108. HAPPY ENDINGS … OF A SORT

Tyentso’s story

Caerowan’s tent

During the attack on the Marakori camp

“Fayrin?” Tyentso pulled aside the curtain of the tent, prepared to start throwing spells.

What she found instead was an unconscious traitor of a Devoran priest, asleep on a cot and drooling on his own hand, and the youngest member of the High Council. Who was not unconscious but instead sitting cattywampus behind a desk, feet kicked up on a stack of books. He slowly sipped from a tin cup held in his right hand, and in his left, he was spinning a flat misshapen disk of hematite silver.

“Get your feet off of those.” Tyentso smacked his boots. “Those are books, not a footrest.” Then she noticed that the books in question were copies of the Devoran Prophecies. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

Fayrin grinned at her. “Said what, Your Majesty? Thank you for coming so quickly. Anyway, I have a present for you.” He slammed his hand down on top of Warmonger to stop it spinning, then pushed the Cornerstone in Tyentso’s direction.

She gave him an incredulous look as she picked up the Cornerstone. “How on earth did you manage to steal this from Nemesan, Fayrin?”

“I didn’t.” He waved a hand at Caerowan. “I figured that if Caerowan worked for Relos Var, there’s no chance that he was going to hand over Warmonger to Nemesan. I was right. He still had it. He gave it to me. I asked really nicely, though. Also the man has the worst alcohol tolerance of anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

“Well. Isn’t that just great.” Tyentso glanced down at the stone. She hated the damn thing, but for the moment, she couldn’t be rid of it. Not just yet. “Three days,” she said.

“Three days?” He pulled his feet back down and started to stand.

“One day to throw so much force at Nemesan that he can’t see straight. One day to retreat with the Quuros army and leave the auxiliaries here to man the gates. One day to start preparations for weaning everyone off this fucking thing. Three days, then this goes to the bottom of the deepest, darkest hole I can find. If I tell you that I need more time than that, slap me.” She quirked her lips, fully aware of just how little he’d be able to do about it if she changed her mind. But he’d proved himself resourceful many times over. He’d come up with something.

“Let’s get this thing out of here.” Tyentso started to open a gate.

“What about Nemesan?” Fayrin said.

“What about him? He ran. I’ll hunt his ass down after I finish doing much more important things, like keeping my people from starving.” She didn’t hide her annoyance, but in hindsight, she shouldn’t have been surprised that Nemesan hadn’t stayed to fight to the last. He never had before.

“Okay, what about him?” Fayrin pointed to Caerowan.

Tyentso glanced at the unconscious man and sighed. Caerowan was something worse than malicious or evil. He’d been too wrapped up in ideas of shepherding prophecies and protecting the empire to realize that he’d somehow ended up on the side trying to destroy it. In other words, a fool.

“Bring him,” she ordered. “He’ll stand trial for his crimes.”

Tyentso knew perfectly well that if it hadn’t been Caerowan, it would have been someone else. But it was Caerowan, and because of Warmonger, there had been rioting in the streets, and who knows how many people had died. A lot, she would wager. Too many for bad poetry written by a dead demon to be any kind of excuse.

She opened a gate back to the Joratese camp.

Kalindra’s story

The Joratese camp

Several hours later

It wasn’t a rout, not exactly, but the Joratese, Yoran, and morgage armies had been able to rush in and undermine or weaken key defensive points. The defending soldiers had been expecting a very different enemy; they hadn’t been prepared.

The only reason Kalindra hadn’t fought her way through the enemy until they either killed her or she was able to slit Nemesan from voice to viscera was because someone had reminded her that her son Nikali needed her.

Which was true, so she stopped behaving recklessly and retreated when the call came.

But it didn’t mean she wasn’t dying inside.

Losing Jarith once had been a nightmare. Losing him twice?

How she was supposed to survive losing him twice. What was she supposed to do. How she was supposed to live. All those questions existed in a place so far removed from answers they were nothing but dull, dark numbness. It felt the same as it had that first day, when her father-in-law had brought home the news that Jarith hadn’t survived the Hellmarch.

Unreal. It just couldn’t be real. But this time, she hadn’t even been allowed the false comfort of disbelief; it had happened right in front of her.

Kalindra ended up back at the Joratese camp. She had no idea how. She thought a fireblood group had hauled her out of there. Conversations were happening all around her. Discussions of fighting and strategy and which god-kings were where, who had already surrendered, who would need to be dug out.

