61. FATHER ISSUES

Tyentso’s story

The imperial army bivouac, Khorvesh

The day after Vol Karoth’s escape, after breakfast

It was, perhaps, the shortest war to ever occur in Quuros history, if it could even be called a war at all. Still, Tyentso wasn’t naïve enough to think that a sudden declaration of peace would halt fighting that had been going on for well over a thousand years. So she’d spent most of the morning barking orders, teleporting across various parts of the empire cementing deals, and in general preparing to move the entire army yet again—this time to Jorat.

Havar was going to get his siege a lot earlier than he’d been expecting.

Her fiercely loyal, if not fanatical, logistics officers might have been willing to follow her every whim, but that didn’t mean they were happy about having to pack up and leave literally before they’d even finished settling in from their first move.

She was also trying to limit her time at the camp. Tyentso suspected she was feeling the curse less intensely than her troops precisely because she spent so much of her time teleporting around the empire instead of in camp. The effect didn’t seem to be following her, so she assumed that whatever was causing it moved with her troops rather than herself. She would start to worry when she found herself making excuses to stay.

At some point during all of that, she lost track of Qoran Milligreest.

“Where’s the high general?” she asked Caerowan.

“I’m not sure?” The Devoran priest looked around with concern, but not panic. It was a massive army camp, after all. The simplest explanation to his absence was just that he was busy elsewhere.

“Your Majesty, um…” A runner sprinted into the tent, holding a flat wood case. She was wild-eyed and clearly upset. “Someone … someone left this for you. You told us to watch out for anyone placing anything on your desk, but this just appeared. Out of nowhere. And—” The girl swallowed nervously.

“You already opened it,” Tyentso said.

“In case it was cursed,” the girl confessed. She threw herself on her knees. “I submit to any punishment Your Majesty feels is appropriate.”

Veils. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, stand up,” Tyentso ordered. She inhaled. Given the girl’s reaction, whatever this was, it was going to be bad.

She flipped open the box and stared.

Yes, it was bad. Extremely bad.

A severed human hand lay nestled in velvet as though it were a piece of jewelry. And if she’d had any doubts at all as to the original owner of said hand, the ring of office on his finger gave it away.

So no, the high general wasn’t just “busy elsewhere.”

Fuck, I’m sorry, Qoran, Tyentso said. A small note was tucked into the lid, and damn it all, but after so many years, she still recognized Gadrith’s handwriting.

It said: We’ll wait for you in the D’Lorus house library.

There was a great deal Gadrith could have spelled out but hadn’t: that if there was any sign of reinforcements, he’d kill Qoran. That if she ignored the message, he’d start sending pieces of the high general back until she stopped.

This was all understood.

She handed the box back to the messenger. “Take that to the physicker’s tent and tell them to cast every preservation spell they have on it. I’ll want it reunited with its owner as soon as I return with him.” She gestured to Caerowan, who had been staring at the severed hand with a look of fierce concentration. The little bastard was probably trying to recall which prophecy quatrain applied to this. “Get out.”

The small man startled. “Your Majesty?”

“I want to be alone,” she said firmly. “Go tell General Pelran he’s in charge until I return. He knows what needs to be done.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing quickly as he backed out of the tent.

Tyentso didn’t teleport directly to Alavel. Not right away. She had some preparations to make. The trick with reinforcements wasn’t to ignore them, it was to make sure Gadrith never detected them.

She tossed up spells, because she didn’t trust some enterprising aide—and that category most certainly included Caerowan—to eavesdrop.

“Jarith?” Tyentso said to the empty air when she finished. “Are you here?”

He was. He must have been waiting, because she’d barely uttered the words when he swirled into visibility.

**He has my family,** Jarith snarled. He sounded …

Tya help her. He sounded like he had his own personal demonic chorus backing him up, which she suspected was demonic telepathic shorthand for “seriously fucking angry.” If she’d ever doubted that he was a demon …

“Has he hurt anyone?” Tyentso immediately winced and raised a finger. “Besides your father. Which we will fix.”

