20: WHAT THEY CAN’T SAY

Kihrin’s story Inside Vol Karoth’s prison

When I came back to myself after Xivan’s memory ended, I had two sets of arms linked under my own, and I was being dragged away from the street corner. I wasn’t sure where Vol Karoth was. Maybe he’d let us go.

It was my turn, after all.

“Run,” Teraeth said.

“I’m trying. Let me go!” I scrambled to recover my feet and my dignity.

“Too slow,” Janel muttered, ducked, and lifted me up over her shoulder like I weighed no more than a bag of rice.

“No, wait—” I started to protest, and to my infinite embarrassment was soundly ignored.

Without missing a beat, Janel ran into one of the buildings. This one didn’t seem to have been housing originally. The main hallway was wide enough to make it more appropriate as a public space than private residence. Smaller rooms branched off from the main one, with wide cutouts in the walls that might once have held market carts or tables or perhaps even panes of glass.

“Janel, set me down!” I thrashed and tried to slip out of her grip.

She finally tossed me down in a very undignified heap on the ground. I wrestled myself into a sitting position, rested my elbows on my knees, and rubbed a knuckle into my eye. “Janel, what the fuck? What was that?”

“That was me rescuing the idiot who thought any of this was a good idea,” Janel growled.

Okay, she was still mad at me.

But I wasn’t having it this time.

“No,” I said. “You don’t get to be angry at me for back there. Who ran to confront Rol’amar by yourself without asking anyone? Did you have a good reason? Yes. Did you have time to explain it to us? No. Sometimes it’s about trust.” I squinted at her. “Although nice job on completely ditching the idorrá/thudajé dynamic.”

She flushed red and looked away. “I was trying out the whole ‘we’re all equal partners’ idea you’re so fond of.”

“I’d like to point out that also requires trust.”

“So what happened back there?” Teraeth sat down next to me. Right next to me, so our legs touched and our sides. “Because I thought we just had this talk. Right before you threw yourself at Vol Karoth. I was there. Weren’t you there? I could have sworn you were there.”

“I wanted to keep you both safe,” I mumbled.

Teraeth threw an arm around me, and I let him, leaning against his shoulder. It felt nice. “Monkey, you can’t do that. Because we aren’t safe. I’m certainly not safe. Maybe Janel can go back—”

“I can’t.”

Both of us straightened again. “What was that?” I asked her.

She paused from pacing back and forth. “I tried earlier. I can’t go back. He’s blocking me. Thurvishar isn’t fully ‘present’ here, so he seems to be fine, but Vol Karoth is…” She sighed. “Who am I kidding? It’s not because Thurvishar didn’t fully enter this space, it’s because it’s me. Maybe he’d let someone else leave. But not me.”

“Vol Karoth’s not very happy with C’indrol,” I agreed.

She gave me a piercing stare. “He hates me, Kihrin. Maybe more than he hates Relos Var.”

“Naturally. It hurts more when the people you love the most betray you,” Teraeth said.

Janel and I both froze.

We both knew he wasn’t talking about C’indrol or Relos Var.

Janel sat down on the other side of Teraeth. “I didn’t mean—Teraeth, I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’m the one who cut off her head.”

I bit my lip. We hadn’t talked about this after we’d brought Teraeth back from the Well of Spirals. Teraeth hadn’t wanted to talk about this. I couldn’t blame him. How does one even begin to have that conversation?

“Thaena hurts too,” Janel said. “The betrayal hurts. I trusted her.”

“You trusted her?” Teraeth turned his head to stare at her.

Janel bit her lip, reached out to tuck a strand of Teraeth’s hair behind his ear. “Just because the betrayal was greater for you doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt me too. I thought she was on my side. I never imagined she saw me as nothing more than a convenient tool. I’m sure Kihrin feels the same.”

“You know I—” He pulled his arms away from both of us and leaned forward. “I don’t think she even liked me.”

“No, Teraeth—” The denial was automatic, but what hurt so much was that I honestly didn’t know if he was wrong.

“I think she appreciated me. You know, the way I wasn’t a dragon and usually did what I was told. But I don’t think she loved me. Maybe when I was younger, but after I started remembering being Atrin…? No, not so much.”

Janel straightened. “Teraeth … should we be talking about this?” She looked around as though Vol Karoth might appear at any second, and to be fair, maybe that was the appropriate response.

