54: THE CARRIAGE RIDE

(Talon’s story)

“I’m not running away! I just need a carriage. Go ask the High Lord—” Kihrin D’Mon’s angry tone echoed clearly through the stable courtyard. He was red-faced, and looked like he might jump up and down in frustration at any moment.

“Is there a problem?” Tishar D’Mon asked as she walked down the steps. She motioned to one of the grooms. “My carriage, please.”

The Lord Heir’s newest son paused in the middle of his argument with the stable master, who stepped around Kihrin and bowed to Tishar. “My lady, I am under strict orders not to allow the young man to leave the grounds without an escort.”

“Ah,” Tishar said. “Well that’s not a problem at all then, but thank you for watching out for him.” She held out her hand to Kihrin. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Shall we?”

The young man caught on quickly. He bowed over her hand before releasing it to her again. “It’s my fault, Aunt Tishar. I should have mentioned I was waiting for you.”

“See Hosun?” Tishar smiled at the stable master. She’d known Hosun since he was a small boy with a fascination for horses, apprenticed to the old stable master. She’d fooled him not at all, but Hosun would play along anyway.

“Of course, my lady,” Hosun said with a dry smile and a bow. He turned back to the stable. “My lady’s coach!”

Kihrin exhaled as the stable master walked away. “Thank you,” he whispered to her.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back. “And where are we going today?”

“The Octagon?”

The answer surprised her. “It’s nothing worth seeing, my dear. Just a lot of miserable souls and the vultures circling their misfortune.”

“Please.” There was so much emotion trapped in that single word she half-expected the boy to fall to his knees.

She gave him a thoughtful look. He was clean and properly dressed, but little details gave away his hurry: the way his hair had been pulled back into a gold clasp, the bruising on his wrist that someone had neglected to treat by salve or healer.

Her examination was interrupted by Hosun returning with the carriage.

“Where did you get that?” Kihrin’s jaw dropped open. He stared at the transport with undisguised wonder.

Tishar smiled. Her own reaction had been much the same when she had first seen her carriage, over a quarter-century earlier. The carriage was as much jewelry as transport, an artisan crafting of rare dark woods and jeweled accents that left no question of the royal nature of its passengers. The enchantments that magically created a smooth ride over any surface were far costlier than all the gold and precious stones decorating it. Many had offered to buy it over the years, and as many had tried to claim it through machinations.

But it was hers alone.

Hosun had hitched four matching golden horses to the front of the carriage, and sent along not just her usual driver, Sironno, but also a half dozen guards in the House colors to sit on top.

He was feeling protective today. Perhaps he had cause.

“My brother, Pedron, gave it to me,” Tishar said as Sironno held the door open for them both. “Just before he sent me away to marry the Lord Heir D’Evelin.” She nodded to the driver. “Take us to the Octagon. Use the northern route.”

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed to her, and waited until they both sat inside before closing the door.

“Thank you,” Kihrin said, although he was fighting his own distraction as his fingertips lingered over the soft velvet cushions.

“I am curious why you are so eager to go to the slave market. Don’t tell me you want to own one of your own.” She didn’t even try to tone down the disapproval in her voice.

He winced and looked away. The brooding expression on the young man’s face reminded her more than a little of Pedron.

Also of Therin.

“If you’re wondering if you can trust me with whatever secret has you looking so grim,” Tishar said, as Sironno cracked his whip and set the horses out onto the city streets, “the answer is no.”

Kihrin threw her a shocked look.

She continued, “You have no way of knowing who I’ll tell or how I’ll use the information. I can’t provide you with any guarantee worth the breath I’d use to speak it.” She leaned forward. “Nothing is gained without risk, young man. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to take a chance on someone.”

He scowled and stared at his hands. “Maybe none of you are a good choice.”

“Oh, we are a house of serpents, true enough.” Tishar smiled at him. She pulled down the blinds over the windows, habit more than need driving her motions, and activated a lantern of mage-light. “If it’s any consolation, I was married to Pharoes D’Evelin for almost twenty-five years. I outlived him. I outlived our sons. Despite how young I look, I am old and jaded and so very done with games of Empire. It’s not that I can be trusted, as much as it’s unlikely you have anything I want.”

He smiled, although she wasn’t blind to the fact that smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I need to buy a slave Darzin just sent to the Octagon. Her name is Talea.”

“Ah, excellent. Now we have something.” She held up her hands. “Further considerations: you are not legally an adult, my young nephew. Not yet. Not until the New Year’s and your birthday. If we enter the Octagon and you buy this Talea, Darzin may simply claim her again, as he may claim anything you own, for you remain your father’s property.”

His eyes went very wide. Then he closed them and tilted his head back until it hit the back of the carriage. “I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t confuse ignorance with stupidity, young man. You just aren’t used to having a father who doesn’t actually care for your welfare.” She gestured. “My recommendation: don’t try to buy her yourself. Buy her on your grandfather Therin’s behalf. He may be a little irritated to have you making purchases against his credit, but he’ll be willing to work out a repayment plan.”

“That could work.” He chewed on his lower lip. “I have the metal to buy her. That’s not the problem.”

“You must really like this girl.”

Kihrin shook his head. “I’ve never met her.”

Tishar raised her eyebrows and waited for an explanation.

