32: DEATH’S GRAIL
Qown’s reaction The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor
Qown hadn’t been prepared to have Vol Karoth continue the story. He’d assumed they’d skip … certain parts. But he should have known better. He could have slapped himself for being so naïve. Of course, Vol Karoth would want to show exactly those elements, right on the heels of their talk, because that was naturally the perfect time for it. The betrayals. The facts that Galen hadn’t known. The proof that Qown had never been on Galen’s side, not once.
The moment Qown woke, he threw off the covers and lurched down the hallway in a fluttery panic to find Galen. He’d run perhaps a hundred feet when he stopped. His heart pounded, his blood roared in his ears.
And the next bedroom shouldn’t have been twenty feet down the hall from his own, let alone a hundred.
Qown turned around.
The hallway stretched forever, but in the distance, he saw a black silhouette of a man outlined by a blue-violet halo.
Qown didn’t have to ask who that was; he ran.
As he stumbled forward, the hallway continued to stretch out before him, elongating and drawing away into the distance. The light started to dim. He knew, knew on a fundamental gut level, that it was too late. They were too late. Vol Karoth was free. He’d escaped, and now he was coming for everyone …
He stumbled, and as he caught himself, Qown realized there wasn’t anyone behind him anymore. He wasn’t being chased at all.
The hallway looked perfectly normal. He could see the other doors. He was standing in front of the one where Galen had been sleeping. Had probably been standing there for minutes while he thought he was running for his life.
Qown chuckled in relief and turned around.
Vol Karoth stood in front of him.
Qown screamed and woke up. He wasn’t the only person screaming. Someone else was too.
Sheloran.
He stumbled out of bed, but this time, Qown saw what he’d missed in his dream: the rooms joined up now. He wouldn’t have had to run out into the hallway to see everyone else because they’d removed large sections of the walls the night before. The others were waking, throwing off covers. They all converged on the room where the screaming was occurring.
Sheloran’s scream choked off as everyone entered the room. The reason for those screams was embodied in the form of Galen D’Mon, still in bed, eyes staring sightlessly.
“No, no, no,” Qown stammered. “That’s not … He can’t—”
Xivan didn’t say a word. She folded Galen’s arms over his chest, closed the man’s eyes, and tucked the blankets tighter around him.
Everyone watched in silence.
Talon—Talon!—looked like she might cry.
Qown couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t thought it would be this bad—
“Qown, might I have a word?” Sheloran asked as she wiped her eyes.
“Sheloran?” Talea said. “Don’t do anything rash…”
“Rash? I’m never rash.” Sheloran’s hand gripped her metal fan so hard her knuckles stood out stark white against her brown skin.
Qown wondered if he was still dreaming. This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.
“Don’t go off alone,” Senera ordered.
“We’ll be right there,” Sheloran said. She pointed that same fan to the next room over, clearly still visible through the large open space where a wall had once stood.
Sheloran grabbed Qown roughly by the arm and dragged him with her.
Qown didn’t argue. He didn’t have the right to argue. This was all his fault. He walked over to the other room without looking back. In theory, the others might be able to eavesdrop if they really tried, but they were far enough away that they could pretend at some modicum of privacy.
Sheloran sat Qown on one bed, then sat across from him on another. For some unfathomable amount of time, neither spoke. Her whole body was rigid. He thought she might have been trying to calm herself, perhaps even meditate.
Qown wasn’t ungrateful, but it gave him too much time to think. Too much time to realize the enormity of his mistakes.
“What did you say to him?” Sheloran’s voice was soft. If one didn’t know her, one might even make the mistake of thinking she wasn’t angry.
“I don’t—” He shook his head. “Say to who?” He was honestly confused. He hadn’t said anything to Galen before he’d collapsed. He hadn’t even been in the same room.
“Galen. When we retired for sleep last night. What did you say to Galen to make him look like he’d been stabbed when he told me good night? What happened? Don’t try to pretend you didn’t say anything to him.”
Qown’s throat felt scraped raw, the act of swallowing like sandpaper rubbed across an open wound. “I-I just—” He inhaled. “Yes, it’s my fault.”
“I know that. I also don’t care. What did you say to him?”
Qown blinked and looked over at her, startled.