But I frowned. I felt sad. I even felt a little angry, but what I mostly felt was a very strong desire to bring Thaena—Khaemezra—back from the dead so I could shake some sense into her and maybe scream at her a lot for treating her son this way. Because Teraeth deserved far, far better, and if I was being really and truly honest with myself, so did Khaemezra. She’d … forgotten. Forgotten what was important. She’d convinced herself that all the cruelty was acceptable as long as it accomplished the right goals. Maybe was even deserved.

“No, we should,” I said. “We should talk about it. Because if we don’t, you’d better believe Vol Karoth will use it against us later. If you two are going to insist on staying here—”

“Oh, we insist,” Janel said. “Not that we have any choice, mind you, but even if we did, we’d insist.”

“I have a little choice. For example, I chose to stay right here glued to Kihrin’s side,” Teraeth said and laced his arm around my waist for emphasis.

“That’s going to make walking difficult,” I pointed out.

Teraeth shrugged. “You should have thought of that before you threw yourself into the god of evil’s mind.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said.

Teraeth shifted next to me so he could give me a truly impressive sideways glare. “Did it? Did it really? Just how drunk were you when ‘killing yourself so you could try possessing a dark god’ seemed like a good idea?”

Janel snorted.

I sighed and pulled away from Teraeth’s grip. “Okay, you two. You know what? I was perfectly sober. Thurvishar was perfectly sober. You two weren’t there when Vol Karoth showed up later, when it started to become obvious that what C’indrol had done”—I motioned at Janel—“had injured Vol Karoth in a way he hadn’t recovered from. He was operating at the level of a child. A young child. He should have been so damaged on a spiritual level that I should have been able to walk in here and make him do whatever I wanted. I know what Janel—what Elana—did to both of our souls, and you know it too, Teraeth. Maybe we’re not demons, but we’re really close to being something like that. It should have worked!” I exhaled. “But it didn’t work, and I don’t know why.”

“You still should have said something,” Teraeth said quietly. At least he didn’t sound angry this time, but the disappointment was worse.

“Yes,” I growled. “Evidently, I should have!” I sat back down again, aware of the awkward silence that fell over the three of us. “We were talking about your mother.”

Teraeth scoffed. He clearly had no intention of returning to that subject.

“Honestly, he seems to be doing much better since we escaped from Vol Karoth,” Janel told me.

“Of course I am,” Teraeth said. “I always do better when I have an enemy. When something can distract me from”—he grimaced—“everything. I don’t want to talk about this.”

I grabbed his hand and laced my fingers through his, tucked him under my chin. On the other side, Janel nestled up against his body.

Teraeth hesitated. “Right at the end, I realized that my father … wasn’t who I thought he was. I always thought he was so selfish. That he didn’t care about saving anyone else. And then I realized that I’d horribly misjudged him, but it was too late to make it right. Just the same way I’m always too late to make things right. For just once in my existence, I would like to show up in time to make a difference. If I’d realized what was going on earlier … if I’d been able to do something…”

I shifted, put my arms around him as I kissed the top of his head. I felt Janel’s weight shift too. “This isn’t your fault, you know.” My eyes met hers. She knew I wasn’t just speaking to Teraeth.

“It feels like my fault,” he mumbled into my collarbone.

Janel didn’t believe me either.

“Last I checked, you weren’t the Goddess of Death or the king of—okay, ignore that last statement.” I rubbed my cheek against his head. “Fuck, what a trio we make.”

“We need a plan,” Janel said gently.

“Yes, that would be nice,” I agreed. I didn’t offer one up, mind you. I had no idea what to suggest.

Silence wrapped around the three of us.

Finally, Teraeth groaned and extricated himself for the tangle of limbs that was Janel and myself. “You are so fucking lucky I love you,” he muttered as he stood. “Clearly, we need information. If this city is a reflection of Vol Karoth’s mind, then it follows that the answers to why your plan didn’t work are here too. We just need to find them.”

“You make that sound so easy,” I said.

“But he’s right.” Janel stood too, brushing herself off. “Because as much as it annoys me to admit it, your plan should have succeeded. We need to find out why it didn’t.”

“It’ll be fun,” Teraeth said. “Like hunting for pirate treasure without a map or clues or any idea what ‘treasure’ looks like.”

I stared at him. “We need to work on your definition of ‘fun.’”

He smirked. “We ever find a bed around here, and I’ll be happy to show you.”

Xivan’s reaction The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor

Everyone opened their eyes after Xivan’s vision faded. Qown immediately turned to Xivan. “Seriously? You were going to sell the Spurned?”

