The City burned.
Little demons, large demons, fat demons, demons of every shape, color, and description imaginable destroyed and savaged whatever and whoever they could find. They basked in the warmth of the spreading City fires. They maliciously killed thousands and just as inexplicably left as many survivors unmolested to witness and remember their atrocities. They feasted on fear and dined well.
Even though Xaltorath had now been banished, it would still take months, if not years, to undo the damage he left behind.
“Is everyone here?” Therin asked Galen, as he walked up with Lady Miya at his side. The High Lord and his seneschal were both singed and dirty, with slashes and burns on their clothing that spoke of injuries received in the fighting.
“I’ve gathered everyone I could find,” Galen said, “but a few people are still in the City overseeing the Blue Houses.” The number of family brought together in the great hall seemed small, compared to the number of D’Mons who had existed just a day prior. It was too painful to contemplate some of those missing …
Galen clenched his teeth and refused to think about his father.
“Good,” Therin said. “I’m sending you, your wife, and a small contingent of healers to the summer palace in Kirpis. Your job is to stay safe, do you understand?”
“What about—” Galen swallowed the question.
Therin’s face was without expression. Someone who didn’t know the D’Mons might make the mistake of interpreting it as without emotion. Galen knew better.
“Finish the question,” Therin ordered.
He wanted to ask about Kihrin. He wanted to, but he didn’t. Galen was flustered and upset. Not so long ago he had not only watched family members die, but remembered that Kihrin hadn’t been willing to die for him. Kihrin had been willing to die for Lady Miya, had in fact died for Lady Miya, but not for Galen.
So, Galen asked, “What about my father?”
“Your father is a dead man or will be soon,” Therin stated. “He will be forgotten, and his name will never be mentioned in this House again. I have disowned him. I can only pray it’s enough to satisfy the gods.”
He might not be dead yet, Galen thought, but he knew better than to say it out loud.
Behind Lord Therin, Lady Miya made a small noise.
“Do you understand me, Lord Heir?”
The title didn’t register right away. Galen almost looked for his father. Even as Therin continued to frown at Galen, he still couldn’t make himself believe the implications. “My lord?”
“You were his firstborn son. That makes you Lord Heir now. That is why you and Sheloran must leave. The House will have a very difficult road ahead of it. I need to make sure you are protected.”
Galen could only blink. So, he hadn’t heard wrong in the temple, when Therin had claimed Kihrin was his son. Not Darzin’s son at all. Not Darzin’s son, and not Galen’s brother.
Galen’s uncle.
“Yes, my lord. I understand.”
“Good. Now—”
“Therin—” Lady Miya’s voice was at once both shocked and jubilant. “Therin, the gaesh is gone.”
“What?” The man blinked at her as if he hadn’t really understood the statement or its context. Therin raised his hand to examine the thin, tarnished silver chain looped several times around his wrist, a small pendant of a tree dangling at the end.
The pendant crumbled to ash and drifted away on the air.
Lady Miya put a hand to her neck. “I can breathe,” she said. “After so long, I can draw breath.”
“How is this possible?” Therin asked.
“I do not know,” Lady Miya answered. “I cannot imagine, and yet, Therin, I can feel that it is gone.”
All conversation in the great hall ceased.
“Lady Miya—” Galen crossed over to her, planning to offer her whatever support he could.
Galen’s movement must have caught her attention, because she turned her stare back to him. That stare made him pause because there was nothing friendly about it. Miya didn’t look at him with the blank indifference he expected from the House seneschal. No, this stare held malice.
“That is not my name,” she corrected.
Galen felt himself lifted. A bar of invisible air, hard as steel, tightened around his neck. He choked, gasping, his sight darkening as he tried to draw in breath and failed.
Something gave way in his neck with a loud, hard snap.
Galen D’Mon fell to the ground, dead.
For a few eternal seconds, no one moved. Plenty in the room had never known a time when Lady Miya had not served the House and protected its members. Even then, watching her kill the new Lord Heir, witnesses wondered if she’d somehow been replaced by that mimic, or if someone had taken control of her mind.
Then they screamed and ran, but the large doors to the great hall slammed shut the moment anyone approached. For the second time in a day, they were prisoners to a sorcerer in their own home.
“You’re not Lady Miya,” Therin said, eyes wide. “You can’t be.”
She didn’t smile at him. No hate or outrage shone from her eyes. She tilted her head as if to acknowledge a truth. “To be honest, I have never been Miya. The real Miya died before you and I ever met.” The tiniest bitter smile graced the corners of her lips as she stepped over Galen’s body. “I could not tell you who I really am. The gaesh prevented it.”
“So, who are you?” Therin glanced down at Galen’s body, then back at Miya. His experience as a former priest of Thaena told him Galen’s condition was not necessarily permanent and so there was not yet reason to panic.
“Khaeriel.” She smiled as Therin’s eyes widened. “Khaeriel, queen of all the vané, daughter of Khaevatz, queen of the Manol vané, daughter of Khaemezra, of the Eight Guardians.”*
Therin closed his eyes. “Let them go. It’s me you want. Let them go.”
“You are half-correct. It is you I want, but not for a reason so petty as revenge. However, I am also not going to let your family go. They are the tethers that shackle you to this House and this title as surely as that gaesh once chained me.” She gestured again. On the far side of the room, where Galen’s new widow banged against the door, Sheloran jerked as her neck snapped. She collapsed into an untidy heap on the floor.
Therin shook himself from his shock and attacked Khaeriel.
Khaeriel brushed aside whatever spell he attempted to cast—likely some enchantment meant to stun and incapacitate—before narrowing her eyes at Therin.
He flew backward against the wall, arms and legs spread like a pinned butterfly.
Therin grit his teeth together and tore himself free. He dropped to the ground, catching himself at the last moment before he stumbled. Therin gestured and said something under his breath.
The air around Khaeriel turned thick and choking.