She was distantly aware that while they hadn’t won yet, they had already inflicted losses that Nemesan’s forces might not be able to recover from. Someone had found Warmonger and returned it to Tyentso. It wasn’t an ideal solution by any means, but it would allow them to turn the full force of the Quuros army on the enemy. With the addition of the auxiliary armies Tyentso had raised, it was just a matter of time.

Kalindra didn’t care. She sat in a tent and stared at nothing. Had they won the important battle? It seemed to her that either side winning would feel the same to everyone else in the world. Only catastrophe would be noticed.

That clearly hadn’t happened. They were still alive.

Or at least some people were still alive.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she raised a hand to her face. She couldn’t stand—

“Kalindra?”

She stood up and whipped around, eyes wide. Kalindra was hallucinating. She had to be. Because that was Jarith’s voice—his real voice—which she hadn’t heard since he’d left her in the Capital, forced to stop pretending …

Jarith stood in the tent entrance.

He was dressed oddly, in mismatched clothing that looked like he’d stolen them out of someone’s laundry. Was that a horse blanket? And this was, without question, the best job he’d done of impersonating a genuine living, breathing human since Kihrin had helped him make that one copy on Devors. Maybe better, because the expression on his face was so confused, so astonished.

Maybe she was going insane. It didn’t matter. She’d take it. She’d take it gladly.

Kalindra threw herself into his arms. “Jarith!”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to leave. I didn’t want to.” He kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks.

Kalindra backed away from him, blinking, fingers digging into the cotton fabric of the Quuros soldier’s shirt he wore. His clothing still smelled of soap and the nose-sharp scent of lye, except for his misha, which had a long streak of dirt down the front. The horse blanket he’d pulled around him like a cloak smelled, predictably, of horses. He was wearing sandals, and Jarith hated sandals. One of them wasn’t even tied correctly. And yet he was perfectly clean, his face looking like he’d never once in his life shaved or needed to.

But all of this didn’t add up to a counterfeit, an impostor. Just the opposite. This felt more authentic than any contact she’d had with Jarith since she’d first learned that he was something far better and far worse than dead—that he’d become a demon.

Her hands tightened. She stared in wonder at the feeling of his flesh indenting under the pressure of her fingers. This was real. This body was real.

Jarith had a body. His body.

“How…?” she whispered.

“I don’t know what happened,” he told her. “The only thing I can think of is that Xivan must have put me on that list of hers. And that worked? I didn’t realize that would work, but I woke up back in the Marakor camp, and I—” He laughed. “I think the only reason I got out was because both sides were too bewildered by the confused, naked man running through the fighting to stop me.”

“You have a body. It brought you back and gave you a body.” Kalindra smoothed her hands over his arms. “You’re here. You’re alive.” A different sense of disbelief bubbled up inside her, but whereas before it had been cold and numb and bleak, this was a sharp, beautiful stab of hope.

She started crying. If anyone had made fun of her for it in that moment, she’d have absolutely, definitely stabbed them—while still crying.

“I am,” he said. “I’m here.” He smoothed her hair and ran a thumb under one eye, wiping away tears, before drawing her into his arms. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and kissed his tears as they ran down his neck.

Kalindra wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Long enough for both of them to cry themselves out.

Kalindra gazed up at him. “Let’s go home. Your family misses you.”

He smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Kihrin’s story

The Mother of Trees, the Manol

Several days later

I woke several times after that, but never for long enough to do more than take stock of my surroundings (the Mother of Trees, I was certain) and realize that either Teraeth or Janel was always somewhere nearby. Then I would float off to sleep again.

I woke, some indeterminate time later, to arguing.

“What do you mean you can’t switch him back?” Teraeth tended to whisper when he was really angry, which was how I knew this was serious.

My mother’s voice then. I almost opened my eyes, but decided to play dead a little longer.

“What I am attempting to explain is that by the end, my son was a cursed Immortal soul-swapped with a dragon. Even should we use Talon to craft a copy of Kihrin’s birth form—which I must stress is not guaranteed to succeed—that body is no longer compatible. I have been informed that in previous attempts of this nature, the bodies would explode. In fact, it seems that Kihrin soul-swapped with one of the only entities in the entire universe with whom it would have been safe to do so.”

