39: THE PRINCE IN HIDING

Kihrin’s story Inside Vol Karoth’s prison An indeterminate time after Galen’s collapse

[Everyone, Vol Karoth’s taken Galen.] Thurvishar’s voice came through as if heard from a long way away. I didn’t have the sense that he’d be able to hear any of us if we said something back. This had been a one-shot, a message tied to a brick and thrown over the wall. He’d have no way to know if we’d received it.

“Yeah.” I sighed. “Figured that might be the case when we found this.”

We were staring at the Court of Princes in the Blue Palace. Needless to say, it hadn’t been difficult to figure out this wasn’t a spot that had any place existing in Vol Karoth’s mental architecture. I’d been hoping that the Blue Palace had appeared because it was emotionally important to me, but Thurvishar’s warning suggested a different reason.

I was a little concerned, though. We hadn’t seen any vision of Galen. No sign that he had been taken, the way we’d seen for everyone else. And if I was really feeling paranoid …

If I was really feeling paranoid, then I had to admit that I had no way to know if that was really Thurvishar’s voice I’d heard. It seemed awfully convenient that we’d hear that just as we happened to all but trip over the spot where we were most likely to find Galen.

“Vol Karoth didn’t brag about this,” Janel mused. “Why wouldn’t he have bragged?”

“I don’t like it,” Teraeth said.

“Nothing for it,” I finally said. “Let’s go take a look around.”

Which we did. We quickly found Galen. He was in the middle of the main hall, sitting among a pile of bodies—everyone who had died that day in the Capital, either at the hands of Gadrith or Khaeriel. Sheloran’s body, his sisters’ bodies, all his uncles—including me.

Belatedly, I realized that one of the bodies off to the side was Darzin’s. Someone had gone after him with a large cleaver or ax of some kind, so it was difficult to recognize what was left of him. I wouldn’t have been able to do it except for his hair and the richness of his clothing.

Galen was holding my body in his arms and wailing.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Galen? Galen, come on. None of this is real. Wake up.”

Galen didn’t seem to hear me.

“We haven’t had a great record of success at this so far,” Teraeth pointed out. “Any ideas?”

Janel just shook her head, looking concerned.

I touched Galen’s shoulder. When he didn’t react, I tried to pry the dead body away from him. “This isn’t me, Galen. Look, I’m right here.”

He didn’t pay any attention.

I tried again.

That time, I managed to pull the body away. “Galen, please look at me.” I took a deep breath. “Galen, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to leave you behind. That wasn’t my intention at all. Please believe—”

Galen pulled a dagger from his belt and slashed it across his throat.

“No!” I screamed and grabbed him. He’d cut deep. Blood fountained out of the wound. I tried healing him, but even as I did, I could tell right away that I was going to fail; he was fighting me.

Galen wanted to die.

I was left gasping, with Galen’s corpse in my arms, the light faded from his eyes. What—? No. This couldn’t—

“Get away from that bullshit, Kihrin,” Teraeth snapped. “That’s not real.”

“He—” I blinked at her. “He killed himself.”

“Did he, though?” Janel was staring at the body.

Teraeth stalked over to my position and grabbed my face. “Listen to me. I know what this is like. I know what it feels like to think everything is so hopeless and dark that oblivion seems like a mercy. And I also know Vol Karoth is a dirty fucking liar. So if you want to bet metal on which option is more likely, bet on this isn’t real.” He pointed around us. “You’ve been seeing the same visions I have, and your nephew might have his issues, but quite frankly, he was dealing with them a whole lot better than I was. Than any of us, for that matter. That kid is a survivor, and anyone who can claw his way out from under Darzin D’Mon’s grip isn’t going to turn around and take his own life like this.”

I gave him a hard look. “They might. Don’t presume to know someone else’s pain, Teraeth.”

He exhaled. “No. No, I don’t. But I still know this isn’t real.”

“How? How do you know that?” I started shouting. “You have no idea—”

“That isn’t Galen. I know that isn’t Galen because Vol Karoth isn’t here gloating,” Teraeth said calmly. “He would be.”

I stopped. More than anything else Teraeth had said, that made me pause. Because yes, Vol Karoth absolutely would be there to gloat if Galen had taken his own life. He’d be there to remind me that he didn’t need to hurt the people I loved if they were going to do all the work themselves.

Janel put her hand on my arm. “Teraeth’s right. We should listen to him.”

