38: THE HIGH LORD
(Talon’s story)
“I can’t blame Miya for not telling you,” Alshena D’Mon said as they walked through the palace. “She’s sweet in her own way, but sheltered as a veal calf. I’m not sure it would even occur to her there might be any danger outside the estate.”
“I am aware of the dangers of the City,” Kihrin snapped.
“Of course you are. Darzin tells me he found you in a whorehouse.” She sniffed at such an indelicate idea.
He sighed. Kihrin was tired of explaining that he hadn’t actually whored himself at the Shattered Veil Club.
“I’ll make this simple. We are House D’Mon, one of the twelve families who once ruled the Empire. But such ruling is no longer allowed, and it is forbidden for any direct member of a Royal Family to make laws. Now, instead of ruling the Empire’s politics, we rule its economy, which is better. We have all the money and none of the irritating responsibility. Each House controls a section of industry, a chosen monopoly we license and regulate. As you may have already discerned, House D’Mon controls medicine and healing. Every midwife, herbalist, and physicker in the land pays us dues.* And that’s good—sooner or later, everyone needs a doctor, so our House provides essential services. Unfortunately, every House provides essential services, so there’s quite a cat’s game going on at all times to see who is ranked ahead of whom. Each of our twelve Houses is ranked in order, and that ranking is very important. So important that people have been killed and will kill for it.”
“For ranking.”
She rolled her eyes. “We are fourth ranked of the twelve Royal Families. The means there are three Houses above us we would love to destroy, and eight Houses below who feel the same way about us. It would not be inaccurate to say the Royal Houses live in a constant state of undeclared war.”
Kihrin blinked. “For ranking?”
Alshena sighed. “Yes, for ranking. Ranking is everything, you silly child. The Houses don’t rule, but we elect the people who do, and how many votes we are allowed to cast is based on our rank. Thus, ranking determines who will become a Voice, and it’s from the pool of Voices that Council members are chosen. The number of Voices we appoint determines what sort of deals other Houses are willing to make with us for our support. Ranking is the difference between living in a palace like this, or dying at the end of an assassin’s dart.”
She pinched an imaginary piece of lint off her agolé while they walked. “Now, given that fact, why were you being extremely stupid just now?”
Kihrin grimaced. “It would have embarrassed the House?”
Alshena pursed her lips. “Oh, that is good answer. Just what Darzin or Therin would have wanted to hear you say.” Her ivory fan lashed out and rapped him on the knuckles.
“Ow!” He winced and shook his hand.
“No, you fool, that answer is rubbish. You were being stupid, because all the Houses employ spies. We spy on each other constantly. The spies spy on the spies. It’s an enormous cottage industry.” She smirked at her witticism.
“Some of those spies also do work as assassins. Off the record, of course. No House wants a priest of Thaena informing the Council that the latest dead son of House D’Talus was killed on orders from a member of such-and-such House. It’s very important that you remember the dead can talk in this town. While they never lie, they also can’t reveal information they never knew in the first place. In any event, if a person were to lower their guard and present a lovely ‘opportunity,’ then of course the advantage would be taken. Some members of a House are so peripheral to the health of the House that they are unimportant and might be ignored. The firstborn son of the Lord Heir would not be considered one of those.”
She leaned over and pinched his cheek hard. “You were being stupid because you were walking in the House colors shouting ‘please kill me’ to anyone listening.”
They turned down the corridor of the South Tower, heading in the direction of Kihrin’s rooms. For a length of hallway, neither spoke.
“I see,” Kihrin finally said.
He turned to face the noblewoman. “May I ask a question, Lady Alshena?”
“You may try. I have no control over your success.” She smirked again.
“Well,” he said, “the mother of the previous heir would have a great deal to gain by not saying anything, and letting me throw myself in front of the knives. Why didn’t you?”
She stopped in front of the set of doors before his, paused for a moment, and then laughed. “If I thought I’d live to see the day Galen inherited a single coin of the House D’Mon fortune, I’d call the coach for you myself. This is just staying on the High Lord’s good side.” She looked at the tall wooden door behind her. “Well, here we are.”
Kihrin frowned. “This isn’t the door to my room.”
Alshena stared up the length of her nose at him. “A fact of which I am well aware, I assure you.” She knocked.
A moment later a muted “come in” came from inside the chamber, and Alshena opened the door.
Inside was a small room by palace standards. None of the trademark D’Mon decoration or ornamentation graced the interior. A mahogany desk covered with books and papers sat offset from the center of the room. A map of the Empire tiled the floor. A small bookcase in the corner contained a collection of well-used tomes while a door set in the same wall led to further rooms. The wall opposite from the desk held a medium-sized portrait of a dark-haired woman wearing deep blue.
