22. A PALE IMITATION

Janel’s story

The Mother of Trees, the Manol

The same day as their arrival, afternoon

“Why would I have thought they’d added Talon to the security wards?” Talon complained. “The vané were going to strip her of her body in a couple of weeks, put her in some other, non-shape-changing form. They shouldn’t have needed to add her to the wards—it was about to be redundant!”

Janel could only assume Talon referred to herself in the third person because she still looked like Kihrin. Janel hated it, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. Talon had come back to them a few hours after Teraeth had ordered the wards lowered, explaining how she’d had to tell Khaeriel and Therin at least part of what was going on in order to convince them not to kill her.

Janel was loath to admit Talon had done as well as could be managed under the circumstances. None of them had considered that Talon might trigger the wards. It just hadn’t factored into their plans. It had been risky, but not irreparably so—all of Relos Var’s favorite ways of scrying on his enemies were currently working for their side.1

An upset Talea had returned from the Capital, at which point she and Xivan had retired to their own rooms. That left Teraeth, “Kihrin,” and Janel to likewise return to the king’s chambers to sleep. An idea that didn’t seem to bother Teraeth or Talon in the slightest.

It bothered Janel a great deal.

So she paced, and the other two readied for bed.

“I just wish you hadn’t told Khaeriel that Janel is pregnant,” Teraeth said.

Janel’s mouth twisted. She had a feeling she knew why Teraeth was so concerned, and it was a thought as paranoid as it was dark. That Khaeriel might try to get rid of any competing children in her quest to make sure that Kihrin married Teraeth and eventually had an heir between them.² At some point Khaeriel had gotten it into her head that this was the perfect solution to all the issues of succession haunting the united Kirpis and Manol vané people, and nothing Teraeth had said since had seemed to dissuade her.

Janel could only hope that Khaeriel remembered that this was Khaeriel’s grandchild as well. Unfortunately, Janel couldn’t exactly explain that it was also the only child Khaeriel’s biological son would ever have.

And anyway, the pregnancy was far too early for such assumptions. Any number of things could go wrong. Janel lived a dangerous life and had no intention of taking it easy when the fate of the whole world was at stake. It would be a miracle if she somehow managed to make it through all this without miscarrying.

Janel realized she was tapping her fingers against her stomach and forced herself to stop.

“I had to,” Talon said. “Sorry. She was coming uncomfortably close to guessing too much, and if that had happened, all the ‘this is what Kihrin wants’ in the whole world wouldn’t have been enough to stop her from tearing Talon into tiny little itty-bitty pieces. And Therin would have helped.” Talon grinned. “A real bonding moment for them, I’m sure.”

“We should stop talking about this,” Janel said. “We can’t assume there’s no one listening.” She turned toward the shape-changed mimic.

“Kihrin” paused with his misha pulled halfway over his head. The dark bronze skin of his back was broken up by a horrifying crisscrossed network of shiny raised lines—old and healed, but still an obvious reminder of the terrible things human beings were willing to do to each other.

Janel froze. How many times had she seen Kihrin without clothes? How many times had she seen his back? In all their travels together? Possibly at the Quarry, but if so she’d been in too much of a drugged daze to understand or remember. She’d have accused Talon of having made up this detail, but she knew that was nonsense. If Talon wore whip scars while pretending to be Kihrin, it could only be because Kihrin had worn them first.

Teraeth must have noticed her reaction, must have known what caused it. “He was trapped in the rowing galley of a slave ship for three months, Janel,” Teraeth explained in a voice that managed to be both soft and furious. “When he was sixteen.” He turned to Talon. “Go on, tell her why you ended up on a slave ship.”³

Talon’s lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. “Does it matter?”

Teraeth’s bitter sarcasm gave Janel some idea of what the answer had to be. Janel inhaled deeply, tried to find a sense of internal equilibrium, and then moved quickly toward Kihrin, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him up against one of the pillars in the room. “Let me guess,” Janel whispered. “Talon had something to do with it.”⁴

“That slave ship was better than what would have happened if I’d stayed,” Talon said, because damn if she wasn’t a professional. She wasn’t breaking character for anything. “Darzin hadn’t planned on letting me live, you know.”

Janel hated this. She hated everything about this. She logically knew it was Talon, but all her senses told her that this was Kihrin. Shirtless, close enough to smell the scent of his soap and his skin, close enough to see the Manol humidity bead up like tiny jewels sliding down the side of his neck.

Talon strained forward against her hold and whispered, “I know this is difficult. This sucks and I’m sorry. I would do this differently if I could.”

Talon sounded just like Kihrin. It was even something Kihrin would say, said the way he would have said it. Staring into those blue eyes, it was impossible not to feel that it was Kihrin. Even though she knew the truth. Even though she was aware of the full extent of the deception.

Janel pulled Talon’s head down to hers and kissed her false Kihrin. She held nothing back, let all of her frustration, anger, and passion show in the clash of tongues and teeth. She felt Kihrin’s lips against hers, soft and warm, the taste of him in her mouth, the beat of his heart hammering away next to hers. His body was slick and hot against her skin; it would have been so easy to just pretend.

But no. That wasn’t true. In point of fact, it was utterly impossible to pretend.

Janel heard movement behind her as Teraeth approached, although to what purpose was less clear.

It was a fantastic kiss.

But it wasn’t Kihrin. No amount of identical body, perfect acting, and all the memories a mimic could steal made up for the fact that it wasn’t Kihrin. She felt it; she tasted it; the knowledge of it singed her like sparks from a forge. Kihrin’s souls weren’t there, and the rest of this was nothing but a pretty shell, housing someone she didn’t love at all.

Janel released Talon and backed away. She felt strangely better, as though she had just plunged a burned hand into a bucket of ice water. Janel raised shaking fingers up to the beaded braids of her laevos. Janel felt wrung out, scraped over rocks. Clean, but worn thinner too.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “That helped.”

Talon didn’t seem particularly upset. She grinned impishly at Janel and spread her hands. “You know I’m here for whatever you need.”

Janel scoffed. “I need for this all to be over, but I have my doubts you can pull that off any faster than you’re already trying.”

Teraeth touched her arm. “Are you going to be all right?” He started to slide his arm around her waist and gave her a hurt look when she slipped away from him.

Janel smiled fondly at him. What a loaded question that was. Was she going to be all right? But Janel knew he meant on a much more immediate level. Was she going to be okay right now. Was she going to be okay as long as they had to continue this horrible charade.

Janel took Teraeth’s hand and kissed each finger in turn. “I’ll be fine. And it’s not you. I just need a little time to myself. I’m going to go for a walk.” When Teraeth started to protest, she added, “We’re in the palace. I’m not naïve enough to say nothing could happen here, but it’s likely the safest we can manage. I’ll be back in time for Talea and Xivan, don’t worry.”

Teraeth pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. She didn’t fight it this time; it was clearly meant as a way of saying goodbye and not an attempt to keep her by his side.

Janel kissed him back on the mouth and then left.