Xivan sighed. “I wasn’t in a good place.”

“Clearly,” Kalindra said. “Explicitly so. Oh, and next time you want to remember having sex, mind making it good sex? As a personal favor.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and several people in the room actually blushed. Ah, there it was. Just in case Xivan had any doubt that everyone had indeed seen that.

She refused to look at Talea.

“I don’t know,” the mimic said into the gap in conversation. “I think betrayal’s pretty hot.” She paused as everyone stared at her. “Just me? Fine. Be that way. I don’t judge what gets you dancing.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. ‘Yes, I do,’” she said as if repeating something another person said.

Qown looked around. “Um, no one said you didn’t.”

Talon sighed. “Kihrin did. I swear, he won’t shut up. He’s really going to be such a killjoy. Eat Kihrin, I said. We’ll reconnect, I said. It’ll be good, I said. Why did I ever agree to this?”

Everyone stared at the monster and then by silent, mutual agreement turned to each other instead. Xivan had expected people to stare at her, give her hateful, accusing looks, but mostly no one wanted to meet her eyes.

Instead, everyone was staring at Sheloran.

The royal princess stood perfectly still. She might not have even reacted to the vision except she held her fan so tightly her knuckles shone white through her brown skin. Her jaw tensed, a sharp line against her throat.

Then she started to tremble.

“Oh,” Talea said. “So I guess you didn’t know about your mother.”

Xivan clenched her teeth. It made sense. Of course Sheloran hadn’t known. Hell, there was a better than even chance the High Lord of House D’Talus didn’t know what his wife truly was.¹ Why would Caless tell a teenage girl?

Sheloran blinked, wide-eyed and staring. She turned to Galen. “I thought … I thought she was a priestess…”

“I know, Red. So did I.” He pulled her to him and put his arms around her. The moment he did, she let out a sob, immediately followed by a sharp inhale. She wiped her eyes and straightened, turning toward Talea and Xivan.

“I’m so sorry,” Sheloran said. “I had no idea my mother had done that. Would do that. Could … Please … accept my sincerest—” Her voice stuttered, stopped. Her lower lip wobbled. It had probably occurred to her how ridiculous and trite it was to try to make apologies for gaeshing someone.

Some sins were unforgivable.

The girl was probably about five seconds from completely breaking down. Unlike the time she’d cried in the earlier vision to counteract that D’Mon woman, this time it would be real.

“It’s not your fault,” Talea said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Xivan shouldn’t have felt those words like razors, but she couldn’t help it. Because it was Xivan’s fault. She had done something wrong. She had no excuses.

And Xivan had no idea how to even begin to say she was sorry.

“It’s why I was concerned Suless would go after you,” Xivan told Sheloran. “Because you’re her granddaughter. That makes you a target.” Xivan shrugged. “Most people would want to protect their family, but that’s Suless for you.”

“My mother’s a goddess,” Sheloran murmured. She sat down, and it seemed of no particular consequence that there was no chair, couch, or cushion for her to sit down on. She just collapsed to the floor with her legs folded under her.

Galen knelt next to her.

“We don’t have anything to drink around here, do we?” Kalindra asked. “This seems like a good time for it. You know it’s a real shame Teraeth’s not conscious. You two could compare notes on having goddesses for mothers.” Her voice was surprisingly free of the mockery Xivan would have expected. Mostly, she just sounded tired.

“Janel too,” Qown murmured.

“Really? Who?” Kalindra raised an eyebrow.

“Tya,” he said.

“Oh, well, that does explain a few things—”

“Would you all shut up!” Sheloran shouted. Xivan thought it might have been the first time—barring that whole shouting-for-the-guards incident in that earlier memory—that she’d heard Sheloran raise her voice in anger. “Don’t you understand? She lied to me. My whole life—” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “We were going to change things. We were going to make Quur better, change all the terrible things that are wrong with the empire. I was going to … I was supposed to make it better—”

Xivan felt her throat tighten.

Sheloran found her voice again. “But she’s Caless! Caless is everything that’s wrong with Quur. She’s the reason everything is wrong with Quur! She is held up as the archetype of every reason why women are weak and fickle and not to be trusted. Why we shouldn’t be allowed to use magic. She’s had millennia to fix Quur, and she’s done nothing.”

No one said anything. What was there to say? The silence stretched out. At least they didn’t hear footsteps overhead this time. Or scraping sounds out in the hall.

Qown stared at Xivan. “Did Caless really gaesh you, I mean—?”

