13. THE MILLIGREEST FAMILY
Kalindra’s story
The Soaring Halls, the Upper Circle of the Capital City of Quur
Just after Empress Tyentso attacked Jarith Milligreest
Shock painted Qoran Milligreest’s face an ugly corpse-pale shade. It must have seemed like his son had just died, disintegrated by the Empress of Quur. The howl of the Scepter’s blast vibrated through the space Jarith had occupied a moment before, slamming into the far wall, and possibly through walls beyond that. In the distance, a bell began to ring, and through the delicate marble traceries of railings overlooking gorgeous gardens, soldiers ran. What situation they’d be able to handle better than Empress Tyentso, however, was less clear.
Kalindra knew Tyentso hadn’t killed Jarith, who’d fled before the beam reached him, but that didn’t stop her from being furious. She covered her son’s eyes and clutched him to her chest, praying that it had all happened too quickly for him to understand. Too quickly for him to draw the obvious conclusion that his father was once more dead, this time right in front of him.
“Tyentso! What the hell was that?” Qoran screamed and drew his sword.
The empress wasn’t impressed or frightened. “That wasn’t your son, Qoran.”
“Yes, it fucking well was! How dare you!” He looked as angry as Kalindra had ever seen. And unlike his usual brand of temper, this time he seemed willing to back it up with violence.
Unfortunately, this was the Empress of Quur.
Tyentso narrowed her eyes and stepped toward him. “It was a demon, Qoran. It only looked like your son. Do you think I can’t recognize a demon on sight?”
Kalindra didn’t move. It’s not that she thought she was in any danger—as she was most definitely not a demon—but the air was so suffocatingly tense, moving felt like a dangerous misstep.
“You need to understand, Qoran—”
Nikali began crying.
She’d been right about not wanting to draw attention. The moment Nikali started screaming, Tyentso whirled to Kalindra. “And you!” she said, pointing. “I know you’re not this naïve. You have to be more careful!”
Kalindra cursed the woman and all her ancestors. Tyentso had forgotten—or just didn’t care—that Kalindra and she had never “officially” met. Tyentso wasn’t supposed to know her. Tyentso certainly wasn’t supposed to have spent six months with her on Ynisthana after Tyentso joined the Black Brotherhood.
On the other hand, it didn’t matter, did it? Thaena was dead, and Kalindra’s cover had become her reality.
“I was,” Kalindra said. “I’m not the one who appeared out of nowhere and attacked—” She choked off what she’d been about to say. Nikali didn’t need to hear it.
A flicker of sympathy crossed Tyentso’s face. “I had to do this.”
Kalindra’s throat closed on her. Clearly, either Kihrin hadn’t spoken to Tyentso, or Tyentso hadn’t believed him. And if Kalindra explained, would the other woman believe her? If she told Tyentso to search down deep, to feel out her connection with Thaena, would it still be there? Had Xivan simply picked up the reins of all her predecessor’s angels, or was Kalindra the first of the newest Immortal’s new servants?
In any event, no one was supposed to know that Xivan was now the Goddess of Death.
Kalindra concentrated on her son, on his crying, which had only grown louder with Tyentso’s affirmation about Jarith’s status. “Don’t talk about this in front of my son.”
“Daddy!” Nikali screamed.
Tyentso grimaced. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m too busy for this shit.”
“Kalindra, take Nikali through the doors at the end of the hall,” Qoran ordered. His voice was gentle, for just a moment, then the screaming started up again as he switched his focus to Tyentso. “Damn it, woman! Is that your solution to everything these days? Just kill it first and never use reason? What’s wrong with you?”
“We’re at war!” Tyentso shouted back. “And I am your empress, and your tone is out of line. Must I forcibly remind you of your place?”
Kalindra looked back over her shoulder, heart pounding. This had just become much more dangerous.
Qoran Milligreest seemed to realize it too. His face, which had been flushed red with anger just a moment before, turned ashen gray. He took a step back as if he’d just been slapped.
“How many times do I have to say it was a demon?” Tyentso snapped. “It was copying your son to get through the wards, and it almost worked.”
“Mommy, I don’t like it here.”
Kalindra wiped her son’s tears. “It’s okay, little lion.”
“I want my daddy!” he pleaded.
“I know,” she whispered. “He’ll be back soon.” Kalindra hoped the woman hadn’t heard her. Let her think Kalindra was just telling ugly lies to her son. She wasn’t in a position to argue otherwise.
Fortunately, Tyentso wasn’t paying attention to her.
