62. CHILDHOOD FRIENDS

Senera’s story

The Mother of Trees, the Manol Jungle

The morning after Relos Var’s attack on Grizzst’s Tower

When Senera woke, she recognized where she had to be: the Mother of Trees.

She’d never been in the royal palace before, although she knew from her previous visit that a great many of the dwellings in the vané city could only be described with words like palatial and breathtaking. They were different from the Quuros palaces, though. It was difficult to put her finger on exactly what the differences were; then she realized that for one, they were not color-coded (as almost all the Quuros palaces were), to show with a glance which Royal House controlled them. And there was an elegance to these chambers that spoke of time. Huge swaths of time in a millennia-old city that had only once known war, whose citizens prided themselves on their skill in magic, art, and craftsmanship. People willing to spend centuries decorating a single room.

She didn’t know for certain she was even in the royal palace, but she guessed so, largely based on the people in the room with her. Also, the fact that she had initially thought she was outside, lying on a bed incongruously situated under a wide-limbed oak tree, leaves rustling under a golden sun.

Which seemed a ludicrous place for a recovery bed, so it must have been an illusion.

Her hand felt warm. She looked down and saw Thurvishar was holding it. Cradling it really, like it might break if he dared let it drop. He looked terrible. He must not have slept, although someone had finished healing him and must have made him change into something other than black. Gold looked good on him.

“Why does my skin hurt?” Senera said, then winced, because the act of asking the question had brought both the obvious answer and more questions besides. She remembered the fire breaching the walls of the tower, rushing at her …

Before she could stop herself, she’d lifted her free hand to touch her face. But she didn’t feel burns or bandages. She wasn’t wearing her old clothing but rather a thin silk gown. No wounds of any kind. Just normal skin, although unusually soft.

“Your skin was damaged,” Khaeriel told her sternly. “So we were forced to replace it. Along with several other organs.” The former vané queen was doing something with herbs on a table set up to the side of the surreal meadow. She was dressed very plainly compared to the vané styles Senera remembered—nothing more than several simple layers of dark red robes that would do a fantastic job of hiding the bloodstains.

“My eyes hurt too.”

“And your mouth, throat, and lungs, I should imagine. Perhaps you were not directly in the path of the flames, but you must have been close.”

“Just how much did you replace—”

“You don’t want to know,” Thurvishar said.

“You’re going to be fine,” Qown added. “Like you were never injured at all.”

Senera looked around the room. Or what she assumed was a room. She just refused to assume that the vané equivalent of a hospital was an open meadow that couldn’t possibly exist anywhere within the borders of the Manol Jungle. The illusion was so damn obvious Senera had to assume it wasn’t meant to fool anyone. This was just someone’s idea of a peaceful recovery room.

Khaeriel carefully set a ceramic cup into her hand. “Drink this. It will taste awful. There’s no help for it.”

“She’s been dousing all of us with the stuff,” Thurvishar explained. “Apparently, we were all poisoned to some degree. I’m sorry about your agolé. I know it was one of your favorites, but they had to destroy all our clothes.”

Senera paused with the cup at her lip. Yes, of course. She had known, on some distant intellectual level, that Relos Var’s dragon fire was poisonous. He’d warned her often enough to stay away from locations where he’d used it. Something similar to razarras poisoning—an invisible rot that might still kill days or months after exposure. Senera found herself extraordinarily glad that someone had thought to check for it.

“Thank you,” Senera murmured and finished the cup in one long gulp. Khaeriel had been right: it was awful.

“What a novel change of pace to have a patient who does the sensible thing without arguing,” Khaeriel said. “Now if you will all excuse me, I plan to be elsewhere when the rest of your friends arrive. Lovely seeing you again, Senera.” She managed to convey the impression of all but running from the room without ever walking faster than an elegant saunter. The illusion was confirmed. She didn’t cross the meadow so much as move a few dozen steps and simply vanish. Presumably having closed the door behind her.

Qown stared after the woman, confused. “Why was she in such a hurry to leave?”

Thurvishar cleared his throat. “Qown, that was Kihrin’s mother.”

Qown’s bewildered expression didn’t change.

“The woman who murdered Galen and Sheloran,” Senera elaborated.

“Oh light!” Qown turned in the direction the woman had gone, now thoroughly appalled. “But she was so helpful … Senera, you’re friends with her?”

Senera raised an eyebrow at the former Vishai priest until he finally realized how incredibly stupid that question was. He flushed red and became even more flustered. Sweet, in its way. Apparently, someone had forgotten that when it came to mass murder, Khaeriel was an amateur.

