Kihrin turned back toward the City. “Miya—”
“No.” Teraeth’s hand came down on Kihrin’s shoulder. “You can’t. She’s fine. Your mother is a powerful sorceress. Believe she will be fine. But he’s right—you won’t be fine if you stay here. That sword only protects you from magic, not swords or arrows.”
“It gets worse,” Thurvishar said then.
“Really?” Kihrin said. “Because I already want to throw up.”
“Do it later,” Thurvishar replied. “The pacts that allow for the summoning of demons hinges on them being able to tap into the power of the Stone of Shackles to gaesh—if they can’t do that, then the contracts are nullified. So someone has freed the demons, just as prophecy predicted, but it wasn’t Gadrith or Kaen.”
Kihrin stared at him. “What you’re saying—” He shook his head. “No—”
“Give the sword to Teraeth,” Thurvishar said. “Or to me. We’ll hand it over to Milligreest so he may place it back in a vault, to wait on the choosing of the next Emperor. There are no witnesses but ourselves to tell the tale of how Gadrith died, and we can craft any story we choose. No one has to know it was your hand that held the Ruin of Kings.”
“I like the way you think,” Teraeth said with an approving note to his voice. He moved a hand toward Kihrin’s sword arm. “Yes, give me—”
And paused, as Teraeth found a silver straight blade placed against his throat with all the neat precision of a shaving razor.
“I can’t,” Kihrin said. His throat worked with no sound and his eyes were bright and wet. “Please step back, Teraeth. You’re my friend.” There was a pleading note to the request.
Their eyes met. “I remember,” Teraeth said. “She has a beautiful voice, doesn’t she? It’s hard to hear anything else.” He stepped backward and let his hands fall to his sides.
Kihrin lowered the sword and stood there, shuddering.
“I gather the sword won’t let you give it up,” Thurvishar said, “but regardless, you must leave now. The High General has his own vows, and one of those is to protect the Empire from all threats. And you just became a threat to the Empire.”
“Milligreest doesn’t believe in the prophecies,” Kihrin said. His voice was weak and tense.
Teraeth shook his head. He was back in ready mode, hands on his daggers and watching for anyone who might interrupt them. “I think he might change his mind after tonight. Come on. We can steal aboard a ship tonight and head out to sea with the tide.”
“No,” Kihrin said. He drew in a deep breath and seemed to recover some composure. “No, you go. Go by ship. The more of a chase we can lead them on the better. I’ll leave by land.” He walked over to Gadrith’s body and bent down, working a ring off the dead man’s finger—a red intaglio ruby. He held it up to Thurvishar. “Was this Gadrith’s or Sandus’s?”
Thurvishar inspected it. “It must have belonged to Sandus.”
Kihrin handed him the ring. “You should have something that belonged to your real father.” He turned toward the center of the Arena and his nostrils flared. “What about Tyentso?”
“Leave her,” Teraeth blurted out.
“She’ll come back, won’t she?” Kihrin looked at Teraeth. “Thaena will bring her back?”
Teraeth’s expression was grim. “I don’t know. The rules inside the Arena are different.”
“I’ve never heard of Thaena allowing anyone who died inside the Arena to Return,” Thurvishar said.
When Kihrin turned to go back to reclaim Tyentso’s body, Teraeth put himself in the way. “Go, Kihrin. If she doesn’t Return, Thurvishar can send someone back for her body. She’ll be buried in the D’Lorus crypts.”
“I’m pretty sure she’d have hated the idea of being buried in the D’Lorus crypts,” Kihrin snapped, but he didn’t try to force his way past the vané a second time.
“Technically,” Thurvishar said, “the D’Lorus family died tonight. The only true D’Lorus left is High Lord Cedric, and he’s a sad, broken old man.” He sounded like he couldn’t quite decide how he felt about that.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Kihrin said. He looked around, realizing he had nothing he could use to sheath the sword. “Good luck, both of you.”
“Where are you going?” Teraeth asked.
Kihrin answered, “Jorat. I hear there’s a knight there who’s causing some trouble. I’m going to find him.”
* * *
The Arena was quiet. The demon battles, so recently over, didn’t touch those peaceful green fields. No wind breached the force field to ruffle the branches of twisted trees, no birds remained within its boundaries, no squirrels had ever feasted on nuts and berries there. If any had found their way inside in the brief time the field was dormant, they too were shunted outside when Gadrith breathed his last.
No living animal, two-legged or otherwise, could stay inside the boundaries of the Arena until the next contest—until the next battle that would end when one man fought all comers. The victor would be the one wearing the Crown and holding the Scepter when he left its boundaries. The ritual would be as it had always been: anyone who wished to take part would gather; the Voices would lower the barriers; the fighting would begin.
Normally.
Tyentso, once called Raverí, inhaled deeply and arched her back to suck in more sweet air as she Returned. She was still not entirely aware of where she was, or what had occurred around her. She only knew that she had lost and paid a price for that losing—a price not so final as it might have been for another. She lay in the field at the center of the Arena, looking up at a soap-bubble field of magical energy, while the rain sprinkled on her face.
Above her head, directly over her head, a glowing circle of light bisected by a white line floated. She stared at both in confusion for a moment before she realized what she was seeing.
Tyentso began to laugh.
No living thing could stay inside the Arena after the Emperor’s death, but Tyentso had—at that singular perfect moment—not been alive, so her body hadn’t moved.
She reached up with both hands to claim the Crown and Scepter of Quur.
90: FINAL NOTES
Empress Tyentso,
A few notes are in order to wrap up this account.
The death toll to the Capital City was staggering. It’s estimated that at least five thousand people died due to demon attacks that night. About thirty thousand more perished in the fires that erupted thanks to their chaos. Still more will die in the coming months of starvation or disease if immediate steps are not taken.