The Inheritance Trilogy Omnibus(95)

I shrugged. “It isn’t my nature to spend all my time fretting. What’s done is done.” Nahadoth’s words.

T’vril shifted uncomfortably, flicking a few stray windblown hairs out of his face. “I’m… told that an army gathers along the pass that leads from Menchey into Darr.”

I steepled my fingers and gazed at them, stilling the voice that cried out within myself. Scimina had played her game well. If I did not choose her, I had no doubt she had left instructions for Gemd to begin the slaughter. Gemd might do it anyhow once I set the Enefadeh free, but I was counting on the world being preoccupied with survival amid the outbreak of another Gods’ War. Sieh had promised that Darr would be kept safe through the cataclysm. I wasn’t sure I entirely trusted that promise, but it was better than nothing.

For what felt like the hundredth time, I considered and discarded the idea of approaching Relad. Scimina’s people were on the ground; her knife was at Darr’s throat. If I chose Relad at the ceremony, could he act before that knife cut a fatal wound? I could not bet my people’s future on a man I didn’t even respect.

Only the gods could help me now.

“Relad has confined himself in his quarters,” T’vril said, obviously thinking along the same lines as me. “He receives no calls, lets no one in, not even the servants. The Father knows what he’s eating—or drinking. There are bets among the highbloods that he’ll kill himself before the ball.”

“I suppose there’s little else interesting here to bet on.”

T’vril glanced at me, perhaps deciding whether to say more. “There are also bets that you will kill yourself.”

I laughed into the breeze. “What are the odds? Do you think they’d let me bet, too?”

T’vril turned to face me, his eyes suddenly intent. “Yeine—if, if you—” He faltered silent and looked away; his voice had choked on the last word.

I took his hand and held it while he bowed his head and trembled and fought to keep control of himself. He led and protected the servants here; tears would have made him feel weak. Men have always been fragile that way.

After a few moments he took a deep breath. His voice was higher than usual as he said, “Shall I escort you to the ball tomorrow night?”

When Viraine had offered the same thing, I had hated him. With T’vril, the offer made me love him a little more. “No, T’vril. I want no escort.”

“It could help. To have a friend there.”

“It could. But I will not ask such a thing of my few friends.”

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering—”

I stepped closer, leaning against his arm. “I’ll be fine, T’vril.”

He regarded me for a long while, then shook his head slowly. “You will, won’t you? Ah, Yeine. I’ll miss you.”

“You should leave this place, T’vril. Find yourself a good woman to take care of you and keep you in silks and jewelry.”

T’vril stared at me, then burst out laughing, not strained at all this time. “A Darre woman?”

“No, are you mad? You’ve seen what we’re like. Find some Ken girl. Maybe those pretty spots of yours will breed true.”

“Pretty—freckles, you barbarian! They’re called freckles.”

“Whatever.” I lifted his hand, kissed the back of it, and let him go. “Good-bye, my friend.”

I left him there, still laughing, as I walked away.


But…?

But that was not all I wanted.


That conversation helped me decide on my next move. I went looking for Viraine.

I had been of two minds about confronting him ever since the previous night’s conversation with Nahadoth. I believed now that Viraine, not Dekarta, had killed my mother. I still did not understand it; if he had loved her, why kill her? And why now, twenty years after she’d broken his heart? Part of me craved understanding.

The other part of me did not care why he’d done it. This part of me wanted blood, and I knew that if I listened to it I might do something foolish. There would be blood aplenty when I got my vengeance on the Arameri; all the horror and death of a second Gods’ War unleashed. That much blood should have been enough for me… but I would not be alive to see it. We are selfish that way, we mortals.

So I went to see Viraine.

He did not answer when I knocked at the door to his workshop, and for a moment I wavered, debating whether to pursue the matter further. Then I heard a faint, muffled sound from within.

Doors in Sky do not lock. For highbloods, rank and politics provide more than enough security, as only those who are immune to retaliation dare invade another’s privacy. I, condemned to die in slightly more than a day, was thus immune, and so I slid the door open, just a bit.