27: AN UNDERSTANDING AMONG EQUALS

Kihrin’s story Inside Vol Karoth’s prison

I found myself wishing that I’d been more inclined to learn illusions. Because it turned out that such would have been more than a little advantageous when trying to re-create an entire city. Not that I was trying to change the city all at once. I was changing it bit by bit, building by building—sometimes brick by brick. And the most difficult part of it all was that by definition, I was leaving a trail behind me, the change in buildings, plants, and furnishings an obvious sign of my passing.

That wasn’t a fantastic feeling when I was struggling to remember what the streets of my childhood looked like. Or to find any happy memories that I remembered well enough to re-create at all.

“Is that what you think a palm tree looks like?” Teraeth squinted and looked dubiously at the plant I’d created.

“Yes? It’s those palm trees they had on the island. You know, the ones with the black seeds.” I had fond memories of those palms. The fruit was delicious.

“Unemre palms? They don’t look like that.”

“Boys.” Janel put a hand on both our arms. “May I point out that it doesn’t matter? What matters is that Kihrin’s adding the plants at all. He could be adding wax vines and poison ivy and it wouldn’t matter.”

I beamed at her. “Thank you. You know, if someone told me that I’d be running around the mind of a dark god trying to re-create my favorite memories of various locations—”

“Badly re-create your memories,” Teraeth corrected.

I narrowed my eyes at him while I left the cluster of palms I’d just created off to the side. I wasn’t so much re-creating a place I’d been—say the Capital—as mashing together a lot of places I’d been into a single weird pastiche. “Fine. Next time, it’s your turn.”

Teraeth held out his hands. “I would help if I could. I have a lot of nice, correct memories of places.”

Janel walked backward, scanning the area as we traveled. Teraeth didn’t seem like he was paying attention, but I knew that wasn’t the case; both of them were keeping watch for me so that we’d have warning if Vol Karoth showed up again.

Janel turned her head. “Teraeth’s nice memories or Kandor’s nice memories?”

“Irrelevant.” Teraeth had something in his hands, and I blinked for a moment as I realized it was a batch of unemre figs, stolen from the tree I’d just created “incorrectly.” I laughed and rolled my eyes, then demanded he hand me one. “I’ve done a bit of traveling in this life, and Manol parties are amazing, but Atrin Kandor was even more widely traveled and lived for over a thousand years.”

“Most of which was bloodshed and conquest,” Janel reminded him.

“Maybe bloodshed and conquest is a good memory for Teraeth,” I said and then ducked as he grinned and threw a seed at me.

“It wasn’t as bloody as you’d think,” Teraeth said. “But I was, as you may recall, rather enthusiastic about architecture. Not to mention I have some wonderful memories of the imperial palace.”

“Especially the bedroom,” Janel said dryly. “At least you never had a harem.”

“Oh, but I did,” Teraeth said.

Janel stopped walking and stared at him. “What?”

I swung around, ready to play peacekeeper if it was needed. Janel didn’t seem angry, though, just surprised and perhaps confused. “No, you didn’t,” she protested. “I’d remember that.”

“You’d have taken advantage of that,” he corrected.

“Only if they were willing,” she said.

“Which they would have been because you’ve always been cute.” Teraeth’s grin was a friendly leer. “Anyway, I did have a harem—when I first became emperor. Centuries before I met you. I got over it; turns out that’s nothing but drama. Palace intrigues and who poisoned who and which one of my concubines was pregnant—and that last bit was always good for a laugh.”

I motioned for both of them to keep walking. It was a bad idea to stop. I let them talk while I concentrated on re-creating my favorite kilin in the Copper District, an establishment that had been in the same family for generations and that cooked up the most amazing tangri stew with fresh-baked sag if you didn’t feel like renting a cooking space to make your own.

“Good for a laugh? How so?” She squinted at him.

“People think the imperial throne of Quur is this god-given role set in stone—”

I raised both eyebrows. “That’s because it is. Was.”

“Sure, but there were a lot of people who would have welcomed a transition into a familial inheritance, with my children taking positions of power. You know, so one could marry into the family and it would mean something. The easy solution to that was to never have children. Which meant anyone who claimed I had sired any was trying to pull a fast one. It was cute right up until it really wasn’t.” Teraeth offered Janel some of the fruit, and to my surprise, she took it.

“I was just special, then?” Janel seemed amused by the idea. “Because you weren’t around for the birth, but we most certainly did have a son.”