“I really can’t be bothered to care whose fault it is right now. Yes, fine. We now all know you did in fact betray us and you were working for Relos Var the whole time. You performed your job with admirable dedication. But Galen would just be angry at you if that’s all it was. It wouldn’t be personal. He’s a Quuros prince, Qown. He’s grown up around more politics and subterfuge than you will ever know. He was born to backstabbing from the cradle.” She shifted, moving from the bed to slump down to the floor in front of him, a stunningly artless slide that was in itself shocking. “Damn it all, Qown. What happened?”
He wiped his eyes. “I don’t think … Sheloran, I don’t think we should talk about this.”
“No,” Sheloran snapped. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Qown blinked again.
“Talking about this is the only thing that will make any difference. What did you two say to each other? Did he tell you how he feels about you?”
Qown’s eyes widened. “I-I didn’t … You—” He paused. “I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you would know how he felt.”
“Feels,” Sheloran corrected. “Damn it all, Qown. He isn’t dead. Not yet. And not only did I know, but fool that I am, I encouraged him.” She laughed darkly. “I had this idiotic idea that you’d be good for him. Can you imagine?”
“Oh.” He didn’t know what to say.
“So Galen said that he likes you, yes?” Sheloran tilted her head. “And what excuse did you give him for why it couldn’t possibly work?”
“I…” He shut his eyes.
“Hmm, so it’s to be a guessing game? Fine. I’m happy to play. Perhaps it was your classic go-to of ‘I can’t possibly because I belong to a fake celibate order that apparently only ever existed to guard the Cornerstone Skyfire,’ or was it the simpler ‘I don’t know how to deal with the idea I’m attracted to men, so I’m hoping if I just ignore the issue, it will go away’?”
“I’m not just attracted to men!” Qown said, then winced at the intrusion of that word “just.” “It’s a long leap from ‘sex is sinful’ to—” He made a vague, noncommittal gesture.
“Oh, I wish I lived in a universe where I could take a whip to Relos Var,” Sheloran muttered. “I do hope you realize that even he doesn’t expect you to stand by those vows anymore?”
“I—” He closed his eyes tightly and fought back the burning in his throat, the stinging of his eyes. Everything was horrible. “I did mention my faith. And he—Galen—just wouldn’t stop pressing. Until finally I admitted … I admitted it wasn’t just that.”
“And what was your reason?”
“I don’t—”
“What was it?”
He choked out a sob. “I told him I didn’t want to hide. I told him I couldn’t stand a life where I was constantly having to conceal what we were, and that would always be true—”
“You dirty little liar.”
Qown drew back. “I beg your pardon?”
“As well you should,” Sheloran said. “Because Galen wouldn’t have hidden you, and you must know that. Do you think he gives a damn what the rest of the world thinks of him? The man who would stand up in front of all those high lords at Jarith Milligreest’s funeral and tell them that he hopes they’ll burn because they all deserve it? There’s only a handful of people whose opinions Galen cares about, and none of those people are on that list. No, he wouldn’t have hidden what you are to him. But I’m not going to let you lie to yourself, Qown: you’re the one who would have wanted to hide your relationship, not Galen. You’d have told yourself it was for his own good when the whole time it was for yours. And because you didn’t want to ever look at that fact about yourself, you accused him of what was always true of you instead. So you could use it as an excuse.”
Qown felt the words slice into his skin, sink into his blood with each thump of his painfully loud heart. He knew that tears had started flowing down his cheeks. “I … That’s not true—”
“You know the world is larger than Quur.”
That time, he frowned at her.
“Idiot,” Sheloran repeated. “You’ve seen Zherias. Da’utunse. You know not every place is like Quur. Not every place will care if two men want to be in love. Hell, there are parts of the Quuros Empire where no one cares, and that’s assuming the Royal Houses even exist by the time we return. So this idea that you two can’t end up together and happy? That excuse has evaporated. What lie would you like to tell yourself next?”
“I don’t know what you mean—”
“You don’t have some other poor justification for why you and Galen can’t be together? Be honest with me here. If we go back to Quur tomorrow and you can snap your fingers and be legally with Galen—publicly so—would you?”
“I—” He swallowed.
