43: DINNER WITH THE LASH

Talea’s memory The pirate haven of Da’utunse.

Eighteen days after the Battle of the Well of Spirals

Their destination proved to be a city called Da’utunse.

Talea hadn’t been prepared.

That wasn’t entirely her fault. None of her companions had the faintest idea where they were headed except that it was a sort of refuge used by pirates, part of a nation Talea had never even heard of before: Ithlakor.

She immediately found herself taken aback both by the size of the city and by its basic construction. She’d assumed that any port of call would be attached to, well, to land.

And she was absolutely wrong.

If one wasn’t paying attention, it was possible to fool oneself into thinking that the city was stable and permanent. Some of the buildings even looked like they may have been made of materials far too heavy to float on water. As to what kept the city afloat, she could only assume the answer was magic. Lots of magic.

The dockside of the city was just lousy with ships. Every single one of them had the predatory air of people who made their livelihood attacking others. She didn’t doubt that this was a town that saw more than its share of fights, although maybe that was an incorrect assumption on her part. Maybe they saved their hostility for outsiders and treated each other as family.

Probably not, though.

She was surprised, however, when Captain Rima came back and handed each of her companions a bag.

“What’s this?” Sheloran asked him.

The captain shrugged. “You helped. You get a share. That’s how it works.” He grinned. “That’s the reason the crew tends to be a bit picky about just letting any old person on board, but you lot made this run just about risk-free and healed the people who were injured besides. No one’s begrudging you a cut.” He gestured at Talea. “Except you. No offense.”

“Ah,” Talea said. “None taken.” When the captain left, she clapped Qown on the shoulder. “I see that look. Don’t feel bad about this.”

He startled from examining the bag of coins in his hands to look at her, wide-eyed and skittish. “But I do feel bad about it! People were hurt…”

Talea sighed. “Trust me when I say odds are good a lot more people would have died if you hadn’t been there. You chose the option that saved the most lives.” She chucked him under the chin. “It’s okay. No reason why you should feel bad about any of this. Besides, maybe that pirate whose tooth you cured—Shortie?—maybe Shortie’s going to go settle down in Zherias, marry his childhood sweetheart, and have a daughter who’ll invent a new kind of sail that will revolutionize transportation for the next century.” She paused as she realized Qown’s expression had frozen into a perfect mask of bemusement.

“I mean,” Talea added, “theoretically. Who can say?”¹

“Yes. Maybe so. Thank you, Talea,” Qown said. “That’s kind of you.” He still looked at the point of tears by the idea that he’d made a profit off hurting other people.

Talea needed to do something about him. Poor boy was going to stress himself straight into some sort of terrible illness at this rate.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done,” Galen told the captain just before they all left the ship for good, “but, uh … we have no idea where to go next.”

“Yeah, that occurred to me,” the captain said. He paused a minute, and when it started to seem like Galen might lose his temper, he grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask around. I didn’t see the Lash’s ship when we came in, but that doesn’t mean much; the Lash has a habit of anchoring a distance away and rowing in on a smaller boat. Makes him harder to track.” He pointed toward the city. “I recommend you lot make yourselves comfortable at an inn. The Scarlet Gull’s a good choice. Once I have that information, I’ll drop in and let you know.”

Talea pursed her lips. She looked to the side, where Eshi was playing with a starfish someone had pulled up onto the dock. She didn’t seem to be paying any attention. She also didn’t seem to be particularly distressed. Talea thought she would be if following along with Captain Rima’s plan would prove to be a really, really bad idea. A look of distrust came over Galen’s face. This did seem like the sort of scenario that would make it spectacularly easy for Captain Rima to sell them out.

Rima held up a hand. “I can sympathize with your wariness. Tell you what. Pick whatever lodgings you want. Come back by the ship tomorrow morning at first light. The docks will be busy. There’ll be a lot of people. I’ll be out here, and if I’ve found any information, I’ll tell you then. Fair?”

Galen squinted. “You could still have a group of people waiting for us.”