Teraeth looked away. “I had, uh … decided I wanted children.” He wisely left off the part where he’d married Janel’s previous incarnation precisely because he thought she’d be especially fertile. Her own plans had apparently not been an important part of his decision-making process.

Atrin Kandor had been an asshole. I didn’t point it out only because I knew Teraeth was already well aware.

“Why?” Janel said. “What changed your mind?”

“I just…” Teraeth chewed on the inside of his lip. “It seemed like it was time. I can’t really explain it.”¹

I finished making the kilin and paused for a moment to inspect my handiwork. I thought I was improving, but I desperately wished I’d spent more time learning how to craft illusions from Doc. Anyone who thought this was easy could go eat glass.

Teraeth turned to Janel. “I never meant to leave you alone, you know. If I hadn’t died, none of this would have happened, would it? You wouldn’t have gone to the Blight. You wouldn’t have tried to free S’arric. This wouldn’t be—like this.”

Janel’s expression turned stricken and probably mirrored my own.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” I told Teraeth, putting a hand on his shoulder. “There are far too many could-have- or might-have-beens. This isn’t your fault.”

Janel took Teraeth’s hand. “I object to your statement entirely. Xaltorath wanted Elana to do what she did, and that meant your days were always numbered.”

“I suppose so. It’s a shame, though. I would have liked to have met our son…”

At which point, Teraeth stopped walking and pulled his arms away from us both.

My gut clenched, because I knew why he’d stopped. I knew exactly what thought process had just been triggered inside his head. I didn’t know if Janel was aware of the conversations between Teraeth and his father—my teacher, Doc—but I certainly was. So I knew how bitter Doc had been that Teraeth’s mother, Thaena, hadn’t told him about their son, hadn’t allowed any contact while Teraeth grew up. In hindsight, it made ruthless sense; Thaena must have been concerned that Doc would have corrupted her son, made him question her authority.

I could tell by the withdrawn and gutted look on his face that Teraeth was remembering those conversations.

“Teraeth?” Janel turned to him, took one of his hands.

I glanced around us. It was still a gamble to stop, but one I felt we needed to take. So I stepped up to Teraeth and laced my fingers through his other hand. I tugged the two of them over to an empty space, which might well have been a park had any trees or plants grown there. Now it seemed like a vacant lot filled with empty, skeletal fountains bereft of water.

Teraeth sat down on the edge of one such fountain without any resistance at all. He was lost in his own misery. “I wish … Fuck. I wish a lot of things,” Teraeth whispered. “I wish I’d had a chance to know him as something other than an enemy or a legacy to overcome.”

“I liked him a lot,” I said. “Doc was a good man.” Which had been the problem, hadn’t it? Because while Doc had been a good man, almost no one had actually known it. He’d happily let everyone paint him as the villain, even when he’d been anything but.

“Doc?” Janel frowned. “Doc wasn’t our son, he was—”

I cut her off by shaking my head. “We’re talking about his dad now.” I jerked a chin at Teraeth. “Trust me, it makes sense if you were there for part one of this conversation.” Which, I should point out, Kihrin wasn’t, but he had read about it later.

Janel nodded and then kissed Teraeth’s knuckles. “Don’t expect me to say differently.” She hesitated before adding, “I liked him too. And your father did a good job of raising our son.”²

Teraeth and I both paused. I watched Teraeth’s eyes go from lost and unfocused to sharply glittering with wry pique.

“You had to make it weird,” Teraeth said.

The corners of Janel’s lips quirked. Oh yes, she’d known exactly what she was saying. “I made it weird?” she protested with overly dramatic innocence, going so far as to put a hand to her chest.

Unfortunately, her attempt at lightening the mood failed. Teraeth slumped, eyes staring downward. “No, no, you’re right. My mother did that. I just … I don’t know how to feel.”

I touched his hair. “You’re allowed to hate Khaemezra.”

Teraeth’s head snapped up again, his expression torn between indignation and guilt. “Kihrin,” he chided.

I met Janel’s eyes. She gave me an encouraging nod.

“No,” I told him. “She was going to force you to kill yourself and drag an entire nation down into the Afterlife with you. You are allowed to hate her. My own feelings about Khaemezra may be harder to sort out because there’s all this … history … but at the end of the day, she was…” I searched for the right word.

“Craven?” Janel offered.

“She was scared,” Teraeth said.

