9: TRUE LOYALTIES

Qown’s reaction The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor

Just after Qown’s memory

The vision cleared.

Qown dropped the brick of tea he’d been holding and backed up, wide-eyed. He locked eyes with Galen across the room. The shock and horror of it all numbed his mind. Everyone must have seen that. Everyone. Galen saw that. And so many people in the room already knew Qown was capable of betrayal …

But Galen … Galen hadn’t known.

“I can explain,” Qown said. “It’s not what you think—”

Galen’s face had gone ash gray. He pulled away from his wife, staring at Qown as if the man were an open wound, an infection.

“And how exactly would that be ‘not what we think,’ Qown?” Sheloran asked. “Because it certainly looks like you’re working for Relos Var.”

“That’s because he is,” Janel said. “It was a shock to us too.”

Galen swallowed once, looking at Qown. He still hadn’t said a word.

Qown shook his head. “Please don’t believe—”

Galen spun on his heel and walked out of the room.

Qown started to chase after him, only to have Sheloran snake out a hand, still holding her fan, and block his way. “Let him go.”

“Lady Sheloran,” Qown pleaded, “I would never—” He swallowed down bile. Truly, he felt like he was about to be sick. “I would never try to seduce your husband. I just—” He stammered even as he turned bright red from shame.

Oh light. What Galen must think of him … Galen was so happily married too! His wife was one of the most beautiful people Qown had ever seen. And yes, Relos Var had said Galen liked men, but it was just impossible to think that he was … that he … clearly, Galen liked women just fine!

Sheloran narrowed her eyes at Qown. “You’re an idiot.”

“Qown, you’re still working for Relos Var, aren’t you?” Janel asked. “Whether or not you planned on seducing Galen, Var wanted you to earn his trust,” Janel said. The last bit wasn’t phrased as a question. “Because Galen is related to Kihrin. Because he’s important to Kihrin.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Qown said miserably.

“Really.” Janel raised both eyebrows.

Qown cleared his throat and bent over to pick up the brick of tea. But he also realized he couldn’t ignore Janel, and everyone was staring at him.

Teraeth pointed to Qown while looking at Senera. “So why did we bring along one of Var’s unrepentant minions, anyway? Just curious.”

Senera shrugged. “I couldn’t leave him behind. He was in the area of effect.”

“You could’ve killed him,” Teraeth said.

“There was no time,” Senera admitted.

“What,” Qown said, resolutely trying to ignore the way Senera and Teraeth had just discussed how killing him hadn’t happened simply because it hadn’t been convenient. “It wasn’t because of Kihrin at all! I mean I don’t—” His stomach twisted again. “Yes, fine. Probably. But Janel, you know how Relos Var is! There were multiple reasons. There are always multiple reasons. I think Var wanted me to get close to Galen because he’s married to Sheloran.”

Everyone paused.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Kalindra said.

Xivan sighed. “Sheloran’s mother. That’s who you’re talking about. Relos Var wants to get close because…” She paused and frowned as if she’d wanted to say more but couldn’t.

Talea gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Because High Lady Lessoral D’Talus has the Stone of Shackles,” Qown said. “I think so, yes.”

The Spurned Qown didn’t recognize spoke up again. “We have no idea what’s in the rest of this Lighthouse or even if someone else might already be here. Someone should follow Lord D’Mon to make sure he’s all right.” Since that had apparently been explanation, not permission, she launched herself after the prince.

“Not you,” Senera growled. “You don’t leave my sight.”

The woman halted. She rolled her eyes and sighed but didn’t try to leave the room after that. Qown blinked at her, realizing she was the only person he didn’t recognize. Even Teraeth was known to him—at least by reputation and description. This woman was dressed as one of the Spurned, but neither Xivan nor Talea acted like they knew her.

Qown shook his head and sighed. He couldn’t believe—he spared Senera a glare.