“My darling,” Sheloran said gently, “if his intentions were unpure, he could have simply made sure we didn’t wake up one morning when he had us at his mercy. Waiting until we’re ready for the attack would be very civilized of the man. Also very stupid.”

“Thank you for appreciating that I’m neither,” Captain Rima said, grinning.

Sheloran inclined her head in his direction.

“All right. The Scarlet Gull, you said?” Galen pointed in the right direction.

“Sure,” the captain said. “Big sign. You can’t miss it.”

---

Which proved to be the case. Talea immediately decided that she liked being in the city much more than she liked being on board a ship. Some of this was for purely hygienic reasons—the hospitality house gave her access to a bath, and since these were a people who evidently placed a great deal of pride and skill in all sorts of magic dealing with the channeling and controlling of water, they had the sort of plumbing that would have made House D’Laakar foam with jealousy. So a hot bath of the sort one could comfortably luxuriate in for hours is exactly what Talea took.

She spent much of the time thinking about Xivan and how she could possibly persuade the woman to give up her quest for revenge. It wasn’t that Talea didn’t also want to see Suless dead. She passionately hated the bitch. But it wasn’t worth what Xivan had already proven she was willing to give up in exchange. There had to be a way to walk Xivan back from the cliff.

And Sheloran seemed nice, frankly. They all did. Maybe a bit young—even Qown was striking her as young these days—but so well-intentioned. She couldn’t even hate Galen, and oh, she’d wanted to hate Galen.

When she had finished wrinkling up her skin as much as humanly possible, she toweled herself off, mourned the fact that even her spare clothing needed to be cleaned, and made her way downstairs. The tavern was rowdy, as one might expect of a place frequented by pirates, but honestly also endearingly homely. Someone was playing the flute along with a zither in the front of the room, which was much more melodic than Talea would have suspected.

Her companions had staked out a table for themselves and ordered several rounds of food. This included a strange fish dish that they told her was Zheriasian, eaten with various dipping powders and sauces. The fish was eaten raw, but that was also true of several Quuros dishes, so she didn’t mind. And honestly, anything became edible with enough peppers on it.

And … they had a lovely evening. Neither Qown nor Galen drank, but Sheloran enjoyed a glass of wine. They laughed and sang and even danced a little.

Captain Rima was good for his word; he met them on the crowded docks at dawn the next morning. He looked bright and fresh; Talea suspected he probably woke up around this time every day.

She didn’t necessarily mind the hour, it was just the whole “didn’t really get any sleep from the night before” thing that was an issue. But in spite of that, she felt surprisingly spry, and Sheloran had bought all of them cups of coffee, tar thick and shockingly sweet, from a street vendor. They had to drink the coffee while they were at the stall, handing over the cups where they were finished so they could be cleaned and used for the next customer. The coffee was strong enough to wake the dead.

Rima looked like he’d probably had three cups. At least.

“Good news,” he said, spreading his arms to include the group before landing his fists to his hips. “You lot are in luck, if you want to call it that. The Lash sailed into port early this morning. He’s here.”

“That is good news,” Galen said. “Where can we find him?”

“No, no,” the captain said. “I don’t recommend you just go barging in there. He’s here. That doesn’t make him friendly, and the Captain’s Council is largely hands-off when it comes to the Lash. Don’t expect anyone to come running to your rescue if you get into trouble. Next step is to hire a messenger to go in and see if he’ll consent to a meeting. If he does? Great. You go in and be polite. Be very polite. And if he tells you to get out, you do that.” Rima sighed. “Mind you—I don’t recommend you do any of this. Never heard of a meeting with the Lash that went well. Ever. But you can try.”

Talea was only half paying attention. Mostly because she was watching the crowd and making sure no one came too close to Sheloran. Xivan was smart enough not to attack them outright given the size of the group; she was also smart enough to hire help.

It occurred to Talea that she had not the slightest idea in the world what Galen, Qown, and Sheloran were actually trying to accomplish. Why were they in the middle of the ocean on an artificial floating pirate city trying to arrange to meet with a pirate king?² Something about a Cornerstone, sure, but to what end?