I stood up, if only to go to a knee in front of him. “We were guardians, Teraeth. The Eight Guardians. We weren’t guarding our own immortality. We were supposed to be protecting everyone else. She volunteered for this. We all did. And she betrayed that. It’s almost funny how mad it makes Vol Karoth.”

Janel straightened, her eyes flickered with surprise. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “I get the sense that the injustice and the hypocrisy of the world offends him. Just makes him furious. He’d rather destroy it all than let it exist in a state of perpetual sophistry. And while I can say that he’s definitely wrong to want to burn it all down, I can’t say the anger doesn’t have some justification.”

Teraeth shook his head. “I don’t recommend listening to anything Vol Karoth has to say.”

I chuckled. He was trying to sell me a cloak I’d already stolen. “Oh, I am never going to agree with him about the whole ‘let’s destroy everything because oblivion is so peaceful’ idea, but where does one draw the line between good and evil, anyway? How do we say that it’s fine that we’re just waving our hands and absolving Senera? Or Talon?”

“Or me,” Teraeth said.

“Pretty sure your kill count is a lot less than theirs,” I said.

Janel patted Teraeth’s knee. “Not if we’re counting past lives. Then Teraeth wins the contest easily.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Thank you. I think.” But he didn’t seem upset. Just the opposite. Teraeth leaned over and delicately, deliberately bit the side of her neck. Janel gasped and closed her eyes. He then straightened and smiled at me like he was sitting in a classroom and honestly had been paying attention the whole time.

“You’re a terrible tease,” Janel mourned.

“I’m a fantastic tease,” Teraeth corrected.

I coughed and fought the desire to laugh. But this is something I really wanted to talk about, so I tried to keep focus. “My point is, if you take an honest look at the people we are allied with, as well as who we are, there’s a lot of blood on the floor. I’m supposed to look Galen in the eyes and tell him that my mother, the woman who broke his neck and murdered him in a fit of rage, is probably going to live out her years in the Manol—quite probably as queen if you abdicate the throne—with no consequences for her crimes? But how do we address that she was a slave for years, that House D’Mon has owned slaves for all of its existence? Is it unjustified for her to have taken her revenge for that? Why do my parents get to retire happily to live idyllically when Thurvishar’s parents died horrible permanent deaths? Where’s the justice in that?”

Janel’s expression returned to a serious mien. “It’s not a contest.”

“If it is,” Teraeth said, “Khaeriel and Therin are winning.”

Janel shook her head. “There’s no great slate board where all the sins of your existence are added up. I’ve never seen anything to indicate that the sins or virtues of one life bleed over into the next. Reincarnation has nothing to do with justice.”

“Easy for you to say,” Teraeth retorted. “Add up the body count of all your lives, and you’re the saintliest of all of us.”

I was surprised at how much that idea seemed to upset Janel. She visibly drew back, brow furrowed, and looked off into the distance. “I don’t … I don’t think that’s true.”

I frowned. There was something there. Something that we needed to talk about. Before I could ask the question, however, I noticed our shadows sharpen on the ground around us. It was as if the sun had just come out behind the clouds.

Only there was no sun in this place.

I looked up and saw I was wrong. There was a sun. It was incredibly bright, blindingly so, and to my surprise, seemed to be growing brighter.

Then I understood what it meant, and the fear kicked fire through my veins. It turned out that Vol Karoth hadn’t needed to track me down. Finding me was inconsequential when he could attack the entire city, all at once, and leave it nothing but ash and shadow.

“Run,” I said. “Find a place to—”

But the idea of hiding was ludicrous. Maybe if we’d been underground, in a deep basement, or sheltered in the central university hall. Instead, the three of us were caught entirely in the open when that giant ball of plasma pulled from a still-yellow sun came slamming down on the entire city of Karolaen, annihilating it with fire. Everything exploded in light and heat.

The world turned white.

Xivan’s memories The Upper Circle of the Capital City, Quur

One week after the Battle of the Well of Spirals

By the time Xivan returned to the Joratese embassy, she was embarrassed to discover that she’d missed Ninavis, Dorna, and the rest of their group. They’d either managed to finagle their meeting with the High Council or they’d realized they stood no chance to do so and so had left. Which was a shame; Xivan would have appreciated being able to stay there instead of some hospitality house of far inferior quality.

But the world was what it was. So Xivan retrieved more of her husband’s funds from their account at the Temple of Tavris, bought herself clothing respectable enough to remind people that she was actually someone of importance, and rented out a ridiculously expensive suite at one of the few hospitality houses in the Upper Circle. Truthfully, she was only looking for the excuse to linger at the taverns, sip a truly mind-boggling amount of wine, and listen to the gossip roll around her.

