His words hurt worse than blows, not least because they were true.
They were also a deflection, and I wouldn’t be turned aside.
“Dedreugh is a monster. As a friend, I caution you not to employ a monster to prove your idorrá.”
There have always been people who think idorrá requires violence—that the stick is the most effective enticement to keep the herd in line. That mistaken belief is the reason we have Censure. Nobles may rule in Jorat, but they rule because they have our citizens’ trust. And when the nobility becomes a greater hazard to our people than any other danger?
They are removed. Such has always been our way.
“As a friend,” Tamin said, “I caution you to manage your own herd, not mine.”
I held up my hands in acquiescence. “Tamin, I meant no offense. The winter has been hard for us both.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw the tournament’s Black Knight enter the contest ground. He’d been sent to distract the crowds from the gore being mopped up behind him. The crowd had been cursing, “Thorra, thorra!” but when Captain Dedreugh turned his attention to them, they fell silent.
Some of the anger left Tamin. “How I envy you, Janel. At least you could outrun your demons.”
I felt those words like cuts. “Not all of them.” I put my hand on his, choosing what I said carefully. “But we could help each other.”
The Black Knight japed and pranced as befitting his role. He dressed in ornate black armor, too small for him in all the wrong places. His large belly flopped exposed while he danced and cantered around the yard on a flame-kissed black fireblood.
Tamin jerked his hand away from mine. “I don’t need help. Those witches think they can get the better of me. I’ll show them. I will burn them all.”
“Is that what you intend to do with the prisoners I brought you?”
“They’re witches or in league with witches. What choice do I have?” He gritted his teeth. “I’ve known Kalazan since we were children, Janel. I can’t believe he betrayed me.”
The warden paid no attention to our conversation; the serving woman had returned his puppy. She, on the other hand, studied the frame of the nobles’ box with such intent concentration she must have hung on every word. The woman only stepped away when a field judge approached with questions.
She didn’t consult the warden before giving instructions.
“You must feel much like I did, after what Oreth did to me,” I said. “After he turned on me.”
“He loves you,” Tamin said.
“An obsession with owning something isn’t the same as loving it.”
He sighed and poured himself more wine. “Have you always been so wise, dear Janel?”
“You flatter me, Tamin. If I were wise, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“You understand, don’t you? We both must do what is necessary. I must kill every witch in this banner. Every one. I’ll leave none to summon the demons who would destroy us. Relos Var has opened my eyes to the danger.”
I turned to him. “What danger?”
“The child,” Tamin said. “The demon-claimed child. There’s a prophecy: The demon-claimed child gathers the broken, witches and outlaws, rebels outspoken, to plot conquest and uprising while winter’s malice hides her chains in the snow king’s palace.”
I stared at him.
“Don’t you see it? It’s obvious!”
“I don’t—”
“There’s another,” he persisted. “The claimed child waits, not dead but sleeping, dreaming of evil and souls for reaping, for when day and night at last are one, the demon king’s bars will come undone. Surely that’s clearer. If the demons find the child they seek, they will use him to destroy the world.”5
I didn’t think it clear at all, but I also didn’t volunteer my opinion. “When day and night at last are one … an eclipse?”
He missed the sarcasm that crept into my voice despite my best efforts to tame it. “Yes, I think so. But I can’t be sure. It could mean anything.”
I resisted the urge to ask him to repeat that last sentence again, more slowly.
I lifted my chin. “So the runes carved on the posts down there? Those are designed to … hurt … demons?”
“Yes. Every witch who dies is one less witch who can summon demons.”
“Ah, how clever,” I said. “I understand now.”
Which was true. I understood perfectly.
You see, because of Xaltorath’s “loving” upbringing, I could read the runes carved on those stakes. I also saw the unnatural strength that gave Dedreugh his victories. I’m not a fool. Tamin’s teacher Relos Var, his trusted mentor, had spun a pretty web of lies. Tamin had swallowed every single one. Someone was indeed summoning demons in Barsine Banner.
Unfortunately, despite his own clear belief to the contrary, that someone was Tamin himself.
7: PLANS OF ATTACK
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Two days since Urthaenriel was picked up off the ground
Kihrin sat back in his ch7air, feeling like all the stone surrounding them was pressing down against his skin. He shuddered. “That was me, you know. I’m the younger brother that was sold as a slave in Kishna-Farriga. And Relos Var did try to buy me.”
“Oh,” Janel said, “so you’re that brother.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not his brother at all, technically. At least, not in this life.”
Janel shrugged. “I don’t think he sees the distinction.”
“No, no, I suppose he doesn’t. He hates me like I’m his real brother, anyway.”
She paused, her expression unreadable. “Does he?”
“Yes. Very much so.” He looked at her again. “You think he doesn’t?”1
She pondered her answer before saying, “Our emotions are rarely simple when it comes to family.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve never met my older brother Darzin. I’m happy to say you never will.”
She looked startled. “I see. Well, it does feel like we know all the same people, so who can say?”
He leaned forward and smirked. “Darzin’s dead.”
Janel stared at him. “So were you.”
Kihrin felt the smirk fade. Could Darzin—no. The Death Goddess had loathed Darzin. She’d never let him Return.
“What about those prophecies Tamin mentioned? They sound—” Kihrin hesitated. “They sound like Devoran prophecies. I once met a Voice of the Council who was a Devoran priest—he was convinced that every time a bird chirped, it related to one of those damn quatrains.”2
“Oh, they are Devoran prophecies,” Brother Qown interjected. “I checked in case either Tamin or Relos Var had invented them whole cloth as an excuse for their atrocities. But no—the stanzas Tamin quoted are genuine. Of course, that doesn’t mean they’re any truer than any of the other thousands of quatrains the Devorans have collected over the centuries.”
“How reassuring,” Kihrin said. “Tamin got it wrong, you know. At least with that first prophecy. That has to be referring to Vol Karoth.” He inhaled as he glanced at Qown. “Let’s just hope that particular quatrain never comes true.”