Xivan glared. As if she needed to answer a question like that.

“I believe we can assume that’s a yes,” Senera said. “And far be it from me to say, ‘I told you so—’”

“Fuck you, Senera,” Xivan said.

Senera’s stare went cold. “How’s revenge working out for you so far, Xivan? All warm and happy?”

“I’m not going to sit here and be lectured on morality by a mass murderer,” Xivan growled back.

“Fine,” Senera said. “Why am I even bothering? I’ve wanted to spare you some pain, but you just won’t stop until you’ve rammed that knife through your own heart, will you? So be it. But you still have something to lose, Xivan.”

“You have no idea what I’ve gone through—”

“Do not,” Senera whispered, “make this a contest. You will lose.”

Something about Senera’s silver-eyed stare stopped Xivan cold. She thought about what she knew of the wizard’s background. Growing up in slavery among House D’Jorax—the entertainers’ house who controlled Velvet Town, for fuck’s sake—with that body and that face and absolutely no one in the whole world to protect her. With the knowledge that anything could be done to her, anything at all, and the law said it was fine, because slaves were property and not people. Not so different from Talea’s background on the surface, but somehow Talea had come through it all with wide eyes, a deep empathy, and a heart so large she’d save the world if she could. While Senera had wrapped all that pain into a hard, brittle shell around herself so nothing could ever hurt her again. It occurred to Xivan, just then, that such a shell had probably been forged in the blood of every person in the Capital who’d ever wronged her. She’d likely waded through gore on her way to Relos Var’s side.

So maybe Senera knew something about the cost of vengeance.

Xivan grabbed her cup off the table and stalked over into the kitchen, mostly because everyone was gathered someplace else.

She paused at one of the tables and tried to collect herself. She even poured herself a cup of tea, not because she needed the tea but just because the little rituals were sometimes comforting.

She paused at the smell.

Xivan frowned. Something smelled wonderful. Cumin and ginger, cardamom and pepper, butter and the hot tang of peppers—Xivan stopped, stunned. She was smelling the lentil soup Qown and Sheloran had made, which smelled unspeakably, illogically delicious.

Her stomach rumbled. Impossible.

Before Xivan knew what she was even doing, she’d emptied out the cold tea and ladled a helping of soup into her cup. She hesitated with the edge of the cup at her lip, let the spice-laced steam dance under her nose. Surely she was going insane, hallucinating. She hadn’t felt hungry—hungry for food—in over twenty years. She hadn’t tasted spices or savored the richness of a Quuros stew for a literal lifetime. Such pleasures were for the living; she no longer qualified.

Xivan drank in gulps, forcing herself to stop to chew, to remember how to chew. The soup was so delicious she felt near to tears from the experience.

A feeling of unease, close to being chased down by panic, nearly overwhelmed her.

Talea walked into the kitchen.

The two women stared at each other.

“It’s going to be okay,” Talea said.

Xivan nodded numbly. Then she said, “Are we? Are we going to be okay?”

Talea’s expression tightened. “I don’t know.”

Xivan nodded. “I deserve that.”

“You’ve proven that you’re in no position to judge what you do or don’t deserve,” Talea told her. “That’s always been the prob—did you just eat a bowl of soup?”

Xivan set the bowl down on the table and swallowed. “I was hungry.”

“You were … hungry.” Talea didn’t move, but her eyes did, tracing Xivan’s outline as if she were checking to see if she’d been replaced by a mimic. She peered through the doorway to the other room where Talon was clearly still visible, then back at Xivan.

“What’s happening to me?” Xivan asked quietly.

Talea put a hand on Xivan’s arm. “It’s … I’m sure it’s nothing bad.”

Xivan reached for the scabbard at her side, shaking it so hard the sword inside rattled. “Is it because of this? This scabbard you gave me to break the Lash’s control?”

Talea eyed the carved scrimshaw with a rueful expression. “Probably.”

“What’s it doing to me?”

Talea shrugged and shook her head. “It didn’t do anything like that to me. But, uh…”

“But you’re not dead.”

“No.”

Xivan forced herself to focus. “You know the worst is yet to come. On so many levels.”

“I know.” Talea took her hand. “But let’s go back.”

Xivan didn’t fight her.

The others were still talking, probably had been the entire time that Xivan had been in the kitchen. Galen looked particularly pale. Possibly someone had taken the time to explain exactly what was going on with Kihrin.

Talon cracked her knuckles. “Shall we do this?”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, she did something.

The world changed.