“I knew her sister. Back at the Shattered Veil Club. She was murdered because of me.” He swallowed, looking like he’d just eaten something foul. “I saw Talea as they led her away. He’d just offered me my pick of any of his slaves. I could have chosen her then. But I refused him.” He let out a dark laugh. “He’d have killed her if he’d realized she was important to me.”^*

“I applaud your swift adjustment to D’Mon family politics,” Tishar said. “I don’t doubt for one second you’re right.” She made a motion as if saluting him with a phantom wineglass. “I believe that only leaves the matter I came looking for you to discuss in the first place.”

Kihrin blinked. “Wait. You were looking for me?”

“Yes. You see, I wanted to share my secret with you. Do you know how I’ve managed to survive so many years in this city?” She didn’t wait for an answer before pressing on. “It’s because I’ve never forgotten my mother was a slave. If not for my brother’s efforts, I probably would have ended up as one myself.”

He frowned. “Slavery isn’t inherited.”

“No, but why would a slave owner spend money raising a free citizen? Technically only a parent can sell their children, but when the parent is themselves a slave, a great deal of . . . pressure . . . can be applied to force their cooperation. A loophole I saw exploited all the time when I shared a roof with House D’Evelin.”

She paused enough to note Kihrin looked sick to his stomach. Not quite as jaded as you thought, are you, young man? “Never forget we’ve built this Empire on the backs of slaves and servants and they are—all of them—disposable. People hate my brother, Pedron, because he tried to overthrow this way of doing things, but I ask you: would that have been so terrible?”

Kihrin swallowed. “He, uh . . . the wrath of the gods though. The risk of triggering the curse . . .”

She waved a hand. “He thought he could prevent that. He didn’t think he was an evil man. He thought he was doing what was right—what needed to happen for the good of the Empire. He wanted to fix those things. The tragedy is that he fell in with people who were only too willing to exploit that idealism to obtain the goals they wanted, and then set him up to take the fall should their plans be discovered.”

“You mean he was just a victim in the Affair of the Voices?”

She sighed. “No, probably not. I hold no malice against Therin for doing what he did. If he hadn’t, the gods’ curse would have killed all of us. Sometimes though I cannot help but wonder how it might have gone if Pedron had succeeded. There was so much that he wanted to change, so much that he was powerless to change because of who he was. Who knows how different the world would be now?”

“Different isn’t always better, milady.”

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips and then shook her head. “I learned from him. From his mistakes as well as his successes. I have tried to be a benefactor as much as my position and gender have allowed. In a house with the likes of Darzin D’Mon stalking its halls, the servants are grateful to have any shelter from his particular sort of storm. And so they tell me things. For example, that Alshena left your apartments this morning on her hands and knees, blood everywhere, but she never managed to make it to one of the healers.”

It was a low blow, a surprise attack, and the stunned look Kihrin gave her was very nearly heartbreaking. Shame and desperation mixed in equal measure with dread and loathing.

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t like that—”

“I know. You’re not the one who hurt her. Darzin left your apartments not long after. I suspect he treated the injuries that he himself caused, to stop any idle gossip from the healers. As to what happened that made him beat his wife, in a manner that’s frankly excessive even for Darzin, the maids who cleaned your bed seemed to think that was obvious enough.”

All the color that had reddened his cheeks just a moment before drained away entirely. “What do you want?” he finally asked, sounding resigned.

The boy was a fast learner. Of course, he expected blackmail.

Tishar sighed. “I want you to answer a question.” She held up a hand. “Listen first. You see, I suspect I’ve been in your position, but perhaps I’m wrong. I have my own memories of such evenings. It starts with drinks and some reason to do the drinking. Someone you trust who smiles while they keep your glass full. And then the night goes on and everything becomes a blur. Not an unpleasant blur, truth be told. Except later. Later, when they’re not paying attention to you saying no and the clothes are gone and hands are places they shouldn’t be.” She raised a single finger, tapped the side of it against the tip of her nose. “My single question, dear boy: did you want it to happen?”

Kihrin looked away. “It was all just a terrible mistake. One thing led to another. If I could erase it I would. He found us the next morning. I thought he was going to kill her. He still might.”

“Kihrin,” Tishar said. She leaned over in the carriage and started to pick up his hand, didn’t follow through on the motion when he flinched and pulled away from her. “Kihrin,” she repeated. “I know how tempting it must be to blame yourself for what happened, or even to say it was no one’s fault, but I want you to remember that only one of the people in your bedroom last night was legally of age.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m almost sixteen.”

“Surviving a date on a calendar will not miraculously give you the wisdom to deal with this. You’re almost sixteen. She’s twice that. Consider that if there is one skill we royals universally practice with dutiful persistence, it’s drinking. Alshena could drink a morgage to the ground, so if last night was a case of ‘one thing leading to another,’ it only happened because Alshena wanted it to. My question is: did you want it to? Because if you did, say the word and we never need speak of this again.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. He looked at his hands, at the hem of her agolé, at the bejeweled, quilted walls of the carriage.

Tishar waited.

“. . . no,” he whispered. “No, I didn’t want it.” He cleared his throat, raised his voice. “I think she was trying to help me.”

“And did she help?”

He made a face. “No. Gods no.”

“Then I think I’m going to pay her a visit. She’s been acting oddly for months now. It’s long past time I called her on it.”

“I don’t want any trouble,” Kihrin protested. “She’s been through enough.”

Tishar snorted as they turned down the road toward the Octagon. “Wait until I’m finished with her.”