“Yes, that was the plan,” I interrupted, cracking open my eyes. “I mean … it was a plan I was hoping wouldn’t be required, but it was a plan.”

Everyone stopped talking and rushed over to my bedside. I noticed Janel was there too, standing next to Teraeth and looking thoroughly annoyed.

Janel placed a warm hand against my forehead, stroked my cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my souls have been cut into a thousand pieces by a thousand knives and then stitched back together again before being pounded into a small jar that someone threw over a cliff.” I squinted at my mother. “I now understand why your brother was able to catch you so easily after the soul-switch.”

“Yes,” Khaeriel answered with a wry smile. “I was too busy screaming to run. My respect for Terindel rose by no small proportion when I realized that he had somehow managed to both escape and hide after he switched bodies with his assassin. Rather extraordinary.” She gave me a warm look. “Shall I leave you three alone for a bit?”

I nodded. “Thank you. We’ll talk later.”

Khaeriel nodded. “Of course. I shall send over something for you to eat as well.” She swept out of the room with her typical elegance, leaving the three of us to stare at each other.

“That bad, huh?” I said when she was gone.

Janel sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Is it really?”

She blushed. “At least you don’t look like Father Zajhera.”

“Or Relos Var, for that matter.” Teraeth gave me a critical once-over. “I’ll learn to live with it.”

Janel started to say something and then stopped herself. I could guess what she was thinking. If my new face didn’t remind Teraeth of Relos Var, it most certainly would remind Janel of Rev’arric. Maybe not the sexiest association, all things considered.

I was going to need to figure out how to change my appearance as soon as possible, but in the meantime, it wouldn’t be that hard to remind her that I wasn’t Relos Var. All I had to do was smile and not glare at everything.

“Nice of him,” Teraeth continued, “to shape-change into someone cute at the end. I’d send him a gift, but—”

I quirked a smile. “This is what he really looked like.”

Teraeth seemed genuinely bewildered. “Then why the fuck was he jealous of you? Did the bastard not own a damn mirror?”

I picked up his hand. “There’s nothing logical about jealousy.” I sighed and made a face. “Why was Darzin jealous of me? That didn’t make any sense either.”

“You’re officially not allowed to have any more brothers,” Teraeth said.

I nodded sagely. “I’ll let my mother know right away that she is requested to only give birth to daughters from here on out.” But that teasing reminded me of something less funny, and my gaze shifted over to Janel. “I never asked, but—”

She put her hand on her stomach and gave me a wry look. “Yes, still pregnant. Somehow. It’s a tough little bean. Approximately the size of a grain of rice at the moment, but still holding on. And Dorna has reminded me about four times since breakfast that it’s quite inappropriate for me to be planning to have a child when I haven’t even chosen a herd to help raise it, let alone officially taken any partners.”

My mouth suddenly felt dry. “And what did you say?”

“I reminded her that Relos Var and I are already married.”1

I just stared at her for a second, mouth open. Because that was technically true, if it was completely untrue in all the ways that had mattered. Then I started laughing, because the irony of it was just too damn good. I caught Teraeth’s eyes, and that was enough to get him going, and then we were both cackling while Janel watched us both with a smug, fond smile.

I cleared my throat. “You know … I’m pretty sure that sort of thing isn’t legal until it’s consummated.”

“Is that so?” Janel said. “That is a problem, because it was certainly never consummated previously. However shall we fix that?”

“However indeed.” I squeezed Teraeth’s hand, put my other hand on the small of Janel’s back. “We could make this official, the three of us…?” I looked at Teraeth. “That is legal here, right?”

“Yes,” Teraeth said, “and as an added bonus, I’m told three-way marriages hugely complicate succession, which I consider a significant point in favor of the idea.” He added as an afterthought, “Oh, and King Terindel is back on the throne, so I am not. Which we should celebrate.”

“That explains why we’re not in the royal suite,” I said. My gaze swept to the side and then stopped cold as I noticed several rocks had been meticulously placed in a line on a nearby table. The Stone of Shackles was easy enough to recognize, but I also saw Grimward, Worldhearth, Skyfire, and the Name of All Things. Warmonger was missing, as were Wildheart and Chainbreaker. I assumed the last two were still with their owners and Warmonger was … well. I didn’t know. We’d need to find out.²

I looked back at my loves with what I suspect was a highly bemused expression.

