“No,” Khaemezra said. “Follow my son outside.”
“Yes,” Doc agreed. “Khae and I have a lot to discuss. Kihrin, I’ll see you at the training yard at dawn. Consider yourself excused from your other weapons classes from now on.”
I lingered a moment, but neither Khaemezra nor Doc had anything further to say to me. I scowled and began the climb down.
38: THE HIGH LORD
(Talon’s story)
“I can’t blame Miya for not telling you,” Alshena D’Mon said as they walked through the palace. “She’s sweet in her own way, but sheltered as a veal calf. I’m not sure it would even occur to her there might be any danger outside the estate.”
“I am aware of the dangers of the City,” Kihrin snapped.
“Of course you are. Darzin tells me he found you in a whorehouse.” She sniffed at such an indelicate idea.
He sighed. Kihrin was tired of explaining that he hadn’t actually whored himself at the Shattered Veil Club.
“I’ll make this simple. We are House D’Mon, one of the twelve families who once ruled the Empire. But such ruling is no longer allowed, and it is forbidden for any direct member of a Royal Family to make laws. Now, instead of ruling the Empire’s politics, we rule its economy, which is better. We have all the money and none of the irritating responsibility. Each House controls a section of industry, a chosen monopoly we license and regulate. As you may have already discerned, House D’Mon controls medicine and healing. Every midwife, herbalist, and physicker in the land pays us dues.* And that’s good—sooner or later, everyone needs a doctor, so our House provides essential services. Unfortunately, every House provides essential services, so there’s quite a cat’s game going on at all times to see who is ranked ahead of whom. Each of our twelve Houses is ranked in order, and that ranking is very important. So important that people have been killed and will kill for it.”
“For ranking.”
She rolled her eyes. “We are fourth ranked of the twelve Royal Families. That means there are three Houses above us we would love to destroy, and eight Houses below who feel the same way about us. It would not be inaccurate to say the Royal Houses live in a constant state of undeclared war.”
Kihrin blinked. “For ranking?”
Alshena sighed. “Yes, for ranking. Ranking is everything, you silly child. The Houses don’t rule, but we elect the people who do, and how many votes we are allowed to cast is based on our rank. Thus, ranking determines who will become a Voice, and it’s from the pool of Voices that Council members are chosen. The number of Voices we appoint determines what sort of deals other Houses are willing to make with us for our support. Ranking is the difference between living in a palace like this, or dying at the end of an assassin’s dart.”
She pinched an imaginary piece of lint off her agolé while they walked. “Now, given that fact, why were you being extremely stupid just now?”
Kihrin grimaced. “It would have embarrassed the House?”
Alshena pursed her lips. “Oh, that is a good answer. Just what Darzin or Therin would have wanted to hear you say.” Her ivory fan lashed out and rapped him on the knuckles.
“Ow!” He winced and shook his hand.
“No, you fool, that answer is rubbish. You were being stupid, because all the Houses employ spies. We spy on each other constantly. The spies spy on the spies. It’s an enormous cottage industry.” She smirked at her witticism.
“Some of those spies also do work as assassins. Off the record, of course. No House wants a priest of Thaena informing the Council that the latest dead son of House D’Talus was killed on orders from a member of such-and-such House. It’s very important that you remember the dead can talk in this town. While they never lie, they also can’t reveal information they never knew in the first place. In any event, if a person were to lower their guard and present a lovely ‘opportunity,’ then of course the advantage would be taken. Some members of a House are so peripheral to the health of the House that they are unimportant and might be ignored. The firstborn son of the Lord Heir would not be considered one of those.”
She leaned over and pinched his cheek hard. “You were being stupid because you were walking in the House colors shouting ‘please kill me’ to anyone listening.”
They turned down the corridor of the South Tower, heading in the direction of Kihrin’s rooms. For a length of hallway, neither spoke.
“I see,” Kihrin finally said.
He turned to face the noblewoman. “May I ask a question, Lady Alshena?”
“You may try. I have no control over your success.” She smirked again.
“Well,” he said, “the mother of the previous heir would have a great deal to gain by not saying anything, and letting me throw myself in front of the knives. Why didn’t you?”
She stopped in front of the set of doors before his, paused for a moment, and then laughed. “If I thought I’d live to see the day Galen inherited a single coin of the House D’Mon fortune, I’d call the coach for you myself. This is just staying on the High Lord’s good side.” She looked at the tall wooden door behind her. “Well, here we are.”
Kihrin frowned. “This isn’t the door to my room.”
Alshena stared up the length of her nose at him. “A fact of which I am well aware, I assure you.” She knocked.
A moment later a muted “come in” came from inside the chamber, and Alshena opened the door.
Inside was a small room by palace standards. None of the trademark D’Mon decoration or ornamentation graced the interior. A mahogany desk covered with books and papers sat offset from the center of the room. A map of the Empire tiled the floor. A small bookcase in the corner contained a collection of well-used tomes while a door set in the same wall led to further rooms. The wall opposite from the desk held a medium-sized portrait of a dark-haired woman wearing deep blue.
A man sat in the chair behind the desk. He didn’t look up when the door opened. Kihrin’s first impression was that Alshena had delivered him into the hands of the family wizard. He had that sort of look to him—chestnut-brown hair, golden when the light hit it, clipped short and practical. The sleeves of his linen shirt had been used to blot his pages too often. He was slender with a handsome face—saved from being too pretty by a neatly groomed mustache and beard. Kihrin would have placed him in his midthirties because of a slight silvering at his temples. He would have guessed that the man was Darzin’s older brother, except Darzin wouldn’t be Lord Heir if he had one.
Alshena curtsied. “I found him trying to leave the estate, Lord Therin. I thought you might wish to speak with him.”
The High Lord? Kihrin looked around the room to see if he’d missed an old man hiding behind the drapes. Kihrin was supposed to believe this was the High Lord? Did he use magic to make himself look so young?