Probably questions she should have asked the night before.³

Galen said, “Thank you. We’ll start with that. Where would we send the message, though?”

Captain Rima sighed. “The Shark’s Mouth. Don’t make me regret telling you. And I shouldn’t have to say this, but make sure you’re not wasting the man’s time. He has a notoriously short temper.”

“We promise we’ll behave,” Sheloran said, smiling softly.

The pirate captain gave her a bow before heading back to his ship. The whole group stood there, drank their coffee, and watched him leave.

“So. We’re killing the Lash, right?” Galen asked amiably.

“Oh, most definitely,” Sheloran answered.

---

“Why are we killing the Lash?” Talea asked later as they waited for the messenger to return. It was afternoon, and the tavern hadn’t yet started filling up with all the people who would come later for drinks and food. Which meant they’d had most of the day to just sit around and talk.

“He owns a Cornerstone that we need,” Galen explained.

Qown frowned and looked uncomfortable about the idea.

Talea squinted. “Which one again?”

“Grimward,” Galen said.

“I’m not familiar with that one.”

“It can raise people from the dead,” Galen supplied.

“There’s a Cornerstone that can do that?” Talea said. “I didn’t know that.” She set aside her drink.

Qown cleared his throat. “I’m not as familiar with Grimward as some of the other Cornerstones, but I know its powers deal with death so … it’s possible?”

“I thought you couldn’t steal a Cornerstone,” Talea said.

“If we kill the Lash,” Galen explained, “the Cornerstone no longer has an owner.”

Then Qown looked really uncomfortable. “I worry that just possibly a pirate king who’s been able to evade the Quuros and Zherias navies for all this time might be more than we can handle? Also, although I realize I might be speaking to the wrong crowd here, killing is bad.” He started chewing on a nail.

Galen turned to him. “You do remember that this was your idea, yes?”

Talea leaned back in her chair. “We want to try talking to the man first? See if we can convince him to cooperate?”

Sheloran fanned herself. “I’d like that, but I can’t imagine how we could entice the man to give up such an item. Or come back with us willingly to Quur.”

“It would have been a lot easier if Thaena just agreed to bring Jarith back to life,” Galen groused.

Talea froze.

She looked around the table and realized that, once again, she was the only person present who knew what had happened at the Well of Spirals. She was the only one of them who knew Thaena, Galava, Argas, and Taja were all dead.

Should she say anything? Should she say nothing? And what would it change? She felt paralyzed by indecision.

A teenage boy ran into the shop, looked around, and came over to their table. “I was told to give this to you.”

“Thank you.” Sheloran tipped the young man and took the note from him. He stood for a minute, staring wide-eyed at the royal princess. Talea had to stop herself from laughing. It was as if the poor boy had discovered puberty at precisely that minute. To be fair, it would be difficult not to, with a figure like Sheloran’s.

Eventually, Sheloran noticed the messenger was still standing there. “You may go,” she said.

“What?” He shook himself. “Right. Sorry.” He wandered out, looking back over his shoulder.

Sheloran read the note. “The Lash has agreed to a meeting.” She passed the note to Galen. “I say we go, try to see if he’ll accept payment for use of Grimward, and scout out his protection and guards. Going in blind would be foolish. Once Qown has seen what the pirate looks like, we can use Worldhearth to follow the Lash back to his lair, whether that be ship or someplace else. And only then, once we’re confident of our ability to deal with his defenses—then we will make our move. Agreed?”

Galen grinned. “Sheloran, you’re a genius.”

She leaned over and touched Galen’s hand. “You are so lucky you married me.”

“I tell myself that almost every day. Did he say where he wants this meeting to happen?” Then Galen blinked, clearly realizing she’d already handed him the note. “The Black Dolphin. Tonight. I suppose someone here will know where that is.”

It turned out to be an entertainment hall, and the meeting was to take place only a few minutes after it opened for the evening, meaning they’d have no time to arrive early and scout the lay of the land.