“We rounded up all the Cornerstones we could,” Janel explained.

“And you dropped the Stone of Shackles,” Teraeth clarified, “before Janel pushed your old body into the Wound.”

“Lucky us.” Janel sounded like she’d have been glad if the stone had been lost. I smiled at she tucked a strand of hair back from my face.

Curly. Something very much like cloudcurl although not so fine in texture. Rev’arric had hated his hair, probably because it’s difficult for students to take the stern professor seriously when he’s graced with adorable ringlets.

Teraeth wasted no time tousling said curls. “I cannot believe your entire plan hinged around ‘get the bad guy to stab you.’”

I wrinkled my nose. “The best cons are the ones that exploit what the other person was going to do, anyway.”

“Which is another way of saying, ‘It worked, so shut up’?”

“Basically.”

Janel just shook her head. “You may need to dig that explanation out of your pocket a lot. There’s an entire herd of people out there waiting for you to wake up so they can shake you by the shoulders and demand to know what the hell you were thinking.”

“An entire—” My eyes widened. “Who?”

Teraeth started laughing again. I think he was feeling a bit drunk on … everything. Living. Surviving what we had all assumed was unsurvivable.

“Everyone?” Teraeth said. “Galen, Thurvishar, Qown, Talea—” A flicker of something crossed his face, but he didn’t explain.³ “But we can tell them to fuck off until tomorrow.”

I tugged him closer. “Tomorrow? I’m going to need more than one day.”

Janel slipped away from my grasp as she stood. “More than one day for recovery?”

“Sure, you can call it ‘recovery’ if you like.” I grinned at each of them in turn. “I promised myself that if I survived this—” I paused. “When we survived this, I was going to demand at least two days alone with both of you where we only left our bed when absolutely necessary.”

“Three days,” Teraeth countered. “We need at least three days.”

Janel headed for the door. “I’ll tell them to come back in a week.”

Thurvishar’s story

The Mother of Trees

One week later

Thurvishar found Kihrin in the private library of the royal palace at the Mother of Trees. He was sitting on one of the balconies with a book in his lap. If it wasn’t for the rather extraordinary Manol vané clothing, Thurvishar would have thought he was doing a fantastic impersonation of a recovering invalid.

Which he was, by certain definitions.

Thurvishar knocked on the doorframe. “Are you open for receiving guests?”

Kihrin smiled and set his book aside. “I’m guessing you heard the news.”

It felt odd to see this stranger and know it was Kihrin, but Thurvishar supposed he could at least be grateful that said strange man didn’t look like Relos Var. Or at least the man Thurvishar remembered as Relos Var. The first was just odd; the second would have been a level of awkward that made him shudder to contemplate.

“Do the Well of Spirals attendants think it didn’t work because we wanted to use Talon for the template?” Thurvishar felt more than a little guilty over the whole thing. Ever since Talon had made the suggestion, Thurvishar had been operating under the assumption that once this was all over, the vané would be able to make Kihrin a new body and just move his souls into it. And Relos Var’s body could finally and forever be laid to rest.

Apparently, it wasn’t that simple.

“No, a more basic incompatibility.”

“At least you should be able to shape-change,” Thurvishar pointed out. “You can look like yourself again.”

“Sure,” Kihrin agreed, “once I figure out how to do that. If all else fails, I suppose I can go to Caless, but at the moment, I can’t perform any magic at all. Tried turning invisible earlier this morning. Nothing.” He wrinkled his nose. “Doc says it’ll take me a little while to figure out how to spellcast with the new body.” He paused. “That’s not the worst part, though.”

Thurvishar paused. “Would that be the dragon part?”

Kihrin groaned and slid down his chair. “I don’t know how to do that either. I know he was a dragon, so in theory I too must be a dragon, right? But I have no idea how any of that works. And you know what else? I have all his memories. I hate it.”

The comment confused Thurvishar immensely. “I thought you already did. Because of Xaltorath?”

“No,” Kihrin said. “I mean yes, but that was like having a crystal ball I could pull out of a bag and look at whenever I had a question. It wasn’t intrinsic. I could compartmentalize Xaltorath’s memories the same way I did with the demons.” Kihrin tapped the side of his head. “This is … everything. His whole life. I mean, I don’t see it all at once because memories don’t work like that, but I keep hearing things or smelling things, and it’ll all come back to me, like I was there. Like they were my decisions, my actions.” Kihrin scoffed. “At the very end, I asked him why he’d done it all, and he told me that I’d never know.”

