31: TYENTSO AT THE BEACH

(Kihrin’s story)

I found Tyentso sitting on a cliff overlooking the ocean, her hair a sandy curtain whipped in front of her face by the wind. She’d summoned up a trail of glowing mage-lights to illuminate the way from the camp to the beach, but otherwise sat alone and in the dark, staring out at the sea, unsmiling.

I’m pretty sure she was not thinking fondly about past lives.

She saw me climb the switchback steps and raised an eyebrow at the bottle of wine under my arm and the two ceramic cups in my other hand.

“Now how did you manage to rate clothing of a nonblack hue? Who do I have to bribe?”

Tyentso looked at her white chemise. “Initiates aren’t allowed to wear black.”

I blinked. “You’re joining them?”

“I’m thinking about it. I don’t have many other prospects. However, if anyone shows up claiming that I’m their long-lost queen, you let me know.” She patted the grass next to her, offering me a seat.

“Maybe I should join—I’ll just have to make sure to flunk all my classes.” I poured us both a cup of wine and handed her one. “Feel like entertaining company?”

Tyentso looked perplexed. “Why aren’t you down there in a tangle of limbs? That seems like very much the sort of thing you would enjoy.”

“Don’t be so quick to assume. Why aren’t you down there in a tangle of limbs? Wouldn’t you like the change of pace after all those years of dirty, unwashed sailors?”

She snorted. “Please. There wasn’t a single man on The Misery I’d have touched except to shove away, and the feeling was mutual.” She considered the wine in her cup. “Honesty compels me to admit I’m intimidated by our new vané friends. They are all so . . .”

“Pretty.”

“Exactly. Far too pretty.” Tyentso sniffed the air as if smelling something off. “I would feel, I don’t know, like they felt sorry for the poor ugly witch. I doubt I’ll ever find myself in the mood for a pity fuck, but if I am, please do me the favor of slipping some arsenic into my tea.”

“You’re not—” I stopped when she glared at me. Tyentso’s glare could slice a man to ribbons at twenty paces and turn him into a toad besides.

“Don’t go all soft on me, Scamp. As it happens, I grew up in a house with mirrors.”

I looked back over my shoulder, thinking of the Thriss back at the party. “Okay, but I don’t think they care.”

“Horse shit. Everyone cares.”

“I don’t know. When Teraeth had his arms around you back there when the ship was sinking, did you get the feeling he thought you were too awful to touch? Or did I just imagine the way you two were looking at each other?”

Tyentso drained her cup and refilled it from the bottle. “Gods, you saw that? Damn vané held me like he was rescuing his one true love. I thought maybe he was just hard up for a woman, but that was before we arrived on the island and I saw all these little nymphs.”

I thought about Kalindra. Hell, I thought about me. “He has different standards, I think.”

“The one nice thing about looking the way I do is that when a cute bit of something wants into your pants, you don’t have to guess whether they have an ulterior motive. The answer is yes.” She tucked her legs under her chemise and leaned on one arm. “But they would like you down there. You’re not hard on the eyes. You should play.”

“I’ll have you know I am repressed. Shy and repressed. Also, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I mean, if I sleep with the entire Black Brotherhood, I just know I’ll feel awkward waking up next to them the next morning. Will they still respect me? What if they want me to meet their mother?” I paused. “Oh hell. I’ve already met their Mother.”

Tyentso chuckled. “Bet they dump you the next morning and never write.”

“I should be so lucky.” I grinned. “Personally, I kind of think they’d get obsessive and clingy when I tell them I want to see other cults too.”

Tyentso couldn’t stop herself from laughing that time.

“Come back with me to Quur,” I said.

She nearly choked on her wine. “What?”

I leaned toward her. “I want to go back to Quur. I have family there, friends, people who are relying on me. I’m House D’Mon, Ty. I can protect you from the people who had you exiled. The catch is that there’s some dangerous people that I need to deal with once I return. Specifically, there’s this sorcerer. I don’t know his name. I’ve always just called him Dead Man. He’s powerful. I’ve seen him melt the flesh off a person with a gesture.”

“Charming. He sounds just like my late husband.”

It was my turn to do a double take. “Please tell me you’re not talking about Teraeth in a past life.”

She gave me an odd look. “That’s a horrifying thought. I prefer to think Thaena tossed my late husband’s soul into a bottomless pit and walked away.”

“Good. Had to ask.”

“Anyway, it’s sweet of you to offer to clear my name, Scamp, but I can’t go back to Quur. I’m wanted for treason, witchcraft, and every crime the High Council could invent, dig up, or exaggerate. House D’Mon can’t protect me from that. If I go back to Quur, I better be pretty comfortable with my own mortality because I will be counting the minutes until my demise.”

“Treason? Really?”

She shrugged. “Never happened. Just the opposite. I saved their damned asses, and that was the thanks I got. Not saying I’ve lived a sin-free life, but as far as I can tell, my real mistake in their eyes was doing all this magic without owning a dick between my legs.”

I coughed. “Never really understood the big deal about women knowing magic, anyway.”