It didn’t take long at all for that gossip to include the name she was looking for.

“Did you hear what Galen D’Mon did at the funeral for the high general’s daughter? I heard he literally summoned a demon!”

“No, it was the funeral for the high general’s son, not his daughter. And you’re thinking of Galen D’Mon’s father. Galen’s the quiet kid who married Sheloran D’Talus, remember?”

“She’s the high lord’s youngest daughter, isn’t she?”

“Only daughter. Only child, in fact.”

“Huh. I could have sworn they had other children. But you say she’s the only one? I wonder what they’re going to do about that? What does one even call that: Lady heir? Oh, that sounds terrible.”

“I would imagine when Galen and Sheloran have children, their second son will end up as Lord Heir D’Talus, just like the first one will be Lord Heir D’Mon.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. The new emperor’s ruined that.”

“New emperor? Oh just call her what she is: empress. And how do you figure?”

“Well, if a woman can be emperor, then a woman can be high lord, can’t she? And if a woman can be high lord, then Galen D’Mon isn’t even in the running. The oldest child of Therin D’Mon is a woman.”

“Was, you mean. Didn’t Galen D’Mon kill her? So much for being the quiet kid!”

“I wouldn’t be placing any metal on Galen D’Mon being crowned lord anytime soon. And I still think he was the one who summoned that demon.”

“Pfft. Go drink your wine.”

It didn’t take long after that for Xivan to discover that Galen and Sheloran D’Mon had apparently gone into hiding. Therin D’Mon’s oldest daughter, Tishenya, had died, and so now the other daughter, Gerisea, had taken over the Blue Palace.

Which was inconvenient in terms of being able to track down Sheloran, but extremely interesting in terms of what kind of protection Sheloran would have once Xivan managed it.

She hired a calligrapher to make her a letter of introduction and sent it by courier to the Blue Palace. There was no sense doing this in a rush. She’d already learned that lesson from Lessoral D’Talus.

She soon received a response, delivered by runner. Xivan took note of the fact that said runner didn’t wear the livery of House D’Mon.

When Xivan arrived at the Blue Palace, the entire complex had the same tension as the hours before the arrival of a hurricane. Or perhaps in the middle of one. A great many people were running about and looking exceedingly put upon. Most of the people in charge looked Khorveshan, and an uncommon number had blue eyes.

She waited in the First Court until someone took notice of her. It took longer than it should have, considering.

“Duchess Xivan Kaen of Yor to see Lady Gerisea D’Mon,” she told the doorman. In deference to the people she visited, she had worn her sword, and her clothing was lavish, but still of the Khorveshan style. And she’d made sure to feed that morning, so it was difficult to tell that she wasn’t a living person.

They brought her to a sitting area, where harried servants served her mint tea and trays of pressed honey-layered pastry, cut into delicate shapes. She had no idea if it was any good—she might as well have been eating dirt for all the flavor it had.

Finally, a woman whom Xivan assumed was Gerisea D’Mon entered the room. She was much taller than the average Quuros woman—indeed, much taller than the average Khorveshan woman—and undeniably lovely, her probable age comparable to Xivan’s. She also dressed lavishly, with gold bracelets lining her wrists, a veritable fortune of sapphires around her neck, her agolé dyed a perfect indigo blue and then embroidered and beaded with gold.

Xivan didn’t stand. “Gerisea D’Mon, I assume?”

“Yes,” the royal admitted as she sat down opposite Xivan. Her eyes traveled down Xivan’s body and then back up again. Xivan had the feeling that if this had been under different circumstances, she’d have been asked to show her teeth. Xivan couldn’t decide if the appraisal was sexual or not. “How extraordinary. But you don’t even look dead. I thought you’d at least be pale. Gadrith was pale.”

Xivan’s hackles raised. “Have we met?”

“Oh, not directly, no. Darzin mentioned you from time to time, especially after that business with getting him kicked out of the Ice Demesne. He was so mad at you.”

“Yes, clearly, I was right to stay up at night sick with worry about his opinion.”

Gerisea laughed. It was a nice laugh, polished to profession, no doubt practiced until it conveyed the perfect amount of insouciant charm. “Ah, I’ll miss him. Anyway, since we’ve never met in person, I don’t really know for sure that you’re the Duchess of Yor. I apologize for being almost unforgivably rude, but I’ll need to see some proof of that. These days have been strange enough that any number of people might show up claiming to be anything.”