“But you do know.”

“Oh yes,” Kihrin said. “I know exactly why.”

Thurvishar waited while Kihrin stared off into the distance. After a moment, Kihrin glanced at Thurvishar out of the corner of his eye, and his lip curled up in a smile.

Thurvishar flicked his shoulder.

The smile fled, and Kihrin scowled. “I know why, but it doesn’t make explaining it easy. Turns out we were competing our whole lives, and no one told me.” He paused and then rolled his eyes. “All right, I guess I knew. I just didn’t think it was important. That’s how brothers are, right? I never realized how much the little irritations built up, layer over layer, until finally, the foundations couldn’t support all that weight, and it just … cracked.” He shrugged. “He was insecure. And his way of dealing with that insecurity was to swing in the other direction as hard as he could. Quiet the voices by telling himself that he was always the smartest man in the room, and always right.”

Thurvishar pondered those words. “I don’t think I would enjoy having that in my head for any great length of time.”

“No, I don’t recommend it. Doc tells me that the memories fade eventually. It’s like moving into a house the previous occupant hadn’t moved out of. Sure, I showed up with all my belongings, but all the old stuff’s still there. Eventually, I’ll replace the old furniture with my own, but in the meantime, I keep tripping over the rugs.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into that metaphor.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all morning for some reason.”

“But wait.” Thurvishar cocked his head. “You didn’t say that was the worst part. What is the worst part?”

“Relos Var was tone-deaf,” Kihrin said.

Thurvishar blinked at him.

“Tone-deaf!” Kihrin repeated with feeling. “I can’t sing! I’m going to have to retrain … everything.” He made a face. “The man was fourteen thousand years old and could change his shape. The least he could do was give himself perfect pitch.”

“I question your priorities,” Thurvishar said.

Kihrin studied him thoughtfully. “Have you by chance inherited a similar tone-deafness from me, your paternal grandfather?”

Thurvishar froze. “Oh … Veils.” From a purely biological level, Kihrin wasn’t wrong; he was now inhabiting the body of Thurvishar’s grandfather. Or least living in the house his grandfather had built.

Kihrin started laughing. “The look on your face.” He paused. “Although it probably wasn’t nearly as good as the look on mine when Janel reminded me that, technically speaking, we’re already married in the dominion of Yor. But then I reminded her that was never consummated, and so we had to drop everything and…”

“Stop. Just stop.” Thurvishar slowly sat down in the chair next to Kihrin’s. “I don’t need to know the details.”

Kihrin grinned.

Tyentso’s story

The Mother of Trees

Also several days later

The vané wouldn’t tell her where Grizzst had gone, only that he would come back soon. So she stalked the hall outside his chambers—why did Grizzst have permanent rooms at the vané capital city?—and pretended her presence wasn’t a walking diplomatic incident. For the moment, her hosts seemed willing to overlook little fiddly details like how she was the Quuros emperor. Perhaps because she was on a first-name basis with the new king. And with the king before that.

Or perhaps they were simply aware of how little the title emperor meant these days.

Their assault on the Marakori capital had been entirely successful. Nemesan hadn’t had enough chance to fully acclimate his troops to Warmonger, after all. He’d probably meant to give it a lot more time before pushing for a fight, but what had Relos Var cared about Nemesan’s plans? So he hadn’t been ready, and then Tyentso had surprised him by bringing in three whole armies who’d never been under Warmonger’s thrall.

It was mostly a mopping-up exercise at this point, but they hadn’t managed to locate Nemesan himself.

She’d reached the point of wondering if it would just be best to go back to Quur and let the cards fall where they may, when a pair of vané escorted a tired-looking man with curly black hair down the hall in her direction. He looked like he might have been Grizzst. She’d never seen Grizzst in person before, so she was operating off descriptions. Thurvishar’s had been particularly colorful.

As they approached, the man narrowed his eyes and looked at her in confusion. “I’m pretty sure we left Quur, didn’t we?”

“You did,” one of the vané reassured him.

“You’re Grizzst, right?” Tyentso asked. Last she’d seen, he’d been running around as a suit of enchanted armor; either some princess somewhere had broken the curse or he’d just been wearing the armor, because he looked human enough. “I need to talk to you.”