She noticed. “Yes?” When he blushed and didn’t answer, she said, “If you’re giving me that look because you’re wondering how I could be betraying Relos Var, you might want to give serious consideration to doing the same. He’s not your friend. He never was.”

Qown swallowed uneasily. He’d never thought Relos Var was his friend. Relos Var hadn’t been his friend even when Relos Var had been Father Zajhera, his mentor, his superior. Relos Var was just … the smartest man around. The one who knew how to get them all out of this mess. Which Qown had thought Senera knew.

So he was having a hard time understanding why Senera was suddenly changing her mind about that. Qown poured himself a cup of tea and sipped it, not looking at anyone.

Then sputtered and stared at his teacup in shock.

It was ice cold. Which made no sense. He’d boiled the water himself. He’d boiled the water himself just a few minutes beforehand.

“Don’t like the taste?” Teraeth said. “You made it.”

Something in the man’s tone suggested he wasn’t talking about tea. At which point Teraeth slowly pulled one of his knives clear of its sheath.

Qown dropped his cup, ignoring the way cold tea splattered everywhere, and backed away.

“Teraeth—” Janel said carefully. “What are you doing?”

Teraeth’s lip curled. “Cleaning house.”

Qown felt his pulse begin to race. “I didn’t … I haven’t—”

“Teraeth, let’s not be hasty,” Thurvishar chided. “Believe it or not, you can’t solve every problem with a blade.”

The Manol vané man cocked his head as he examined the edge of the knife. “Are you sure about that?”

Then Teraeth moved, fast.

Shockingly fast, but he didn’t close with Qown. Instead, he slid behind the woman Qown didn’t recognize. In a single, smooth, economical motion, Teraeth ran the dagger across the woman’s throat.

“Let’s find out,” Teraeth said.

The world changed.

Kihrin’s story Inside Vol Karoth’s prison

Just after Qown’s memory

Vol Karoth attacked the moment the vision ended, which made sense, since he’d started the damn thing and certainly had known when it would end. I can’t say I dodged out of the way. I felt the blade slice down across my side, skipping painfully over ribs. If this had been the real world …

Well, if this had been the real world, I’m pretty sure I’d have been dead many times over by that point. The attack was bad enough that I ended up transported elsewhere. Again.

“Fine!” I screamed into the shadowed sky. “Like you said, I already knew Qown was a traitor. But this time, you’re the one who screwed up, because Galen’s speech was great!”

I didn’t understand why Vol Karoth seemed to feel he had to convince me that he was right. What did it gain him? Maybe nothing. So much of his actions just seemed to be whim or sadism or some other dark emotion I couldn’t quite comprehend.

And I didn’t know if he was anywhere close enough to hear me. I hoped he wasn’t, honestly.

I patched myself up and limped over to a step, sat down, and put my head down between my knees. After a moment, I scoffed and pulled myself back up again.

“You want to tell a story,” I said. “I’ve danced to this tune before. Let’s keep going.”

The world changed.

Qown’s memory

The Upper Circle, the Capital City, Quur

Just after Jarith Milligreest’s funeral

Qown had no idea what he was doing.

On a fundamental, deeply personal level, he just had no idea. None.

He felt restless, anxious. He wanted to help people. He wanted to make things better. Qown didn’t understand how helping some Quuros royal—no matter how pretty—would do any of that. He found himself fighting the terrible suspicion that Relos Var didn’t trust him and now had no use for him. Relos Var was thus keeping him distracted with some essentially trivial mission whose primary importance was to keep Qown out from underfoot.

This wasn’t a great feeling. What was the point of standing up for his principles and doing the right thing if it was followed by not being able to do anything at all?

At least, Qown reflected as they walked, it was a beautiful day.¹ The smell of smoke and all it represented put a bit of a damper on that enjoyment, as did the burned-out shells of mansions they passed in the Upper Circle, but overall …

Relos Var stopped mid-stride. An angry, frustrated expression replaced his beatific smile.

“Father—?” Qown didn’t see any reason for Relos Var’s change in mood.

