutual.”
“Ah. A pity. I could have used a friendly face when I go before the High Council meetings.” Ninavis paused. “Tyentso counts, but I wouldn’t mind knowing one of the other dukes is on my side. But I understand your position. Truthfully, if you’d told me six months ago that I’d be standing here today, I’d have told you to go fuck yourself. I’m a thief and an outlaw, and I never thought that would see me end up as one of the nobility.”
“Funny, sounds to me like you have the perfect qualifications.”
Ninavis squinted at her. “You’re not noble-born either, are you?”
“Me? No. My mother taught sword fighting, and my father was a bladesmith.” She smiled ruefully. “It’s how they met. She kept coming into the shop asking him to repair her sword until he finally realized she was breaking it on purpose just for the excuse. It’s how I met Azhen too. Although he was just commissioning a sword. But he paid extra to be able to watch it being made and so he was in the shop for weeks and…” She shrugged. “You?”
“Farmers,” Ninavis said. “Farmers going as far back as I know. And now look at us.” It wasn’t entirely clear if she meant that in the sense of “look how far we’ve come” or “look how far we’ve fallen.”
Xivan laughed bitterly. “Fate makes fools of us all.”
Ninavis raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
They stayed the night. Ninavis had given them a room to share after Talea made it clear they were a couple, a thing that didn’t cause even the slightest bit of eyebrow raising or snide looks. Logically, Xivan hadn’t expected it to, given Janel had always claimed her attitudes on sex were common in Jorat, but emotionally was a different matter. Even in Khorvesh, where same-sex pairings between women were considered “just a normal part of growing up,” it was generally expected that women would eventually settle down and marry a man, as was one’s duty. If they were particularly attached to one of their battle sisters, then they’d arrange to marry the same man.
Talea was young enough to still be allowed to play with other women without raising eyebrows. Xivan was not.
And then there was the other issue, the one that they had been studiously avoiding discussing, which was quite simply Xivan’s status as a vampire, forced to feed off souls to survive. No matter how alive she looked or felt just after feeding, a great many of life’s pleasures simply didn’t exist for her anymore. Sex was one of those pleasures. She was perfectly willing to make Talea feel good—delighted in it, even—but she knew it bothered Talea deeply that she couldn’t reciprocate. And she could already see, even after only a few weeks, that Talea was starting to withdraw. Starting to not push the matter. Knowing Talea, she was probably starting to worry that she was being too selfish. That it wasn’t fair to Xivan. Talea wouldn’t want to be a bother.
It made Xivan angry. Sometimes, Talea was just too much. Too good, too kind, too selfless. And while Xivan loved her for it, it was always a reminder of everything Xivan knew she was not.
Because Xivan was not kind, not good, and she was very, very selfish.
That evening after they had said their goodbyes and gone to their room, Xivan pushed Talea up against the wall and kissed her as though she were twenty years younger. As if she were still that naïve Khorveshan girl so full of want for the person she’d so loved she’d been stupid enough to follow the man all the way back to the frozen hell that is Yor and then too stubborn to leave.
When she paused, Talea’s eyes were dark with lust and her lips flushed and swollen. “What—you don’t have to do—”
“If I did something you didn’t like, you’d tell me to stop, wouldn’t you?”
Talea blinked, surprised, blushing. “Of course.”
Xivan stared at the girl. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? She was a girl, at least compared to Xivan, who was literally old enough to be Talea’s mother. Talea had her whole future ahead of her, a brilliant, shining future because Talea was such a brilliant, shining gem of a girl. She should have lovers and adventures and all the opportunities that came with being young and beautiful. What did Xivan have?
The grave.
Everyone Xivan loved had been rewarded for it with a personal escort across the Second Veil.
“I think you’re lying,” Xivan whispered. “I think you’d let me do anything I wanted. Anything at all.”
A flicker of fear crossed Talea’s face and then confusion. “Xivan, why—”
Xivan grabbed Talea by the hair and dragged her over to the bed. When they got there, she pulled down until Talea’s neck and back formed the most beautiful arc, until she was in danger of falling backward. Then Xivan began undressing her, working off the fastenings and buttons with one hand while she latched her teeth to Talea’s neck, bruising that lovely skin with bite marks, biting down until her brown flesh turned white and then red. Marks that would bruise. Marks that would hurt.
But Talea gasped and moaned and most certainly didn’t tell Xivan to stop.
