Kihrin tried to sleep through that entire day and the next, but Lorgrin was wise to his tricks. At dawn, the old healer pulled back the drapes on the windows. “My next feat will be to summon up a gallon of water right over your head. Don’t think I don’t know how—being able to create clean water on command is one of the most useful spells I ever learned at the Academy.”
Kihrin stumbled out of bed. He stared balefully at Lorgrin. “Now what?”
The healer clapped his hands. On cue a dozen men and women in loincloths and shifts walked into the room, carrying piles of cloth, brushes, mirrors, bowls, bottles, clasps, and shoes.
“You have two options, my lord,” Lorgrin told him. “You can prove you’re only six months from your majority and go with these good people down to the baths, where they will wash you and clothe you and make you presentable for meeting your peers. Or you can whine and protest and throw a temper tantrum like a child. In that case I will be forced to pinch off a nerve cluster that not only controls pain but your ability to move independently. Then I’ll have the guards carry you down, and you’ll end up washed and presentable anyway, if a lot more embarrassed. I leave the choice up to you.”
“Some choice.” Kihrin scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t have to threaten me. I’ve behaved.”
“Yes, you have, my lord. But I haven’t lived this long by being a fool, not where the D’Mons are concerned. There’s not one of you without Khored’s own temper.” Lorgrin moved to the window. “Come stand over here, Kihrin. I want to show you something.”
Grudgingly, swinging his glare from the servants to the physicker, Kihrin went over to the window. He stared sullenly at first, but when he realized what he was seeing, Kihrin’s jaw dropped open.
Spread out before him was a palace of blue tile roofs and lapis lazuli walls, towers, and spires that ran into each other and formed verandas, pavilions, and courtyards. His gaze found no surface to rest on that was not some shade of blue, or where blue was not the predominant color. Each building, each section of building, was a fantastic delight of delicate archways, leaded glass windows, and intricate stone-carving. He had known the royal palaces were large, but this was almost more than he could believe. All of Velvet Town fit within those walls. This isn’t a palace; it’s a city.
Then his Shadowdancer instincts kicked in, and he started counting guards. The palace architecture looked random. It wasn’t; he could find no spot not under the watchful eye of a guard on a rampart or walkway. The walls looked like an easy climb, but lacked blind spots.
“This is the Private Court,” Lorgrin explained. “Only for family and the closest servants and slaves. It has three hundred rooms, five hundred or so guards, its own hospital, theater, and gardens. And since this is where the D’Mon family lives, no one leaves or enters without being seen, inspected, and cataloged. If by chance you did manage to leave, you’d have at least two more courts of the palace to cross just to be on the public streets. Then you’d have to deal with the Watchmen who guard the paths down to the Lower Circle.”
“So, don’t be stupid?”
“Aha! The boy has potential. Keep thinking like that, and you might just survive.”
Kihrin looked out over the palace. “I don’t want to be here.”
“You’re a strange kid. Most boys your age would give their left nut to be here.”
Kihrin faced the physicker. “I turn sixteen this New Year’s.”
“I know.”
“They can’t force me to stay here after that. I’ll be an adult.”
The old man sighed. “A lot can change in six months. In the mean time, Darzin is anxious to speak with you, and the Lord Heir isn’t known for his patience. So why don’t you let these nice people earn the money they’re paid. That way Darzin won’t have an excuse to order them whipped.”
Kihrin started, shocked, and turned to stare at the servants. Every one of them fixed their eyes firmly to the tile floor. It would be easy to dismiss them as statues.
“I don’t need a dozen people to give me a bath. I just had one.”
The doctor snorted. “No one downwind would agree with you.” He turned to the servants. “Lady Miya told me she ordered the Bath of Petals closed for his use today. Do something about his hair, would you? The kid looks like a witch’s apprentice. Let Valrazi know when you’re done and he’ll send an escort for the boy.”
The servant bowed. “Yes, Master Lorgrin. Right away.” The man turned and snapped his fingers. A serving girl slid forward holding out a blue linen robe for Kihrin.
Lorgrin turned one last time to the teenager. “You need anything, I’ll be at the hospital. Ask someone to show you. I gave up on trying to give directions around the time High Lord Therin was learning to walk. And Kihrin, if you start feeling chest pains? You make someone find me and drag me to you. Don’t let anyone convince you it’s a false alarm. Understand?”
Kihrin nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
29: TERAETH’S RETURN
(Kihrin’s story)
The Black Brotherhood was indeed celebrating when Kalindra and I came back from the baths. Food and drink were in plentiful abundance. I recognized refugees from The Misery, but most of the now-freed slaves were recovering from their ordeal. I didn’t see Tyentso, and I worried for her. If the Brotherhood hated slavery so much, she wasn’t going to be on their welcome list. What were they going to do with her?
The reptilian members of the Brotherhood lounged near large open pit fires for warmth against the chill night air. The vané did too, but in their case, it seemed more celebratory than necessary. Most of the vané were Manol—all midnight blues, forest greens, blood rubies, and black amethysts—but a few Kirpis vané stood out in pastel contrast. They passed around fluted glasses of sparkling fruit liqueurs and golden wines, laughing and talking. Everyone sat or lay on silk floor cushions or low padded couches.
They were a sensual crowd; few talked when they could talk and touch, and if they could touch, why not kiss? I’d grown up in a brothel, but I felt out of my league.
I watched two Manol vané women kiss for several minutes before I realized neither one was a woman.
Maybe it was because they were so beautiful. Maybe it was because Quur has a certain public prudishness about same-gender sexuality that clearly wasn’t shared by the Black Brotherhood. Sure, some men prefer men even in Quur, but it’s all very discreet. Velvet boys kept politely inside the seraglio or brothel so a patron can maintain the facade that he came for the women. No Quuros male ever publicly admitted he preferred men. No one seemed to care about that here, or, hell, even notice.
I was blushing.