“Kneel,” Tyentso ordered, her voice whipping out the command.
Kalindra had never seen her father-in-law bow to anyone, let alone kneel. She suspected the previous emperor, Sandus, had never once asked. She found herself holding her breath, dreading the violence of his response.
But he barely hesitated. Qoran was down on his knees in an instant.
Kalindra could only stare. What? As far as Qoran Milligreest knew, this woman had either just killed his son or revealed that it had never been his son at all. In neither case did it make any sense that he was prostrating before Tyentso.
“I’ll be down the hall if you need me,” Kalindra whispered. For a second, she doubted either her father-in-law or the empress heard her, but then Tyentso raised her head and caught Kalindra’s eye.
Tyentso mouthed, “Later,” to her. She didn’t look angry at all, just resigned and sad.
Kalindra stared at her father-in-law, still on his knees. He was mumbling something she couldn’t hear. Kalindra had the terrible suspicion he was begging for forgiveness.
Jarith had said something was wrong here. Kalindra didn’t know what yet, but she was damned if she wasn’t going to find out.
Kalindra hid her shiver as she walked away.
The emperor’s (or in this case, empress’s) private quarters—a palace in and of themselves in many ways—were honestly not as luxurious as Kalindra expected. They were nice, yes, with marble floors and elegantly inlaid walls, graceful columns, and lovely tapestries. But Kalindra had broken into more than her share of palaces and villas that far outstripped these in terms of material excess. Any of the royal palaces of the Court of Gems would have rooms more extravagant.
These almost looked like rooms a person might live in. Almost.
She set Nikali down and let him cry. She couldn’t blame him.
“He’ll be back, darling,” Kalindra whispered. “You know he’ll be back. Daddy just had to leave and take care of some business. He’s helping keep people safe.”
The little boy rubbed his eyes, sniffling. “That’s good. Daddy’s good.”
“Yes, he is. Now I want you to rest. I’ll send for some food and then—”
The door opened a second time as Qoran Milligreest entered. For all that he appeared uninjured, he held himself with the air of someone nursing a wound. He didn’t notice Kalindra and Nikali, or at least he didn’t look at them. He sat down at a table and stared out at nothing. His face was a curious mix of apathy, anger, and grim determination.
Kalindra rubbed a knuckle into her temple. When she lowered her hand, she said, “Look, we need to talk about Jarith.”
Qoran suddenly looked his age. “There’s nothing to talk about. We both wanted it to be true so badly we were willing to overlook all the reasons why that was impossible.”
“Except Tyentso’s wrong.”
“Her Majesty,” Qoran said.
Kalindra raised both eyebrows while she smoothed Nikali’s hair. He was still sniffling and might launch himself into tears again any second. She didn’t want to risk it, so she kept her voice low. “What was that?”
“You will address her as Her Majesty,” Qoran growled.
“… fine,” Kalindra said after a moment. “Her Majesty is wrong.”
The high general glared at her. “I saw what vanished from that hallway, Kalindra. That was a demon. I’ve seen enough of them to know the difference.”
“Yes, but I don’t think you’re considering that those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts,” Kalindra said. “He can be a demon and be Jarith. It’s not like he’s the only one of your children Xaltorath has—”
Qoran slammed a hand down on the table.
Kalindra glared as she gathered Nikali back to her chest, who was staring at his grandfather with wide-eyed shock. She was less impressed: Kalindra was far past the age where that sort of trick would be capable of frightening her into submission. “You already have one child who’s a demon. Is there some sort of rule that says you can’t have two?”
He knew perfectly well who she was talking about, and after they locked stares for a few seconds, he broke first and looked away. “I didn’t realize you’d become so close to Janel in such a short time on Devors.”
“You’d be amazed how much two people can communicate when it really matters.”
Qoran just shook his head. “It’s not the same. Janel’s been cursed since she was a child. Jarith was slain. It’s not even close to being the same. I understand. Believe me, I understand. But that’s not…” His face twisted.
“Perhaps it is different, but that was still my husband who came back with us, and it was still your son.”
“It wasn’t.” A stubborn, angry flush crept over the man’s face.
Kalindra knew there’d be no reaching him. Maybe with time, they could talk him around. She wasn’t sure they had it.
“The morgage are invading,” Qoran whispered. He still wouldn’t look at her.
“What.” Something deep inside her twisted, and she tasted bile. Even for someone like her, born with one foot in Khorvesh and the other in Zherias, she knew the stories about the morgage. Knew about the terror and destruction they’d spread the last time they’d come pouring out of the Blight into Khorvesh.
