19. THE FREER OF ALL SLAVES
Tyentso’s story
The Soaring Halls, the Upper Circle of the Capital City of Quur
After returning to the Capital, lunchtime
“Fayrin!” Tyentso shouted when she returned to her suite. No sooner did his name leave her mouth, however, than she knew he was probably in his own rooms, rather than lounging around hers.
That’s because of the small, screaming child.
Qoran’s youngest daughter, Eledore, was bouncing the toddler on her hip as she (unsuccessfully) tried to convince the boy to calm down. He was having none of it. And that kid’s screams could cut glass. Indeed, Tyentso was rather surprised to see that any of the mirrors in the salon remained intact. She stuck a finger in one ear and made a face.
“Where’s the boy’s mother—?”
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the boy took one look at Tyentso and managed to scream louder.
Eledore gave Tyentso a desperate look. “I thought Kalindra left to go speak with you. I suppose she’s probably with Daddy. Then Nikali started crying, and I swear one of the servants was about to slap him, so I yelled for them all to get out. She was lucky I didn’t cut her open gullet to groin.” She made shushing sounds to her nephew, whose face was screwed up in an ugly scowl while snot ran down his nose. “But he won’t stop. I swear he’s not normally like this. Maybe he has an ear infection.”
“I’m … probably not helping,” Tyentso admitted. He was a cute kid (when he wasn’t doing the screaming thing). If she had even an ounce of maternal instinct, she’d be fussing over the damn toddler and making all kinds of idiotic cooing noises. But she didn’t and she wouldn’t, so mostly she just found herself wishing he’d shut the fuck up.
The boy had started babbling something into his aunt’s raisigi. Tyentso was pretty sure it was something along the lines of “make the bad woman leave.”
Valid. The rest of the Milligreests might not have a damn clue, but that baby knew what was up with the D’Lorus clan.1
Tyentso sighed. “Have you seen Fayrin?” She paused. “Do you even know who I’m talking about?”
“Shhhh,” Eledore whispered to the little boy, who had quieted less because he was growing calmer than because he was too tired to keep up the tears. Just as Tyentso started to wonder if Eledore had heard her—or if she intended to respond—the young woman glanced up. “I know who you mean. Daddy told him that if he came anywhere near me, he’d make him eat his own gonads.”
Tyentso raised her eyebrows. “Has Fayrin been bothering you?”
Eledore shook her head. “No!” She rolled her eyes before adding, “I mean … he said I was too young.” She looked exasperated by the idea, and more than a little insulted.
Tyentso exhaled. Oh. Of course. She would have had a little “talk” with Fayrin if he’d been making passes at Qoran’s youngest. Eledore making passes at him, however, was more excusable—just as long as Fayrin kept his dick in his pants. “He’s right. You’re too young.”
“I’m an adult!”
“No, you’re of legal age. That’s not the same thing, kid. So have you seen Fayrin?”
Both Eledore’s hands were taken up holding the small, sniffling child, but she used her chin to gesture toward the door out to the private garden.
“Thank you.” Tyentso paused before leaving. “When you see Kalindra, tell her that I meant what I said earlier.”
“Sure?” Whether or not Eledore would remember was anyone’s guess.
“Thank you.”
Tyentso shouldn’t have been too surprised. While the palace had always been maintained, someone had taken special pains to care for the small, intricate garden that, theoretically, was meant for the emperor. Fayrin seemed inordinately fond of the place, and she suspected he was the one responsible for its upkeep.
Given that this was one of the few places in the entire palace—including her bedroom—where one might hope to pass a few minutes undisturbed, it was rapidly turning into one of her favorite places too.
She was surprised to see the young man meditating cross-legged under the branches of a cherry tree. Then she noticed several wine bottles next to him.
“Did you start drinking the moment I left?” Tyentso asked.
He opened his eyes and slowly blinked at her. “You weren’t here to tell me no. Later on, I plan on inviting some of the girls over too.”
Tyentso rolled her eyes. People had been so fond of joking that Fayrin had once turned the Soaring Halls into a brothel that Tyentso had assumed it couldn’t possibly be true.
It was.
In theory, because he knew how much it scandalized the other members of the High Council. At least, that was Fayrin’s official story. Tyentso had her own theories, mostly involving how she suspected that every single one of Fayrin’s “whores” was also a world-class spy.
He wasn’t hosting orgies. He was debriefing agents.
“Whatever,” Tyentso said. “I don’t care.”
Fayrin gave her an odd look she couldn’t decipher. She wasn’t in the mood to try to figure it out.