Once she had Talea disrobed—or at least disrobed enough—Xivan threw her back on the bed and was on her like a rabid wolf. She pinched Talea’s nipples hard and kneaded her hips, dug her fingers into Talea’s soft flesh with viselike force. And while Talea was still recovering from this absolute onslaught, Xivan pushed two fingers into her sex, thrusting deep and fast. She added a third, and then a fourth and finally Talea started to look uncomfortable. Finally, the moans sounded less like pleasure than pain. Finally, the look in Talea’s eyes was the look Xivan deserved.
“Xivan, please—”
But Xivan didn’t stop. She put her other hand around Talea’s throat, not hard enough to truly suffocate, but impossible to ignore.
“Stop it!” Talea said and then rolled, kicking Xivan away and landing in a crouch on the floor. “Xivan! What the fuck is wrong with you!”
Xivan stared at her for a second, then sat down on the edge of the bed. She was still fully dressed. She hadn’t taken her clothes off at all.
“Everything,” Xivan said. “You surprised me here, Talea. I really didn’t think you’d stop me.” She absently wiped her hand off on the linens and wondered at how numb she felt.
Far worse than normal.
“I’ve been pawed at by enough people who only wanted to make me bleed, thank you very much.” Talea started picking up her clothes. “What is wrong? Talk to me.”
“You’re too good,” Xivan whispered.
“What?” Talea stopped and stared at her. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Why do I get to keep you?” Xivan wasn’t looking at Talea. She was staring at a wall. “Why do I get to keep this perfect, beautiful girl when I couldn’t even save Azhen or Exidhar? When I couldn’t even kill Suless? Why do I get to be happy with you when I don’t deserve happiness?” She realized she was shaking, and she couldn’t stop.
“Oh,” Talea said. “Never mind. It does make sense.” She dropped to her knees in front of Xivan, pretending not to notice when Xivan flinched as Talea touched her legs. “Love, you were never going to save Azhen or Exidhar. Never.”
Xivan Kaen’s jaw clenched. “Don’t—”
“No, hear me out. Azhen was going mad. It wasn’t a matter of if he was going to get himself killed but when. He’d just ordered Janel’s and Qown’s executions. You don’t think Relos Var was going to kill him for that? Oh, Var would’ve been sad about it, but that wouldn’t have stopped him.”
Xivan paused, feeling suddenly light-headed. She’d never thought about that.
“There’s only so many ways that was ever going to play out,” Talea argued. “A dozen other paths that all lead to Azhen dead. The probabilities are just … so obvious. Suless could just as easily have killed everyone in the palace that day, and then your granddaughter would be dead too. And if everything else had gone your way—everything—Azhen Kaen still would have died fighting Morios. That was the whole point of having that spear, right? That was the best outcome you could hope for, because Azhen couldn’t win. Once Suless took him, he was a dead man. She wasn’t going to let you rescue Azhen. It’s not your fault that your husband and son are dead.”
“I couldn’t kill Suless,” Xivan said.
“Aren’t we still here to kill Suless?” Talea reminded her. “Isn’t that why we’re here in the Capital? Did we fail at that before we even tried?”
Xivan swallowed and forced herself to look at Talea, really look at her. She reached out and touched the woman’s cheek. “I hurt you,” she said.
“Yes, you did,” Talea agreed. “I would appreciate it if you never did it again.”
“Or else?” Xivan said.
Talea closed her eyes, so quickly it might have been mistaken for a blink. “Or else no matter how much I love you, I’ll leave.” Anger flashed through her lovely brown eyes. “I didn’t fall in love with the kind of woman who would … do that. What were you doing, Xivan? Were you trying to convince me that I’m too good for you? Were you trying to drive me off?”
“Something like that.” Xivan stared at her hands. “Everyone I love dies, Talea.”
“And someday I will too. That doesn’t mean you should cut yourself early, just because you know there’s a blade with your name on it out there somewhere.”
Xivan screwed her eyes shut and wished she could cry. She so badly wanted to cry. Or maybe scream. Maybe both. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry for so many reasons. Because she wasn’t done hurting Talea, and she knew it.
Gods, it would have been so much easier if Talea had stormed out of there, vowing to never come back. Although, truthfully it would just have been easier for Xivan. Talea would never have to know how she’d been betrayed, and now she would learn. Now Xivan would have to watch her eyes as she realized. Although it would all depend on how the meeting went. It would all depend on Lady D’Talus’s price.
“Sorry isn’t enough. Those are just words.”
Xivan opened her eyes again. “I know. But right now, they’re all I have. I know they’re not enough.”