**No. But I will destroy him for daring to touch them. For daring to share the same air as them. THEY ARE ALL ON MY LIST.**

Tyentso really wasn’t sure what the fuck that meant. List? This didn’t seem like the right time to ask for an extensive explanation. There was a damn good chance she wouldn’t have understood the answer, anyway. Jarith might be one of the “good” demons, but that didn’t mean the transformation hadn’t left him deeply weird. And creepy.

Also useful. She wasn’t complaining.

“I know,” Tyentso said. “But we talked about this. We had a plan. It’s still a good plan. It’s going to work.”

That seemed to calm him down, at least for the moment.

**What if it doesn’t work?**

“Well, then, go get Thurvishar and avenge my ass, obviously,” Tyentso snapped. “But I promise I won’t let your family be hurt.” Even as she said the words, she could only hope that she wouldn’t make herself a liar.

The angry shadows didn’t exactly stop lashing, but they moved a little slower.

**Then let’s go.**

Tyentso’s story

The D’Lorus estate at Alavel

Just after talking to Jarith

This particular D’Lorus property had always unimaginatively been called the schoolhouse, mostly because it stood on the school grounds rather than because classes had ever been taught there. The townhouse stood all but deserted. Just Tyentso and the shadows, and if one of those shadows was a little too dark and a little too animated? Well, nobody was around to notice.

Tyentso never had good memories of the place, not exactly, but some of them had been less terrible than others. Years on board a ship had made clean sheets and a large bed her definition of decadence, a yardstick that had given a burnished shine to recollections of luxurious baths and fruit with every meal. She’d also missed the pure bliss of having access to a library that large. Some of the books were technically hers too, part of her wedding dowry. She’d always assumed Gadrith was far more interested in the books she’d inherited from her adoptive father than he’d ever been in her.

In hindsight, she’d assumed too much.

She wondered if Gadrith had ever bothered to investigate her adoptive father’s death. If he realized that the dean’s error while summoning a demon hadn’t been a mistake at all. If he understood the lengths Tyentso had always, always, been willing to pursue while chasing revenge.

She would like to think Gadrith understood. She had, after all, willingly married the fucker, even knowing full well he was her own father, in the hopes of getting close enough to murder the man. And yes, yes, it had been a completely celibate marriage, with no incest ever occurring, but if she was being honest …

Well. If she was being honest, incest wouldn’t have stopped her from marrying him if it had meant she could hold that bastard’s heart in her hand and feel its last, feeble beats.

Yet as she walked through the house, shoes echoing against the fine parquet flooring, she had to wonder if he’d understood at all. But then she didn’t really understand what the fuck Gadrith hoped to accomplish here either. She’d expected Relos Var to make a move against her.

She hadn’t expected Gadrith—at least not until he’d given himself away.

Everyone was, as promised, in the library. Gadrith had warped the furniture, letting chair legs and wooden frames become manacles and bars. Jira looked furious (relatable), Kalindra very calm (terrifying), and Eledore was sleeping (and hopefully just that). Qoran … Qoran was trapped in an undignified position, arm still forcibly stretched out, but now missing the hand that should have been at the end. She made a point of giving the two children the tiniest, briefest glance before carefully avoiding looking anywhere in their direction. They were also tied up and looked as scared and pathetic as one could imagine. If she hadn’t already promised herself that she was absolutely going to kill Gadrith and make it stick this time, that would have been enough justification to make a go of it.

Every prisoner was covered in magical traps. Gadrith had thoughtfully made the wards especially phosphorescent and obvious, impossible to miss. The threat was clear: no sudden moves or spellcasting, or everyone died. There were more wards on the walls. The usual protections against fire in the library, more defenses designed to stop lightning (that felt directed at her specifically), but nothing to keep a magical portal from being opened.