Sheloran leaned forward. “That feeling is called shame. It’s what happens when what society tells you is correct and what your heart tells you that you need don’t align. But I know enough about Vishai to know that you have no problem pushing back on commonly held beliefs. Your faith has always savored heresy.”
“Not that kind of heresy!”
“I see no reason why not. You can accept a woman isn’t a witch without blinking, so why would you balk at love?” Sheloran tapped her fan against his knee. “Galen is in love with you.”
Qown’s eyes snapped open again. “What. No, he’s not—”
“He is,” Sheloran said. “You caught his eye right away, and I watched as he became more and more charmed by you. And my darling boy has never loved except with all his heart and souls. Now it also happens he has terrible taste in men, and I could argue has an unfortunate habit of picking impossible relationships, but he does at least commit to the idea.”
Qown felt a sense of horror and guilt. Shame. He couldn’t bear to look Sheloran in the eyes.
“Oh, but it’s more than shame, though, isn’t it? It’s fear too. Because at some point this vow of yours became a symbol of your faith, and as long as you can hold on to it, your faith still exists. And as long as your faith still exists, then you have to be true to your vows. And if you do that, then you can pretend that you didn’t throw it all away for all the wrong reasons. You can pretend that your life isn’t a lie, that the man you trusted and loved like a father hasn’t betrayed you, and, most importantly, that everything you’ve gone through was worth it. That the world makes sense and is fair and rewards the just and punishes the wicked.”
“Stop! Stars, please, stop!” He curled up on himself, unable to stop himself from crying. Unable to stop the tears.
For a split second, the world started to turn black, a gray slide into oblivion.
He felt arms wrap around him, a warmth against his side. “Galen loves you,” Sheloran whispered. “And I love you, and Janel loves you, and Thurvishar loves you, and Talea loves you. I bet deep down in her bitchy little heart, even Senera loves you, and we won’t talk about Kalindra, but she’ll come around. It is not too late for us to make this right. For you to make this right. We can create our own justice and goodness. There is still hope.”
The darkness faded. He could almost hear the angry snarl of disappointment.
Qown reached up to where Sheloran’s hand was on his shoulder and grabbed it. He pulled her to him and sobbed into her chest. She smoothed his hair back and rocked him gently. “It is okay,” she whispered, “to admit that people we love have hurt us. It doesn’t make it our fault, you understand. It doesn’t mean you deserved it. You did not.”
“He … he … gaeshed—” Qown couldn’t stop himself from crying. It was as though those gentle words had in fact been so sharp they didn’t hurt at all as they sliced open the sutures on a hundred wounds. What flowed out was putrid bile and every hidden cancer that had been festering inside him. It was the knowledge that what Relos Var had done to him was not forgivable, not justifiable, and had always been indefensible.
“I know, sweetheart, I know.”
He didn’t know how long he cried. Forever. Probably less than a minute. When he leaned away from her, Qown saw she was crying too. She wiped at his eyes with a length of her agolé. “You were hurt,” she said, “and you tried to protect yourself. I don’t blame you for that. But you’re a healer. You know how this works. At some point, the medicine becomes the poison. So now’s the part where we rip the bandages off so the wound can finally heal, hmm?”
“How are you—” He took a deep breath. “How are you so good at this?”
“I don’t know.” Sheloran brushed his hair back from his eyes. “I always thought I got it from my mother, and now—” Her face twisted with bitterness. “Now I don’t know what to think.”1
Qown cleared his throat. He felt scrubbed out. “What do we do?”
“Oh, I think first we’re going to get some food in you. Possibly some tea.” She smiled kindly at him. “And after that, well … do you really think that’s the right question right now? You asking someone else to tell you the next step? I realize it’s easier, but…”
“But it’s what got me into this mess,” Qown finished.
“Exactly. So what do you think we should do?”
Qown floated in a space of almost shocking clarity, still numb but in a way that felt freeing instead of suffocating. “We should…” He nodded to himself. “We should find him. We should find Galen and bring him back.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’re damn right, we will.”
Talea didn’t say anything when they stepped back out into the main gathering area. She been standing close by—close enough that she must have been listening to every word, but she just gave them a nod as she continued lacing that gold coin of hers over and under her fingers. Down the way, Xivan stood next to the main group, always keeping Talea in sight.
