The Ruin of Kings (A Chorus of Dragons, #1)

Teraeth stared at him with narrowed eyes. “That’s good, coming from you.”

“I get why Doc has experience with this,” I said, “but why do you, Teraeth? You’ve never owned the Stone of Shackles, have you?”

Teraeth didn’t answer.

“Ask him who he was in his last life,” Doc said cheerfully. “Go on. Ask him.”

“I don’t care,” Tyentso said. “Let’s try to focus.”

I cleared my throat and raised a hand. “But Tyentso cast magic when she possessed my body yesterday. She didn’t have any trouble.”

“Oh, I just made it look easy,” Tyentso said. When she saw our raised eyebrows, she elaborated, “It’s not as easy as milking a bull elephant, but if you know how to compensate, if you’ve taken a lot of time to learn how the other person thinks, you can make adjustments. I’ve been study ing Kihrin since we both arrived here, to try to figure out what his particular triggers are for magic.”

Doc gestured in Tyentso’s direction. “Most people don’t have the opportunity to study their murderer for years before the soul swap takes place. In Khaeriel’s case, that meant that she would have wound up as Miya—with no ability to defend herself from being gaeshed and sold into slavery. Of course, it’s been twenty-five years, so she’s probably had time to figure it out.”

“My mother is the vané queen?” I was a little stuck on that part.

“No, your mother is a vané handmaiden possessed by the soul of a vané queen,” Doc corrected. “Or, Miya was a traitor and an assassin—as she attempted to kill the queen—and you are her son. Although since King Kelanis is probably the one who ordered Miya to assassinate his sister, Queen Khaeriel, I guess that makes you the son of a patriot too. Vané politics gets complicated. You might want to draw up a chart.”

“Damn, Doc,” Tyentso said. “Do you enjoy stealing sweets from little kids too? Back off. He’s gone through a lot in the last day.”

I raised a hand. “I’m fine, Ty.”

“Scamp, you’re not fine. Nobody gets blackout drunk like that because they’re fine. I should know. I drank more than you did because I am not fine.” She finished her tea and flipped her cup upside down on the table. “So, what are we going to do about Gadrith?”

“Nothing?” Teraeth responded. “Kihrin can’t leave the island and as long as we keep the Stone of Shackles away from Gadrith, he’s doomed to a miserable, cursed existence. Let him stew. It’s what he deserves.”

“Except he has to kill people to survive,” I said. “He has to devour the lower souls of innocent people to sustain his existence.” I scowled at the look Teraeth gave me. “You do remember what ‘innocent person’ means, don’t you?”

“Innocent … that’s a synonym for na?ve, yes? It’s not your problem. Let the Court of Gems deal with their wayward necromancer. They’ve earned him.”

I shook my head. “It’s just a matter of time before they summon up Xaltorath again and send that monster after me.” I shuddered. “I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens.”

“It won’t happen. They’ve already tried it,” Teraeth said.

“What?” I felt the whole world tilt. “They’ve already what now?”

Teraeth made a circle with his finger. “Gadrith and Darzin summoned up Xaltorath to track down the Stone of Shackles about a year ago. Mother told me. You have, or rather had, an Ogenra second cousin who vanished without a trace so they could have their sacrifice. Didn’t work. Xaltorath can’t get near this island. They don’t know where the stone is and therefore don’t know where you are either.”

“And in the meantime, I’m just … trapped.” I nodded to them. “Trapped on this island, trapped with all of you. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Teraeth.

“I can’t do anything,” I muttered. I tapped my foot against the ground and felt an anger burn in my gut. I hated feeling trapped. I hated Gadrith for being able to do whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted and get away with it, even to the point of tricking the Goddess of Death herself. I hated him because of the damage his stupid obsession with this stupid rock had done to my life. I hated Darzin for being Darzin, for murdering so many people, including my father Surdyeh, often for no other reason than just because he could. I hated what he’d done to everyone around him, what he’d done to Galen, what he’d done to me. I hated that people were going to die to feed Gadrith’s hunger, and I hated Teraeth’s insistence that none of this was my problem.

… wait.

I looked up and realized Teraeth was staring at me, had been staring at me for some time now, his face an unfathomable mask. Or not so unfathomable. I was starting to know his quirky little moods. When he was pressing a point just to see if I would press back. How often he supported a position not because it was what he believed, but just to see if I could defend mine.

“What does Gadrith want?” I asked out loud.

“I thought we established this,” Doc said. “The Stone of Shackles—”

Teraeth smiled to himself and looked away.

“No,” I said. “I mean yes. He wants the Stone of Shackles. Sure. Of course. Who wants to exist as an animated corpse? But he was plotting bullshit long before he faked his own death. The Affair of the Voices. He killed Emperor Gendal, but he didn’t try to replace him. He let Sandus take the crown—”

“‘Let’ might be the wrong word,” Doc interrupted.

“What does he want?” I pressed. “Chasing the Stone of Shackles is nothing but a detour before he returns to his real goals. What are those?”

“The prophecies,” Tyentso said. “He wants to fulfill the prophecies. He wants to pull down the gods and put himself in charge. Make a universe that works the way he thinks it should. Remake the world. Make it better, whatever ‘better’ is to him.”

“Okay, so what do the prophecies say will happen next?”

Silence.

I looked at the three of them. “Come on…”

Tyentso sighed. “And ash will fall from the sky as the Great City burns, and the howls of sinners will echo with the screams of the righteous, for the Thief of Souls has come. When the demons are freed, no man shall wear the crown but has first known death.” She cleared her throat. “From the Sayings of Sephis. I could quote you some of the Devoran Prophecies, but it’s pretty much more of the same.”

“Cheerful,” Doc said, “but that could mean anything.”

Teraeth scoffed. “Sure, as long as ‘anything’ is violent and horrible and burns the Capital to the ground.”

I stood up, ignored the way my head gave a warning protest, kicked the chair I’d been sitting in, and walked way.

Jenn Lyons's books