So at least she could assume Havar D’Aramarin (or Murad or Nemesan or whoever) wasn’t directly in league with her father.

Gadrith himself sat at a table facing toward the door, reading a book. He had set up a defensive aura so strong it was visible a full two feet out from his body. If she was reading the marks right, it would melt any sword that crossed its threshold and set the holder on fire besides. (That felt directed at all the Khorveshans in the room.)

Gadrith barely glanced up as Tyentso walked into the room. “You’re late.”

Tyentso ignored him and instead focused her attention on the high general. “Seriously, Qoran? How do you fall into a trap this obvious?” Only when he glared at her in lieu of an answer did Tyentso notice the way his lips seemed glued together. Some sort of spell to keep him from talking.

Gadrith scoffed. “The same way you did, I imagine, because someone you care about is in danger. It’s very predictable.”

“So congratulations. You got me here. Now what do you want?”

A small portal with an unclear destination opened up a few feet away from her. “First,” Gadrith said, “I want you to remove the Crown and Scepter and toss them into that. Nothing in my research indicates that they’ll teleport instantly to your side, just instantly to the Arena if you die. Then…” He shrugged. “I want what I’ve always wanted. Urthaenriel. You have it. Give it to me. Then I’ll leave.”

Tyentso stared at him. Gadrith was far from expressionless, particularly to those who knew him. And what she was sensing from him at that moment wasn’t apathy but frustration. Even, dare she say, a certain amount of helpless rage.

“Oh,” she said. “This is still being done for Relos Var, isn’t it? He brought you back from the dead just to play fetch for him.” She raised a finger. “Smart. A good leader knows how to delegate.”

He snarled. “I would have been a fool not to take the opportunity, regardless of its source. But we’re not here to catch up on gossip, daughter. Crown, Scepter, sword. Now.”

She almost laughed. Oh, that must have chafed. To be pulled back from the Afterlife, stuffed back into his old, thoroughly inferior dead body, only to find that he owed his third chance at grotesque villainy to his most hated enemy.

“Raverí,” Jira growled,1 “just get me out of this and I’ll gladly help you gut this bastard.” She struggled against the wooden arms wrapped around her limbs.

Tyentso barely glanced at her. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but do shut up before you get people killed.”

Jira scowled, but she also fell silent.

Good enough. Once Gadrith lost his patience—which would happen any second now—he’d start killing people. He’d probably start with Qoran, gods help the poor man, because there was a certain way in which Gadrith was and always had been perpetually chained to the past. A past where Tyentso had been desperately in love with Qoran and had naïvely assumed that he’d run away with her just because he loved her back. Gadrith was already dead (for the first time) when Tyentso had learned the hard way that she’d been mistaken about that. Her father had also missed out on her spending the next twenty years on the run because of it.

That sort of thing would rub the gloss off any affair.

“Don’t pay any attention to her. She’s still upset about losing her son,” Tyentso said. She very pointedly didn’t look at the children, not even when one of them decided he’d rested enough to begin crying anew.

And finally … finally … it drew Gadrith’s attention.

“Who’s the second child?” he asked, frowning.

“No one important,” Kalindra spat out. “Just a playmate we brought to keep Nikali company.” She threw a look at Tyentso so venomous that she wanted to check herself for wounds.

Perfect. Kalindra might have played the part better if Tyentso had coached her, but she wouldn’t have bet metal on it.

“He’s a D’Lorus,” Gadrith murmured, looking puzzled. “I didn’t think Thurvishar was interested in…” His gaze snapped back to Tyentso. “Never mind. So you’ve finally given me a grandson after all this time? I admit to being surprised.”

Tyentso didn’t react except with a glare.

The second boy began crying too. She wasn’t entirely certain if the new voice was Nikali’s or Tyrin’s. “Someone wants his mother,” Gadrith commented.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tyentso said from behind clenched teeth. It wasn’t hard to give her father a hateful stare. That didn’t even require acting.