Talea stared at her, not smiling at all. “They certainly won’t be if you ever treat me like that again.” Then she stood up and took Xivan’s hands, pulling her up too. “Now come to bed and hold me until I fall asleep. Then you can slip out and go find your next meal. In this town? It should be the easiest one you’ve ever hunted.”
Xivan kissed her on the forehead, then on the cheeks, and finally on the lips. Talea helped her undress and then climbed into bed with her. Xivan was struck once again by the knowledge that it must feel exactly like sleeping with a corpse. Talea never acted like it did. Not even once.
“And I’m not perfect,” Talea muttered, head nestled up against Xivan’s chest. “How dare you say that.”
Xivan didn’t smile. “Yes, you are. Now go to sleep.”
The next morning, they said their goodbyes and left for the estate of House D’Talus. Knowing that it would look strange if they walked, Xivan hired a carriage to deliver them and left a message at the front that the Duchess of Yor wished to speak to Lady D’Talus. It would have been an odd, almost unprecedented request—the Royal Houses and the dominions rarely interacted publicly—but at least Xivan was in a position where she could make it. This would have been a much more difficult task had she been trying to gain such an audience with no title at all.
True to her suspicions, after a minor wait, both she and Talea were ushered inside and taken to a sitting area.
Xivan was reminded once again that Talea was probably more used to the Royal Houses than she was, when Xivan found herself the one fighting not to gawk. In contrast, Talea seemed bored by the opulence around them.
They waited nearly an hour, which Xivan didn’t take as an insult. She was the one who had dropped in with no warning. Who knew what the high lady was doing, what she was interrupting? She was lucky the woman was deigning to see them at all. And House D’Talus had not been inhospitable—servants had brought out tea and a light breakfast.
“Are they just taking our word for it?” Talea asked as she grabbed yet another biscuit.
“What?” Xivan stopped staring at the door for long enough to face her.
“Are they just taking our word for it?” she repeated. “That you are in fact the Duchess of Yor? Seems a bit trusting, don’t you think?”
Xivan frowned. Yes, it did. And Royal Houses did not have a reputation for being trusting.
As she was about to reply, the door at the end of the room opened, and a woman entered, flanked by several servants. It seemed impossible that this wasn’t the high lady—her gown was a luscious affair of embroidered ruby silks not quite as red as her hair. The jewels on her arms and waist might have been sold to feed and house an army.
And she wore the Stone of Shackles around her neck. At least, Xivan assumed it was the Stone of Shackles. It matched the description.
Behind the high lady stood a pair of servants—beautiful, strangely androgynous, dressed almost as gorgeously as their mistress but in clothing that clearly afforded them far greater freedom of movement. Even though they were beautiful enough to be velvet boys (or girls? Xivan kept changing her mind about which term was more appropriate), they struck her as more likely bodyguards. And behind those two were a half-dozen men who clearly were House D’Talus guards, complete with weapons and shimmering red gold mail shirts.
“Your Grace,” High Lady D’Talus said, “to what do I owe this most unexpected visit?” Her red eyes flickered from Xivan to Talea and back again. Xivan felt recognized, and she wondered where the high lady might have ever run into her. House D’Talus had not been one of the houses her husband had ever courted—far too much of D’Talus’s wealth and success had come from supporting the empire for it to ever be interested in its overthrow. It had always seemed like a nonstarter.
“Your Majesty,” Xivan responded, bowing. “I was hoping you might indulge me while discussing a sale. I am most interested in arranging for a particular purchase.”
“I see.” Lady D’Talus waved to her people. The guards promptly retreated, although Xivan didn’t doubt they would manifest again in seconds if the royal needed it. The two personal bodyguards took up positions on opposite sides of the room, still as statues. “Yes, I have a curiosity I’d like your help in satisfying as well.”
Xivan paused. “You do?”
“Please sit.” Lady D’Talus gestured to the couches. “There’s no reason for us to be uncomfortable.”
Xivan realized she was in danger of making a faux pas, not to the high lady but to her lover. “My apologies, this is—”
“Talea Ferandis. I know.”
Xivan felt a chill. This was not starting out the way she’d expected.
“I’m sorry?” Talea said. “What did you just call me?”
“Ferandis. It’s your family name.” Her gaze lost a little of its chill, which it had managed to convey even though her eyes were red as fire. “Did no one ever tell you?”