Whereas Senera was a professional.

As if to underline that first time she and Qown had encountered each other, she heard Rebel whistle at her. A moment later, the dhole, Fayrin, Galen, Sheloran, and surprisingly, Therin and Valathea entered the room.

“Ray-Ray!” Fayrin called out. “How are you feeling? I have no idea what’s going on, but I suspect I’ll just have to cope.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Last night’s a bit of a blur, but I’m pretty sure I’ve missed a few things.”

Senera levered herself up on the bed with Thurvishar’s help and scooted over to the side to make room for Rebel. The dhole leaned against her body and gave her sad eyes while whipping her tail against Senera’s legs.

“All right,” Senera said. “We should gather everyone together. We need to talk.”

Teraeth’s story

The Mother of Trees

Breakfast

“So how much do you think Relos Var’s figured out?” Teraeth asked everyone.

The group that gathered was large, so much so that the impressively enormous royal rooms felt normal-size by comparison. It was only after Teraeth, Janel, Xivan, and Talea had left the royal suite in search of breakfast they could bring back to Talon (who couldn’t leave the royal suite for fear of triggering the mimic wards again) that they discovered their friends had arrived in the middle of the night. With Senera so badly injured that it hadn’t been certain she’d live.1

But she had, and since the subjects of vané healing typically fell into one of two categories (“perfectly fine” or “dead”), she was also capable of walking on her own and joining them. The fact that Thurvishar insisted on carrying her anyway was, frankly, hilarious. The dog was there too, because apparently at some point earlier, a well-meaning vané had tried to shut the dog out, at which point Rebel had simply eaten her way through a magical, solid-wood door and joined them, anyway. Teraeth suspected any attempts to keep Thurvishar away from Senera would meet with a similar fate—although one with more explosions.²

Teraeth wasn’t certain about the wisdom of including everyone in the room, especially since Valathea couldn’t cover them all using Chainbreaker. He would have preferred leaving Therin out, but given that the main point of discussion was resurrecting Doc, he had to allow that was unrealistic.

Fortunately, Qown insisted that he knew how to counter Worldhearth’s scrying ability. Between Senera, Thurvishar, and Valathea, there were so many illusions slathered over their location that he suspected even Argas himself would’ve had trouble finding them. It was as good as they were probably going to get without holding the meeting in the Afterlife.

Which was tempting.

Senera had vouched for Fayrin, but Teraeth saw no reason why they should trust the man. Unfortunately, Thurvishar and Senera both wanted to debrief Fayrin, so he was there too, if mostly doing a good job of sitting quietly in a corner and impersonating someone with a painful hangover.

At least Teraeth had been able to keep Khaeriel out of the room. He suspected that had more to do with Galen and Sheloran being present than his own commanding authority.

“Relos Var knows about Drehemia and the Name of All Things,” Galen said. “He also knows Senera’s switched sides, and he knows the Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor’s been destroyed.”

Xivan straightened in her seat. “Destroyed? When did that happen?”

Senera sighed as she dug her thumbs into her temples. “I imagine when Vol Karoth escaped his prison. The two locations were linked.”

A whole lot of people who had previously been very quiet all started asking questions, all at once.

“Stop.” Janel held up a hand. “I can see that we’re going to need to lay some ground rules. First, we’re not going to explain everything. We don’t have time. There is a lot going on right now. The fewer people who know certain things, the better. It’s not an insult, it’s not that I don’t trust you—”

“Although in some cases, it actually is that we don’t trust you,” Teraeth corrected, then ducked to the side when “Kihrin” slapped his arm.

“Not helping,” Janel singsonged back. “Anyway, we know why the Lighthouse is gone. I’m assuming Relos Var does not?” She glanced at Galen, Sheloran, and Qown for confirmation.

“No, he doesn’t know,” Qown said.

Teraeth exhaled. That was good. It wasn’t a long leap from figuring out exactly what had happened to the Lighthouse to realizing that they must have done something to Vol Karoth himself.

“He already knew about Drehemia,” Galen said. “He wasn’t as surprised as he should have been.”

“Oh, he absolutely already knew,” Janel said. “He must have felt it the moment Drehemia gained her sanity back. Or he’s just that good at tracking. We came across the Lash in the Afterlife. She’s dead—for real this time. He killed her and reclaimed Grimward and Drehemia. I don’t know that he would have had time to do that after he left you, but he certainly would have had time before.”