Tyentso tossed a rolled-up sheet of paper at him. “Sober up, and hold off on calling in your velvets. I need you to deliver a new proclamation to the High Council.”
He squinted as he unrolled the piece of paper and began to read. She saw the moment exactly when what he was reading sank in. The moment when a shiver burned through the alcohol in his veins and left him very sober indeed.
Fayrin stared at her, open-mouthed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Serious as death.”
He stood up, wobbled a little as gravity tried to trick him, and shot his best glare her way. “You can’t—” He shook his head. “They’ll never agree to this. Ever. You can’t just wave a hand and make slavery illegal.”
Tyentso thought about it for a moment. “Why not? Isn’t that how most laws happen? Someone declares it so, and enough people go along with it?”
“No, there’s a council. We vote. I should know: letting people buy my vote is my main source of income.”
“You vote because the emperors stopped enforcing their will after Kandor marched off to an early grave in the Manol. Prior to that, the council only made laws when the emperor was too busy waging wars to be bothered. Well, congratulations: I’m bothering.”
Fayrin clenched his fists in exasperation. “Don’t enough people want to kill you?”
“All the people who would want to kill me because of this already want me dead,” she said. “Keep reading, by the way. A little ways down, I declare worshipping Murad illegal too.”
Fayrin quickly examined the sheet of paper again as if he expected she might have just been joking. She wasn’t. His eyes widened, and he looked back up at her again. “The council will never approve this.”
She laughed and tapped Fayrin’s cheek. “You keep assuming I give a fuck what the council does or doesn’t approve. But don’t worry: right now, they’ll do anything I say and fight each other for the privilege of being the first to do so. Honestly, I’m impressed as hell with your willpower.” She smoothed a hand over the back of her cloudcurls. “It has to happen, Fayrin. Never mind that it’s the right thing. Turns out it’s the tactically smart thing too—remove the threat of slavery, the slaves themselves, and a whole lot of prayers to Murad vanish. Nobody will have any reason to light candles in that bastard’s name.”
“I don’t understand why that matters.”
Tyentso sighed. “Murad. The god-king? Well, he’s either helping Havar or he is Havar, and either way, cutting him off from his power base is for the best. But I’ll never be able to stop people from leaving out their little offerings to Murad unless I remove the reason they do it—and a lot more of those reasons have to do with slavery than justice.”
“Havar D’Aramarin is … Murad?” His stare was glassy-eyed. Maybe he hadn’t completely sobered up yet.
“Yes, that’s what I said.” She wondered if she was going to have to use magic to purge the alcohol from him. This would really go more easily if he didn’t look drunk while relaying her orders.
“Fuck.”
“Whereas that’s not what I said, but I agree with the sentiment.” Tyentso pointed at the scroll. “Give that to the council. Let them know this is how it’s going to be. I’ve already sent copies to all the dukes and to my generals, so this is happening whether they like it or not. Once you’re done, you can party as much as you like.”
“Wait. You want me—” He took a deep breath. “I’m not coming with you to Khorvesh?”
“No. I want you to stay here, do damage control, and twist a few arms if you have to. It’ll be fine. I’m taking Caerowan with me.” When Fayrin barely concealed his grimace in response, Tyentso said, “Would you rather I left him here and took you instead?”
“No, no! By all means, let the toady little monk boy go on an adventure. His status reports are more legible than mine, and he won’t complain about the bad food. Just don’t…” His face twisted. “Whatever you do, don’t give him any authority.”
Tyentso stared. “He’s a Voice of the Council.”
“He’s a Devoran priest who has lived his entire life crossing off prophecy quatrains like they’re a to-do list. He doesn’t make decisions based on logic or reason but on bad poetry.” Fayrin wrinkled his nose. “I vastly prefer men who are greedy or power-hungry or think with their dicks. Those are motivations I can work with. Caerowan’s only real loyalty is to the fickleness of vague fortune-telling.”
“Careful, Fayrin, or I might forget you’re a louche rake who only cares about the softness of his bedsheets.”
He smirked at her and grabbed one of the wine bottles, examining it to see how much was left. “I have no idea what you mean. My life’s ambitions have never been anything other than whores and wine. Do you want me to blackmail any council members if it proves necessary?”
“I doubt it will be, but yes.” She gave him a twisted smile. “And let me know how everyone behaves while I’m gone.”
It would be an interesting test to see if whatever was causing this weird change in everyone’s behavior was based on location or based on her location. She honestly wasn’t sure which one was worse.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Fayrin told her.
Hilarious.