57. MURDERERS AND HEALERS

Galen’s story

The Manol Jungle

Just after arrival

Therin had shaved his beard.

Galen had a difficult time imagining a more inane or unimportant first impression in the grand scheme of things. He’d shaved his beard. Sure. Why not? It’s not like there was some damn law that said that Therin D’Mon had to have a beard. Most royals shaved or paid for the magic that made it unnecessary. Yet it was the first thought that came into his head. That his grandfather had shaved the stupid beard, and without it, he looked twenty years younger. He was dressed like a vané too, in layered silks that were nothing like what a Quuros royal would wear. Therin fit in perfectly; he looked like a native, so much so that Galen almost hadn’t recognized him.

The resemblance to Kihrin was especially obvious, now that Galen was looking for it, although most people could have been forgiven for assuming Therin was an older brother.

His grandfather’s expression tightened at Galen’s greeting. He looked every bit as pleased to see Galen as Galen felt about the situation. “What are you doing here?”

Gods. Galen’s hands felt clammy. The desire to stare at the floor while he stammered out some explanation, an apology, an excuse, nearly overwhelmed him.

Galen forced himself to meet his grandfather’s accusing gaze. “That’s not important—”

“I asked you a question—”

“And I’m telling you it doesn’t matter!” Galen growled. “Senera’s dying. Are you going to help or not?”

Galen had expected his grandfather to demand to know who the hell Senera was, but apparently the man wasn’t oblivious to who Kihrin’s allies were. The former high lord stared past Galen to where Qown and Thurvishar hovered over Senera’s body. Fayrin and Sheloran stood there with the rigid anxiety of people who wanted to help and couldn’t. Therin motioned forward the vané he’d brought with him. They carried a stretcher and had evidently come prepared to deal with injuries.

“Oh Veils,” Therin said. “Was it demons?” He rushed past Galen to bend down next to Thurvishar, then barked another order. Two more vané ran off, in a great deal more of a hurry than the original guard.

“No. Relos Var,” Thurvishar said. He didn’t look great himself, what with the blood and all, but he could talk, and he was conscious. “In dragon form. He breathed fire and…” Thurvishar closed his eyes for a second.

“I’m keeping her from dying of shock,” Qown said, “but these burns are bad. I don’t know—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Galen caught a glimpse of Senera and had to turn away, fighting back bile. He couldn’t recognize her. Even her hair had burned away. Her clothing had melted. It was hard to imagine how she could possibly be alive.

“We need to move her,” Therin said.

“Where’s Mi—?” Galen stopped himself. Not Miya. Not anymore. “Where’s Khaeriel?” He loathed how his voice broke on the name.

“This isn’t the time for that,” Therin snapped.

Galen wanted to grind his teeth. He wanted to scream. Instead, he stayed calm and reasonable and said, “Last I checked, she was still the best physicker in House D’Mon. We could use that skill right now.”

His grandfather turned back to him in surprise. It wasn’t difficult to guess that Therin had expected a different sort of conversation about the woman. Therin’s throat moved as if he were swallowing something, and then he nodded. “She’ll meet us upstairs.” Then he was concentrating on Senera, on helping Qown with whatever magics he was doing. Therin was, after all, a talented healer himself.

“Blue,” Sheloran whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever it takes,” he whispered back. He didn’t have time to say anything more before the vané were rushing Senera upstairs, leaving the rest to follow as best they could.

“Thank you,” Thurvishar said. The dog was sitting at his feet, looking up the stairs with obvious longing, but for whatever reason not leaving Thurvishar’s side.

Galen didn’t know what the man was thanking him for. He hadn’t done anything. It’s not like he was a healer, a fact he was regretting more and more of late. Galen gave the wizard a once-over. Still covered in blood, still favoring one arm. He didn’t think Qown had fully healed it—it just hadn’t been as important as dealing with Senera’s injuries. None of that, though, was as bad as the numb look on Thurvishar’s face. The one that clearly suggested just how broken he was going to be if Senera didn’t pull through.