“Anlyr made a comment about a girl,” Galen said to Qown. “And Relos Var shushed him, remember?”

Qown nodded, then his eyes went wide, and he stood. “Oh! Oh, I almost forgot. I’d figured something out just before Anlyr kidnapped me, but I never had a chance to tell anyone—namely, someone’s been using Warmonger on the Capital or at least the Quuros army. I don’t know if people noticed how short-tempered everyone was? That’s one of the symptoms.”

“Warmonger?” It was almost funny how at least three different people said that simultaneously. Valathea, Thurvishar, and Senera all looked at each other.

Thurvishar gestured to Valathea. “After you.”

Valathea inclined her head. “Thank you. Warmonger is a problem. Of all the Cornerstones, it has the broadest area of effect. Perhaps not an entire nation when we’re talking about an empire the size of Quur but certainly an entire dominion. It does indeed make everyone short-tempered. Also fanatically loyal, paranoid, and cruel. While under its effects, people report feeling invincible and are prone to high-risk behavior. It’s not entirely unwarranted. You’ll heal faster, to the point of actual regeneration, as well as experience increased strength, endurance, and general combat ability. An army under the effects of Warmonger is nearly unstoppable.”

“Why…” Sheloran wrinkled her nose. “Why would Relos Var want the Quuros army to be nearly unstoppable? Tyentso doesn’t even like him.”

“Because, as I said, it makes you prone to high-risk behavior,” Senera said. “You stop thinking strategically. But mostly—” She sighed. “Mostly because of what happens when you take the stone away. Because Warmonger is addictive. Once they remove Warmonger, we’ll all be able to experience the unique pleasure of watching an entire country simultaneously go into withdrawal.” She tilted her head in Fayrin Jhelora’s direction. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly, Ray-Ray? I feel like shit,” Fayrin said.

“Ray-Ray?” Thurvishar asked. “That’s really his nickname for you?”

Senera sighed. “We have so many more important things to talk about.”

“Oh no,” Kihrin said, holding up a hand. “I think we need to discuss this.”

“She’s Ray-Ray, and I’m Fay-Fay,” Fayrin offered with the excessive false cheer of someone pretending they weren’t nursing a terrible headache. “Because we’re twins.”

Everyone paused. Fayrin was visibly a full-blood Quuros man. Senera was … Senera. Descended from white-skinned Doltari stock. Rarely had there ever existed two people who seemed less related to each other.

Senera pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’re not twins. We did grow up together. And it’s not what we need to be concentrating on right now.” She held up a hand. “How many of the Cornerstones does Relos Var have? Warmonger, Grimward, and Worldhearth. We don’t know if he reclaimed Skyfire, and the Name of All Things is no longer usable. So at least four—”

“What about the Stone of Shackles?” Sheloran asked.

“Someone on our side’s recovering that,” Thurvishar said, glancing at Kihrin. “Assuming he hasn’t already.”

“Let’s not go into details,” Senera said. “It’s best if Relos Var thinks Anlyr hid it somewhere, exactly as ordered.” She paused, biting her lip. “Relos Var and I have discussed a great many plans over the years. I’m sure he held back, but he had plans for what he’d do if he could recover all the Cornerstones and plans if he couldn’t.” She waved a hand toward Valathea and Thurvishar, the two people in the room who still held Cornerstones. “If he could recover all of them, he would use them as sympathetic links to strip the Immortals of their powers, channeling that energy into the gems. In effect, the Cornerstones would become full gods, ones that could be controlled by … anyone.”

“I’m sure he left out the part where he’d then bind those gems, channeling all that power into a single source: himself,” Janel commented.

Senera scowled. “Yes. I’m sure he did. However, that plan relies on two prerequisites: all of the gods dead, so they can’t protest when he starts the ritual, and that he possess all the Cornerstones. Neither prerequisite has been met.”

“So what was the fall-back plan?” Galen asked.

“Oh, there was a plan B and a plan C. Plan D. Plan E … You get the idea.” Senera exhaled. “I’m personally of the opinion that he is most likely moving forward with his plans to deal with Xaltorath. It’s Xaltorath that he considers the real threat. Not Vol Karoth and certainly not Kihrin. That plan looks a lot like the first one. Same ritual. It just doesn’t matter whether or not he has all the Cornerstones, because it’s all make believe. The point of it is to lure Xaltorath to his location using the idea of all that tenyé as bait. And then Xaltorath triggers the ritual—the real ritual—and effectively kills themselves.”

