27. EXPECTATIONS

Janel’s story

The Mother of Trees, the Manol

Twilight

The vané palace was a queer place.

Magical, of course. So magical that it seeped into the very wood, into every tapestry and piece of furniture. The parts of the palace shaped from the sky tree hosting them were so overflowing with life that Janel couldn’t imagine the vané were unaware. It almost felt like a soul. Almost.

She suspected her inability to perceive the sky tree’s soul was a flaw in herself, not a lack of soul in the sky tree. A flea, trying to see the whole of the wolf.

She walked down beautiful, impossible hallways until she found a balcony that either really overlooked the jungle surrounding them or had been so heavily covered with illusions that it was impossible to tell the difference. The darkness was heavy with the smell of flowers and a hot, humid odor of greenery and decay. The air itself was thick enough to cut, the sort of humidity that slicked up skin and forced its way into lungs. Janel was used to much colder environments; even the Capital City of Quur seemed temperate in comparison. But it’s not like the heat would bother her, and the clothing the vané preferred was designed to wick away sweat and keep the skin dry. She could put up with it for a few minutes if it meant taking in that view.

The irony was that there was theoretically no view to take in. Under the heavy sky tree canopy, the jungle should have been a dark place, eternal night on a grand scale. Yet such wasn’t the case. The channeled sundew of a thousand sky trees spiraled down trunks in lazy glowing rivers before spilling out in bright fans of light. Phosphorescent birds and butterflies flitted around to pick off prey or take advantage of glowing flowers. The longer she stared, the more was revealed, until the Manol seemed like a dark jeweled landscape, lush with glittering facets.

Janel heard movement behind her and glanced back. She sighed internally.

“Hello, Janel,” Khaeriel said. “I thought we might talk.”

Janel didn’t hide her frown, but motioned for the older woman to join her. She just had to hope that Teraeth was wrong and Khaeriel was in fact too smart to do something as stupid as attack her. If that proved not to be the case, then Janel would make Khaeriel pay for the mistake and send her apologies to Kihrin later.

“Let me guess: you wish to discuss intentions and whether or not I’ll do the honorable thing and marry your son.”

Khaeriel tilted her head as she walked out onto the balcony. “I’m sure a woman such as yourself—”

“I’m not a woman,” Janel corrected.

Khaeriel paused. A flicker of confusion appeared and vanished as quickly.

“In my land,” Janel said, “whether you are a man or a woman depends on your role, your nature. These are not the same thing as one’s birth sex.”

Khaeriel’s eyes widened with understanding. “Oh, I see. That’s not an issue here.” She waved a hand. “Although with the vané, it is customary to change one’s body to match in such cases.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But even then, not everyone does. I didn’t think that was a custom in Quur.”

“That tells me you never visited Jorat,” Janel said.

“No,” Khaeriel acknowledged.

Silence wrapped around them both.

“Are you keeping the baby?” Khaeriel asked.

“Yes,” Janel said, “although it won’t be the first child I’ve had with your son.”

Khaeriel visibly startled. “Someone had mentioned … but I didn’t think…”

Janel smiled to herself. She was being a bit of an ass at the moment, but she found no shame in it whatsoever. “I know you’ve been told that Kihrin is the reincarnation of one of the Guardians. And I am the reincarnation of his lover. We had a child together.”

Khaeriel exhaled slowly. “I had assumed that source of information was unreliable.”1

“No, they were telling the truth. The dragon, Aeyan’arric.” Janel shrugged. “If only she were sane. If only she were capable of recognizing us.”

“You’re not—” Khaeriel paused, collected herself, and then tried again. “You’re not as young as you seem, are you?”

“In some ways, I am,” Janel said. “But for the most part—” She shook her head ruefully at Khaeriel. “No. Not in the least.”

Khaeriel gave her a tiny smile. “I’m beginning to think trying to keep you away from my son is a lost cause.”

“Such a lost cause. And we’re a package deal: Kihrin, Teraeth, and myself. If Teraeth is the youngest of us, that doesn’t mean we have any intention of leaving him behind.” Janel turned around, leaning her back against the railing. “But I have a question for you.”