Galen had no idea what they would do if she didn’t make it. The plan didn’t hinge on her by any means, but he feared her death would be the blow that made all the others impossible to dodge.

“Let’s catch up with the others,” Fayrin suggested. “I don’t think we want to fall so far behind we end up in the hands of vané who didn’t hear the news that we’re guests.”

“Are we guests?” Galen asked. Just because they were helping didn’t mean they were welcome.

“Yes,” Thurvishar said with gratifying certainty. “But Fayrin’s right. Let’s not fall behind.”

---

Galen didn’t get a good look at wherever they’d ended up. It was the middle of the night, and they’d been in a rush. He’d seen glowing objects and light sources off in the distance, but he hadn’t been paying attention. He was sure that they were wondrous and magical and so beautiful he’d remember it until the end of his days—if only he’d been looking.

Galen didn’t care. He was busy.

The vané were surprisingly gracious. Much more so than any Quuros Royal House would have been to a group of foreigners showing up in the middle of the night, unannounced and making demands. They’d been taken someplace that Galen didn’t think was the vané equivalent of a Blue House, if only because it was too pretty, too richly appointed, too luxurious. People wearing clothing embroidered with elaborate designs of stars and trees brought food—edible, if nothing Galen recognized. They also brought something that wasn’t tea or coffee but was clearly meant to take on the same role. As much as Galen didn’t want to eat, the smell reminded him that he hadn’t done so in a long time and he should fix that situation while he could.

Thurvishar had vanished. Galen suspected he was helping with the healing in some manner, if perhaps only in providing tenyé for the others. The dog had gone with him.

Those who remained—Galen, Fayrin, Sheloran—ate in silence. Sheloran managed to swallow a few bites before she stood again, looking nauseated. She spent the next few minutes examining the meticulously forged candelabras in the room, twisted to look like trees, with mage-lights instead of candles. Knowing his wife, she was identifying the metal, if for no other reason than to keep her mind off the situation. And also in case they needed weapons.

“I don’t—” Fayrin inhaled. “Why did Relos Var attack us?”

“I’m not sure he did,” Galen said. “I think he was just destroying a place we might have used for shelter, and he didn’t much care if we happened to be there or not at the time.” Galen felt a horrible, dark bubble of laughter escape him. “We took some of his toys away, so he did the same to us.”

“How equitable of him.”

“Sure,” Galen said, “and if I ever—”

The door opened. His grandfather walked through, looking a little tired but, much more importantly, looking pleased.

Galen all but ran over to him. “Is Senera going to be all right?”

Therin nodded. “Yes, she is. Fortunately, you had a healer with her at the scene immediately, and your friend did all the right things. She’s going to be fine—”

Galen punched him.

He hadn’t planned it. Not really. It just occurred to Galen that he’d been waiting for years to show his grandfather exactly how he felt about him. It was entirely possible that he’d never have a chance to do so again. Galen couldn’t think of a better, more efficient way to express his opinion than the punch to the jaw his grandfather so richly deserved—although in hindsight, he really should have blackened one of those blue eyes.

It felt so good too. The look of surprise on the damn bastard’s face, the way his head flung backward. And then while Therin was distracted reacting to the blow, Galen held his hand out to the side, palm up. He hoped Sheloran was paying attention so he wouldn’t look like a fool.

Thankfully, his wife had been, and she followed his lead perfectly. He felt cool metal touch his fingers as Sheloran melted one of the candelabras and re-formed it as a sword in his hand. How many times had they practiced that move in case their enemies took his weapons? He had to say, it worked like a charm.

Worth it for the look in Therin’s eyes when he righted himself from the punch only to realize Galen now held a blade to his throat.

“Um…,” Fayrin said from somewhere behind him.

“Councilman Jhelora,” Galen said lightly, “I need the room, if you don’t mind. My grandfather and I are having a conversation.”