A man sat in the chair behind the desk. He didn’t look up when the door opened. Kihrin’s first impression was that Alshena had delivered him into the hands of the family wizard. He had that sort of look to him—chestnut-brown hair, golden when the light hit it, clipped short and practical. The sleeves of his linen shirt had been used to blot his pages too often. He was slender with a handsome face—saved from being too pretty by a neatly groomed mustache and beard. Kihrin would have placed him in his mid-thirties because of a slight silvering at his temples. He would have guessed that the man was Darzin’s older brother, except Darzin wouldn’t be Lord Heir if he had one.
Alshena curtsied. “I found him trying to leave the estate, Lord Therin. I thought you might wish to speak with him.”
The High Lord? Kihrin looked around the room to see if he’d missed an old man hiding behind the drapes. Kihrin was supposed to believe this was the High Lord? Did he use magic to make himself look so young?
Kihrin glared at his stepmother, but she didn’t seem inclined to explain.
The man behind the desk looked up and examined them both. Kihrin felt a shock as the man’s gaze passed over him: High Lord Therin’s eyes were sharp, calculating, and a distinctive, bright blue. Despite his slender build and his youthful appearance, his presence made him seem larger. Kihrin found himself reminded of General Milligreest.
Most importantly, he looked nothing like Dead Man. Kihrin frowned. When Darzin had said his father was meeting with Butterbelly, Kihrin assumed that meant Darzin’s father was the other person who had been present for the demon summoning. If Dead Man wasn’t Pretty Boy’s father, who was he?
Therin D’Mon put down his pen.
“Thank you, Alshena. That will be all.”
Alshena curtsied again, then left, shutting the door behind her.
Therin looked at Kihrin for several heartbeats, his face holding the faintest suggestion of a sneer.
“One guard dead and an escape attempt in a week. I must say I’m surprised it took you so long to try to run away.”
Kihrin clenched and unclenched his fists. “I was in mourning.”
“Yes, of course. Please sit down, Kihrin.”
Kihrin sat down, thinking, At least he used my name instead of “boy.”
Silence loomed. Therin picked up his pen and continued writing. When he finished, Therin blotted the paper, put away the pen and ink, and tucked the sheet in a drawer. Finally, he stood up and looked out the window.
“It would be a mistake,” Therin said as he gazed out over the Blue Palace, “to think of House D’Mon as a family. We are not. Never mind that the men and women at the top are related through blood or marriage. This is a company, a corporation of skills and talents, with the singular function of providing a service for as cheaply as possible, while being paid as much as possible. It is a business. Every Royal House is, and anything else is just so many god-king tales for the common folk. I do not care who your parents really were, and I do not care whether or not Darzin’s story is true. You are god-touched and you have talent and you are therefore a useful commodity, an investment. As long as I believe you are a sound investment, your stay here may even be enjoyable. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my lord—but Darzin’s lying. I’m not god-touched.”
Therin almost smiled. “You misunderstand, son. You are god-touched. That is not under dispute. No matter if Darzin is your father or isn’t, at some point within four generations, one of your ancestors was a member of this House. There is a mark it leaves on our members, a mark that can be detected. I double-checked the accuracy myself. It is the singular part of Darzin’s claim that I have no doubt is absolute truth: our blood runs through your veins.”
“So I could still be Ogenra?”
The High Lord scoffed. “Do you know what an Ogenra even is?”
“I thought I did, but Miya said—”
“Lady Miya.”
Kihrin faltered. “Excuse me?”
“You will always call her Lady Miya.”
Kihrin flushed with embarrassment. He fought the urge to stand straighter, tug down his clothing, act like he was being reprimanded by Surdyeh. “Yes, sir,” he said instead. “Lady Miya said that illegitimacy had nothing to do with it.”
Therin nodded. “Indeed. All my grandfather’s children were illegitimate—he was fond of raping his slaves. An Ogenra is nothing more than a blood relative of a House who has not been formally presented to the gods. They can never inherit, never wear the name, never even wear the colors or live on our land until that pact is formalized—but since they are not members of the House, they can be elected as Voices; they can serve on the Council. They can do something we cannot: rule.”
“Alshena mentioned something about that, but I don’t understand. I thought you do rule.”
“We have power. It’s not quite the same thing.”
“So technically I’m Ogenra until you present me?”