Qown didn’t think that would mean much if Vol Karoth tried something, but it made him feel better to know they were watching.
Qown cleared his throat. “If everyone would like to follow me downstairs, I’ll make breakfast.”
Which he did. Qown made rice porridge in the Joratese style. Everyone ate, even Senera, who pretended it wasn’t one of her favorites and snuck another bowlful when she thought Qown wasn’t looking.2
And the tea only turned to blood once, so that was nice.
Everyone was tired and out of sorts. No one needed to ask why.
Qown almost tried to reassure people that it would be better the next night, when he remembered that there was a strong likelihood none of them would see a next night. At the rate Vol Karoth was emerging …
Well. He’d be free by then.
“He didn’t torture Galen,” Senera said out of nowhere.
“What was that?” Qown asked, surprised.
“Vol Karoth tortured Teraeth and made sure we knew about it. Why didn’t he do the same to Galen?”
“If I would hazard a guess,” Sheloran said, “it’s because when he did that before, we promptly sent people to try to rescue Teraeth.”
“But we have no idea if that even worked,” Kalindra pointed out.
“No, we don’t,” Senera said. “But it is interesting. Something to keep an eye on.”
“Noted! Who’s next?” Talon said, trying to sound chipper and cheerful and failing miserably.
“Still me,” Talea said. “No sense waiting.”
The mimic studied her face for a moment and then nodded. “All right.”
The world changed.
Talea’s memory The Capital City of Quur
One week after the Battle of the Well of Spirals
“I don’t understand,” Talea said. “Why are we going back to the Upper Circle? That’s where Xivan is.”
“Possibly,” Eshi allowed, “but there’s something we need to find there. Don’t worry, though. The odds that we’ll run into Xivan are low, and I don’t feel like helping them along any.”
Talea made a face and didn’t reply to the little girl’s comment. She had a different issue to worry about—namely, how she was going to return. The problem was that the Watchmen guards were careful to make sure no one entered the upper area without the proper clearances, the proper passes, or the proper bribes, none of which she possessed. She wasn’t even dressed nicely—a thing she was going to need to do something about.
“Any ideas about getting past them?” she said, frowning at the Prayer Gate, which was the easiest way to get into the Upper Circle.
“Of course,” the little girl said. “Go over to that merchant stall. There’s a line in the back where they wash their sallí cloaks in preparation for selling them. If you time it correctly, there’s a 79.69 percent chance the boy who normally watches the merchandise will have left to relieve himself. Grab one of the cloaks, wrap it around yourself, and come back. Keep your head down.”
Talea walked around to the side, and sure enough, there were indeed several wash lines strung up with white sheets of fabric hanging from them to bleach dry in the sun. Even as she watched, the little boy standing on the porch ducked inside.
She grabbed a sallí cloak and wandered back to the gate. As she approached, a large group of Thaenan priests in white robes came up to the gate, part of a group that had apparently been performing last rites in the Lower Circle and were now going home. The smell of ash fires and fecal matter rolled out in a circle from the men and women, many of whom wore robes whose red trim was now stained a much less pleasant color.
“Hold … Hold … Now!” Eshi ordered.
Talea merged in with the group and kept her head down as she passed through. Nobody questioned her, even if she wasn’t technically wearing the right sort of robe. Evidently, it was close enough.
“Walk with them up to the top of the stairs, then leave them behind and go right behind the Temple of Tavris.”
Talea did this.
She didn’t need to be told what to do next. A fire had left the tall fence that normally separated the Ivory District from the rest of the Upper Circle burned to a shell of itself and all too easy to circumvent. She left behind the mingling incenses of the Ivory District as she headed into the areas beyond.
Talea still had to keep a careful watch out for the guards; she still looked unusual enough that they might stop her for that alone. But Eshi evidently kept luck on her side, and no one noticed her.
When she was at Arena Park, Talea asked, “Now what? Are we going to the Culling Fields?”
“Not exactly. I want you to go over to Arena Park and put your hand up to the magical barrier.”
Talea blinked at that, but she’d played along this far, so it seemed a shame to quit now just because the magical girl nobody else could see had said something weird. She looked around to make sure she was alone and set her hand against the barrier.
Starting at her hand, a rainbow line of energy drew a door in the air. The energy field inside that inscribed circumference vanished.