“If that’s the case, then the moment Relos Var goes to reclaim the Stone of Shackles from Anlyr’s hiding spot, he’s going to know it’s been stolen,” Thurvishar pointed out.

“Yes, we’re going to have to make sure Relos Var doesn’t think there’s any point in bothering,” Janel said. She shrugged. “We can’t let him do that ritual, anyway. We need Xaltorath for our own reasons.” She gave the vané queen an intense look. “No, I won’t explain.”

“I think the more pressing question is: What do we do now?” Fayrin Jhelora asked. “Someone has to make sure Empress Tyentso knows what’s going on.”

There was a pause.

“Are we certain she doesn’t already know?” Therin asked carefully.

“Yes!” Fayrin protested. “She could never … She would never agree to this. She knew something was affecting the temperaments of everyone around her. She wasn’t happy about it.”

Teraeth took careful note of the quiet outrage in the man’s expression and wondered if that loyalty was a side effect of the Cornerstone or if he’d just really hit it off with the woman. Teraeth had some sympathy. Tyentso was proud and hot-tempered and absolutely unafraid to speak her mind. She was also utterly convinced that no man would ever be interested in her without an ulterior motive. It had helped that Teraeth had never wanted a romantic relationship, but he felt sorry for anyone determined to make that work. They’d be trying to scale a very tall cliff without a rope.

“Very well,” Valathea said. “Then I believe we have three main goals at the moment. The first, bring word to Tyentso about what is affecting her people. Second, finish what you all started last night and Return my husband. Once that’s done—”

“I have him right here.” Xivan interrupted as she held up a star tear. Then she paused, looked at the gem, and put it back into a pouch at her belt. She removed a different star tear and held it up. “I mean, now I have him right here.”

Janel made a strangled sound. “Xivan, don’t get those confused.”

“Don’t worry. I can tell them apart.”

“Contacting Tyentso will be the easy part,” Thurvishar said as he raised his hand. The ruby ring on his finger—the magically enchanted one that connected Tyentso with all the Gryphon Men agents—glinted in the light.

Fayrin shook his head. “You don’t think I tried that? It was the first thing I did. She’s not responding.”

Thurvishar lowered his hand. “That’s not good.”

“Amazing. That would’ve never occurred to me. But she can teleport anywhere in the empire instantly. How exactly are we supposed to find her?”

“I don’t know,” Teraeth said. “But perhaps we should figure something out.”

“All right,” Janel said. “Here’s what we’ll do. Teraeth, Xivan, Kihrin, and myself will stay here with Therin and Valathea and see to Returning Doc. Everyone else puts their heads together and sees what they can figure out how to contact Tyentso and warn her about Warmonger.”

“And after that, we’ll deal with Xaltorath,” Senera said.

Janel nodded. “Let’s go.”

“One last question,” Therin said, stepping forward. “Where’s my son?”

Everyone halted. Fayrin, because how the hell would he know differently, went as far as to look over at Talon and blink in confusion.

“We can’t talk about this right now—” Janel started to say.

“No,” Therin said. “We can. And we will. I already know that’s Talon.” He pointed at the mimic. “And you’ve explained that Kihrin’s off doing something that you can’t talk about.” Therin paused to give Galen a dirty look. “But I don’t think you’re being honest with me. Now, I’ve spoken to Khaeriel and Valathea both, so I know what happened to Kihrin after I died at the Lakehouse…”

“You died?” Galen asked.

“Why should you be the only one to have all the fun?” Therin said dryly. “Killed by a dragon. I don’t recommend it.” He turned back to the rest of them. “I know that my son is … linked … to Vol Karoth. I know what Kihrin used to be in his past life. And now you’re all dancing around something that happened to link Vol Karoth’s prison to that fucking Lighthouse, and no one will tell me where my son is.”

A look of slow horror stole over Valathea’s expression.

“Does Vol Karoth have my son?” Therin asked.

“No,” Teraeth said. Which was and wasn’t a lie, but damn if this wasn’t the right time to have this conversation. “And yes, Kihrin is still alive. Believe me, Janel and I would both be acting very differently if he were dead.”

Therin stared at him. Teraeth was around 70 percent certain the man didn’t believe him, at least not entirely, but that last bit about how Janel and he would act had been fairly convincing.

Slowly, the man nodded.

On the other hand, Teraeth didn’t dare meet Valathea’s eyes. She’d see right through them both. Valathea knew Janel and Teraeth a lot better than Therin did.

“Now that we have that settled,” Janel said. “We have a lot of work to do. Let’s begin.”