Gadrith presented her with a rare smile. “Yes, you do. Now let’s stop playing games. I’ve changed my mind about who I’ll punish for your willfulness.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if in pain. Then she swept the circlet off her brow and tossed both Crown and Scepter into the portal mouth, which snapped shut.

A shadow against a bookcase, one out of Gadrith’s line of sight, slid away and vanished.

“Better,” her father said. “Now the sword.”

“I’ll have to cast a portal spell of my own,” Tyentso warned. “I don’t carry the fucking thing on me.”

“Let me remind you that I know what a portal spell looks like,” Gadrith said in response. “Do not deviate.”

She didn’t. This part would be played straight now that she’d confirmed Gadrith was Relos Var’s unwilling pawn.

She opened a portal midair; a small, dark sword fell through. She’d known she’d have to transport the damn thing. Fuck if she was going to keep it in such a way that she’d ever have to touch it. Urthaenriel landed on the ground with a rather anticlimactic thunk. Tyentso waved a hand and appeared to close the portal.

She didn’t. She just made it invisible. Keeping it open was hell on her tenyé reserves, of course. She’d never have managed it before, even if she’d been able to cast that spell. The rules had changed now that she was emperor. She was reasonably sure that the god-kings or the Immortals themselves had access to larger reserves of tenyé, but damn if she wasn’t right up there in those ranks. And if that Havar D’Aramarin bastard was good with gates, she’d bet metal that Grizzst, the man who’d created the Crown and Scepter, had been better.

Gadrith picked up Urthaenriel, the artifact he’d spent two lifetimes chasing in vain.

Third time’s the charm, Tyentso supposed. What she was really curious about was why on both worlds Relos Var thought that Gadrith would just hand Godslayer over now that he had it. She saw the moment when Gadrith had the same thought.

She also saw the moment he flinched.

Fuck if she didn’t know exactly what that was. Gaeshe had been her damn business for sixteen years, not even counting the four she’d spent trapped on a tropical island with Kihrin D’Mon. She knew the signs.

Relos Var hadn’t just used Grimward to bring Gadrith back as a free agent. Relos Var had gaeshed him.

Tyentso’s mouth twisted as she contemplated if it might be possible to get her father caught up in a gaesh loop. Possible, but probably not wise to plan on it. Relos Var was unlikely to give easily twistable orders, and Gadrith knew too much about how gaeshe worked.

Gadrith dropped the sword as if it had become molten. Then he pulled a robin’s egg out from his robes and crushed it in his hand.

Nothing happened.

Gadrith sat down again.

The two boys quieted, still tired from the first round, but honestly, Tyentso would rather have had them crying or asleep. Cruel, she realized, but far less likely for the little boy she’d basically kidnapped to reveal that not only was Tyentso not his mother but he’d never even seen her before.

It was admittedly one of the larger flaws in her plan.

Fortunately, Relos Var’s reaction to the signal was fast, even if it wasn’t instant. Only a few minutes passed before a shining portal shimmered up out of nothingness and spat out …

Someone who wasn’t Relos Var. Two someones, in fact, neither of whom was the wizard. Both were young men who varied in attractiveness from exceptionally pretty to “no one would blame you for breaking up with your lover to run off with him” pretty.

Gadrith seemed equally nonplussed. “He couldn’t even be bothered to come himself?”

The younger of the two men smiled. Said younger man was in his midtwenties, perhaps? His manner made him seem older, but Tyentso always looked at the hands. He had a young man’s hands. His dress was Quuros, but not particularly identifiable as belonging to any Royal House. The clothing wasn’t fancy, except for the boots, which probably cost as much as everything else he wore combined. The second man scratched at an itch of recognition—someone she’d probably only met once or twice, and not recently—but she was positive she’d never met the really pretty one.

Then said really pretty one started to speak. Tyentso’s eyes widened. That was still Relos Var’s voice. She had to look across the Veil to confirm it, but damn if that wasn’t the wizard himself.

