She had been poisoned.
That was everyone’s immediate assumption, because the Lord Heir’s wife had been drinking some wine of unknown source when the convulsions had taken her. Death had come on swift wings thereafter. Poison left her a corpse with red skin and a rictus grin. Her body was taken by the physickers of the House, who announced her beyond their ability to repair.
Everyone assumed that neither Therin nor Darzin would petition the Black Gate for her Return.
Galen had taken one look at her and had been ordered to his rooms because it wasn’t seemly for a noble of the House to cry so in public. Darzin didn’t seem joyful—but Kihrin thought his expression was too ambivalent for the murder of his wife. No matter that he hadn’t loved her, Alshena’s murder should have stung his pride.
Tishar’s expression could have been cast from iron.
Galen was still drying his eyes when Kihrin found him. With no words, Kihrin crossed over to his younger brother, put his arms around him, and let the younger boy sob.
“I hate this place, I hate this place, I hate this place,” Galen said again and again. “He killed her. He killed my mother!”
“You don’t know—”
“Who else would it have been? She wasn’t important. Now you’re here, I’m no longer heir and there was never any chance she’d be mother of a Lord Heir, let alone a High Lord.” He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Who else but Darzin? Who else but my father? I know how he beats her, how he hates her. Hates her because he blames her for my weakness.”
“You’re not weak,” Kihrin told him.
“I am weak,” Galen corrected, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “I am weak and I am wrong, and I wish I weren’t. I don’t like the things our father wants me to like, no matter how hard I try.”
“You’re fantastic with a sword,” Kihrin said, trying to find what words of comfort he could.
“Not good enough, it seems.” Galen shook his head. “Never good enough, or strong enough, or cruel enough to please him. He’ll beat me now, for daring to cry over my mother’s corpse.”
“Galen, you’re fourteen. No matter what he says, I bet Darzin wasn’t any better at fourteen.” Kihrin reached over, took his brother’s hand, and squeezed it.
Galen sat there, eyes a vivid blue from the tears. He met Kihrin’s gaze. “I don’t like girls,” he confessed.
Kihrin bit his lip. “I know.”
“You do?” Galen frowned, confusion now showing in his features.
“I’m sure everyone knows,” Kihrin admitted. “It’s not really too hard to figure out, when you don’t even stare at pretty girls when they’re wearing almost nothing. Aunt Tishar and—” He floundered, not wanting to mention Alshena’s name. But if they had taken such pains to note his own sexual interests, surely they had done so with Galen. “You know, it means nothing. Men worked at the Shattered Veil Club, and they always had plenty of customers. Some men like … men.”
“It’s weak,” Galen muttered.
“Dragon shit,” Kihrin said. “It’s an excuse for gossip and after that, nobody cares.”
“That’s not true,” Galen said. He wiped his eyes. “You know that’s not true.”
Kihrin sighed. “Yes, you’re right. That’s not true. It should be though.”
An awkward silence settled between the two boys.
“Have you ever—” Galen started to ask. He stopped himself, and turned away, face reddened.
“Yes.” Kihrin’s voice was quiet.
Galen looked up. “What? You have?”
“I didn’t like it,” Kihrin confessed. “And I just—” He shrugged. “I just like girls, I suppose.”
“Oh.” Galen cleared his throat. “I mean, of course. That makes sense.”
The stifling silence returned.
“I’m running away,” Kihrin said. “You could come with me. Where I’m going, no one will care.” The idea seemed plausible enough. If they were incognito, no one would care if they took wives or had children or not.
“You’re running? You’d never get away—”
“I am. I will. I have a way.” Kihrin squeezed Galen’s hand. “Come with me?”
Galen stared at him, and then he nodded.
75: CONFRONTATIONS
(Kihrin’s story)
From the Ruby District, I made my way to the Culling Fields invisibly, but I wore my hood up, just in case.
When I entered the tavern, the first thing I noticed was that it was as crowded as the last time I’d seen it. The second thing I noticed though was Teraeth leaning against the bar, chatting up Tauna Milligreest. Doc had said that he’d left a way to contact Sandus with Tauna in case of emergencies. We all agreed this qualified.
I knew Teraeth had a weakness for Khorveshan women, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Teraeth knew he was hitting on his adopted sister.
I started to wander over in his direction when I saw Tyentso. She had set up shop at one of the larger round tables, cleared it of its normal contents, and had instead covered the entire table with small glass tumblers filled with water. At least, I assumed it was water.
Sitting next to her was a Marakori man wearing a patchwork sallí. He had a plain copper circlet on his forehead, and although I couldn’t see it currently, I was equally sure he owned a matching wand somewhere on his person. No one in the bar seemed particularly concerned or interested in his presence, but to be fair, he still didn’t really look like anyone special. He also looked young, but then unlike his friends Qoran, Therin, or Nikali, he would never age as long as he owned the Crown and Scepter.
Why would anyone think this was the Emperor of Quur?
My mouth felt very dry.
I walked over to their table and pulled up a chair.
Tyentso nodded to me, although her focus remained on the tumblers. “I’d make introductions, but—”
“We’ve met,” Emperor Sandus said. “Although it’s been a few years. Tyentso’s been explaining the situation to me.” He didn’t look happy, but then I suppose I couldn’t blame him.
If I’d just found out that my mortal enemy had been claiming my son as his for all these years, I probably wouldn’t be happy either.
I looked down at the table. If one was paying close attention to the tumblers, or rather to the liquid inside the tumblers, they might notice that the images reflected against their surfaces did not correspond with the interior of the bar. I’m sure most people just thought Ty was playing an insanely intoxicating drinking game. What she was really doing was monitoring the City for the sort of changes that would indicate a Hellmarch starting. She’d sworn she could do it; something about how demons absorbed heat affecting the ambient temperature in a way that could be followed, like changing weather patterns.
“That’s good,” I said. “I assume that means you’ll help?” I saw the look he gave me. “Yes, you’re right. That was a stupid question. If you’ll come with Teraeth and me—”
Emperor Sandus smiled tightly. “Under an illusion or invisibility or some other method, I assume. I have what may be a better idea, if you’re amenable.”