The wizard narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t expect anyone to move this quickly.”

Qown tilted his head.

But Var didn’t answer the unspoken question. He grabbed Qown by the back of his agolé and teleported.

They appeared at a location much like the one they’d just left—a Quuros city street—but there were important differences. The clash of metal, the smell of blood. An ornate carriage of dark wood, blue enamel, and gold trim stood unmoving in the middle of the road, doors ajar. Someone had cut the harness straps tying the horses, who had taken the opportunity to bolt. The horses hadn’t gone far. They lingered up the street, suavely pretending they’d always been hanging out by that apple cart.

Perhaps the most obvious difference was the people attempting to kill each other. Those dressed in plain clothes far outnumbered those wearing the uniform of House D’Mon. That margin grew with each passing second. A guard standing on the roof of the carriage seemed to be in a particularly bad position as he fought off two men armed with spears. An ambusher on the ground was on his knees, hands wrapped around his own throat as his face turned purple. He was choking to death, but it was unclear why.

Magic was a safe assumption, but poison couldn’t be discounted.

Qown started to move forward.

“Wait.” Relos Var put a hand out to stop him.

“But we have to help them—”

That was when Galen D’Mon leaped from the carriage doorway. His apparent goal lay across the battlefield, where one of his guards had just fallen. The surviving soldier now faced two attackers by himself. Galen drew his sword across the throat of the choking man as he passed and kept going. He didn’t see the ambusher with a spear running up behind him.

“Look out!” Qown called at the same time as the guard on top of the carriage. Relos Var’s hand tightened on Qown’s shoulder. Galen heard the warnings and slid to the side, the movement so graceful it could have been dance instead of combat. He dodged the spear stab but couldn’t draw close enough to reach this new opponent. Meanwhile, the two men behind him dispatched the soldier Galen had meant to rescue.

Which meant Galen now fought three killers by himself.

The guard on top of the carriage did something unexpected and jumped off, swinging down his sword like an ax. The assassin with the spear—the one who’d been trying to ambush Galen from behind—tried to bring his spear in line to counter this new threat. He failed; both men went down in a jumble of sharp edges and writhing cloth. It removed one of Galen’s attackers but also freed up two more assassins.

Qown pulled himself from Relos Var’s grip. “No,” he said. “We have to help them.”

Qown didn’t know any combat spells, although he’d have been horrified to admit he knew a number of spells that would have been just the thing for wiping out entire towns.² Still, he’d learned some non-healing magics in the past few years because of their utility in his work: illusions.

He cast a spell and hoped no one noticed how it precipitated the ringing of the Watchmen’s bell, too close to be coincidence. Qown wasn’t so naïve as to think this would make the attackers scatter, but they must have been counting on the fact no one would be able to respond to this attack in time to do anything. If the assassins thought they were about to be discovered …

The men didn’t run, but they did pause to determine if Watchmen were on their way.

Galen took advantage of the distraction. The D’Mon prince ran a sword through the thigh of one man, neatly severing a major artery before bringing his weapon up in a perfect silver arc to plunge through the second’s chest. Both men dropped.

With only two attackers left, those men fell to the ground too, grabbing at their throats, choking.

Sheloran D’Mon walked around from behind the carriage, fanning herself with an ornate shanathá metal fan so beautifully fashioned its cost would have fed several families in Eamithon for the rest of their lives. If not for the blood splattered across her white dress, raisigi ripped to reveal silvery mesh, she might have been bored at a party. Her face was carved from stone; her eyes burned.

Qown ran to the two choking men. One of them pulled a knife from his belt and started prying at his own neck, slicing the skin. The assassin tried to speak, but nothing coherent escaped him.

“No, stop!” Qown cried out. “What are you doing? Stop it—” Now he had a man choking and bleeding to death.

The guard who’d leaped from the carriage staggered to his feet, although not easily. Blood drenched the man’s uniform. If not all of it was his, too much of it was.

