“Do you know why?” Kihrin tucked his legs up under himself as he sat on the bed across from her.
“Darzin likes to say Therin came to his senses and realized he was letting the house be run by a slave and a female too, so he took back his power and put her in her place. Personally, I don’t think she would be seneschal if Therin had just wanted to punish her for daring to save this House from extermination.”?
Kihrin narrowed his eyes. “But that’s not what you think happened.”
Alshena stopped fanning herself. She clicked together the ivory blades of the fan and set it down on the bed next to her. “I think they fought over your mother.”
Kihrin started back, surprised by the unexpected answer. “Lyrilyn?”
Alshena nodded. “Yes. They were friends. Miya didn’t like the attention that Darzin was giving Lyrilyn and told Therin to put a stop to it, and Therin refused.”*
Kihrin looked away. “Of course.”
“After that, Lyrilyn ran away. It caused a huge rift between Miya and Therin. Lady Miya moved out of this suite, which was then boarded up. The next year I married Darzin in an arrangement made between House D’Mon and House D’Aramarin. Today she runs the household and Therin—”
“Therin runs House D’Mon?”
“I was going to say hides in his rooms from the rest of the world, but sure, that works too.”
“How old were you?” Kihrin asked. “You know, when you married my—when you married Darzin?”
Alshena pursed her lips. “Sixteen.” Then she laughed. “Darzin was different then. He was handsome, charming, devastating. He—he was a stubborn young rake who didn’t care who you were or what your position was. He told people what he thought of them, and be damned the consequences.” She turned her stare to him. “A lot like you, dear.”
Kihrin scowled as he drank more of the wine. “I don’t want to believe I’m related to either of those bastards. I don’t know who I hate more: Darzin or his father.”
Alshena stood up from the bed and began to pace. She moved until she stood behind Kihrin. She smoothed down his hair, gathered it in her hands, and placed the gold locks over his right shoulder. Then she knelt over his left shoulder and whispered, very softly, “Do you know why Darzin beats Galen?”
Kihrin turned his head and stopped, realizing the gesture put his face provocatively close to hers. “He’s a bully?”
“No,” she said, still caressing his hair with her hand. “It’s because he wants a son who’s like him. Ruthless. Smart. Hard. Things Galen will never be. I love my son but I know his faults. He will never be what his father wants. How could he be? He’s had it beaten out of him.” Then Kihrin heard her intake of breath, and a ragged, gasping sigh.
He realized Alshena was crying.
His reaction was immediate and instinctive. Kihrin turned and put his arms around her. Although her proximity still produced troubling and uncomfortable flashbacks, he tried his best to ignore them. After a second’s hesitation Alshena hugged him, and openly cried against his shirt. He let her sob, patting her hair with one hand while his other fist tightened into a ball around the bedsheets. Kihrin’s whole world was filled with the rose and citrus scent of her skin, the pressure of her body through the suddenly thin fabric of her dress.
He reminded himself, repeatedly, that she was Galen’s mother, twice his age, and he didn’t like her. Unfortunately, she was soft and warm and clung to him in all the right ways, and Kihrin was more than a little drunk himself.
Finally, Alshena drew back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I just—it’s so difficult sometimes.”
“I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be married to that monster,” Kihrin said.
“It’s not like I had a choice. Oh dear, look how you’re trembling!” She sniffled and wiped away her tears using the hem of her agolé, which pulled it far enough off her to reveal jeweled undergarments and little else.
Kihrin used the brief reprieve to stand up and walk away from his stepmother. He crossed his arms over his chest and inhaled deeply. “It’s not because of you,” he said.
Alshena wiped her face. Strangely, the makeup had the effect of aging her, and with less of it she did not seem nearly so old as before. Kihrin found it shocking: he was used to thinking of her as an unattractive, horrible clown creature. She was younger and prettier than several of the more successful whores who had worked at the Shattered Veil.
“Hmmph,” she said. “A word of advice, dear boy: when a woman sees a man go to pieces like that in her presence, the last thing she wants to hear is, ‘It’s not because of you.’”
“There was a demon prince,” Kihrin tried to explain. “He did things … put things in my mind … I can’t…”
She blinked at him. “You’re joking. You must be joking.”
“It’s—” He looked away, embarrassed.
“I wondered why you weren’t sleeping with any of the slave girls,” she commented.
Kihrin’s head snapped back up. “You’ve been tracking that?”
She sniffed. “Of course we have. The first step to hooking you up with some appropriate and politically well-connected young lady is establishing whether you do, in fact, prefer young ladies.” She paused. “Tishar and I were starting to wonder.”
“Yeah, well…” He rubbed his arms. “You and Tishar can rest easy. I prefer girls. Usually. I mean—” He shivered. “Oh damn.”
“Quite so, from the sounds of it.” Alshena wiped the last of her makeup off her face. “What a lovely change of pace. Now we can go from awkward and uncomfortable silences discussing my husband and what a monster he is, to awkward and uncomfortable silences talking about your problems with sex.” She raised an eyebrow. “I assume you can perform—I mean—you’re not—”
He glared at her. “That is not the problem.”
“Oh good. Excellent.” Alshena smiled. “Then I know exactly what you should do.”
“You do?” Kihrin asked.
“Oh yes.” Alshena D’Mon examined the bottle of vané wine, then filled both of their glasses.
She said, “You should have another drink.”
51: THE ROCK GARDEN
(Kihrin’s story)
No. Stop right there, Talon. My turn again. And I warn you right now: if you try to describe the rest of that evening, I’m not playing anymore, no matter what kind of threats you make.
Are we clear?
Good.
* * *
Anyway, I woke to the sound of Khaemezra and Doc arguing.
“How many times are you going to make this same mistake, Khae?” Doc snapped. “You’ve got to stop treating people like enlisted soldiers. People aren’t going to blindly follow your orders.”
“I’m not asking him to blindly follow my orders,” Khaemezra corrected. “Nor you. All I want from both of you is that you make sure he’s ready.”
“He didn’t ask for this.”
“Actually, he did.”
Doc sighed. “I hope you appreciate how difficult this is. He’s the spitting image of Pedron—and you know my feelings about Pedron.”
So. That answered whether they were talking about Teraeth or me.