Therin raised both eyebrows, and Kihrin fought the temptation to fidget or worse, to apologize. Instead he looked around the High Lord’s office, noting nothing much had changed since he was there last, save perhaps a different set of papers now occupied his grandfather’s attention.
If “grandfather” was the right word now.
“We are allowed the privilege of being friends with the High General and his family,” Therin said as he dipped his quill in ink and signed the next piece of paper, “because we do not abuse that privilege, because we do not rub it in the faces of our peers that we receive special favors. Having his son fight your duels for you … how do you think that makes us look?”
The room grew silent save for the sound of the quill tip scratching against paper. Therin looked up. “Well?”
“Like we’re well connected and it would be dangerous to cross us?” Kihrin suggested.
“Jarith Milligreest was left looking like an idiot because of that association. Why would anyone presume Milligreest would jump to our aid after that kind of embarrassment?”
Kihrin took a deep breath. “That wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask him to fight that duel for me.”
Therin leaned back in his chair and regarded the young man. “I think you have me confused with someone who cares if it was your fault. I really don’t. This isn’t a matter of who is at fault. This is a matter of how it affects appearances and how it stains the reputation of our family. Understand?”
Kihrin fought not to roll his eyes. “Yes, my lord.”
Therin tilted his head. “You don’t agree.”
“What gave me away, my lord?”
“So what is it? What do I not understand about the situation?”
“That it involves Darzin. He’s doing something.”
“I’m aware Darzin is ‘doing something.’ I asked you to find out specifics, not use him as a free license to embarrass the House. You’ll need to come up with a better excuse.” He waved a hand. “Consider yourself confined to your suite until the end of Festival.”
Kihrin’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that.”
“It’s done. If I can’t count on you to behave yourself, I won’t give you the opportunity to disappoint me a second time.”
Kihrin worried at his lip for a moment before he sighed heavily and spoke. “Darzin and Thurvishar are working together. I overheard them talking. They were with a third, someone I call Dead Man. I don’t know his real name. They’re planning something. Another summoning, although I don’t know why. They were scouting an underground chamber. Pedron used to torture people there and I heard one of them say that you had turned it into a Temple of Thaena. I also heard them say that Thurvishar’s mother had been held as a prisoner there, to be sacrificed.”
Therin stared at him. There was disbelief in those eyes.
Kihrin fought down his anger. “I saw it. Well, I heard it. But it was Thurvishar D’Lorus. I know it was. I recognized his voice.”
Therin slammed his quill into the ink bottle, splattering blue ink across the paper in front of him. “You must never lie to me, nor think your upbringing as a minstrel’s son gives you some license for creative invention.”
“I am not lying!” the young man protested.
Therin stood and walked to the single window, gazing out over the roofs of the Blue Palace. “Part of what you say is true,” Therin said as he looked back at Kihrin. “There was a young lady found in a chamber used by my uncle Pedron. A friend of mine married her afterwards—”
“Sandus. The friend was Emperor Sandus, right?”
“—before she was murdered, as was their son. I don’t think Sandus would appreciate the suggestion that the Lord Heir of House D’Lorus is his long-dead child.”
“But Thurvishar said—”
“How old is Thurvishar D’Lorus? Twenty? Cimillion would be younger than you, if he had lived. Thurvishar is far too old, never mind that he looks nothing like Sandus.” Therin shrugged. “To be fair, he doesn’t resemble Gadrith either. We’ve all long suspected Cedric D’Lorus plucked some anonymous Ogenra from obscurity and claimed the child as his grandson. Thurvishar is a D’Lorus. One only has to look at his eyes to see that.”
“That can be faked. If the four Houses that were added to the Royal Families can use magic to change their eye color, why not use magic to make someone look like a D’Lorus?”
“They found the bodies, Kihrin.”
Kihrin was taken aback for a minute, but only for a minute. “Did you test to make sure they were the right ones? Did you ask Thaena?”
Therin drew back. “No.” He deflected. “Yet what possible reason would Gadrith have had for keeping Sandus’s child alive? And if he had, why would High Lord Cedric lie about it after his son Gadrith died?”*
Kihrin’s face twisted into defiant anger. “I don’t know. Fine. Thurvishar still met with Darzin. They are still planning something together. You wanted me to find out what Darzin was plotting, remember?”
“So find out,” Therin commanded. “Something other than speculation and innuendo.”
“Make up your mind. I can’t do that from my room.”
Therin frowned and mulled the matter over before waving a hand. “Fine. Consider your confinement rescinded. For now.”
“Just tell Emperor Sandus so he can do something about it … before they call up that demon.” Kihrin couldn’t believe that this was all going to fall apart because Therin didn’t want to dredge up some old, bad memory of Pedron’s dungeons.
“Perhaps I will, if you come to me with something more persuasive,” Therin said. “Do you think that’s too much for you?”
“No,” Kihrin said. Then he added, “But I’m going to need more metal…”
69: THE WAYWARD SON
(Kihrin’s story)
A heavy rain of ash fell over the harbor, piling up along the crates and coating the pier like a blanket of dirty snow. The sky to the east was red from the ongoing eruption of Ynisthana’s volcano. The air cracked with lightning through towering black clouds that strangled the night sky.
The other side of the gate on Ynisthana led to a harbor town in Zherias, an odd shanty sort of place that existed as a stop for fishermen, traders, and pirates looking to unload their merchandise. Only a few people permanently lived there, with everyone else a migrant population who sailed in for a few weeks at a time before continuing on to other ports of call.
This made it wonderfully easy for the Black Brotherhood to slip in without anyone noticing. Most of the Brotherhood members had holed up in safe houses in town before dispersing for wherever Khaemezra set up the new training camp.
I sat on a crate, watching people load up a familiar, black-sailed ship, the same one that I’d seen come to the island a half dozen or more times. However, this was different and more beautiful in all the ways that mattered.
This time, the ship would be taking me back to Quur.
“You do realize that you’re being an idiot, don’t you?”