“Damn it,” Galen growled as soon as he saw the D’Mon guard. “No, you’re injured. Stay where you are. Don’t move.” He threw an arm under the man. He seemed at a loss for what to do. Galen looked around, wide-eyed. He spotted Qown and Relos Var. “Wait,” Galen said, “Vishai priests. You’re Vishai priests.” His eyes opened wide. “You’re healers. Help me! He’s bleeding out.”

Relos Var walked over as if he hadn’t been content to just watch from the sidelines and see how it would all play out without him. “Of course. We’re always pleased to serve.”

Qown was still trying to figure out why the two assassins were dying. One man, he supposed, since the first one had managed to slit his own throat. He reexamined that one, ignoring the blood. Something hard and sharp was lodged in the man’s trachea, presumably what he’d been choking on.

A shadow crossed over him. Qown looked up.

Sheloran D’Mon stood there, staring down at him—at the attacker—with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Nightrunners,” she murmured. “A Khorveshan mercenary company. One assumes they decided to expand their repertoire into assassination.”

“Lady?” Qown had no idea what she was talking about. “Please, did you see what happened to these men…? If I can cure him—”

“You can’t,” Sheloran D’Mon said. Their eyes met; hers were red and full of fury that showed through nowhere else in her posture. She did something then, a curious little curl of fingers and a tight, flicking motion.

The other man on the ground spasmed; sharp metallic spikes punctured his throat, from the inside out, as if a dozen blades had spontaneously erupted from his vocal cords. The man died immediately, drowning in blood, nearly decapitated.

“Light!” Qown cursed as he scrambled back.

As Sheloran strolled past him, she gestured, a come-hither motion. The small blades inside the dead man’s throat quivered, shrank, and melted into tiny bloodless metal blobs, which sailed through the air to land on her fan, blending into the lacy metal filigree until they were all but invisible.

She never looked back at the priest.

Qown closed his eyes for a moment, forced himself to take a deep breath. Somehow she had … How had she…? Had she thought Qown wouldn’t notice what she’d done? She must have known. She just didn’t seem to have cared.

He put the concern out of his mind. He had more important things to worry about. There were still injured.

Not many injured, though. Almost no one, attackers or defenders, had survived this clash. These ambushers had known what they were doing. Khorveshan mercenaries, apparently, if the princess was right. The guards had died from well-placed wounds, all to vital organs or important arteries, guaranteed to kill quickly. The guards had made a good show of themselves, but they’d been outnumbered.

Qown suspected the assassination attempt had truly failed, however, because no one had looked past Sheloran D’Mon’s façade to realize she might be more than she seemed. Whatever she’d done wouldn’t have worked at all against wizards.³ Anyone with talismans or simply a strong enough natural aura would have been able to effortlessly keep her from affecting a foreign object worn close to their bodies. But against normal people? Lethal. So very lethal.

Red eyes, Qown remembered. So House D’Talus, the Royal House in charge of smelting, smithing, and metal crafts. And she certainly could control metal. Illegal for her to do so as a woman, but she’d made no effort to hide her skill.⁴

Sheloran closed her fan and bounced it off the palm of her other hand as she crossed over to Galen. “We can’t stay here, Blue. We need to head back to the palace right away.”

“Once he can be moved—”

The nearly unconscious guard Relos Var was treating mumbled something.

“What was that?” Galen asked Relos Var, who was closer.

“I do believe he said, ‘The driver stopped for them,’” Relos Var volunteered. “Is that important?”

Both D’Mons looked back toward the carriage. The driver still slumped over in his seat, throat slit and blood spilling down his House D’Mon uniform.

“I see,” Galen D’Mon said. “Then no, we can’t go back to the palace.”

“Oh?” Relos Var asked amiably, fingers still channeling tenyé through the guard’s body. It was a bit like talking while cooking, the hands continuing their work even while the person held a conversation. “And why is that, my lord?”

“Because that means it was an inside job,” Sheloran answered, spreading that fan of hers to cover the lower half of her face.

The world changed.