“Is ‘entertainment hall’ a euphemism for brothel?” Qown asked.

It seemed like a fair question.

Galen shrugged. “I honestly have no idea.”

“Probably not,” Sheloran said. “I have no doubt plenty of those exist here, but it’s likely a combination of dining house and theater. People who’ve been at sea for weeks if not months do like their diversions.”

“How is that not a velvet house?” Qown asked.

“They may not sell sex there?” Sheloran shrugged.

Galen bit his lip. “Sounds like a place that would have security.”

“And we’ll see if that’s a good thing or not,” Sheloran agreed.

The Black Dolphin turned out to be a fancy octagonal building with its own guards and a lot of customers eager to use the excuse to dress in their nicest clothing, eat delicacies, and be entertained. Talea felt incredibly underdressed, but also amused, because what constituted “nicest clothing” covered a shockingly wide spectrum. Some of it could only be described as hilarious. Talea was distinctly amused to note that in many cases, the men had taken to wearing their agolé as wide sashes around their waists, with scabbards belted on top. Talea felt reasonably certain that sex was indeed not a service for sale here. She’d have worried about Qown if that had been the case.

They gave their name at the front, and the man in charge of seating actually blanched a little before bringing them into the back, to one of the private rooms. The room itself wasn’t level but had risers on all sides, each level with seating for diners. The seats themselves were backless and low to the ground, so one had to kneel to use them. Instead of one large table, each person had their own personal table, also low to the ground. Lush tapestries and drapes covered every wall but the entrance.

The pirates had arrived first. They were dressed in the local style, but each of them also wore a mask. Indeed, each of them had their skin completely covered, with no sign of flesh visible anywhere. Their leader—or at least the woman in front—dressed in lace and silk, the mask drowned in the shadows lurking under her wide-brimmed hat. She nodded at them, then seemed to lurch forward as if she’d seen something unexpected.

“We have chilled wine for you,” the waiter said. “And food. Your host”—he gestured back toward the woman—“has paid for entertainment. Please be comfortable.”

“Hmm. The Lash has good taste, it seems,” Sheloran said, looking at the bottle of wine. “It’s Kirpis.”

Galen shrugged. “Bring us a pot of tea.”

“Tea?” The man seemed taken aback.

“You know. Leaves. You add hot water and steep until the color changes?”

The waiter cleared his throat. “Of course. Right away.”

The man left, and … nothing happened. The pirates watched them. No one said a word. It began to verge on creepy.

Talea had been under the impression that the Lash was male, but the woman seemed in charge. She motioned to one of her people, who stepped forward and bowed. He was a small, thin man, and the way he moved was more like a scurry than a normal walk.

“The Lash welcomes you,” he said.

Galen’s head popped up. “Wait. I know that voice. Boji, is that you?”

The man in question chuckled nervously before taking off his mask. The dark-skinned Zheriasian revealed looked sickly, like he hadn’t slept for many days.

“What an unexpected reunion,” Boji said. “Truly, it’s a small world.”

Talea leaned over to Qown. “Who’s that?”

“Remember when I mentioned that pirate who wanted to rob and kill us?” Qown whispered back.

“Boji, you little turd!” Galen stood.

“It’s so nice to be remembered,” Boji said.

Every one of the seated pirates—except for the Lash herself—stood and drew their swords. There seemed to be a great many more of them than there’d been just a few moments earlier. They weren’t just outnumbered; they were stunningly outnumbered. Even more so when several of the pirates made their way to the entrance.

There was something wrong with them too. They moved oddly. It was as if they were synchronized.

“Wait,” Galen said, backing away. “Let’s not be hasty.”

The door opened. Several musicians and a troop of veiled dancers came in. They all paused in the doorway with the age-old experience of people who knew when not to interrupt an argument.

Galen refocused his attention back to the speaker. “We’re just surprised to see you after our last parting. You have to admit we didn’t part on the best terms.”

