We didn’t know what Gadrith and Darzin might have planned or prepared for in the four years I had been gone, but we knew they were still looking for me. The Brotherhood had sent several agents over the years–and once Teraeth himself—disguised to fit my general description, just to see if anyone was paying attention.
The answer? Someone was very much paying attention. If the Black Brotherhood agents hadn’t been arrested on spurious charges by the Watchmen, waterfront spies (probably loyal to the Shadowdancers) pointed them out. In all cases, it had never taken more than an hour for Darzin to personally show up and check whether I’d returned to the Capital.
So, I was going back in disguise.
We all were. Tyentso had even more motive to make sure no one realized Raverí D’Lorus, convicted traitor and witch, had returned to the Capital, and Teraeth—
Well. It probably wasn’t good for a Manol vané to be seen in the Capital just on general principle.
I had time on the trip to think about my situation, what I was leaving behind and what I was heading toward. I had time to think about my mother and my father, and who they might be. Thanks to Doc/Terindel, Miya’s role was not in question, but the father’s role? My father?
Oh, but there was only one person it could be. Not Darzin, no … Someone so ashamed of and yet chained to his relationship with Miya he demanded all call her “Lady” as if she were his titled wife. It would explain too why I looked so much like Pedron D’Mon, who was not in fact my great-great-uncle, or even my great-grandfather, but just my grandfather. Kihrin, son of Therin, son of Pedron. The golden hair had skipped a generation, helped along by a pure-blooded vané mother. The blue eyes had been there all along.
As Therin himself had once promised me, my status as a D’Mon was never in question.
My chest felt tight as the ship entered the natural inlet leading to the Capital City. The cause eluded me at first, danced in front of me. Then I recognized it as delayed sentimentality. Before I had been kidnapped and sold into slavery, I had never left the City’s confines.
I was surprised to discover I missed the Capital.
I missed the white spiraling towers that made the City look like something from a children’s god-king tale in the distance, the crush of people and the way the noonday sun reflected off the Senlay River to create a blinding brightness. I missed the stifling heat bouncing off the white stone streets with homicidal fury. I missed the scent of the khilins firing bread and roasting meat and I missed the sound of vendors hawking their wares through the streets.
I had been homesick for four years, but I hadn’t realized it until I returned.
The artificial stone-wrought harbor of the Capital formed a half-circle as the sculpted breakwaters reached out toward the bay like a greedy demon’s claw. It was early summer—months to go until the autumn monsoons closed the City. The harbor was busy with frantic activity. Trading ships from Kazivar delivered grains and wines. The large loggers from Kirpis arrived with hardwoods and cedars. The small Khorveshan merchants off-loaded carpets, textiles, herbs, and dyes. Ships from Zherias and Doltar added their own mercantile imports and purchased exports to the overall clamor of background noise. Most of all, I found my gaze drawn to the bloated slave ships hulking by the side of the harbor to unload their grizzly living cargo. I unclenched my hand when I realized it was gripped tightly around the ship’s rail.
Security on the docks had changed considerably in the years I had been absent. The large, famous dragon-carved Jade Gate, a wonder of the known world, was closed for the first time I could remember in my entire life. Someone had gone to the trouble of building a large wooden guardhouse and a smaller door next to the Jade Gate, which now constituted the only harbor entrance to the City. There were far more Watchmen on the wharf than I had ever seen before, and more distressingly, these increased numbers seemed to be normal. Most of the guards concentrated on the slave ships and tracking their human cargo. The air hanging over the docks was stifling and tense, filled with the undercurrent of suspicion and resentment.
“When did all this start happening?” I asked the ship’s captain, Norrano, as we approached the docks.
Captain Norrano shrugged. “A few years back. Some prince was kidnapped and ever since, the Quuros have been paranoid about foreigners. Revoked the old open city laws.”
I suppressed a nervous sigh. “Ah.”
Norrano chuckled. “Ah, it’ll calm down in a few years, I’m sure. Until then, they’re only letting foreigners into the Merchant’s Quarter and the adjoining Lower Circle sections.”
“Of course,” I agreed. “Couldn’t keep visitors out of Velvet Town, could they?”
“There would be a riot, young man,” the Captain agreed with a tug on the single diamond earring he wore. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do now that we’re docking. Damn customs agents are twice as hard to bribe now given the new merchant laws.” He walked away, muttering under his breath.
I found Teraeth as the sailors were throwing ropes over to the dock hands waiting on the pier below to anchor the ship. He didn’t look anything like a Manol vané. He’d traded in his normal appearance for an illusion of a Quuros. Specifically, a Khorveshan Quuros, and the way he wore his misha, the sash around his hips, his boots just so, was so perfectly authentic that on more than one occasion during the trip I’d found myself wondering how Jarith Milligreest had snuck on board.
He was looking at the sparkling city’s silhouette with thinly disguised anger.
“Why do you hate Quur so much?” In all the years I’d known him, his hatred for my homeland had never wavered, not once. Ola hadn’t shared the smallest portion of his animosity, and she had been an actual slave in Quur.
Teraeth scoffed. “Because I’m capable of observation? Ask the Marakori how much they like being under the Quuros thumb. Ask the Yorans. Ask any slave. The corpse looks whole and healthy on the surface, but scratch past that and it’s nothing but rot and worms.”
“That’s a charming visual—” I shook my head. “—but this is personal for you.”
He chuckled. “Maybe a little.”
“But even you have to admit we have a fantastic sewer system.” I leaned forward against the railing. “You ready for this?”
“Not even a little bit,” Tyentso said as she passed by.
At Tyentso’s own suggestion, she was dressed as a servant. There were no potentially suspicious illusions to disguise her appearance—already altered from the one she’d worn herself when she was Raverí D’Lorus. Wire glasses perched on her nose and she wore her hair pulled back in a severe knot. She looked useful, efficient, and like no one a nobleman would ever expect to serve his bed. Her staff had been left behind, and she wore no talismans. We all agreed it would be best if her aura didn’t betray her magical skill.
“We’ll be fine,” I told them, mostly so I would believe it myself.
Four years, I’d been gone.