“I’ll send you home. Back to Eamithon. Back to the Temple of Light. You’ll still be gaeshed, and you won’t be able to reveal any secrets, but you’ll be safe and comfortable. You’ll be back at the temple, back with your friends, spending your days in meditation and healing the supplicants who travel to Rainbow Lake.” Relos Var brought the box over to the table and set it down before Brother Qown. “Or you can help me save humanity. I leave the choice to you.”

“What’s in the box?” Brother Qown asked.

“A gift if you decide to help me. Open it.”

Brother Qown did. A large chunk of agate rested on a bed of black velvet inside. The stone’s heart sparkled and shifted like flame.

37: THE DUKE’S WIVES

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Miya’s hatred of Darzin ceased not being personal

Kihrin stared at Qown with wide eyes. “Damn.”

Qown nodded. “Oh, indeed. I, uh … he seems so reasonable. That’s the hardest part. You find yourself wondering if you’re the one who’s being unfair.”

Ninavis looked over at Dorna. “You know, it never occurred to me how deep under I am. Just underwater. Here I’m worried about how we’re going to convince the Adoreli to stop warring with the Gadurans.” She paused as she saw the confusion on people’s faces. “Those are Marakori clans we’re recruiting. It’s not important. Anyway, you people are on a whole different level…” She leaned over toward Janel. “Tya? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Janel shook her head and shrugged. “It wasn’t my choice.” She paused. “At least I’m fairly sure it wasn’t my choice … I’d hate to think it was.”

“Teraeth’s got Janel beat, though,” Kihrin offered. “Besides apparently being an angel—my new favorite definition of irony—he’s Thaena’s son and Khored’s grandson.” Then he held up his hand. “But I don’t know if his parentage means anything. Divinity doesn’t seem to be a thing you can inherit.”

“No,” Qown agreed. “It wouldn’t be.”

Kihrin looked over at Janel. “Your turn?”

She nodded. “My turn.”

Janel’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.

“Where could he have gone?” I rushed into the room, checked the water closet, the wardrobe, any place he might hide.

Brother Qown’s satchel was missing.

Senera didn’t answer me. She took the stone from around her neck, rubbed her index finger against it, and drew a phantom line against the marble wall. She read the fading warmth against the glossy surface and looked relieved. “It’s fine. Relos Var sent Pragaos for him.”