“Right,” Fayrin said. “Well. Far be it from me to get in the way of a proper family reunion. I’ll just, uh … see how Senera’s doing, why don’t I?”

“Galen—” Therin started to say.

Galen’s fingers tightened on the hilt. In eighteen years, that was the first time he’d ever heard his grandfather say his name with anything that even approached respect.

“Perhaps I should go too,” Sheloran said. She stopped by Galen’s side for long enough to kiss his shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Blue.”

His breath stuttered, and he almost cursed her. Because there was a lot that Sheloran wouldn’t do that Galen easily might have and because he’d long since come to understand that her opinion mattered to him. Along with Qown and Kihrin and not too many others.

And none of them would want him to hurt his grandfather, no matter how much the son of a bitch deserved it.

The air was thick and hot and still as the two other people left, leaving Galen and Therin alone.

The moment the door closed, Galen took a step back, tossed the improvised sword to the side, and stalked away.

“Galen, that was hardly necessary,” Therin said. “Let me explain—”

Galen turned back. “Explain? Explain to me how you can possibly justify running away to the Manol with the woman who murdered your entire family?” He paused just long enough to scoff. “She was your slave. Yet how is it that you’re the only one she didn’t kill? We thought you’d been kidnapped, but I have to say, you don’t look very kidnapped to me. You look like you’re having a great time. But go on. Explain it to me. I fucking dare you.”

Therin walked over to the table, sat down, and put his head in his hands.

Galen found that he was so angry he was shaking. And somehow even angrier that Therin hadn’t started shouting back. Galen wanted him to. He wanted the bastard to care enough to start yelling about it. But Therin never yelled, did he? He just retreated and let people—Darzin, Miya—do whatever they wanted.

“How is … how is everyone…?”

“Dead,” Galen snapped.

Therin looked up, startled.

“Dead,” Galen repeated with feeling. “There might be a few cousins who survived the last couple of months, I don’t know. I was only Returned because my wife has family who give a shit about her, which meant Shel was alive to file the petition for me. Aunt Tishenya was starting to Return some of the family, the ones that wouldn’t be a threat—for example, my sisters are fine. Aunt Tishenya sent them to the estate in Kirpis. But there were a lot of family still waiting in that line when Thaena died. And then that was that.”

His grandfather inhaled, a shuddering, sharp breath.

Galen knew he was sneering. He knew his expression was something dark and ugly. He wrapped it around himself like a thin silk robe—cold and slithering and hiding absolutely nothing. “Then,” Galen said, “Aunt Tishenya was murdered by your other daughter Gerisea while she was trying to assassinate me, which means it’s probably just as well that you don’t give a fuck about your family, because guess what? You don’t have one anymore. All your children are dead—”

He couldn’t stop himself. Galen couldn’t shove that sentence back down his throat no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how hard he choked on it.

Galen knew he’d made a mistake the moment he saw his grandfather’s brow draw together, his blue eyes turn hard and calculating.

“Except Kihrin, you mean,” Therin corrected.

A beat of silence hung in the air.

“… Except Kihrin,” Galen agreed. And because he had to do something, cover for his slip somehow, he added, “Sometimes, I forget that he’s your son and not my brother.”

Therin scoffed as he looked down at his hands. Galen didn’t let himself relax, although he thought his grandfather was buying that explanation. For the moment.

“I can’t make excuses—” Therin started to say.

“You’re right about that.”

“Would you shut up and let me finish?” His grandfather glared at him before his expression settled into something more introspective. “I can’t make excuses. And I realize that sorry is insufficient in the extreme. But I am sorry. I just … I didn’t realize how miserable I was in Quur until I left.”

“And so you ran away from all your responsibilities, from everyone who was depending on you.”

“Don’t give me that!” Therin snapped. “As if you wouldn’t have been perfectly happy to run away with Kihrin the very first chance you had! You did, in fact, try to do exactly that!”