Teraeth raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. “You have to warn someone if you’re going to keep sweet-talking them like this. I could get ideas.”

“Remember that,” Janel said. “We still might find that bed.”

Galen’s prison After going to sleep in the Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor Just after Qown’s vision

Galen woke in the dark to the feeling of having a pillow shoved into his face, of being smothered.

“Fucking pretty boy thinks he’s so special,” someone hissed. There was more than one pair of hands holding him down, keeping him from struggling.

“Tie him up! Don’t let him get away!”

Something slammed into his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs. He thought it might have been a knee. The pillow came away, just for a second; he gulped air.

“Let’s see your mommy save you now, huh?”¹ That was followed by a sharp, stinging pain in his jaw as someone hit him.

“No time for that! Get the bag over his head. Come on, come on!”

He was being carried somewhere. He struggled, but there were at least five of them, all decently strong. He didn’t have a chance. He tried screaming, but that just earned him a piece of cloth crammed into his mouth, which, from the smell, was apparently a dirty sock.

“Hurry! Hurry!” More shouting, and then he was thrown down on the ground. They started kicking him. There wasn’t much he could do other than try to brace for it. His hands and feet were still bound.

“Fucking asshole,” someone said to him. “Teach you to snitch on us again. Just remember it can get a lot worse.”

More cursing. More names. Not one of them was a voice Galen recognized.

Galen heard a strange noise he couldn’t identify then, just before something warm and wet began splashing over him.

Someone was pissing on him.

Galen turned his face away from it, but at least the kicking had stopped—no one wanted urine on their legs. After a moment, the flow stopped. Someone spit on him. Then the footsteps faded.

The door slammed shut.

He was left alone.

Galen pulled at the cloth around his wrists. They hadn’t tied him very well. He was free in a few seconds, then pulled the bag off his head. It was a pillowcase. Fortunately, it had absorbed the worst of the urine. He tossed it in a corner, far away from him.

The lights were out. Galen rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. It was covered in a strange white tile with an embossed design he didn’t recognize. He wouldn’t have considered it attractive, although maybe that was just a cultural preference. The room was small—probably meant to be some sort of supply closet. It was astonishingly clean. Almost certainly not meant to hold prisoners. But with the darkened room and the small spaces pressing in, it would have been terrifying …

For someone else.

Galen propped himself up on his elbows and began laughing.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he said out loud. “I have to say, I don’t feel like you’re really giving this your full effort here. No forced sex acts? What about my father showing up to beat me? My mother? Honestly, I’m giving you so much to work with, and this is all you can come up with? Disappointing!” He untied his feet and stood. Then he grabbed a giant white bottle of something from one of the lower shelves and threw it hard against the door. He didn’t expect it to do much.

The entire wall shattered.

It was like watching a mirror crack slowly, the sharp shards of glass careening through the air a half inch at a time. And beyond was … someplace else. Not any of the rooms he had seen before but someplace he didn’t recognize. He was in the middle of an impossibly long hallway that ran in front and behind, a cold and undecorated place whose purpose seemed unfathomable. Ahead of him in the hallway, a black silhouette phased through the wall and stood there. Galen had the sense that it had turned to look at him, but he couldn’t make out any features, any details. It was just that black cutout shape.

He recognized the descriptions, though. Vol Karoth.

So Galen ran.

He stopped running when he was panting and out of breath, his sides a burning ache. He leaned against a withered old tree that was valiantly trying to sprout a few green buds. Where was he? Galen didn’t recognize any of the architecture, the streets, any surroundings. It seemed like an abandoned city, but he had no idea where he was.

He’d seen Vol Karoth, so he could make certain guesses. Galen even had a fairly good idea what he was doing there, although that was also an unpleasant reminder. He didn’t really want to think about Qown just then, especially if that was the sort of thing Vol Karoth might be able to home in on.

Maybe Galen could find Kihrin, though.

He started walking this time, noticing the empty streets, the faint but present stirrings of life in the weeds and old, not-quite-dead trees lining the streets, the straggling flowers and ivy creeping up walls and sprouting from abandoned window boxes. The city must have been beautiful in its heyday.

Galen was crossing the street when he stopped, blinked, and walked backward until he could look down the road he’d just passed. He took a minute and studied the scene in front of him.

What Galen saw was a small section of fence that opened up on to a park, across the street from a walled building with a single door. Galen recognized the door: it didn’t belong there.

It was the door to the Culling Fields.

