by Jenn Lyons
“I wish I’d done more. Fuck!” Kihrin touched the side of his jaw.
“Watch your language.” Darzin grinned. “I do like you, boy. You have a proper D’Mon fire in your heart.”
“You have a strange way of showing your affection.”
“I’ve been told that before. And one more thing . . .” Darzin unsheathed the gold sword at his side and crossed over to the slave, still crouched on the floor and sobbing.
“No!” Kihrin leapt after him, but the guards were ready that time.
The crying slave never realized what happened. Darzin’s sword entered her back and exited through her front. She gave a single short scream and collapsed near the body of the dead trainer.
Darzin turned back to Kihrin with a cruel smile. “The penalty for killing a House guard is death. And since I can’t kill you, I have to make someone pay for your crimes, don’t I?”
“You son of a bitch!” Kihrin screamed.
“No, that would be you, my son,” Darzin laughed. “Just remember every time you throw a tantrum I’ll make sure an innocent person dies. I think you’ll run out of sanity long before I run out of slaves.”
Kihrin seethed without a word, his eyes never leaving Darzin’s.
“He’s all yours, Miya. Perhaps you can teach my baby boy some manners.”
“Such was exactly your father’s intention, Lord Heir.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Darzin’s face. “Of course it was.”
Miya turned to Kihrin. “Shall we walk? Or do I need the guards to carry you?”
Kihrin jerked himself away from the guards. “I’ll walk. Anything to get away from this monster.”
“As you wish. Follow me.”
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 mistr
esses 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.
32: LADY MIYA
(Talon’s story)
The vané took Kihrin to a four-story building nestled amongst other tall buildings. Nothing identified it as a Blue House except the number of men in physicker’s robes who came and went through its doors. All seemed to know Miya, gave her plenty of room and deferential bows, and addressed her as “Lady.” No one asked about Kihrin or how he’d come by his injuries until they chanced to cross paths with Master Lorgrin.
The healer grimaced. “I see the happy reunion went about as well as could be expected.”
Lady Miya’s look was disapproving. “Indeed.”
“I assume you’ll want to handle this yourself. The apothecary’s all yours.” He hooked a thumb toward a door behind him.
She nodded. “Thank you, Master Lorgrin.”
“Uh-huh.” He shook his head at Kihrin as they passed.
Inside, small drawers recessed into the walls filled the room from floor to ceiling. The air had a funny, herbal smell. Several tables took up the center, covered with scales, mortars, pestles, and large thick books opened to drawings of plants.
“Sit down,” she told him with a stern voice.
Kihrin did, feeling sullen and sorry for himself while the vané woman opened drawers and pulled out bottles, flasks, and bundles of herbs.
She slammed the ingredients down on the table, making everything jump.
“What did I do to you?” Kihrin said. “Upset I killed that guard? Or because I spilled coffee all over your precious Lord Heir?”
She picked up a heavy stone mortar and pestle and slammed it down on the table in front of him. “These are for you: mugwort, goldensheaf, blood of varius, carella, and white lotus.”
“No thanks, I just ate.”
Her upper lip started to curl. “You would not want the wounds to become infected and you do not know what diseases that woman may have sheltered in her body. Your wounds are most assuredly contaminated with her blood, lingering on the lash. Do you not wish to make a salve for your back?”
“Very funny. I don’t know how to do that.”
“Oh? You do not?” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “But you must want to heal. So heal yourself.”
“I already told you I don’t know how.” He stood.
“Ah.” She crossed her arms as if she’d won the argument.
Kihrin blinked. “Ah? What do you mean ‘ah’?”
“Wanting something is not enough. Talent and desire is meaningless without skill and training.”
Kihrin glared. “Is that a riddle?”
“This is not a game, young man. I am making a point. Are you understanding it?”
“Since I’m apparently an idiot, why don’t you just explain i
t to me?”
Her nostrils flared white as she grabbed back the mortar. “My meaning is that you do not have the training to deal with a man like Darzin D’Mon, so provoking him is much the same as walking into a tiger’s den after smearing yourself with fresh blood. You may wish to kill Darzin, but desire is not enough.”
“He killed my father! He killed Morea.”
“So? Does that make you more capable of besting him? Do you think fortune will favor you because your cause is just and your heart is full of vengeance? As you said yourself, he is a monster. One does not slay a monster with good intentions.”
“He has to sleep sometime.”
Lady Miya sighed. “My, and are you so young and yet already a professional assassin? A member of the Black Brotherhood? Or perhaps you have come to us much disguised, and are in truth Nikali Milligreest, famous throughout the Empire as the most skilled of swordsmen?”
Kihrin swallowed and looked away. The fear and hate of the earlier encounter began to ebb, leaving him weak and trembling.
“He makes me so angry,” Kihrin whispered.
“He makes me angry too,” Miya said. “But you must learn to control yourself. You will not live long in this House if you continue with this foolish behavior.” She added the ingredients to the bowl, measuring out portions by quick handfuls. “Darzin has enough choleric in him for both of you. You push him and he will respond in the nastiest, most vicious way he can imagine—and he’s made himself something of an expert in this area. This House has enough problems without you provoking him to do something the rest of us will all regret.”
“Provoking him? I didn’t—”
“Protest your innocence to someone who did not hear the entire conversation,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have known Darzin twenty years longer than you, and I tell you now he spoke true: he was on his best behavior this morning. That he treated you with kindness was an insult beyond your forbearance, and so, you lost your temper. As a result, he lost his. And because of that, two people died.”
“Don’t blame this on me. If you were listening the whole time you could have stepped in sooner. That woman would still be alive.”