The room, despite its large size, felt cozy. Books and shelves filled with odd knickknacks filled all the gaps in the walls not taken up by windows or doors. Also, drawings were pinned to the beams: anatomical renderings, landscapes, architectural drawings. All of it seemed drawn by the same hand.
In the distance, Brother Qown heard crashing waves. Since Senera could open gates, they could be nearly anywhere, but he suspected Kazivar—possibly even Eamithon.
Assuming she’d bothered to stay on the same continent.5
A cool energy spread over his skin. He looked down to see Senera closing the wound and sealing it.
“Thank you,” he said, because it would have been rude to do otherwise. “I’ll heal the rest.” He hoped by volunteering she’d forget to tie him up. He’d have an easier time acting on an opportunity to escape if he wasn’t bound.
“Good.” She stood up and crossed back over to her men. “How many did we lose?”
“Four,” one answered. “Two killed during the fighting, and the other two were about to be captured.”
A look of consternation came over Senera’s face. “Thank you.”
The soldier nodded and stepped back, his expression unreadable.
Sir Oreth slammed his drink against the table and stood up. “Order your men to leave the room, right now. You and I are going to talk in private.”
The lead soldier raised an eyebrow. The other men straightened and stood at attention. Several hands drifted toward sword hilts.
“If it pleases you,” Senera said.
“Colonel—” The soldier didn’t agree.
Brother Qown struggled to sit. He found himself agreeing with the soldiers, even though every person in the room made him regret his vows of nonviolence.
She waved a hand. “It’s fine. I assume the priest can stay? He shouldn’t be moved right now.”
Sir Oreth glanced at Brother Qown. “I don’t care about him.”
You should, Brother Qown thought to himself. Because if you come a step too close to me, I’ll gladly—
No. He stopped himself. No. This isn’t what I believe.
He concentrated on healing any damage Senera might have missed.
The soldiers hesitated.
“Go,” Senera said.
The lead man bowed before he walked from the room. The other men followed, giving Sir Oreth dirty looks on the way.
The moment they left, Sir Oreth slapped Senera across the face.
She rocked back from the blow almost without reaction. Just a hand to her cheek as her eyes went to the floor.6
But Brother Qown knew her meek response was a ruse. Are you this stupid, Oreth? Female wizards, holding the rank of colonel in someone or other’s army, do not obey just because you hit them.
“You forget your place, woman. I don’t know what lies you’ve told those men, but Relos Var sent you to help me, not pine over some damn mare who wants to paint herself a stallion. And I know Janel isn’t dead, so you can stop pretending; Xaltorath’s curse just makes her look dead when she sleeps, so heal her. I need her alive so she can give her title to me.”
The white-skinned woman blinked once when Sir Oreth mentioned Xaltorath’s name, then her gray eyes shifted upward. “Interesting,” she murmured. “There can’t be many Joratese who’ve ever heard of Xaltorath. Where did you?”
“I don’t have time to answer your nonsense.” He drew his sword. “Heal her and open that gate back up for me.”
“Senera—” Brother Qown warned.
The puppy by the fireplace crouched, looking toward Sir Oreth and growling.
“Enough.” Senera gestured toward Sir Oreth with two hooked fingers. His sword twisted and warped in his hand, the hilt reforming around his fingers like manacles. The blade itself drew back, hovering point first like a snake rearing back to strike.
Sir Oreth tried to drop the sword and found he couldn’t. “Stop it! What are you—” The blade edge came to a stop just a hair from his throat. Sir Oreth stopped moving.
“What am I doing?” Senera chuckled. “I should think that’s obvious; I’m dealing with you. And you’re not playing the backwater circuits anymore, my pretty idiot. These contests involve enemies of such scope and prowess you haven’t even begun to comprehend the odds. That’s why Relos Var ordered us not to kill anyone. Brought with us, the old woman could’ve been kept from spilling secrets. But dead? Oh, being dead plays to our enemies’ strengths.”
“You’re not making sense…” Sir Oreth didn’t look at her. He didn’t take his eyes off the sword.
Senera narrowed her eyes. “Who do you think you are?” She walked over to the fireplace and bent over to pet the dhole puppy, whose tail thumped against the hearth in response.
“What do you mean? I’m Sir Oreth Malkoessian—”
She rolled her eyes. “Meaningless. Ephemeral. Titles and quirks of birth order can be stripped from you in an instant. Who are you?” Without waiting for him to answer, she turned to Brother Qown. “Let’s try this again. Who are you?”
“I—” Qown made a face. “I’m a priest of—”
Senera cut him off with an angry gesture. “I expected better. That’s a job. If I slay you now, priest, do you cease to exist?” She turned back to Sir Oreth. “Do you think you’re nothing more than your physical form? Pretty and quick? Young and stupid?”
“Hey!” Sir Oreth flinched as the sword reminded him not to move.
“Our souls,” Brother Qown said. “We are our souls.”
“Right,” Sir Oreth agreed. “When I die, my soul will go to the Land of Peace.”
“Don’t assume Thaena likes you that much. I’ll allow you’ll at least travel to the Afterlife.” She walked over to Janel’s body. “This body you wear isn’t who you are. It’s not your identity. In fact, it’s your prison. Your body keeps you pinned to this side of the twin worlds, locked away, controllable. While we had that old woman in her physical body, healthy and alive, her soul was under our control. But now that you’ve killed her?” She tsked. “Dorna’s telling Thaena everything she knows even as we speak. And Thaena will tell her people. The Goddess of Death will then tell your father, the Markreev, the first time he makes a funerary offering at one of Thaena’s shrines. Tell me, what sort of man is the Markreev of Stavira? Will he lie to protect you? Or will he tell the duke the truth: that his son is a traitor gone so very saelen? What a disappointment you must be…”
Sir Oreth seemed so horrified by the question, he stopped paying attention to the hovering sword.7
“Wait,” Brother Qown said. “You’re talking about this like Thaena is the enemy. Thaena herself.”
Senera shrugged. “Thaena is the enemy. They all are. Khored, Taja, Galava—all of them. You’ve been sold lies all your life. The Eight Immortals aren’t our guardians. They’re our jailers, our rulers. They sit at the pinnacle of a system that benefits from humanity’s enslavement. Why would they ever set us free?” She picked up scissors and began to cut away the leather straps holding Janel’s ornamental black armor to her body.
“That’s not—” But before Brother Qown could even begin to protest, light blazed brightly before a bookcase, solidifying into a familiar fractal swirl—which circled while the center turned mirrorlike.