Talea stared at the woman, open-mouthed. “I—”
“Ah, my apologies. I thought you were aware.” One of her two personal servants materialized and poured the high lady a cup of tea. She took it, nodded to her servant, then addressed Xivan. “I was wondering if you might be able to tell me about a very odd suit of armor your husband ordered. Pure shanathá, lined with lead. Incredibly expensive. All the paperwork suggests my husband signed off on the fabrication, but he didn’t. Our records do suggest it was delivered—to Yor.”
Xivan’s chill turned into something else. The woman had neatly wrested control of the conversation from the very start, throwing Xivan and Talea both off-balance. They hadn’t even brought up the reason why they were here yet, and already they were approaching the matter from a position of debt and quite possibly an accusation of criminal fraud.
Xivan scowled and tried to remember if she knew anything about her husband ordering any armor. Her memory came up blank.7
“If the duke ever commissioned such a set of armor from House D’Talus,” Xivan said carefully, “I’m afraid any knowledge of it—and probably the armor itself—was destroyed along with my husband.”
“Ah. So that rumor is true.”
Xivan nodded. “It is. He was murdered by Suless.”
The high lady’s response was unexpected. She seemed to tense, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly, and abruptly set down her cup, so the ceramic made a loud snap against the tabletop. “So that rumor is true as well. I never quite believed it.”
Xivan frowned. “That Suless murdered my husband and my son?”
“No, that she was still alive.”
“Apparently, she was—” Xivan’s mouth twisted. “My husband was keeping her as a slave.”
“And Cherthog?”
Xivan blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Where was Cherthog in all this? The God-King of Winter. He was the one who held Suless’s gaesh originally. Was his death also a fabrication?”
“I … I honestly don’t know. I assume he’s dead.”8
“We can only hope,” Lady D’Talus said.
The high lady was perfectly still, studying Xivan with those red eyes. Strange, Xivan thought. Those eyes really did look the same as Janel’s, not quite the right color for House D’Talus, which would have been more of a pure crimson. Yet nothing else about her was reminiscent of Janel. This woman was all sensuality and delicacy, her face and clothing more appropriate for a velvet house than a battlefield.
Lady D’Talus raised her hand. “I need the room. I’ll let you know when to come back.”
To Xivan’s surprise, the two bodyguards left. She would have expected someone to protest, someone who was under the high lord’s authority rather than the high lady’s. But if that was the case, Xivan saw no sign of it. The two people cleared out of the room with precise and commendable speed.
When they were gone, Lady D’Talus turned back to Xivan. “Your Grace,” the high lady said, “just why are you here?”
“I want to buy the Stone of Shackles from you.”
The high lady stared at her and blinked, just once. Then she began to laugh. That noise was best described as unkind and, at worst, mocking.
“Oh,” she said. “I don’t think so. No.”
“I do, though. I have no other motive for being here.”
“No,” High Lady D’Talus said, waving a hand as she stood. “I mean, my answer is no. My people will show you the way out.”
Xivan also stood, feeling angry and panicked. If she had a pulse, it would be racing. “You haven’t even heard what I’m offering.”
The high lady paused, her expression incredulous. “What could you be offering. Coin? House D’Talus runs the mint. Gems?” She waved a hand. “The dominion of Yor has been the poorest in the empire since it joined. Even Raenena has more wealth.9 You have nothing I want.”
Xivan clenched her fingers. “I’m offering fifty trained war wizards who have no allegiance to the empire, Academy, or any other Royal House.” She ignored Talea’s shocked gasp.
Lady D’Talus raised an eyebrow. “Fifty?”
“All superlatively trained, all talented at magic. Each one is worth a hundred men.”
“Xivan!” Talea stared in shock.
“Be silent,” Xivan told the woman. “If they are mine, then they are also mine to give away.” She turned back to High Lady D’Talus. “Fifty wizards—fifty women—no one would ever suspect. And they’re yours. Surely that is more useful than a necklace whose only value is encouraging you to make sure the assassin who slays you is pretty?”
“You have fifty trained women, and you’re going to sell them to me for a magic rock.” Xivan couldn’t tell if that was approval or condemnation. “Why do you want the Stone of Shackles so badly? For the same reason Gadrith wanted it? Because you think it can restore your life?”
Xivan blinked. That … that hadn’t even occurred to her. It also hadn’t occurred to her that Lady D’Talus would be able to tell she wasn’t alive. “I want it because Suless is not only alive and free, she’s become a demon.”
For the first time, an expression of fear entered Lady D’Talus’s eyes, but that emotion was quickly tucked away.