“Look, if you’re here to give me shit about the Crown protecting you from Warmonger, you need to understand that I had no way to know—”

“I want you to come back to Quur with me,” Tyentso said.

He hesitated for a split second. “Fuck off. I’m on vacation.”

Tyentso narrowed her eyes. She didn’t have time for this shit. She had a thousand things to do, never mind that Galen and Sheloran were showing up on the hour with more helpful suggestions for reorganizing the empire. Suggestions that were especially annoying because they were actually helpful.

Oh yeah, and she’d apparently adopted a son. Fuck if she was going to let Tyrin grow up in a country that was coming apart at the seams.4

“Fine.” Tyentso pulled the Crown from her head and thrust both it and the Scepter in Grizzst’s direction. “I quit. Take them back.”

He stared at her.

The two vané looked at each other. “Shall we just give the two of you a moment, then? Excellent. Remember, no drinking, no heavy exercise, and no straining yourself for at least two days.” With that admonishment given, the two vané retreated with impressive haste.

Grizzst looked not at all thrilled to find himself without his two helpers. He slowly walked to the door and pushed his way inside.

Tyentso followed him.

“Why the fuck,” Grizzst said as he immediately poured himself a glass of wine, “would you be trying to hand the Crown and Scepter of Quur to me?”

Tyentso was about to point out that vané wine almost certainly counted under the “no drinking” rule, when he grimaced and lowered his glass. “Damn,” he said. “It’s fucking fruit juice.”

She decided not to comment on it.

Grizzst shrugged. “Anyway, can’t, won’t. You’re stuck with it until you die. Might as well make the most of it.”

“Look, you made the damn things,” she said. “And you built the fucking empire. So if you’re not willing to help me fix what you broke—”

“I didn’t break—”

“You broke it when you built it!” Tyentso said. “The empire was flawed from the start. It was built on slavery and the poor and the Royal Houses making damn sure that they were the only ones using magic. You didn’t give a damn as long as you could use it to power the Crown and Scepter and set up a few altars.” She twirled the Crown of Quur on a finger. “We need to re-create a gate system to replace what Havar D’Aramarin broke. For some reason, I don’t think Nemesan’s going to volunteer. So guess what? It’s your job.”

“I’m better at gates than that asshole—”

“Prove it,” Tyentso said flatly.

Grizzst scowled at her. “And that’s it? You just want me to rebuild the gate system?”

Tyentso huffed. “Fuck no. Have you been paying no damn attention at all? I just granted Yor their independence, but any peace is conditional on helping clean out their caves, which we poisoned. Marakor isn’t completely retaken yet, and Nemesan’s still out there somewhere. Most of my wizards at the Academy were either fucking useless or actively working for Relos Var. I gave the Kulma Swamp to the gods-damned morgage. The only reason Jorat didn’t secede is because they’re too fucking loyal to the ‘Blood of Joras’ to kick us when we’re down. And likewise, the only reason the people in the Capital aren’t going to starve is because the vané king’s an old friend and cut me a sweetheart deal on grain imports. The empire is all but destroyed. I’m going to need your help with a hell of a lot more than a couple of fixed magical gates.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “You helped break it. You have to help fix it.”

“I don’t have to do shit,” Grizzst said. “What do I get out of it? Do not fucking say something like ‘a sense of satisfaction’ or ‘knowing that you’ve helped people.’ I’ve helped enough people for lifetimes. I’m good on that.”

Tyentso didn’t press her luck with the finger pushing. She also didn’t get upset. She’d spoken with Thurvishar about this. He’d told her what to say.

“No, none of that.” She leaned toward him and said, “You. Won’t. Be. Bored.”

Grizzst stared at her, his face free of all expression. Then he cursed. “Gods-damn it. Hit me in the fucking balls, would you?”

“Every time,” she said mildly. “But only if you say please.”

Grizzst paused and considered her for a moment. “I might be in love with you,” he admitted.

Tyentso rolled her eyes. So it was going to be that sort of relationship. Fine. She didn’t care how he flirted with her as long as he helped. “That’s nice,” she said. “Too bad for you I like younger men. Speaking of, I believe you’ve already met Fayrin. He’ll be getting you up to speed.”

He snorted. “So when did you want to leave—”

Tyentso grabbed his wrist and teleported back to the Capital City.