“You were presented while you were unconscious,” Therin corrected. “It is formal and irrevocable and done. Darzin has made public claims that will be difficult to avoid fulfilling, particularly since he’s seen fit to provide the documentation that proves you aren’t even a House bastard. Necessary, that—his wife, Alshena, belongs to House D’Aramarin, and they would have used any excuse to protest a bastard being taken as heir over their daughter’s legitimate son.”
There was nothing much that Kihrin could say to that. He studied the wood of the desk and wondered if he could get away with slipping his sight past the Veil. He could take it for granted that Therin would be a wizard too. The most expensive physickers healed using magic.
“You don’t think he’s your father, do you?” Therin asked.
Kihrin was quiet for a few moments. Finally, he said, “No.”
“Why?” Therin asked, with a surprising amount of sympathy in his voice. “Is this just instinct talking? You can’t bear the idea that he might be your sire? A lot of people find that they cannot tolerate their parents, young man. It’s not that uncommon. I hated my father with every breath in me, and I know Darzin holds no love for me, a feeling which is quite mutual.”
Kihrin shook his head. “No, there’s just no gain in it.”
“No gain in it?”
“No, Lord. What does he gain by claiming me as his son? He didn’t have to recognize me when we met at the High General’s house. He could have ignored me. Instead he sent assassins to kill me, and for some reason—for some reason he changed his mind and decided to save me. I should be dead. He wanted me dead. Instead, I’m his long-lost son.” Kihrin shook his head. “From all I’ve been told, including by you, people up here don’t do anything unless there’s something to gain. Even if I really am his son, what does he gain by admitting it? He already has an heir. He pisses off House D’Aramarin by pushing Galen aside. He’s clearly not sentimental. That means he has another motive.”
Kihrin debated mentioning the Stone of Shackles, but dismissed the thought. He had no idea how much he could trust this man, and while he might be new to royalty, he was not new to the idea that it was unwise to show his hand too soon.
Therin returned to his chair. “I too don’t know what Darzin wants, which isn’t a situation I enjoy. He could have claimed you as Ogenra and no one would have questioned it. Instead, he puts you under him as next in line for the House Seat. The cynic might argue the only thing keeping certain individuals from having Darzin killed is the thought of who would inherit after he was dead.”
Therin leaned forward. “But sometimes we must make the best of the cards we are dealt.”
“I’m sorry?” Kihrin was startled by Therin’s analogy, so close to his own thoughts.
Therin said, “Even if you could prove Darzin faked the evidence, I have already accepted you into the House—so it does little good to try to find proof of Darzin’s lies except to embarrass us. And you can’t go back to the Lower Circle. You know how the Shadowdancers deal with those who murder their own.”
Kihrin nearly stood from his chair. “What!? But I didn’t kill anyone—”
“A Collectors Guild pawnshop owner with the adorable and no doubt accurate nickname of ‘Butterbelly’ was found dead, with two knives stuck in him. Your knives. A cutthroat named Faris is swearing to anyone who will listen he witnessed a fight between the two of you over a necklace you stole. The Shadowdancers will likely stab first and never bother to ask questions at all if they find you. Fortunately it’s unlikely the Shadow-dancers will ever come looking for Rook in the Upper Circle.”
“What did you say?” Kihrin stood, only the most extreme self-control keeping him from fleeing the room.
Therin smiled. “Your ‘on-the-job’ name, your street name. Publicly you were a singer, the assistant of a blind musician named Surdyeh, now deceased. Your parentage was unknown but everyone assumed, quite laughably, that you were from south of the Manol, from Doltar. I suppose that proves vané are so rare people have forgotten what they look like. You were recruited into the Shadowdancers by Ola Nathera, called Raven, who originally used you as bait in a number of successful con schemes. Eventually someone realized that you’d figured out how to perceive magic and had learned your first spell—”
“I don’t know any spells,” Kihrin protested. “I can see past the Veil, but that’s it—”
Therin waved the argument away with his fingers. “The trick you do to pass unseen. It’s not just wishful thinking that the guards never notice you. We call self-taught students of magic ‘witches,’ but it’s a dirty little secret that almost all of us figure out at least one spell before we’ve had formal training. Everyone who learns magic has a witch gift—the first spell, the first map—that unlocks all the others.* For most wild talents, it never goes beyond that first spell, but had Mouse lived longer she would have handled more advanced training. You were too good to leave wild. The spells that Keys learn are all focused, of course—ways to open different kinds of locks, how to recognize the tenyé signatures of materials commonly used for gates and lockboxes, how to remove wards put up by the Watchmen. That sort of thing.”
Kihrin blinked and looked away. The world tilted crazily. The room suffocated. His mouth was a dusty, white, Capital street in the middle of summertime. Seconds ago, escape had been possible.
Now it was not.