The man—Boji, apparently—wagged a finger. “You should be grateful I refused to bring you to see the Lash.” A look of fear flashed over his face as he looked back at the woman sitting behind him. “But since you’re all so determined, the Lash has agreed to hear your petition. Although you might not want her to think you’re being rude.” He glared at Sheloran.

“I would never,” Sheloran protested.

“Maybe just for special occasions,” Galen amended. He turned back to Boji. “Would you mind telling your people to stand down? We’re here to bargain, not to start a fight. If you weren’t interested in hearing us out, why even invite us?”

The Lash laughed. Talea felt her gut twist.

She recognized the laugh.

“Oh no,” Talea said.

No, no, no. She hated being right.

The thing that had been bothering Talea since they entered the room finally clicked into place. One of those niggling little details that had crept up on her unaware. The Lash was wearing a Khorveshan curved sword, an imchii, and although she’d largely tucked the scabbard behind her body, the hilt was still visible. Talea recognized the hilt as much as the laugh, and she’d know both anywhere.

It was Xivan’s sword.

As Talea stood, Xivan made a motion with her hand. All around the edges of the room, the curtains dropped, demonstrating that they were even more outnumbered than they’d initially thought.

And most of the people doing that outnumbering were dead.

“I’m not interested in anything you want,” the Lash—Xivan—said. “But you have something I want. Turn Sheloran over and there’s no need for anyone to die.” She didn’t so much as turn her head in Talea’s direction.

Talea stepped in front of Sheloran, aware even as she did that there were now enemies on both sides of her. “Galen, that’s Xivan.”

“What?” Galen and Qown said at the same time.

Something popped loudly. Billowy clouds of smoke began to fill up the room. Someone—probably one of the dancers—screamed.

“Don’t run off!” Talea shouted. “Don’t let them separate us.” Footsteps moved around them in the smoke. Xivan cursed—the smoke evidently hadn’t been her idea—and anyone who hadn’t already drawn a blade remembered to do so. The smoke was the sort that choked the throat and stung eyes, far more annoying to the living people in the room than to the undead. Someone—maybe Boji—started coughing.

A pirate with half a face ran out of the fog, sword swinging. Then another one from the opposite side. That was the only warning they had before the dead husks all rushed at once. In the middle of this, however, the fog began to dissipate. Too fast to be anything but magic.

Talea was caught by surprise as the smoke cleared. A woman—one of the dancers, face still obscured by her veil—was fighting Xivan. From the tears in Xivan’s clothing, she’d been stabbed several times, but Talea knew it took more than a few stab wounds to put Xivan out of commission. Or even slow her down.

Still, Talea could have kissed the dancer. She was doing a brilliant job of keeping Xivan busy so they could escape.

“Come on!” Talea yelled to the others. “We’re leaving!”

Xivan stabbed the dancer through the abdomen.

“Run!” Galen called out as he decapitated one of the pirates. His sword wasn’t nearly as good for that sort of thing as a Khorveshan sword, but he was trying his best. “Qown!”

Qown, Talea realized, was running to the injured woman.

Because of course he was.

“Qown!” Talea shouted, but he wasn’t listening. She ran after him.

Which was how she found herself blocking Xivan’s killing blow, the one meant to end the dancer’s life. “What are you doing?” she asked Xivan, desperate and hurt, not understanding how this had come to be. What was Xivan even doing here? How had any of this happened?

“Get out of my way,” Xivan spat.

“No,” Talea said.

Talea didn’t know if Xivan would have attacked her or not. Before she had a chance to test that particular bit of resolve, Xivan’s sword twisted in her hand, the metal warping like a ribbon of sugar candy cooled too quickly. Xivan’s eyes widened in horror, and she tossed the weapon aside before it could curl back and trap her hand or attack her.

Sheloran stepped up next to Talea. She didn’t speak, but there could be no doubt in Talea’s mind as to who had just ruined Xivan’s family sword.

No doubt in Xivan’s mind either, it seemed. “We’re leaving. Now,” she said.

“Oh yes, my lordship,” Boji said, still coughing. “You’re so very wise.”

“Shut up, Boji,” Xivan said. She walked away as the pirates who remained stepped in behind her to cover her escape.