“And if that was all there was…” He scoffed. Qoran wandered over to a cabinet set against one wall with the assuredness of old familiarity and pulled down a bottle of sassibim brandy and two glasses. He poured one for himself and another for his daughter-in-law.
Never mind that it was still breakfast.
He gulped down a glassful and then held on to the half-empty glass like it was a talisman. “Tyentso tried to clean house,” he explained. “It didn’t completely work. She missed High Lord Havar D’Aramarin, who took all his people and…” Qoran laughed harshly. “He must have been expecting it. He had all his pieces already in place. Small mercenary bands spread out across the empire. Maybe spread out across the whole world. But they’re all in Marakor now, obeying his commands. And he’s shut down the Gatestones, so the only way goods are getting to their destinations is by land. So that’s war number two. I suppose the demons count as war number three.” He closed his eyes. “There is no way that Quur can survive this.”
“Don’t sell us off yet.” Kalindra set Nikali down on a couch large enough to do as an impromptu bed until she figured out which door led to a real one. He was worn out from all the crying, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still morning. This was too early for nap time, and her son knew it. She gave the boy his toy bag and let him cuddle up against her side.
She glanced back at her father-in-law. “You can make more Gatestones, can’t you?”
“As it happens, no. We can’t. That was a D’Aramarin secret technique.1 So we can open up a gate if a wizard does it themselves, but how many wizards are strong enough for that? Maybe a dozen? Two dozen? Tops?” He scoffed and took a healthy swig of brandy. “Tyentso can open up gates herself. Large enough to transport troops. But she’s just one person. And in the meantime, D’Aramarin is cementing his position in Marakor and stopping all the food shipments.”
Kalindra blinked. “Oh.”
“Right. Oh.”
“But surely Eamithon and Kirpis—”
“Eamithon will do its part. But neither Kirpis nor Kazivar are farming dominions. Eamithon can’t harvest enough to feed everyone—Khorvesh, Yor, the Capital. If we don’t do something soon, people will starve—”
“Kalindra! Kalindra, where have you been?” A door from one of the other rooms opened, and a young woman rushed through—Eledore Milligreest, Jarith’s youngest sister.
She looked a lot like her brother, although she wore her hair tightly braided in a line across her head that was disturbingly similar to Janel’s laevos, only without the shaved sides. Eledore was a pretty girl too, with even brown skin and a figure honed to the height of Khorveshan sensibilities—athletic, trained to fight from her youth. Kalindra had always liked her, perhaps because they shared a similar temper.
She had that slightly weakened air of someone who had spent a great many days crying, screaming, or both, and had only recently decided to rejoin the world.
“Hey, Elly, I am indeed back. Quiet, though. Nikali’s been through a lot.” Kalindra’s words were immediately belied by Nikali wiggling out of her arms and running over to his aunt.
“Oh!” Eledore knelt. “Who are you?” she asked Nikali with faux seriousness. “You look like my nephew, but you’re much too large! My nephew’s this big.” She held her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart.
Kalindra’s son tugged on Eledore’s arm. “No, I’m not! I’m big now!”
Eledore pretended not to hear him. “Such a shame nobody’s seen him. I have toys for my nephew too…”
“It’s me, Auntie El! I’m your nephew!” Nikali started to make his wide-eyed puppy face, the one which so easily translated to either laughter or tears depending on circumstances and need.
“Nikali? Why, it is you!” Eledore quickly lifted her nephew up into the air and spun around, to his great delight and laughter. “I didn’t even recognize you. Who told you that you could keep growing like this? You’re like a giant person now!”
He began giggling.
Eledore lifted her head toward Kalindra and motioned to herself, Nikali, and a back room. The message was clear: Do you want me to watch him for a while?
“Bless you,” Kalindra stage-whispered.
But as Eledore took Nikali into the back, someone else took her place in the doorway. Kalindra paused, because it wasn’t anyone that she’d expected to see, and her presence meant that it was every bit as bad in Khorvesh as Qoran had said. The older woman’s resemblance to Eledore was obvious, as was the resemblance to Jarith. This woman too was dressed for a fight, which was only prudent, considering.
Qoran’s wife, Jira, moved her narrow-eyed gaze from her husband to rest on Kalindra. She smiled, although it was a thin veneer over the anger burning behind her eyes. “Hello, my dears. It’s nice to see you both back safe and sound.”