“Stop flirting with me, Scamp. I’m too much woman for you.”

“I’m not flirting. I mean it. I never understood it. If the Royal Houses trained the women, they’d double the number of wizards they have in just a few years. More wizards mean more profit. How is this not obvious?”^*

“Oh, but heavens, Kihrin, if we womenfolk were running around casting spells—why, it would be the end of civilization . . . Next, we’d want to inherit, own property, have a say in who we married. Who would stay at home and have the babies? Or put up with our men beating us or having a dozen mistresses on the side? Talk sense. Next you’ll be telling me that we Quuros shouldn’t own slaves.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Ah. Right. How silly of me. Clearly I’ve been on this island for too long.”

“Besides, everyone knows women lack the mental faculties and strength of will to make good magi. We’re too much slaves to our baser lusts, chained by our carnal natures.^* Certainly no woman could ever become a true wizard . . .”

I threw her an annoyed look. “I get it, Tyentso.”

She shrugged. “It’s something of a sore spot.”

“Yeah. At least you’re not bitter about it.” I pretended to duck as she aimed a rock at my head.

“Quur didn’t used to be this way.” Tyentso tossed the rock away, a sour expression gracing her sour face. “Four of the Eight Immortals are male, and four are female, their genders balanced with each other. Tya herself is a goddess. All the old stories are filled with queens, heroines . . . It took the god-king Ghauras and his bitch Caless to turn women into nothing but whores. Personally, I think Ghauras was overcompensating for something.” She held up a pinkie finger and wiggled it suggestively.

“You should teach a class at the Academy,” I said, snickering.

“Oh yes. Because they’d really want to see me again, I’m sure.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “They’ve seen you before? What did you do, disguise yourself as a boy?”

“No. My adopted father was one of the deans,” she said.

“You’re joking.”

She looked surprised. “Oh no. I grew up at the Academy. Used to sneak into the library at night and read until dawn.” Her expression turned wistful. “Oh, I loved that library. Honestly, the hardest part about living on board a ship was not having enough room for a proper library.”

“Ouch. No wonder the High Council is so unhappy with you. You’ve read books.”^*

“And paid attention to the student lectures, gods help us all.” She gave me a critical look over the rim of her cup of wine. “So, you’re not going to stay?”

“They’re a friendly bunch, but assassin was never high on my list of career choices,” I said.

“I don’t think that’s what they are.”

“But it is.” I pointed back over my shoulder. “They told me. Well, ‘paid murderers,’ but it means the same thing.”

“I think it’s a cover. Was a cover, I suppose, now that it’s blown. A guild of assassins. That’s a mildly intimidating thought; it’s all part of the game, right? Just another charming aspect of Quuros culture, hiring themselves out to the highest bidder to kill whomever is too annoying this week. That they’re mostly vané? Window dressing. A fun bit of exotic flair. Makes them sexy and dangerous. No Quuros Royal Family would see that as a threat as long as they’re the ones doing the hiring.”

“If they’re not assassins, what are they?”

“I don’t know, but they’re working directly for Thaena herself in a way her normal priests don’t. If that doesn’t scare you just a little bit, you’re not paying attention. Thaena has always been the strictest adherent to playing by the rules of how gods and mortals interact. That means that either these people are lying about being followers of Thaena—and Teraeth’s Return argues against that—or she’s suddenly decided that it’s necessary to break those rules. Be terrified.”

“My momma always used to say that if you’re going to lie, save it up for something big.”

“Exactly. I’d like to know what rainy day these little bastards have been saving up for.”

I sighed and drank a mouthful of wine. “Apparently there’s a prophecy.”

“Which one? Devoran Prophecies? The Scrolls of Fate?^* The Sayings of Sephis?”

“You’re familiar with the Prophecies?” I perked up. Unlike Khaemezra, Tyentso had no reason not to give me a straight answer.

“Magister Tyrinthal used to teach a six-month course for advanced students.^* He didn’t know I was auditing the class, but well, you know how it is.” She shrugged. “My late husband was more than a bit obsessed with the topic. If a children’s nursery rhyme could be twisted to sound like it referred to that prophecy, he had a copy.” She paused. “More than one copy if there were regional idioms or linguistic variations.”

She looked off into the distance, her gaze far away. “Hell of a thing to be involved with, Scamp. Those prophecies are nasty stuff; you don’t want to know the people involved in that business. You sure as damnation don’t want them to know you.”

I scowled. “Too late.”

Tyentso looked surprised for a beat, and then she snorted and rolled her eyes. “For a second, Scamp, I actually forgot how I ended up on this island. Yeah, you’re right. Way too late.” She leaned back and drank deep from her cup. “Aw, it’s a mess, but right now you’ve got bigger problems.”

“Sure, Relos Var. But I can sneak off the island before he realizes I’m gone. I am good at sneaking.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Relos Var,” Tyentso said. Her voice sounded odd. “Run back to camp, Kihrin. Right now.”

“What? Why would I—”

A wind picked up and tossed the grass on the cliff face, bringing with it the scent of molten metal and burning rock.

The Old Man landed in front of us.