“And he’s the high priest of the one being in the universe who makes me wake up screaming from night terrors, so it all evens out.”
I wanted her to be joking. I wanted her to smile and tilt her head and stare at me with a merry twinkle in her violet eyes as she said she was teasing, but she didn’t. Her eyes emptied, spilling all that impish delight into darkness. What was left was haunted. It was not an expression I ever wanted to see in a woman I cared for; to see that horror reflected in the eyes of my goddess was like a bludgeon to my gut.
My goddess.
Well, hell.
I guess she’d forgiven me. I guess I’d forgiven her.
I picked up seashells and turned them over in my hands. Neither of us spoke for a time.
“I don’t want to be a pawn,” I said.
“Good. This is a war, not chess.”
“What do you want from me?”
She exhaled slowly, almost shuddering. “This world is dying, Kihrin.”
“Dying? What do you—”
“The sun should be yellow and it isn’t. The sky should be blue and it isn’t. I am old enough to remember when our sun was not bloated and orange. I am old enough to remember when we did not need Tya’s Veil to keep out the radiation.* This world is dying, and we’ve been doing what we can to save it, but we are running out of sacrifices. Soon will come a day when we have nothing left to give, and when that day comes, the end will follow close behind it, and it will not be a conflagration, but numbing cold and darkness that never ends.” She stood up and looked at the looming wave. “If we follow the path we’re on, what we have always done, we lose. We only prolong the inevitable. Everyone loses the war. Everyone.”
“And you want me to do something about that?” My voice absolutely cracked that time.
“You’re my wild card, Kihrin. My ace up my sleeve. I’m going to trust you to do what you do best—find a path that no one else has thought of, break in through the door that no one thought to bar. Find another way.”
I sat down on the wet sand. “I don’t know how.”
She hugged me. “I have faith that you’ll figure it out.”
I laughed bitterly. “That’s playing dirty, Taj. How am I supposed to tell you no when you say a thing like that?”
“I don’t play fair,” she admitted as she wrapped a silver curl around her finger. “But then, neither do you.”
“Not on my good days.” I gestured up at the wave. “What do we do about that?”
“Here? Nothing. This is just a dream, and that is just a metaphor.” She looked up with big eyes. “Sooner or later, everything falls: waves, empires, races, even gods.”
The wave shifted, moved.
“Taja!” I whimpered.
The little girl held me tight. “Don’t worry, Kihrin. I won’t leave you.”
The dark wave fell, and brought night with it.
20: VALATHEA
(Talon’s story)
A raging fire burned in the fireplace at the end of the Milligreest library. The night wasn’t cool, and so the interior air seemed more suited to baking bread than breathing. Jarith left Kihrin with a dual promise to find the High General and to send a servant to bank the fire.
Different colors of woods forming intricate patterns paneled the walls and ceiling of the large library. None of the books matched, but had the worn and well-thumbed air of regular use. Kihrin felt a bit of grudging respect: he had stolen into too many houses where the “library” was a room whose only purpose was providing the maids with something to dust.
Before he poured a drink or checked to see if the High General had a fascination with smutty morgage romances, Kihrin decided the fire had to go. He circled around an overstuffed leather chair that faced the blaze. Even he found it too hot for comfort and he possessed a tolerance for heat bordering on the magical.
As he grabbed a poker, he heard a throat clear behind him. He flushed, embarrassed as he realized someone was already in the library, sitting in the chair where he couldn’t be seen from the entrance.
“I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t see—” Kihrin turned and stopped. It wasn’t the General, or any member of the Milligreest family.
Pretty Boy sat there, reading a book.
“Shit!” Kihrin dropped the iron poker and ran.
The door opened as he reached it. The hulking silhouette of the High General blocked Kihrin’s only escape.
“Please, I—” Kihrin tried to get around the man.
“What’s going on here?” the High General demanded.
Pretty Boy’s all-too-familiar voice answered dryly from the other end of the room. “I have no idea. Normally people require at least five minutes in my presence before they run screaming. I believe I’ve set a new record.”
The High General frowned at Kihrin. “Calm down, boy. No one’s going to hurt you here. Jarith said you were waiting. What are you doing here, Lord Heir?” The question was addressed to Pretty Boy.
Kihrin hid his shudder and tried to pull himself together. “I’m sorry, sir. He startled me. I thought the room was empty. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll just—go.”
The General chuckled. “I can’t blame you for being skittish after that demon, but the Lord Heir D’Mon is quite human, no matter what his family name sounds like.”
“What was that?” Pretty Boy asked.
Kihrin swallowed and threw a wary glare at Pretty Boy, who stood up and walked toward the pair. The man’s hair formed a perfect series of dark chestnut waves breaking over his shoulders. Just as he had been at the Kazivar House, Pretty Boy dressed as royalty, and wore an embroidered blue silk misha over blue velvet kef. These were tucked into tall, black, leather riding boots. Sapphires and lapis lazuli beadwork sparkled from the embroidery of a hawk in midflight, laying on a golden sunburst field embroidered on his agolé.
No, Kihrin corrected himself. Pretty Boy wasn’t dressed as royalty. Pretty Boy was royalty. House D’Mon.
Kihrin’s heart skipped a beat from shock.
General Milligreest pursed his lips in disappointment. “I invited High Lord Therin to attend me at dinner tonight, not you, Darzin.”
Pretty Boy bowed. “My sincerest apologies, High General, but my father sends his regrets. I believe he’s meeting with a fellow who’s put his hands on a vané tsali stone, and you know how obsessed he is about his collection.” His gaze flitted idly over to Kihrin as he spoke.
Kihrin clenched his fists and tried to slow the rattle drum of his heartbeat. Oh hell. Butterbelly’s buyer. Butterbelly said he had a man who collected the gems. If Butterbelly told them anything, they’d know who’d broken into that villa. They’d know where to find him. I must leave. I must leave now. Oh shit. I’m as good as dead … He calmed himself.
“Hmm. Yes, I remember.”
“What was that about a demon?” Pretty Boy asked as if unfamiliar.
“You must have heard,” the High General said with a pronounced growl.
“Oh no. I’m woefully ignorant of the important happenings of the Empire.”