“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.”
55: THE PALE LADY’S JUDGMENT
(Kihrin’s story)
I’m impressed you had the guts to tell the truth about that, Talon.
Then again, what do you care? You’ve done a lot worse than take advantage of a teenage boy, haven’t you?
* * *
Anyway, Tyentso’s plan … well, it didn’t go as well as we had hoped.
To start with, because Khaemezra refused to help us.
We found Khaemezra the next morning, and I admit I’d assumed she’d agree. After all, why not? She was High Priestess of the Goddess of Death, and what we were asking her to do seemed normal for the weirdness that was a regular part of her religion. Tyentso would die. I’d have a magic lesson. Khaemezra would bring Tyentso back to life again. Easy.
Except apparently it wasn’t.
Tyentso cleared her throat, gave me an apologetic look, and turned back to the Holy Mother of the Black Brotherhood. “It’s a small departure from the Maevanos ritual. All I’m asking is we take a few hours out before my Return, that’s all.”
“Ty thinks this would work,” I added.
The old woman looked furious we would even make the suggestion. She stared down Tyentso. “This is about Phaellen, isn’t it?”
I had no idea who that was, but Tyentso turned white.
“Who’s Phaellen?” I asked.
Tyentso crossed her arms over her chest. “Phaellen D’Erinwa. He is … he was the ghost who taught me.” She took a deep breath. “It’s not important.” Tyentso returned her gaze to Khaemezra. “I didn’t think you knew about him.”
Khaemezra glared. “I know everyone who dies.”
“And that’s not creepy at all,” I said. “I’m not thrilled about the idea of being possessed, but I’m even less happy about being trapped here by the Old Man. So, if there’s some reason why Tyentso can’t do this—besides flouting the normal rules of the Maevanos—please tell me so I can start working on my next harebrained scheme to get off this island.” I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it. Any idea where I can buy five crates of hedgehogs?”
“You shouldn’t be trying to leave at all. You are still in training.”
I inhaled and fought back the impulse to say something nasty. “I don’t like cages. I especially don’t like what the Old Man wants to do to me.”
Khaemezra’s nostrils flared. “A ghost is not simply a dead spirit. Souls are not meant to stay on this side of the Veil, removed from the body that nurtured them. When you die, you travel past the Second Veil, into the Afterlife. Everyone does. That includes people who experience the Maevanos. To become a ghost, someone who lingers on this side of the Veil, requires you to be dead, yet too weak, angry, or tied to this world to successfully make the transition. That is dangerous. The lower soul drains away, and if you spend long enough trapped in that state, you—or rather, Tyensto—would be left unable to be Returned or to move on to the Land of Peace to one day be reborn.” Her eyes were hard as she gestured toward Tyensto. “And let’s not forget: you have yet to undergo a Maevanos. There is no guarantee that you would be allowed to Return.”