Khaeriel drew herself up. “Yes?”

“What was it like to switch bodies using the Stone of Shackles?”

Khaeriel was visibly taken aback by the shift in topic. Not a surprise, considering the unexpected nature of the question. “You mean when Miyathreall murdered me?”

“Did you use the Stone of Shackles some other time I don’t know about?”

Khaeriel sniffed. And then stared at Janel with obvious curiosity when it became evident that she waited on the answer.

Kihrin’s mother’s gaze drifted over the bright light limning the edges of darkness. Her expression was contemplative, even wistful. “I had no idea what wearing the Stone of Shackles would do. Nothing had prepared me. It happened so slowly and so very fast. The moment she killed me, it was … It took a shockingly long time to kick in. I was dead, but being kept alive for long enough to make the transfer, long enough to ensure my soul didn’t inconveniently leave. I remember she yelled at me: ‘What have you done?’ As if I had any idea. And it hurt. It was without question the most agonizing experience I have ever suffered, and yes, that includes childbirth. As if my core were being ripped apart, ripped away, and then shoved into another body while hot lead was dripped over my souls to make sure they didn’t stray. That wasn’t the worst part, though.”

Janel brushed her fingertips over the living wood of the balcony railing and waited.

“The worst part were the memories,” Khaeriel explained. “Because although my souls were now trapped inside Miyathreall’s body, they were strangers there. It is the reason one cannot cast magic at first after the transfer—because magic is a product of the mind, and you are living in a mind that has been shaped for someone else. Until my souls could reshape that mind to fit me, it was like living in the shadow of an eclipse. Everything doubled and blurred. My memories came with my souls, but also the echoes of memories left behind by Miya. For several months, I knew everything she knew.” Her mouth twisted. “Had I been slightly smarter about the whole matter—” Khaeriel paused. “Well, no. I suppose I might have outwitted my brother, but I most certainly would not have outwitted my grandmother Khaemezra. She knew exactly what the Stone did, after all. She’d planned all of it.”

“It sounds awful,” Janel mused. “Dreadful.”

“I do not recommend trying it for yourself,” Khaeriel said. “Especially not now, but that goes without saying. How far along are you?”

Janel studied Khaeriel carefully before answering. “Not far at all. Six weeks.”

“How humorous it would be if our children were born near the same time,” Khaeriel said. Then she brightened. “If morning sickness has been an issue, I know a very effective potion for helping with such difficulties.”

Janel was sure she’d rather let a venomous snake nibble on her breasts before she’d willingly drink any herbal concoction given to her by Khaeriel, but that wasn’t a diplomatic response. So, she truthfully said, “I thank you for the offer, but I haven’t experienced any morning sickness.”

Khaeriel stared at her.

Janel shrugged. “I realize that’s not normal. I’ve been pregnant before in previous lives. Elana had terrible morning sickness from the start. Whereas this time, other than an aversion to coffee and a preference for certain foods, I’ve barely noticed any change whatsoever.”

“I believe I am obligated to hate you now,” Khaeriel told her flatly.

Janel thought she was joking. She hoped the woman was joking. It was difficult to tell.

“My mother is the Goddess of Magic,” Janel said. “So let’s not discount the possibility that my lack of discomfort has had assistance from the child’s other grandmother.”

A complicated set of emotions made their way across Khaeriel’s face. “You said your mother was a dancing girl.”

“She was,” Janel said. “But that’s hardly all she was.” She pushed herself away from the railing and toward the hallway. “I should probably try to sleep. We both should, if such a thing is possible.” Janel stopped at the doorway, however, and looked back at the former vané queen. “I love your son a great deal, Your Highness. Love him so much dying hasn’t been able to keep us apart. It would please me if I had your permission to marry him. If such ends up being possible by the time this is all done.”

Khaeriel pursed her lips but then finally nodded. “I will not object, but the final decision must ultimately be his.”

Janel smiled. Well, in that one regard, Khaeriel was definitely wiser than her grandmother Khaemezra. Actually, in more than one regard: Khaeriel had never shown the slightest inclination toward filicide.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Janel said. “Sleep well.”