Teraeth reappeared, swooped down on her with both blades outstretched. When she lashed out her arms at him, Teraeth sliced at her legs, but those limbs, too, formed serrated edges to slash back.
“What will you do?” she mused. At that moment, she didn’t look very much like a she, or a human, or any creature outside of an insane man’s worst nightmares. “You cannot sever my arms. You cannot decapitate my head. I have no organs for you to injure. I have no veins for you to bleed. And yet—ah, ducky—all of that I can do to you…” She spun around, laughing as she lashed the air at random. “Aw, don’t hide, ducky. I so want to know you better. You seem like such fun.”
He didn’t answer.
Talon waited for a beat, but when Teraeth didn’t make a move or give her anything to respond to, she thought it was at least possible he’d snuck off. She formed tentacle after tentacle and spun them through the air, thrashing against space as if to discern his location through blundering chance. One of her arms struck something, there was a gasping sound, blood, and for just a second, Teraeth’s illusions dropped—enough for her to tell where he was.
Talon didn’t hesitate. She turned all her arms upon him, like some obscene sea creature, tentacles wrapping around the assassin. She lost herself in the joy of slaughter as she ripped the vané apart, cherishing each wound like a lover’s caress.
Then she felt a stabbing sensation in what might be considered her back (if only because it was the opposite side to where her attention was focused) and the phantasm she had been embracing crumbled into wisps of magical vapor. She fell to the ground, unable to move or twitch or change so much as a single muscle. The tip of a large silver spike impaled her body.
Teraeth became visible. He was uninjured.
The vané walked around the mass of tentacles and flesh that lay still and silent on the ground. “Kihrin knew you were here,” Teraeth told her. “He’s known for years. It gave him a great deal of time to prepare for how he would deal with you.”* He reached down into the crawling mess of flesh and pulled back a necklace of star tear diamonds. He stared at the jewels with dread in his expression.
He turned and raced after Tyentso.?
* * *
Tyentso found the remaining living members of the D’Mon family, a huddled mass of nobility silently crying over dead bodies. A young woman with red hair was trying to wake up the High Lord.
As she moved inside the ballroom, the unmoving soldiers guarding the family twitched and came to a semblance of life, shambling in her direction.
Tyentso rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t think so.” She repeated the mnemonics over in her mind and pooled the energy. Then when she stretched out her hands, a wave of violet power ripped from each soldier. They collapsed like puppets with cut strings.
She walked over to the girl, becoming aware as she did that a young man—also dressed in D’Mon colors—stood close beside her. Every eye in the room was upon her, but not one person yet spoke.
“Quieter than I would have expected for D’Mons,” she said. “Oh, I see.” She undid the spell of silence Thurvishar had cast earlier.
Then everyone babbled at once, but as Tyentso noticed the pile of bodies pulled to one side, she whipped the air with an angry gesture. Everyone fell silent again. “I’d recognize Gadrith’s handiwork anywhere.”
“Who are you?” Sheloran asked.
She motioned to the girl trying to wake High Lord Therin. “A friend. Step aside. I’ll wake him.”
“Can you do that without hurting him?” the young man asked. “And really, who are you?”
She raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to the High Lord. “No one who would see the smallest harm come to Therin D’Mon.”
“I’m Galen D’Mon, and while I appreciate you destroying those monsters, I must know—”
She ignored him and instead placed her hand on Therin’s forehead. “It’s not a complicated spell. A deep sleep for all intents and purposes.” Her fingers tightened, so they almost took on the shape and quality of outstretched talons.
Therin gasped and opened his eyes, then cast around in a panic as he realized where he was. He saw Tyentso bending over him and sneered, “Get away from me, woman … What are you doing here?”
“She wouldn’t tell me her name,” Galen said.
Tyentso sat back on her heels and smiled. “Allow me to explain.”
Tyentso pulled an illusion over her native form, something that might be recognized.
Therin blinked at her. “Raverí? Raverí D’Lorus?”
“I thought—” But then Galen’s expression registered confusion. “Wait, I’ve seen your portrait at the Dark Hall.”
“What are you doing here?” Therin asked.
“Plotting to kill my husband—a second time,” the sorceress explained. “Now, Lord Therin, if you would be so kind as to stand over here while I wake your seneschal, I want your face to be the first thing she sees.”
“Why?” Therin asked as he scrambled to his feet.
Tyentso chuckled. “Because I’ll live longer. She is liable to annihilate any D’Lorus she sees right at this moment.” She paused. “Do you even realize what a powerful wizard she is?” Tyentso shook her head. “Never mind that. Just stand over there and look pretty. That should come easily enough for you.”
Therin stepped in front of Miya.
Galen stood next to him. “What is happening?”
“I would ask you—” Therin said. “What’s happened to Kihrin?”
Then the sound of Miya waking distracted Therin, and he didn’t see the look of shame come over his grandson’s face.
“Therin?” Miya held out her hand for his. “What happened? Was that Gadrith?”
“Apparently,” Tyentso said.
Miya turned to look at her and then her brows drew together. “Why do I—? Raverí? Is that you?”
“Isn’t it nice to be remembered,” the sorceress said. She turned to Galen. “What happened to Kihrin? I saw the look on your face when Therin asked.”
Galen swallowed a lump down his throat. “They wanted a necklace he was wearing. A vané stone. And when he wouldn’t give it to them, Gadrith started killing people, ripping out their souls.” He looked over to the pile of bodies.
Therin hadn’t noticed them before, but as he did, his face turned ashen. “Bavrin. My son…” he whispered. “And Lorgrin and Tishar. Where’s Devyeh?”
Galen’s expression sickened. “The bones are his.”
Therin turned to his grandson. “You say he was ripping out souls. Did he make tsali stones? Where are they?”
“He took them,” Galen said.
“He’ll feed on them,” Tyentso said, “but if we can get to Gadrith before he does that, and destroy the gems, their souls will be released. They can be Returned, or at least go to the Land of Peace.”
“Never mind that,” Miya snapped. “Kihrin. What happened to Kihrin? What happened to the gem he wore?”
Galen’s expression tightened. “I don’t know why Gadrith wanted that gem so badly, if he could just make more any time he wanted.”