“True,” Relos Var said. “It’s true. Tell Janel if you like. I won’t stop you. You’re smart enough, however, to see how that single piece of news would bring her whole sandcastle crumbling down, aren’t you?”
Brother Qown inhaled. He was. Because even if, by some miracle or curse, Janel was the daughter of the Goddess of Magic—rather than the noble family of Theranon—the truth would be anything but a blessing. Where was Tya during the Lonezh Hellmarch? Where was Tya when Xaltorath possessed Janel? Where was Tya when Janel’s grandfather lay dying and Oreth evicted Janel from her ancestral home? Where was Tya, a goddess, one of the Eight, in all the painful hours and days and months since her daughter had needed her?
It would break Janel’s heart. It would turn her against everything the Eight represented.
And Relos Var would love nothing more.
Just as Relos Var would love Brother Qown knowing the secret and keeping it from Janel. The wizard would be able to drive a wedge between Janel and Qown whenever he felt the need. Relos Var could simply reveal Qown had known the truth and said nothing when he could’ve.
Brother Qown had always tried to be respectful to the Eight. Even so, if Tya had appeared before him, he’d have slapped her. Tya had played right into Relos Var’s hands by keeping the truth from her own daughter.
Relos Var left the table and returned a moment later with a carved wooden box. “Knowing you can’t help Janel by sharing these secrets, I have a proposal, dear Qown. If you like, I’ll send you home.”
Brother Qown blinked. “What?”
“I’ll send you home. Back to Eamithon. Back to the Temple of Light. You’ll still be gaeshed, and you won’t be able to reveal any secrets, but you’ll be safe and comfortable. You’ll be back at the temple, back with your friends, spending your days in meditation and healing the supplicants who travel to Rainbow Lake.” Relos Var brought the box over to the table and set it down before Brother Qown. “Or you can help me save humanity. I leave the choice to you.”
“What’s in the box?” Brother Qown asked.
“A gift if you decide to help me. Open it.”
Brother Qown did. A large chunk of agate rested on a bed of black velvet inside. The stone’s heart sparkled and shifted like flame.
37: THE DUKE’S WIVES
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Miya’s hatred of Darzin ceased not being personal
Kihrin stared at Qown with wide eyes. “Damn.”
Qown nodded. “Oh, indeed. I, uh … he seems so reasonable. That’s the hardest part. You find yourself wondering if you’re the one who’s being unfair.”
Ninavis looked over at Dorna. “You know, it never occurred to me how deep under I am. Just underwater. Here I’m worried about how we’re going to convince the Adoreli to stop warring with the Gadurans.” She paused as she saw the confusion on people’s faces. “Those are Marakori clans we’re recruiting. It’s not important. Anyway, you people are on a whole different level…” She leaned over toward Janel. “Tya? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Janel shook her head and shrugged. “It wasn’t my choice.” She paused. “At least I’m fairly sure it wasn’t my choice … I’d hate to think it was.”1
“Teraeth’s got Janel beat, though,” Kihrin offered. “Besides apparently being an angel—my new favorite definition of irony—he’s Thaena’s son and Khored’s grandson.” Then he held up his hand. “But I don’t know if his parentage means anything. Divinity doesn’t seem to be a thing you can inherit.”
“No,” Qown agreed. “It wouldn’t be.”
Kihrin looked over at Janel. “Your turn?”
She nodded. “My turn.”
Janel’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.
“Where could he have gone?” I rushed into the room, checked the water closet, the wardrobe, any place he might hide.
Brother Qown’s satchel was missing.
Senera didn’t answer me. She took the stone from around her neck, rubbed her index finger against it, and drew a phantom line against the marble wall. She read the fading warmth against the glossy surface and looked relieved. “It’s fine. Relos Var sent Pragaos for him.”
“By what definition is that fine?” I snapped. I knew having Brother Qown as a hostage against my good behavior meant nothing if they harmed him. But if Qown had managed to wake and commit suicide in my absence, the sensible response would have been to lie.
She looked up, surprised by my venom, and then smiled. “Oh, darling, you really do think Relos Var’s the villain here, don’t you? Are you the hero?”
“At least I haven’t wiped out whole villages.”
“No, but you support a government that does,” Senera said. “Did you think I invented Lysian gas?”
“What is Lysian—?”
Senera waved her fingers. “The blue smoke. That’s a present straight from your Academy of Magic in Kirpis. Quur used it against the Yorans during the invasion. Against, oh yes, whole villages.”
“T-that was a war,” I stammered to hide my shock. I dismissed her claims as fabrication. They had to be.
“Pay attention. This is a war. Do you think Quur sat down with the Yoran rulers and said, ‘Oh yes, very good. Now we shall accept your formal surrender, whenever you’re ready, to bring a lasting peace’? No, the Quuros stomped until blood turned all the ice red. When they concluded they’d well and truly broken the Yoran spirit, that’s when they moved in.” She laughed. “I suppose subjugation worked in Jorat. All that thudajé business. You people know how to accept you’ve been beaten.”
The casual way she spoke the words belied their razor edge. I felt it even though—if Relos Var had told the truth—my lineage was Khorveshan rather than Joratese.
And what did that mean, anyway? I knew little about Khorvesh except that they have a reputation for being good soldiers, at the forefront of every Quuros military push. I knew they lived in a land opposite from Jorat in almost all respects: dry, hot, and arid. I knew the army that had helped us—helped the Joratese—defeat Khorsal had been Khorveshan.
Well, so much for my pride at being descended from Atrin Kandor.2
“We weren’t beaten by Quur,” I said. “We joined forces with Quur and accepted their aid in destroying the tyrant who enslaved us. And no matter what the Quuros did to Yor, you can’t expect me to shrug and say, ‘Oh, well, that’s okay, then. Go ahead and use a horrible weapon against unsuspecting, innocent people since Quur did it first.’”
“No, but I do get to say Quur made the rules. We’re just playing by them.”
I didn’t answer. There seemed no point. We wouldn’t convince each other.
I reminded myself I needed to start pretending she was convincing me.
Senera walked over to the couch and sat down. “I know you think he’s a terrible person, but maybe you should take a moment to rethink your assumptions. He’s the finest man I’ve ever known.”
“If the group we met at lunch is any measure, you should meet a better class of men.”