Talea blinked. “Wait—”
“Hurry. Step inside.”
Talea did and found herself inside Arena Park. She knew enough about this place to understand that she shouldn’t have been able to do what she just had. Only the emperor and the Voices had the power to open doorways in the field—and the Voices only had that power because the emperor granted it. She was reasonably certain that Empress Tyentso hadn’t granted her any such ability.
Talea exhaled.
“The next part’s easy,” Eshi said. “And you’re doing great.”
Talea rolled her shoulders as if warming up for a fight as she walked farther into the Arena. It was quite pretty, she thought, then immediately took that back. The trees were mutated and strange, the grass grew in odd shapes and colors. It was weird and a bit creepy, especially since those were human bones on the ground.
“What’s next?”
“You’re looking for a grouping of abandoned buildings in the center of the park. There should be four of them.”
“The Emperor’s Vaults?” Talea asked. When Eshi blinked at her, Talea said, “I lived at the D’Lorus palace for a while. One hears things.”
“Ah.” Strangely, Eshi didn’t seem pleased by the idea that she wouldn’t have to explain.
“What don’t I understand?” Talea asked.
“Let’s find them first,” Eshi said.
Talea nodded and kept walking.
The park wasn’t large, so it didn’t take much time. She probably would’ve been able to see the buildings from the path outside the park if it hadn’t been for the trees and the odd detritus remains of ancient wizard battles that still littered the grounds. The sunlight was warm against her skin; it was a beautiful day.
This was a lovely spot for a picnic.
The vaults weren’t much more than square boxes with doors, really. They managed to look impossibly ancient while not having much of an architectural style. Maybe it was the way the brickwork had worn smooth or the patina over the lintels. The doorways opened into blackness, giving no hint of what lay beyond.
“You have certain advantages,” Eshi explained. “Because of who you are and because of your link to me. Consider me a sort of key. So. I want you to walk through the doorway of the last house, the one on the left.”
Talea stopped in her tracks. “You want me to what?” She pushed her tongue against her teeth and contemplated that this was why Eshi hadn’t been pleased that she knew what these were. If Talea hadn’t known, Talea wouldn’t have questioned. She’d just have done it.
Walked right into one of the buildings famous for killing anyone who did so.
“Please trust me,” Eshi said. “This isn’t going to harm you. You are, in fact, one of the few people in the whole world who can enter these buildings safely.”
“I thought only the emperor could enter these buildings safely?”
“The emperor and nine others,” Eshi corrected quietly.3 “These places weren’t built for the emperor. Not really. They were built for another group, with the emperor acting as custodian to keep a few important items safe. A task that—” She looked sad. “Well. I think that job is almost done, honestly.”
“I see—”4
Eshi motioned for Talea to enter.
Talea knew the stories. Anyone other than the emperor who entered these buildings died. No exceptions.5 Thurvishar had certainly believed that to be the case, and if that story he’d put together about Kihrin was true, then Gadrith had believed it too. Believed it well enough to assassinate and switch bodies with the emperor in order to make it happen.
She took a deep breath, then stepped through the doorway.
And felt nothing.
Since she was pretty sure someone would have told her if she were emperor, that either meant the stories were wrong in general, or Eshi was telling the truth when she claimed that more than just the emperor could safely enter.
Anyway, the room was filled with treasure.
Multiple chests were piled high with jewelry and gold rings and plates and goblets and all sorts of lovely, precious, wrought things. Inlaid wooden boxes and rare carved statues. Beautifully cut gems and, yes, tsali stones (ones she most sincerely hoped were empty of souls).
Talea pointed. “Are we—?”
“No, we don’t care about any of that,” Eshi said. “And whatever you do, don’t take any of it. Don’t even touch it. The curses on that rubbish would make your ears bleed for a thousand years, and the emperor will be able to track you down no matter where you went. Best to just leave it alone. Let Quur have what is Quur’s. We’re here for what belongs to us.” The little girl walked over to the side and pointed to a carved stone cabinet. “Open that, please.”
