It wasn’t water or any alcohol Kihrin knew, but it was delicious and after his first sip, he drank gratefully. When he finished, the woman lowered him back onto the pillows.
Kihrin slept.
* * *
Later, during those brief moments when he gained consciousness and it was light enough to see, he examined his surroundings. He lay in an enormous bed, canopied with blue textured silk, just as the sheets were also made from silk. Silk was too expensive to be used for anything but clothing for the wealthiest nobles. It was such a valuable commodity in Quur that it was held as equivalent to gold by weight. Using silk as bedding was like sprinkling gold dust in a stable.
The large room was grander and more ostentatious than any room Kihrin had ever seen before. Gilded statuettes and fine porcelain vases filled with fresh exotic blue flowers covered every space that could carry them. A gold chandelier with sapphire crystals hung from the center of the room. Dark blue tiles covered the walls, etched with gold. A week ago, he might have enjoyed his stay, or at least sized up the security for a later nighttime burglary.
Now the room filled him with dread.
There was only one nobleman obsessed with blue who had any interest in him. In his moments of lucidity Kihrin wondered why he wasn’t in chains, why he wasn’t dead, why his only guards were physickers and pretty slave girls instead of men with swords. It made no sense, and he had no answers.
The next morning, the physicker woke him.
“Remember me?” the healer asked. “I’m Master Lorgrin. Why don’t you see if you can sit up on your own today?”
Kihrin did so, grimacing at the way his chest ached. “I thought you bloodletters were supposed to be able to fix someone’s injuries with a snap of your fingers. Or do you charge by the hour?”
“Strong enough for sarcasm, I see. That’s a good sign.” The old man pulled the bandages down over Kihrin’s chest and put a hand on his left breast. “You took a crossbow bolt straight through the heart. Tore your right atrium and aorta to bits. I had to use magic to keep your blood circulating while I fixed the damage.” He gave Kihrin a sharp look. “You do not want me to rush a procedure like that, or you’ll end up dropping dead of a heart seizure by the time you’re eighteen.”
Kihrin looked at the skin over his heart. There wasn’t even a scar. “Uh … thank you?”
“Just doing my job,” the old man said with gruff tenderness. “As much as it galls me to admit it, the man you really should be thanking is Darzin. The gods must love you a lot, kid, because I would have bet metal that boy never paid any attention to my lessons on cardiac stabilization spells. Yet here you are.”
“Darzin—” Kihrin flinched. “Where am I?”
The physicker smiled. “The D’Mon palace. I assume you won’t be too surprised if I tell you it’s in the Sapphire District of the Upper Circle, will you?”
“Why—why am I here?”
“Probably because your father liked your mother in a special sort of way.” He raised the bandages up again. “The heart is almost back to normal function. I suspect you’ll be up and around in no time, but I strongly advise you to avoid any strenuous activity for at least another week. Rest, and lots of it. That’s an order.”
“No, I mean—” Kihrin started to take a deep breath, felt his chest twinge, and thought better of it. “Why am I here, in this room, not in a cell? And did Pretty—I mean, did the Lord Heir bring in anyone else for healing? An old man? A beautiful woman with braided hair?”
“No, I’m sorry, but if he brought anyone back besides you, he didn’t tell me—and he would have if they were injured.” The physicker looked at him curiously. “But a cell? Why in Galava’s name would you think Darzin D’Mon would put you in a cell, my lord?”
Kihrin’s throat clenched. “What did you just call me?”
The old man looked apologetic. “Ah, I know. I’m bad with the titles. Don’t use them enough. Therin’s always dogging me for it. Probably going to get me killed when Darzin takes over. Honestly though, when you’ve overseen the births of as many D’Mon babies as I have, it’s sometimes hard to remember that they’re all grown up and toilet-trained too.”
Kihrin felt his heart start to rattle. “I’m not a lord.”
“I’m sorry, kid. I don’t know what Darzin told you, and it’s not my place to say. He’s waiting to talk to you: I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”
Kihrin pulled his knees up to his chest, put his arms around his legs. “I don’t want to talk to him. His assassins killed my father.”
The old healer took a deep breath and grimaced. “Kihrin—it’s Kihrin, right?”
Kihrin nodded.
“I’m sorry about the man who raised you. You were obviously close to him and I know that’s got to hurt. I’m about to say something to you that will also hurt, so if you don’t want me to, just tell me and I’ll shut up and go away.”
“You can say whatever you want. It doesn’t mean I’ll believe you.”
“Sounds fair,” the healer admitted. “So, you need to think about this: that man may have raised you, but he wasn’t your father. Your father, your real father, is here, and he’s alive. If you were told you were abandoned or adopted, or I don’t know, found under a cabbage leaf, it’s a lie: you were stolen. Kidnapping a royal babe? That, Kihrin, is an executable offense. What Darzin did may seem horrible to you, but it was com pletely within his rights as a D’Mon to put your kidnappers to death. No one will question his actions. It was just unlucky that you were caught up in that raid, but fortunately you’ve pulled through and everything will be okay.”
“Taja! No … It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t anything like that. His soldiers didn’t care who I was. He didn’t give them orders to save me. He was going to kill all of us.” Inside his chest, Kihrin’s newly repaired heart felt like it was about to burst open. He squeezed his eyes shut and put his head on his knees. No! It can’t be … I can’t be Ogenra. I can’t. I can’t find out I really am Ogenra only after Morea is already dead.
He remembered all the things Surdyeh never let him do, all the ways the old harper kept him out of the public eye or discouraged him from seeking sponsorship with the Revelers. He felt the dreadful worm of doubt sink into him. Surdyeh had known. He had known.
Ola had known too. They had both tried to warn him, in their own ways, about the consequences of seeing the High General. Now they were both dead. Talon had said she was going to kill Ola, and knowing what she was, Kihrin knew there was nothing Ola could do to save herself. She was already dead—had probably been dead for days.
He began to shake.
Kihrin flinched as he felt Lorgrin’s hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough excitement for one day. I’ll let the Lord Heir know you won’t be ready to join him for breakfast until tomorrow.” He paused, frowning. “You should rest. You’re going to need your strength.”
* * *