The Ruin of Kings

by Jenn Lyons

Darzin would pick this man apart.

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Then maybe I’m not here to teach you the proper way to serve ginger wine.” He offered me a hand up. “Call me Doc.”

  I ignored the hand and stood on my own, brushing myself off. “Let me guess. People come to your bar and you cure what ‘ales’ them.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one. I should have someone make a sign for the bar.”

  “You picked a hell of a place to take a vacation. The view’s nice, but the women here will kill you.”

  Doc laughed, not pleasantly. “So nothing’s changed.” As he looked up the side of the mountain, Doc’s expression turned grim. “Where is she?”

  He couldn’t be referring to Tyentso. “Khaemezra?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t know. Really don’t care right now either, except . . .” I ground my teeth and started walking. “I guess I need to give her a piece of my mind about a few things. Anyway, follow me. I’ll take you to Teraeth. He usually knows.”

  I was a few steps up the path before I realized Doc wasn’t following. I glanced back to see the man still standing there, looking toward me with an expression of paralyzed shock.

  “What did I say?”

  “Who’s Teraeth?” Doc asked.

  I blinked. “You’re one of the Black Brotherhood, right?”

  Doc raised his chin. “I never said that.”

  “You know enough about them to know who Khaemezra is. How could you have avoided meeting her son?”

  Doc flinched as if slapped. He closed his eyes for a second while he clenched his fists. Then he remembered to exhale, released his hands, opened his eyes. “You must be mistaken. Everyone calls her Mother.”

  “Except in this case she’s his mother. Why are you acting like she killed your favorite cat?”

  “I’m just surprised.” He swallowed several times. “How old is he?”

  “Khaemezra said he was around my age, so somewhere between fifteen and twenty. He acts like he thinks he’s old as Ompher and twice as wise.”

  “Take me to him.”

  I blinked at him. He looked like a nobody, you understand. Nothing special about him except his height. He even had a bit of a potbelly. He didn’t look like a great leader, a hero. He looked, completely and fully, like a bartender.

  But High Lord Therin couldn’t have ordered executions with more command. Whoever Doc was, he was a man who expected to be obeyed. His voice snapped orders with more skill than a razor-lined whip.

  To be honest, he reminded me of Teraeth. He didn’t look like Teraeth, but then again, neither had Teraeth for the entire sea voyage from Kishna-Farriga.

  Manol vané are very good with illusions.

  I was tempted to look beyond the First Veil, but I didn’t have the time.

  He fell in step behind me as we climbed back toward the cliffs. Normally you’d expect the person walking in back to seem subservient, but he acted like I was an honor escort. His movements were easy and graceful, a dancer who had spent so long practicing his steps they had become a permanent accent on every motion. I supposed the middle-aged man was a better spy than most: he looked ordinary.

  Relos Var looked ordinary too.

  When I crested the ledge of Teraeth’s rooms, I saw him sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a small, well-worn book. I wasn’t too surprised to see Teraeth had broken out a bottle of vané wine and helped himself to several glasses. He didn’t look happy to see me. The feeling was mutual.

  Teraeth raised an eyebrow at Doc. “You must be the Quuros we’re expecting.”

  Doc didn’t respond, but he spent a long moment studying Teraeth. From the frown on his face, he didn’t like what he saw.

  “Hey Teraeth, where’s Khaemezra? I need to speak with her.”

  “As do I,” Doc said. “Go fetch your mother.” He made the order dismissive and condescending.

  Teraeth set down his glass. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  Without asking permission, Doc sat down in one of the reed chairs. “She’s probably in the temple, and as I recall, the temple is insufferably hot and damp even by Manol vané standards. So your mother may join us here.”

  I glanced sideways at the man. “You’ve been to the temple? I thought you weren’t a member of the Black Brotherhood.”

  “By that I take it you’ve been to the temple. Are you a member of the Black Brotherhood?”

  “I am not your servant,” Teraeth said, his voice as close to growling as I’d yet heard from the man, “and the High Priestess is not someone who obeys anyone’s beck and call. She does not—”

  “Let her decide that,” Doc interrupted. “In the meantime, I am not asking your opinion. I am giving you an order.”

  “You don’t order me around!”

  “I just did.”

  “She’s killed people for such insolence,” Teraeth snapped.

  “Yet here I am,” Doc said with a cold smile.

  “Do you have any idea—?”

  “Who you are? You’re Teraeth. Your father was an idiot and a fool, and the fact you took his name instead of your mother’s means you’re an idiot and a fool as well.” Doc paused. “Or did you mean who you really are? Because I know that too. Still an idiot. Still a fool.”

  Teraeth’s expression didn’t change. Not so much as a muscle tic or flaring of nostrils. Yet I knew I was looking at a man who had just put Doc down on a short list of names Teraeth made a point of crossing off one by one.