Kihrin’s story Inside Vol Karoth’s prison After meeting up with Qown and Sheloran

We finally located Galen while in the middle of being ambushed by a whole contingent of animated flying statues that had dived off one of the taller buildings nearby.

Well, more like he found us.

“Look out!” shouted Janel, her sword materializing in her hands. She swung it at a swooping monster, shattering a curved horn and notching her blade in the process.

She blinked in surprise at the minimal damage done to the unnecessarily ambulatory statue. Vol Karoth was changing the rules again.

“I can do this!” Qown said. He stepped forward and lifted his hands. The paving stones of the street began to shift and quiver ahead of him. One lifted free and then flung itself violently at a gargoyle. Both shattered in an explosion of dust and rubble. He started to raise another one when suddenly, the paving stones collapsed back into place.

“Uh,” Qown said, eyes wide.

“Not your fault,” I told him, pointing. Up the street, the blacker-than-black silhouette that was Vol Karoth stood, his own arms outstretched.

Adorable. What a happy reunion.

Vol Karoth was countering Qown’s control of the environment, which was at least better than fixing the situation by lobbing pieces of the sun at us.

Teraeth’s shoulder-rolled to the side to avoid the claws of a goat-headed statue, while Sheloran D’Talus—excuse me, D’Mon—flung metal pellets at high velocity, knocking holes in the left wing of a gargoyle shaped like a leering demon. The sudden damage to one wing caused it to veer slightly to the left, missing Teraeth by a foot.

This is my world. My rules. My will. None of you have any chance against me.

With Qown and Vol Karoth locked in a struggle for control over “reality” itself, Janel’s strength returned, and she smashed her opponent to dust with three brutal two-handed strikes.

Still, there were a lot of them, and they had razor-sharp claws and horns, a fact that Sheloran had cause to discover when one with snakes for arms managed to score a cut on her shoulder when she didn’t block it in time. “Ow,” she muttered, gritting her teeth.

“Hey, ugly,” a voice called from across the street, “fangs off my wife!”

Galen D’Mon charged forward, swinging his sword. Sadly, it glanced harmlessly off the gargoyle. His rapier, excellent for duels in the Arena or aboard pirate ships, lacked the pure physical mass and strength to smash stone.⁴

“Galen!” I called, ducking the tail whip of a scorpion-man gargoyle. “Nice timing. But you need to make your blade bigger.”

“Oh sure,” he called back. “I’ll just…” But his blade did grow in size and the handle extended so he could use it two-handed if he wanted. He glanced at Sheloran, who smiled sweetly at him. “Oh,” he said. “Thank you, Red!”

I lost track of him for a moment, wrapped up in my own problems. I ducked another sweep of the tail, jumped over a claw swipe at my leg, and grabbed my opponent by the curved horns on its head. Lifting it, I began smashing it as hard as I could against the ground, chipping and shattering it until all that remained was gravel.

I looked around to see how everyone else was doing. Things looked good; we were all dealing with our demons in our own ways. So to speak.

I noticed a figure across the street, where Galen had come from. A slender girl with honey-wheat skin.

I went cold as I recognized her.

Before I could say anything or otherwise make an ass of myself, more stone monsters began emerging from the open doorways of the buildings around us.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Janel snarled.

“Yeah,” I said, “screw this. Everyone! Run!”

Everyone did, including, I noticed, Lyrilyn.

After a few dozen blocks, we stopped running.

And we stood there for a few seconds just kind of looking at each other.

Galen had, I realized, been laughing, although less from an exuberant joy of life sort of sense and more “Can you seriously believe this shit?”

I respected the difference.

“Hey, nice to see you,” I said.

“Yeah, you look pretty good for a dead man,” he acknowledged.

“Ouch.”

“Am I wrong?” Galen grinned at me.

“Let’s just say I hope so.” I held on to his shoulders and looked him over. He was almost as tall as I was, I realized, and his hair had taken on a decidedly red tone that spoke to his mother’s influence. He was starting to look more and more like his father, but I hoped to god Galen never earned the same smirk of casual cruelty.

