Zajhera couldn’t be Relos Var.
Except he was.
Everything was too much. The betrayal was too much, the pain was too much, existence was too much.
But if he disobeyed, the pain would end.1
He remembered vomiting and then nothing else.
35: THE CASTLE OF ICE
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Talon failed to kill a Manol vané
No one spoke as Brother Qown finished.
“That must have been a hard choice,” Kihrin said. He’d known that choice himself, back when he’d been gaeshed, but had never seriously considered it.
“I’m glad you decided to stay,” Janel said. She leaned over and kissed the top of Qown’s head.
Dorna reached over and patted the priest’s hand.
“Me too,” Qown said. “I want to help make things better. I thought that ability would have been limited in the Afterlife.” To Dorna, he said, “And I didn’t know the right people to guarantee my Return.”1
“I’ll pick up from here,” Janel said.
Janel’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.
Senera and I rushed over to Brother Qown. He had pulled his legs to his chest, rocking back and forth, crying into his robes.
“Is this because of the gaesh?” I asked her.
“No.” Senera felt Brother Qown’s wrists, the skin under his jaw, then looked at both eyes, lifting his eyelids with her thumbs. “He’s not experiencing a gaesh loop.”
“A loop?”
“Contradictory gaesh commands. The conflict usually proves lethal. That said, something’s put him into shock. Help me get him over to the bed.”
I went to lift him and cried out as I felt like my arms might jerk from their sockets. I’d forgotten my lack of strength.
“Together,” Senera said.
“I see.” I lifted with her this time, and we managed to carry Brother Qown to the bed. I saw what she meant—he hadn’t lost consciousness, nor was he having a seizure. He stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused.
And I knew that look. I knew it in my bones.
I’d lived in that state where you’re too numb to be sad or unhappy or angry. That place where nothing has meaning and everything hurts.
“It may not be a … what did you call it? A gaesh loop? But I do think it’s in response to the gaesh. He’s gone into a stupor due to what’s happened to him.” I paused. “Or he’s been possessed by a demon, but I don’t think so.”
Senera sighed. “Fine. Leave him.”
I threw her a look filled with venom.
“We don’t have time,” she explained. “His attendance isn’t mandatory at the banquet. Yours is. We’ll deal with him later.”
I hopped up on the bed and put my arm around Brother Qown. “I’m not leaving him alone like this. He could snap out of it and hurt himself. And if someone tries to hurt him, he’s defenseless. I’m staying.”
Senera’s nostrils flared. “You’re not.”
“I am.”
Before I could do anything else, she touched Brother Qown’s forehead. His eyes closed and his chin fell to his collarbone, and he settled as dead weight in my arms. “There. He’s sleeping and won’t be a danger to anyone, himself included. I’ll lock the door when we leave. Now you can come with me on your own two feet, or I can summon guards to drag you, but either way, you’re going to the feast, now. I’ll let you choose.”
I slid my arm back out from behind Brother Qown, eased him back onto the bed, and pulled the furs up over him.
I tried to be as dignified as possible walking to the door. I had always planned to accompany her. I’d come here with a single job: find the spear Khoreval and steal it. Now I had two: find the spear Khoreval and Brother Qown’s gaesh and steal both. Doing either job would require being treated like something other than a prisoner. I had to convince Relos Var that he’d turned me to his cause. But I had to sell it. I had to make it believable.
Nobody values the prize they win without an effort.2
So we left Brother Qown to sleep, and Senera locked the door behind us.
No guards stood in the halls, no soldiers hovered over us. There was no need.
The building’s décor looked like nothing I’d seen before; all perfect black rock and geometric crystal insets and sparkling silver lines. Everything felt clean and crisp and cold, conjuring up an impression of endless glaciers and frozen icicles.
“How old is this palace?”
“Older than the empire,” Senera admitted. “Built by the god-king Cherthog and the god-queen Suless.”
“I’m surprised it survived the Quuros invasion.”
“Technically, it didn’t. They rebuilt it.”
I didn’t even pretend not to be impressed. This construction rivaled Atrine, and Kandor himself had built that.
We climbed stairs, and I decided my earlier assessment of this palace’s beauty and complexity had been premature.
At first, I thought the stairs had led us outside, to an enormous marble square set on a mountaintop. All around us, below us, jagged mountain ranges wrestled with silken teal skies. White clouds danced at our feet. The father of a thousand storms lurked in valleys below us but left our position untouched, so we might enjoy lightning play in clouds miles away.
Then I realized I felt no wind, no cold. The air didn’t swirl around me. The sunlight glinted off a silver lattice leading up above our heads. When I reached out as if to touch the sky, my fingertips rested against invisible cold crystal walls. Perfect, transparent walls.
We were still inside.
In a fallen age, the god-king of winter had fashioned himself a great hall to showcase his domain. And by some miracle, his Quuros destroyers had salvaged it, even as they ruined everything else.
The snow king’s palace …
The view struck me as so miraculous, I nearly forgot to breathe.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Senera said. “The first time I came here, I must have stood here for hours.”
I placed my hand against the clear wall again, watching as my fingers’ warmth left condensation trails against the cold, clear substance. “What are the walls made from?”
“Not a clue.”3
The walls were angled. I thought they must meet above our heads, a truncated pyramid flattened to form a small square ceiling—the only opaque section. Here, geometric crystal and silver glittered, crafted to suggest a vast and mighty empire of cold and ice. Crystal shards framed in metals jutted up or crouched down at precision angles, fitted together to form patterns like icicles or snowflakes—or cold and distant stars. The ceiling floated at least a hundred feet high, refracting mage-light so it glittered violet and blue through the crystals.
And like Senera, I might have spent hours just taking in this scene, but voices reminded me we weren’t alone.
In the room’s center, a massive firepit provided the lion’s share of warmth for the great hall. A large iron ring, scorched black by the heat, surrounded the pit and provided a barrier against stray sparks. Tables also circled the firepit, each home to courtiers and nobles—who were all watching us. Most of the dinner guests looked Yoran compared to the “normal” Quuros coloring. Yoran complexions were often white, but also pale blue, violet, or gray. These guests wore their pale hair long but braided up into tall topknots. The men wore beards, braided and decorated with jewelry. And they all preferred to dress in light colors. By comparison, Senera had given me a dress guaranteeing I stood out like a flame burning its way across paper.