“I was a fourteen-year-old boy who was being beaten by my father whenever the mood took him, which was pretty fucking often. So yes, I tried to run away with the first person to show me some basic decency. Whereas you didn’t have a gods-damn thing wrong with your life that wasn’t of your own making!” Probably anyone standing outside the room or in the same hallway, possibly in the same building, could hear him shouting.

And again, he didn’t care.

Therin rubbed his jaw where a satisfying purple bruise was forming. He wouldn’t look at Galen.

“You left me to pick up the pieces,” Galen said, “even though you never made any secret of how I wasn’t good enough to do the job.”

“No.” Therin turned back to face him then. His gaze was a broken, wounded thing. “No, that’s not what I said. I never said you weren’t good enough.”

“Liar!” Galen screamed.

“I said you were too nice to do the job.” Therin’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Too kind. Which I thought meant weak, because I was a fool. I was wrong.”

Galen could only stare at him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t …

His eyes were stinging. Galen raised a hand to his face and realized he was crying. He thought Therin would say something. Chide him. Make some kind of comment about how crying was unmanly.

Instead, he did something that Galen wouldn’t have predicted if he’d waited until the stars blinked out in the sky. Therin stepped forward and hugged him.

It was too much. It was everything. Galen had wanted this his entire life, knowing he could never ask and it would never be offered. Just one of the many reasons his father had pronounced him weak. Why his grandfather had never once defended him.

Galen’s instinct was to push his grandfather away. For a split second, he started to. Then he realized what he was about to do and how Darzin would have approved of the rejection. So instead, he threw his arms around his grandfather and let himself cry.

He wasn’t precisely sure how long they stayed like that.

Finally, Galen stepped back, rubbing his eyes sheepishly.

Therin just handed him a cloth to wipe his eyes. “I’ve done so many things I regret, Galen. It’s a long, long list. And there came a point where I just … couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t live that life. And I would be such a hypocrite for insisting Khaeriel face justice for her crimes when I never did. I had a choice, and I chose selfishly. It’s the one thing I don’t regret.”

Galen’s one consolation was that his grandfather’s eyes were wet too. Galen hadn’t been the only one crying.

Galen wiped his eyes. He felt empty. Flayed. “So you’re fine with this? Just moving down to the Manol and becoming Queen Khaeriel’s…” He searched for a word that wouldn’t be horrible, failed, and settled on what he hoped was the least offensive. “… Concubine?”

Therin laughed. “Sort of the reverse. She’s not queen anymore. Whereas I’m next in line for the throne.”

Galen stared at him. “I’m sorry … What did you just say?”

Therin cleared his throat. “Um, well, Doc died…” His face twisted, and Galen thought his grandfather might be the one to break down crying that time. As it was, Therin took a deep breath and visibly clenched his jaw before continuing. “I mean, King Terindel died, which made his only living child, Teraeth, the new king. But Teraeth doesn’t have any children of his own, so if anything were to happen to him, the crown would default to the oldest of the descendants of Terindel’s deceased daughter. My grandmother.”

Galen rubbed the side of his head. “You’re serious?”

“To my chagrin, yes,” Therin said. “Khaeriel’s furious about it, but I’m trying to bring her around to the idea that maybe she’s earned a break from politics.”

“What does … what does that make me?” Galen asked in a small, numb voice.

Therin almost smiled. “Last I checked? Fourth in line for the vané throne. Right after Kihrin. You might want to learn the language.”

“But I’m not vané…?” That no one seemed to be paying attention to that fact was deeply disturbing.

“There’s not as much difference as we’ve been led to believe.” Therin gestured toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go check on your friends and let your wife know that you didn’t murder me, after all.”

Galen was still sniffling, but it didn’t stop him from narrowing his eyes at Therin. “Don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you. Either of you.”

Therin nodded as though he’d expected that. The bastard didn’t look deterred. He also didn’t look like he was taking Galen’s threat even slightly seriously. Probably because of all the crying. Bastard. “That’s fair. We’ve more than earned it.”