Galen sucked on his teeth for a moment. Yes, that was definitely the door to the Culling Fields, and it definitely didn’t belong. That seemed like a fantastic place to look for Kihrin.

He approached the door but immediately ran into a problem. There was no handle on the door. No way to open it at all. He tried pushing. Nothing. Galen had no way to pull against it.

He heard noises behind him.

Galen turned. Something moved in the park across the way. He waited and saw a flash of color. It was a person, someone he didn’t recognize. Another person joined them. This rapidly turned into a large crowd of people dressed in Quuros-style clothing of all colors and types, pushing and shoving against each other while they jostled to see what was going on. It felt a bit like a large crowd gathering to watch a street brawl.

Which … okay. That was a good place to start. Galen walked across the street and began his own shoving match to see what all the fuss was about. Then he nearly tripped. A body lay on the ground, which people largely ignored. The crowd shifted around the dead man’s body as if he were a log fallen off the back of a cart in the middle of the road. They also ignored the living woman on her knees next to him. She looked just a little older than his own age. She held her hands to her neck, sobbing. It wasn’t Kihrin or Janel or anyone else he’d expected to run across after being swept up into Vol Karoth’s mindscape.

Still, Galen recognized her.

Because it was Lyrilyn, better known as Talon.²

Talea’s reaction The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor
After Talea’s memory of being attacked by pirates

Senera narrowed her eyes at Talea when the vision ended. “You don’t think Eshi was messing with probability? After that?”

“Oh no,” Talea said, “I think she was. Is. I mean, that coincidence seems a bit much for anyone, don’t you think? But since it’s all working in my favor, I don’t feel like complaining.”

“Thurvishar,” Sheloran said. “If we’re going to keep telling the story of what happened next, I should point out that Talea was here for all of it.”

Thurvishar squinted. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Qown said, “that you don’t need us. Sheloran and I could go find Galen. Let us at least tell everyone else that he’s missing. They don’t know!”

“I tried to pass along a message to them,” Thurvishar said. “It may have worked.”

“So allow us to make sure,” Sheloran said.

Most of the others seemed to have no strong opinion on this, although everyone was frowning because lately—well, everyone had been frowning.

“Let them,” Talea told Thurvishar. “It might help.”

Thurvishar scowled and studied the ceiling for a moment. “Fine,” he finally said.

Qown also stood. “Should we, uh … What should we—?”

Senera rolled her eyes. “The two of you go upstairs and lie down on a bed. It’ll be easier that way. We’ll escort you and come back down after.”

“Yes, naturally,” Sheloran said before adding, “Are you going to do it or shall Thurvishar?”

Senera narrowed her eyes. “I can’t.”

Sheloran fanned herself slowly. “Oh. That’s right.”

Thurvishar frowned at the two women. “Am I missing something?”³

“No,” Senera said. “You aren’t.” The look on her face suggested that was absolutely a lie.

Talea frowned as well. What was going on?

Sheloran smiled, waving her fan idly. “I just feel I should remind you—”

“You really don’t need to say anything,” Senera said.

Sheloran smiled. “This is a place where secrets play to Vol Karoth’s strengths. They will be used against you.” Her gaze slipped to Xivan, to Kalindra, before landing once more on Senera. “Perhaps you might feel more comfortable discussing such matters in a smaller crowd.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Senera said.

“Sheloran, we should go—” Qown said.

Sheloran nodded. “As you say, Qown.” She still stared at Senera for a moment longer, though, until she finally nodded to herself, tucked the fan away, and elegantly walked upstairs as though she were about to attend a party.

“I’ll go with them,” Talea volunteered, touching Xivan’s shoulder as she passed. Xivan touched her fingers as she went with a hand that was shockingly warm. At least for Xivan.

They arrived upstairs without incident, although at the door to the sleeping area, Sheloran turned to Thurvishar.

“I’m frankly surprised that you’re putting up with her denial about this.”

Thurvishar shook his head. “I know you mean well, but please let it be. There’s such a thing as pushing someone too quickly and before they’re ready.”

Sheloran looked chastised. “I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. She comes off as rather unbreakable.”

Qown blinked. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” Thurvishar said quickly. He gestured for the two to lie down in one of the bedrooms. “Just lie down and close your eyes. It will feel a bit like falling asleep.”

Talea wasn’t sure if Thurvishar succeeded in linking them with the mindscape or not. Before she had any chance at all the confirm matters, the world changed.