Xivan continued, “The only way I can deal with a demon is by using something they can’t defend against, and the only thing I know of that fits that definition is the Stone of Shackles.” Xivan shook her head. “I don’t even need it permanently. I’ll give it back. You can keep the women. Just let me have it for long enough to kill Suless!”
“What possible reason could you have to think me stupid enough to accept your word?” Lady D’Talus’s expression had stopped being something adjacent to friendly. “You’ll just give it back? When there is no power in the universe that can compel you to do so?”
Xivan growled, “I am a woman of my word!”
“Are you? Because I think there are fifty women under your authority who might disagree.” Lady D’Talus was shorter than Xivan, but she still radiated an awful aura of menace and threat.
Xivan lost her temper. All her plans depended on the whims of some fickle, spoiled brat who would dare to be self-righteous about her Spurned when gods knew how many slaves she owned herself. Hypocrite. At least Xivan had turned her husband’s wives into people capable of protecting themselves. At least no one would ever force themselves on those women again. It was probably far better than High Lady D’Talus could say. “They would understand it’s a necessary sacrifice if it means I kill Suless!”
The high lady’s laughter mocked. “Would they really?”
“You have no idea what she’s done!”
“I know a great deal better than you.”
“How could you possibly know a thing about it? She’s been locked up in Yor for longer than you’ve been alive!”
“Because she’s my mother, you stupid little girl!” Lady D’Talus’s eyes blazed. “If anyone is going to kill that bitch, it’s going to be me!”
Xivan took a moment to process what Lady D’Talus had just said, what it meant. Because it seemed unlikely that she was a witch-mother, and equally unlikely that Lady D’Talus had been, like Janel, singled out for special attention. And as far as Xivan knew, Suless only had one true, biological child …
“Oh fuck,” Talea said. “You’re Caless. You’re the god-queen Caless.”
“You’d be amazed how many god-kings live in the Royal Houses,” Caless said. “If we’re going to have to pretend to be mortal, why not do it in style?” The ironic smile fell from her lips then. “But I shouldn’t have admitted that.”
Xivan felt a spike of panic. “Talea, run.”
Talea tried, but the doors slammed shut before she could reach them. Caless reached out her arm. Her eyes flashed blue, and Talea simply fell to the floor as though her legs had stopped working entirely. A second later, Xivan understood that it was something very much like that, as the muscles in her thighs stopped responding. Her legs folded under her.
Footsteps walked toward her, accompanied by the swish of silken fabric sliding against itself.
“I’m not a good person,” Caless explained. “Most of the time, I don’t pretend to be, but I just want what anyone wants. To protect my family, to live well. And I have tried so hard to make those things happen. I do understand your desire to have revenge against my mother. I don’t even think you’re wrong to want it. I just don’t believe you’re strong enough to succeed. The last thing I want is the Stone of Shackles in my mother’s hands. Giving it to you would really be almost as good as giving it to her.” She grabbed Xivan’s head by her knotted locks and pulled her head up to look into her eyes. “But I’m not going to kill you, just because you’re not playing at the same level as an immortal god-queen.”
Caless’s words tasted bitter in Xivan’s mouth. Only now did she remember Senera’s warning: Lady D’Talus is in a different class. Xivan had thought Senera was talking about political connections, consequences, what would happen if the Empire of Quur discovered Xivan had assaulted a high lord’s wife.
But no. Senera had meant something far more literal. Relos Var hadn’t taken the Stone of Shackles from High Lady D’Talus, because he couldn’t—at least not easily, not without a major, massive fight that would draw attention. Of all the gods worshipped in the entire empire, Caless certainly ranked in the top ten. She might not have been as strong as one of the Eight Immortals, but she had a lot of worshippers, and that meant she had a lot of power. And she was one of the very oldest, with only two god-kings who were older: her mother, Suless, and her father, Cherthog.10
Xivan had made a horrible mistake.
“Do you know how the Stone of Shackles works?”
“Yes, but you—” Xivan’s throat clenched. Caless wasn’t talking about the switching of souls. She was talking about gaeshe. Gaeshe that were, thanks to the stone’s returned existence, once again possible.
Talea must have realized what she meant as well. Her breath quickened, shuddering against the edge of tears and terror. “Please don’t,” Talea whispered.
“My father owned this Cornerstone for over a thousand years,” Caless told Talea. “I know how to use it as few others do. Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
The last thing Xivan remembered was Caless holding the stone around her neck with one hand, and reaching for Xivan’s chest with the other, and then nothing but darkness.