Talea did and then blinked at the objects inside. They were interesting, even nice, but they didn’t seem that valuable compared with the other items in the treasure vault. There was a red glass sword that could only be purely decorative. A walnut seed, still in the shell, either molded from gold or more likely dipped in gold. A small, beautifully made leather book. An agolé made from rainbow-colored silk. A carved globe of the world, made from lapis lazuli and jade, seemed the most valuable thing there.
Eshi swore. Then she started demanding Talea pick up objects, look around, check at the back, search behind the wardrobe.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes!” Eshi seemed as furious as it was possible for a small child to be. “Something’s very wrong. Where’s the cup? There’s supposed to be a cup!”
“What kind? Like a goblet?”
“It’s just … a cup. A ceramic cup. Simple. White pottery with a red glaze trim.”
Talea wasn’t sure what she was really looking for, but certainly Eshi seemed extremely upset to find that it was gone. Talea felt around the side of the wardrobe. She started to pick up a sword that someone had set to lean against the side of the stone case. The moment her fingers touched the hilt, she thew her whole body backward as though accidentally setting her hand on a working forge.
“What is it?” Eshi asked.
Talea stumbled back and had to fight not to put her hands down in the stack of gold bits and bobs in case just touch alone was enough to activate the curses Eshi had mentioned. She pointed back toward the sword. It looked entirely at home here, meaning it was chased with gold, had a large diamond in the pommel, and every inch screamed ostentatious wealth. In theory, she’d never seen the sword before, but one touch told her that first impression was entirely incorrect. She’d know that fucker anywhere.
“That’s Godslayer,” Talea accused.
Eshi blinked and looked back at the weapon. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve held that sword before,” Talea said. “I’m very sure.” She frowned. “I thought Kihrin had it. What’s it doing here?”6
“That … is an excellent question,” Eshi said. She stared at the blade for a good long time, hardly seeming to breathe.
“What are you thinking?” Talea asked.
“I’m thinking there’s a very high chance that Kihrin has … done something unanticipated,” Eshi said carefully, “and I don’t know what.” The little girl drew in a deep breath and then started talking to herself. “Focus. The cup’s not here. Why isn’t the cup here? Because Khaemezra was a damn coward, that’s why. She couldn’t destroy it. Where would she hide it, though?”
“Would you please explain?” Talea pleaded.
Eshi sighed. She climbed on top of the pile of gold jewelry and made a spot for herself, until she looked like a very small queen on a very large throne. “As I said, when the remaining seven Immortals Returned to life, they realized that they needed to do something to make sure that if it happened again, it wouldn’t take a thousand years to Return them next time. Bluntly, they didn’t think they would have a thousand years next time. So Taja and Tya put their heads together and came up with those.” She pointed to the cabinet. “It was supposed to help bring the Immortals back. That’s why besides the emperor, the only people who can enter this building are consecrated to the other seven Guardians.” She smiled at Talea. “That’s you, by the way.”7
“So you mean—” Talea walked over to the cabinet and pointed to the seed. “Galava, I assume?”
Eshi nodded. “Yes.”
“If I took that, I could use it to resurrect Galava?”
“For lack of a better word,” Eshi said carefully, “but it’s not so simple or fast. Faster than thirteen hundred years, but still slow by most standards. That’s part of why some of the gods—Thaena, for example—didn’t like it. Because she thought it would be too slow and because—” Eshi sighed. “Because she was always capable of rather extraordinary amounts of selfishness. But still, I thought hers would be useful.” Eshi pointed out the sword, the veil, and the globe. “Those can’t be used. Their linked Guardians are still alive. The others are available, but we have to find the right people to act as heralds. There has to be a … a synergy, if you will. Not just anyone can be the Herald of Death.”8
“No, I would imagine not,” Talea said. “But you have no idea where Thaena would have hidden this cup?” She paused. “It’s not the cup the Black Brotherhood uses, is it?” She spoke with her hands, miming out the shape of a goblet. “There was this large grail thing that Teraeth apparently used to use for their rituals…”
Eshi stared at her for a moment. “Cute. No, nothing that gaudy. Just a regular cup.”
“Hmm.” Talea gave the vault one last look. “There’s nothing here like that. Wherever she hid it, it’s not here.”
“That is a real shame,” Eshi mourned. “Ah well, who knows? Maybe it will turn up.”
“Right,” Talea said brightly. “We might get lucky.”
Eshi gave her such a look.