  Teraeth spun on his heel and dove out the cave entrance.

  Doc sighed, leaned back in his chair, and inhaled. I think he’d been expecting Teraeth to attack him. I’m not sure if he was relieved or disappointed that Teraeth hadn’t.

  “Cute kid,” Doc said.

  “Just curious: has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?”

  His eyes widened in mock surprise, and then he laughed. “Every time I cut someone off. I need a drink.” He reached for Teraeth’s bottle.

  “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

  Doc grinned. “Your warning is noted.” He uncorked the bottle and pulled a drought that would have made an elephant pass out. He stood still, eyes closed, body tense, not even breathing. Then he inhaled deeply and faced me. “You have that look on your face. Go ahead and ask.”

  I shrugged. “On the way over you said you had no idea who Teraeth is. That exchange I just saw makes me think you were being less than entirely honest.”

  “I’ve never met him before. That doesn’t mean I don’t know his type. He’s young,” Doc said while setting aside the bottle and leaning back in the chair. The collar of his shirt flipped open, revealing that he was wearing a tsali stone around his neck—a green stone wrapped in gold. “And since he’s a vané that makes him arrogant, egotistical, and insufferable. Given a few hundred years, he’ll mellow into something resembling a real person, but since we don’t have that long, I guess he just rubs me the wrong way.”

  “Oh, come on. The look on your face when I said his name—”

  “The vané have peculiar rules for the naming of their children,” Doc said. “That’s all.”

  “What do you mean?” I leaned forward. Relos Var had also reacted strongly to Teraeth’s name, had mentioned something about Teraeth’s father, but I had never gotten a good explanation. Doc’s view of Teraeth’s father seemed even less flattering.

  “Nosy, aren’t you?” Doc retorted.

  “It’s my defining characteristic. Speaking of which, what are you doing here? You can’t tell me you came all the way here from the Capital just to speak with Khaemezra.”

  Doc looked surprised. “She didn’t tell you? I’m here because—” He stopped and chuckled. “It’s a long story, kid.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “Nobody’s got that much time. Let’s just say that back in the day, me and a nephew of mine used to run around the Capital with this low-ranked priest of Thaena and a fresh-off-the-farm ki
d from Marakor, who only barely just qualified as being a wizard.” He smiled, looking off into the distance. “Those were some days.”

  “Is that—is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  Doc shrugged. “Only as much as that low-ranked priest of Thaena ended up becoming High Lord Therin of House D’Mon, the fresh-faced farm kid became Emperor Sandus, and my nephew Qoran clawed his way into the High General’s chair. Me? I opened a bar.”

  “So you’re the underachiever.”

  “I didn’t have anything to prove.”

  “Doc, it’s so good to see you again,” Khaemezra said from the cave entrance.

  I hadn’t heard the rattle of anyone climbing up the ladder. Khaemezra and her son were simply there.

  “What did you do, fly?” I whispered to Teraeth. The vané only glared at me in response, as if to remind me we were still in the middle of an argument.

  Believe me, I hadn’t forgotten.

  “How have you been?” Khaemezra crossed the distance between them, bending over to kiss Doc on the cheek.

  She seemed genuinely pleased to see the man, smiling warmly.

  “I’ve been keeping out of trouble, Khae,” Doc told her as he stood.

  “Really? After all these years, you’ve finally figured out how to do that?” Khaemezra’s eyes sparkled with merriment.

  “Yes,” Doc agreed. “The trick of it is to stay far, far away from you.”

  Khaemezra’s smile froze into ice and cracked. With a single sentence Doc opened wounds, and they sat visible and fresh on her face. When she recovered herself, she gestured toward Teraeth with a forcefully light flick of her wrist. “This is my son, Teraeth.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I see you’ve already met your new pupil Kihrin,” she continued.

  “Mother Khaemezra,” I said, “we need to talk about this. You’re breaking our deal. You promised me a swordmaster, not a barkeep.” I glanced over at Doc. “No offense.”

  They both ignored me. They reminded me of two cats locked into a staring contest. Doc broke eye contact first, as he glanced at Teraeth. “Is he everything you wanted?”

  “At least he follows orders,” Khaemezra snapped.

  “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Teraeth cleared his throat. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem pleased to see his prediction about Khaemezra’s anger coming to pass. He put his hand on my arm. “Kihrin, we’re needed downstairs.”

  I jerked my arm away from him. “I need to talk to Khaemezra.”

  “No,” Khaemezra said. “Follow my son outside.”

  “Yes,” Doc agreed. “Khae and I have a lot to discuss. Kihrin, I’ll see you at the training yard at dawn. Consider yourself excused from your other weapons classes from now on.”

  I lingered a moment, but neither Khaemezra nor Doc had anything further to say to me. I scowled and began the climb down.

  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. N
one 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.