56. BAITING THE TRAP

Tyentso’s story

The Soaring Halls, the Upper Circle of the Capital City of Quur

Just after Thurvishar’s fight with Anlyr

The alarms were already sounding when she teleported near her suite. Normally, she would’ve gone directly to her rooms, but since she didn’t know what she’d find there, and she had a small child in her arms, she decided against taking the chance. She approached on foot, even as the remaining staff at the palace ran to and fro in panic.

Fayrin’s rooms were, quite literally, demolished.

Just as troubling, the Milligreests who should’ve returned to her suite by now were still absent. At first, she thought the worst—that Gadrith or Havar or whoever it was who was responsible for all this had already come for them, that he had already made his move.

Then she saw the small black paper sitting on the table, tucked under a bouquet of flowers in a jade vase.

She recognized it and still feared the worst. It was a D’Lorus trick, one she knew well. She flicked a finger against the edge of it, sending a tiny stream of tenyé through the paper.

Silver writing appeared, briefly, before vanishing again.

Have taken the general’s family to the schoolhouse.—Thurvishar

Tyentso exhaled.

This would have been a strange form of deception. If one of her enemies had taken them, there was no reason to leave a fucking note, at a place where she logically shouldn’t be expected to be.1 There was no reason to claim the note came from Thurvishar. Such a note wouldn’t put her on edge—it would calm her. Her enemies didn’t seem to want that.

Which meant that there was an excellent chance that Thurvishar had done exactly what the note claimed. That he’d taken the family to the D’Lorus apartments in Alavel, likely because he, not knowing that Gadrith might be alive, had assumed the location safe.

Unfortunately, if Gadrith was alive again, few places were less safe.

The boy was still fast asleep in her arms. She set him down on a couch, because three-year-olds were still heavy if you carried them for long enough. He was a pretty boy, honestly a mark against him for her plans. On the other hand, she could easily lay that blame on the child’s father, who could go blissfully unnamed for the time being. She’d been gone for a long time, after all. Anything might have happened, with anyone. Those keeping track of her movements² would assume the boy’s father had been a Black Brotherhood assassin. They were often exceedingly pretty, which had always made Tyentso roll her eyes. (Assassins shouldn’t be pretty. Assassins should be unremarkable.)

She reached down and petted the boy’s hair. What once had been brown and straight was now an impossibly soft black cloudcurl, with just the faintest violet sheen to it. If one looked at his eyes, one would see they were deep wells of night—the endless void of D’Lorus black. Who knew where the boy had come from originally, but now? Anyone could tell, with a single glance, that his origins rested solidly with House D’Lorus.

Truly, Caless did amazing work.

Tyentso let herself feel a moment’s guilt for what she was about to do. The poor boy had committed no crime except having the bad luck to come to the attention of exactly the wrong people—namely, herself. He certainly didn’t deserve what was about to happen to him. She couldn’t fool herself: this was risky. She was putting this child in harm’s way, fully knowing that he might not survive the experience. Only the most craven of souls would stoop to take a baby and turn them into bait.

But Tyentso knew her father, and she knew his weaknesses. And anyway, she’d never made the mistake of thinking of herself as a good person. She knew better.

Tyentso promised herself that she’d make it up to the boy, when this was all done.

Assuming either of them survived.