He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting his sense of despair. “I thought the Junk Boys controlled the Shadowdancers.”
“Everyone does, including, amusingly enough, the Junk Boys—although you should cultivate the habit of referring to them by their proper name: House D’Evelin.” He smiled. “I took control of the Shadowdancers over twenty years ago. An indiscretion of youth.”
“So that’s how he knew,” Kihrin muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Your son. That’s how he found me so easily. He’s a Shadowdancer. You’re all Shadowdancers.”* He cursed. “Taja! All these years I’ve been working for you.”
“No one is more embarrassed than I am. All these years I’ve been looking for you, and you were hidden right in front of me, right out in the open. I owned Ola Nathera. She was freed years before your birth, so it never occurred to me that she would know anything about what had happened to you.” He sighed.
“Where is she?” Kihrin asked, his stomach still crawling on the floor.
“No one seems to know. Ola disappeared the same night Surdyeh was killed. I think she ran. She’s always had a healthy sense of self-preservation. She was smart enough to realize we would have hard questions for her as soon as we found out she’d been hiding you. There would be no way she could have claimed ignorance.”
“You’ve been looking for me for years?”
Therin’s expression was unreadable. “Yes.”
Kihrin felt sick. Now he understood why Ola had been so set against him meeting the General, why she had been willing to go so far as to drug him. What he didn’t understand is why she had lied in the first place. Had she planned on using him as a piece of blackmail?
He wished he believed her only motive had been to protect him from a family she had apparently known all too well.
“Was it just personal between you and Faris? A friendship soured?”
Kihrin looked away. “No.”
“What was it then?”
He ground his teeth. “He and his friends murdered Mouse, but I couldn’t pin him for it. It would have been my word against all of theirs.”
“I understood she was killed while committing a burglary.” Therin raised an eyebrow.
“You call it what you like.”
Therin chewed on that piece of news. “Then I’ll assume the little accident that Faris ran into a few years back, the one where the Watchmen ended up taking a hand, was not an accident.”
“I was hoping he’d end up in the mines,” Kihrin said, as close as he’d ever come to admitting he’d framed another Shadowdancer.
The corner of Therin’s mouth twitched. “Something tells me you’re going to fit in very well here.”
The room settled into an awkward silence.
“You didn’t have to kill him,” Kihrin finally accused in a heated whisper. If Therin D’Mon was Master of the Shadowdancers, he could have ordered Butterbelly to tell him what he needed to know. That death, at least, had been unnecessary.
The High Lord looked up, surprised. “Kill who? Surdyeh? I didn’t.”
“Butterbelly. You didn’t have to have Butterbelly killed.” Kihrin turned back to the High Lord. “You had a meeting with Butterbelly to buy the tsali stone he was selling. Later that same evening, he’s dead and the tsali stone’s gone. You’re telling me you didn’t do that?”
The High Lord stared. “If I had known he had a tsali stone for sale, yes, I’d have met with him. But I wouldn’t have killed him afterward.” Therin sighed. “He was a really good fence.”
“Then who did?”
“One of Darzin’s agents.” Therin tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk. “I believe my son ordered it to cover up a murder he committed. What bothers me is that I don’t know why he committed the murder in the first place.”
“Does Darzin need a reason?”
Therin shrugged with one shoulder. “Everyone has reasons for their actions, even if they do not make any immediate sense. As you so eloquently put it, we don’t do anything unless there’s something to gain.”
“So what do you want me to do about it? I can’t even beat Darzin when he’s unarmed.”
“You seem to be intrinsic to his plans, so I want you to find out what he’s up to. If I am right, it will be something that may well require his removal. I do not expect you to handle that. When the time comes, I will deal with my son. If the risks seem great, understand that if you find me the proof I desire it will leave you as Lord Heir. And I can make quite certain that neither Faris nor any other Shadowdancer ever bothers you again.”
Kihrin stared at him with skeptical eyes. Sure, he thought to himself. You’ll handle him. But he can summon up a demon prince. How will you handle that? He didn’t say anything though. He only trusted Therin slightly more than he trusted Darzin, which wasn’t saying much.
Therin pulled a new sheet of paper from his desk, and reached for a fresh crow quill. He said, “Darzin tells me the High General gave you Valathea. That’s a rare privilege.”
“You know about Valathea?”
“Of course. I have even heard her played. I was disturbed to discover she’s no longer in your possession.”
“It’s safe,” Kihrin said with a sullen voice.
“Of course she’s safe. She’s in your room. I suggest you not be so careless with her in the future. Now go—and try not to be too exuberant with your rehearsals. Your bedroom is adjacent to mine.”