Tishar turned back to Humthra. “Darling, can we stay for a while on the south balcony? You know how I miss that wonderful tea the Octagon serves.”
Humthra had already turned his attention back to the registry. He mumbled something that sounded like, “Whatever you like,” and waved them away.
The two started to walk back up the narrow corridor. “What we do is go to my favorite balcony and drink some truly wonderful Zheriaso tea. It would be criminal to miss the opportunity.”
Kihrin raised an eyebrow at her. “But Aunt Tishar—”
“I know the perfect spot, dear nephew. It overlooks the main hall, so you can’t help but see any slave buyer who enters … or leaves…” She winked at him.
His eyes widened as he took in her meaning, and then he nodded. “A cup of tea sounds perfect.”
She patted his hand. “Smart boy.”
* * *
Kihrin straightened next to Tishar, and hissed, “That’s her!”
Tishar glanced through the intricate wooden screen concealing the balcony, and saw a young woman being led away by collar. Tishar was forced to admit she was exceptionally lovely. She wasn’t sure who had decided to put the girl’s hair in braids like that,* but Tishar suspected it wouldn’t take much to make it the newest fad, considering how fetching the hairstyle was on the slave girl.
Then her attention focused on the man who led her. He dressed in heavy, high-collared robes of black, trimmed with thread of silver. And if he wasn’t using magic to keep from collapsing in the heat, Tishar was half-morgage. The symbol of House D’Lorus was embroidered above his heart. She frowned down at him from behind the screen. He wasn’t what she had expected.
He was a large man, tall and broad of shoulder, with the perfectly smooth pate of one bald by nature rather than art. Only his head and his elegant, long-fingered hands showed under his dark clothing, and both were a warm olive brown that looked slightly gray against all the black and silver. He wore no jewelry except a carved moonstone puzzle brooch against the cradle of his throat. His face was strong featured, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, a long upper lip, and a mouth capable of great depth of expression. She knew he was young, only twenty years old at most, and never married. There was a chiseled hardness to his features that made her wonder if he was older.*
I might have considered him a handsome bed partner, she thought to herself, under other circumstances. He glanced up at the balcony screen then, and the corner of that expressive mouth twitched in a sardonic smile. Although she knew it was impossible, it seemed that for a fraction of a second, their eyes met. Something about him did indeed bear the classic stamp of House D’Lorus–for his eyes were solid black, both iris and cornea, turning them into endless voids. Then he and his entourage passed into the main hallway underneath the balcony, out of her sight.
Tishar sat back, stunned.
He couldn’t possibly have known she was there. He couldn’t possibly have known anyone was there. Her imagination … Surely her imagination …
“That was the man who bought her, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said. “And she was the only one he bought.” Tishar leaned back against her chair and sipped the excellent tea.
“What do we do now?” Kihrin asked. “Maybe I could offer to buy her from him … although Taja! Did you see that outfit? Only a wizard takes themselves that seriously…”
“My advice is to forget her.”
Kihrin turned back to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“That was the Lord Heir D’Lorus. If you are wise, you will stay far away from him. There are men who like to be considered dangerous, and then there are men who simply are dangerous, and care not what your opinion of them might be. He is of the latter stock.”*
He narrowed his blue eyes, and his expression turned ugly. “House D’Lorus? He’s related to Gadrith the Twisted?”
“Related? You could say that. Thurvishar D’Lorus is Gadrith’s only son.”?
57: GHOST WALK
(Kihrin’s story)
I stared at the doorway Thaena exited, as if staring might make her return. I heard an inarticulate noise next to me, and when I looked, I saw Tyentso’s ghost standing there. Tears streamed down her face, the same look of dull shock there as when she had taken her life.
“Tyentso—” I reached out a hand, and was surprised when my fingers passed right through her arm, leaving a glowing trail where the two images intersected.
I’d forgotten she didn’t exist in the same world as me. Well, not as a living person.
She flinched regardless, shook her head, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “So let’s begin then.”
I blinked. She couldn’t mean to go through with the lesson on magic, could she? “Ty, this is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. You know, your body hasn’t been dead for long. Is there some way we can fix it? Restore you to life? Could I heal you if you guided me?”
She laughed, bitter and hard. “You could heal the body but then what? Return my soul without Thaena’s permission? It wouldn’t be life, Scamp. I’d be some horrible parody of it, while my lower soul drained away to nothing.* What’s done is done. I damn well knew the risks.”
I swallowed. “What she said about you…?”
Tyentso raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I’m innocent?”
“Just tell me you had a good reason.”
“I can’t do that, Scamp. Every fucking thing she said about me was true. I’m a terrible person. I’ve done all those things and more. But you know what? I knew this was going to be a one-way trip from the start. I’m just so angry at myself for thinking that she might forgive me.” She shook her head. “That’s never been my luck.”
“I can’t—” I struggled to find the words. “You can’t be that bad.”
She scoffed. “You’re so adorably na?ve. I was younger than you when I orchestrated my first murder. I was never caught.”
“So? I tried to get someone killed a couple years ago. Unlike you, I just sucked at it. And I would have gleefully killed Darzin if I thought I could get away with it. And I’ve done worse. People I love are dead because of me.” I closed my eyes and choked back on a full confession.
“Oh goddess. Shut up.”
I opened my eyes again.
Tyentso glared at me. “This isn’t a fucking contest, you ass. I’m not going to drag out my sins to see who’s graded higher on the awful-person test. It doesn’t matter anyway. You think Mother Death is going to leave one of her special prophecy brats to rot in the Afterlife? Not likely. Me? I’m disposable. You aren’t.” She didn’t make it sound like a compliment, but were I in her shoes I wouldn’t be happy about the situation either.
I opened my mouth to protest, but paused. I could have tried to explain to Tyentso what the Goddess of Luck had said to me about that very fact. However, I didn’t think Tyentso would graciously accept me having visions sent from one of the Eight Immortals as proof that I wasn’t special. Tyentso had sacrificed a lot for me—far more than anyone should give—and she had every right to be more than a little upset about the outcome.