I gave him a hug.

He shook his head at me in mock exasperation when he finally pulled himself away. “You are such a troublemaker.”

“It runs in the family.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about—” He stuttered then, and when I looked over, I realized why. Ah. He’d spotted Qown.

“He got you too?” Galen asked him. He sounded like he was ready to go beat up Vol Karoth for the very idea.

Qown blinked at him. “What? Who?”

“Vol Karoth!”

“No, Qown and I volunteered,” Sheloran said. She shrugged. “We had this ridiculous idea that we’d come rescue you. That you would need rescuing. Clearly not the case.” She waved her fan at him.

Galen just smiled at that. I noticed he was still looking rather wistfully at Qown, however. Qown blushed and started to look away, then squared his shoulders and drew himself up. He walked over to Galen and picked up his hands.

Suddenly, I felt like I was about to be eavesdropping on a private conversation. So I walked away … and it didn’t help. I still heard every word.

“Qown, what are you—”

“Please let me talk,” Qown said. He took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry. I just … I was scared.”

Galen’s voice was subdued. “It’s fine. I know what that’s like. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—” His voice cut off with a surprised muffled noise.

I looked back to see Qown was kissing him.

Sheloran spread her fan in front of her face. “Isn’t that sweet?”

Qown and Galen paid no attention whatsoever.

They were still kissing when the next vision hit.⁵

Talea’s reaction The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor
After Talea’s memory of the Lash’s ambush

Talea was pacing. She almost didn’t notice when the vision ended.

“So…” Senera cleared her throat. “I realize I’m probably going to regret asking this, but how exactly did you end up pretending to be the Lash, Xivan?”

“It’s a long story,” Xivan said.

Everyone stared at her.

Talea smiled at the woman. “Sweetheart…”

Xivan crossed her arms over her chest, looking disgruntled. “What’s there to explain? Var sent me to Zherias, I tracked down the same lying little thief who tried to rob Galen, Sheloran, and Qown, and he offered to take me to the Lash so I could get ahead of them.”

Kalindra pursed her lips. “Sounds like he did.”

“Yes, exactly,” Xivan said, “but I didn’t realize I was being volunteered as the next replacement. And since the Lash has Grimward, and I’m dead, she could control me and I had no power to tell her no. Thus, my new career as a pirate.”

“So it’s not a long story at all,” Thurvishar said mildly.

Xivan bared her teeth.

Senera tapped on the edge of the table with the Cornerstone in a way that would have made Talea flinch if she hadn’t known how indestructible the damn thing was. “What are we going to do?”

“That’s my line,” Kalindra growled. “What are we going to do if we run out of story before Kihrin … does whatever Kihrin needs to do?”

“We still have a fair bit of story to go,” Talea pointed out.

“Not that much,” Xivan said.

“It’s helping,” Thurvishar said. “It really is.”

“I just worry that we’re playing into his hands. I mean, obviously, we know why he’s trying to delay”—Senera gestured vaguely in the direction of the tower—“but this feels like he’s also trying to keep us from finding out something.”

Thurvishar pointed to the stone in her hand.

“You don’t think I’ve asked?” Senera said. “Vol Karoth’s like Urthaenriel: immune to the Cornerstone’s ability to predict or describe. I have no idea what his motivations or plans might be.”

“Well, fuck,” Kalindra muttered.

“Why don’t we take a break,” Talea suggested. “We can make something to eat, walk away from this for a few minutes. Maybe something will come to us?”

“That’s just what he’d like us to do,” Xivan pointed out. “Draw things out.”

Talea shrugged. “Sometimes you have to take a step back to see the whole picture. Even if he’s trying to delay things, he may also be trying to keep us so panicked and rushed that we’re not thinking clearly.”

Xivan met her eyes, held them, and smiled. Talea felt herself flush.

Ah, she wished she had more time for all sorts of reasons.

Kalindra shook her head. “I think you all are forgetting that this isn’t our turn—”

The world changed.