Xivan simply nodded. It hadn’t been unexpected. And fortunately, she had been able to recover her husband’s signet ring when she recovered his body. She handed the ring over. She assumed there was some sort of magic on it to prevent impersonation or counterfeiting, but she’d never bothered to check.

Gerisea stared at the ring as though accusing it of crimes, but finally handed it back. “Thank you, Your Grace. I admit I’m intrigued by the reason for your visit, but I’ll also be honest: you’ve come at a bad time. I hope you’re not wasting my time.”

“Of course,” Xivan said. “I understand. Which makes my request all the more unfortunate since I’ve come asking for your assistance.”

She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I understand the duchy went through some unpleasantness recently. You must have had enormous casualties.”

Xivan kept her expression calm. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the flash of light as the entire palace had melted in a column of fire reaching up into the sky. A great many casualties.

“A few,” Xivan said, setting her teacup down. “But it tangentially relates to my request. You see, the witch responsible for that business escaped, and I have been looking for her ever since. I recently discovered that she has a relative living here in the Capital who may know her whereabouts. Unfortunately, that has been somewhat complicated by the fact that Sheloran D’Mon has gone into hiding.”

Fortunately for her dignity, Gerisea hadn’t been drinking anything. “Sheloran D’Mon? Well, I—” She pulled herself up. “Unfortunately, you’re correct; I have no idea where the young lady might be.”

“I imagine if you did, she wouldn’t be with us anymore.”

Gerisea studied Xivan, then drank her tea. She immediately set the cup down again, no doubt also finding it too bitter. “House D’Mon’s relationship with House D’Talus is currently strained. My argument is with my nephew, not with his wife, Sheloran.”

“Whereas my argument is with Sheloran,” Xivan said, “but I share a strong desire to keep the young woman alive, so I’m glad we have an understanding.”

Gerisea cocked her head and gazed at Xivan oddly. “Just exactly how are you hoping I might help you?”

“I want to find Sheloran. You quite obviously want to find Galen. I am proposing we join forces. While I am a duchess and that carries some weight, this is the Capital, and your word carries more. I’ve become a skilled tracker over the years. Perhaps a new set of eyes on the problem is exactly what you need.”

The woman leaned back against the couch and studied Xivan. “You’re Khorveshan.”

“I am.” Xivan didn’t elaborate. She had no idea if Gerisea would consider it important that Xivan hadn’t been raised as some kind of nobility, but it was best not to tempt fate on the matter. “The climate of Yor never suited me, but I would like to finish this one thing before I retire.” She paused. “Perhaps if our alliance proves strong enough, you might provide advice on who I nominate to take my place as regent. I have a granddaughter who will one day be duchess, but I’d rather devote myself full-time to helping her mother raise her and leave ruling the Dominion to another.” As potential bribes went, it wasn’t particularly subtle, but Xivan had learned enough from her husband to know that the weak spot of any royal was the promise of legitimate power.

Gerisea’s mouth quirked. “I’d be happy to offer such advice when the time comes. I know how difficult raising a family can be.” She paused. “I don’t want to hurt Galen, you understand. I have no grudge against the young man. Indeed, before he ran off he set up a potentially lucrative business deal with the Vishai of all things, and without him, the whole deal falls apart. I just think my brother did a poor job of raising the next high lord, and this house won’t survive with Galen at its helm. If he’s willing to step down, there’s no reason he can’t live the rest of his life quite happily.”

Somewhere else, lay unspoken between them. Exile would be the best he could hope for. But given what she’d already seen of Gerisea, Xivan was reasonably certain that all this was a lie. Galen wouldn’t survive to see the next sunrise the day he was returned to his aunt.³

“You don’t have to explain your reasons to me,” Xivan said.

“I wouldn’t want you to think that my nephew’s health is less important than Sheloran’s,” Gerisea explained. “He is family, after all, and family matters to me.”

“A woman after my own heart,” Xivan said as she stood. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“I’ll have my captain of the guard meet you in the First Court,” Gerisea said. “He can fill you in on what information we have. For example, we do know they’re not staying at the House D’Talus estate.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be helpful.”

“Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me, the empress is throwing a thank-you party for the Royal House high lords, and I wouldn’t want to be unfashionably late.”

Xivan bowed, one equal to another, and left to go find the captain.