“Don’t be offended, Gadrith,” Relos Var said. “I did come myself. Some things are just that important.” He held up a hand, from which dangled a silver chain and small silver skull. “And in case you have any doubts as to my identity, allow me to assure you that I’m still the one who holds your gaesh.” His smile was ice cold.

Gadrith took in the man’s appearance and gave a disdainful sniff.

Relos Var sighed at his companion. “No one takes me seriously looking like this, Anlyr. Honestly, I should have transitioned to my normal appearance the last time I switched back from being a dragon.”

The man shrugged. “No judgment from me. That shit hurts.”

Var gestured toward the sword. “Would you be so kind as to do the honors, Anlyr?”

Anlyr grinned. “It’s why I’m here.” He picked up the sword and made a face. “Ah, this bitch again. But hey, it’s the right one. I’m surprised. I expected at least a little trickery. Although I guess he can’t, can he? Whoops.”

While Anlyr picked up Godslayer, Relos Var’s gaze wandered over the other people in the room. He raised an eyebrow at the high general’s missing hand but made no other comment. Then he frowned as he stared at the children.² His gaze shifted from the boys, over to Tyentso, and then back again. He took note of the missing Crown and Scepter. Then he made a tiny, amused noise from somewhere deep in his chest and turned back to Gadrith.

“You’ve done well,” he told the undead wizard, in exactly the same tone of voice that a teacher might use to praise a student who had finally managed to pass a very basic exam.

“I don’t care about your approval.” Gadrith held out his hand. “You promised to return my gaesh.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Relos Var said amiably. “But as I trust you as much as I trust the sun to spin backward, I think I’ll hold on to this for a while longer. I have no more time for your games. You will not interfere with my plans again.”

Gadrith scowled as he visibly flinched in response to what had clearly been a command given to the gaesh. “You’re going back on your word?”

“After all that I have done, this is what surprises you?” Relos Var shook his head. “I had such high hopes for you once. Really, I did.”

“So is that why you brought me back? Revenge?” Gadrith looked more curious than upset, now that he’d recovered from his earlier flash of embarrassing naïveté.

“Not at all,” Relos Var explained. “You’re a proficient wizard; I didn’t have to bring you up to speed. You already know all the players, and you know both why Urthaenriel is important and how to deal with the sword. Why recreate the horse when I already own a saddle?”³

“I hate you,” Gadrith said, with more emotion than Tyentso had witnessed from the man in all the time she’d known him.⁴

“Yes. The feeling’s mutual. But you did your part and even did it reasonably well. So I won’t kill you today as a professional courtesy.” And then the bastard gave Tyentso an amused look, as if to say, “Can you believe this fool?”

Tyentso had to admit it was pretty naïve to think that Relos Var was going to give up a perfectly good gaeshed wizard like that. Even more naïve to think Relos Var would do it when the wizard in question was the man who’d murdered Relos Var’s son.

Tyentso suspected revenge had at least a little to do with this fuckery, no matter how hard Relos Var denied it. Family seemed important to him too. If Relos Var always targeted family, it was only because that was his own weakness.⁵

It also occurred to her that if Relos Var decided to take his new pet wizard with him when he left, then Gadrith might just survive to see another day. Because even if she had felt like fighting Relos Var—which she didn’t—doing so wasn’t what Kihrin wanted.

Then Gadrith gestured toward the prisoners. “And are any of them necessary to your plans?”

Tyentso narrowed her eyes. Gadrith, you petty motherfucker.

“Not in the least.” Relos Var opened up another portal. His spellwork was annoyingly graceful. Before he and Anlyr left by it, he said, “Catch up with us in Marakor when you’re finished.”

Which sounded a lot like permission.

The gate closed behind Relos Var, and Gadrith turned back to them. His black eyes were cold with all the anger he hadn’t been able to take out on his “master.”

“So. Where shall we start?” Gadrith asked.