“To be fair, I don’t think they understood either. They only knew she was important. Anyway, that’s the other reason I wanted us to meet here.” He walked over to a storage cupboard and pulled out a cloth-wrapped triangle, which he set on the main table and unwrapped.

Qown blinked in surprise. It was a harp.

The style looked old but elegant, double-strung, made from fine and beautiful old woods. The blue-haired woman stood as Relos Var brought it over and raised a hand to stroke the harp’s neck.

“Valathea,” she murmured. “It is good to see you again, my queen.”

“If I may be so bold, Your Majesty, why didn’t you just take her before? I mean, you had her right there with you for months.”

“Relos … I’m not allowed to steal from the family. However, no one told me I was obligated to return what someone else had already stolen.”

“What will you do with her?” Relos Var asked.

“For the moment, leave her with you,” she answered. “There’s no place I could put her where I would be assured of her safety. When they took her I almost … well … it turned out I could be hurt worse than I already had been, but it took some effort.” She reached down and took his hands. “Promise you won’t hurt him, Relos.”

“Your Majesty, please believe me when I say hurting your son isn’t part of my plans. He’s far too important.” Relos Var smiled. “He’s going to help us destroy Quur. We need him.”

She took the assurance like a drowning person reaching for land, inhaled, and nodded. She leaned down and kissed Relos Var on the cheek. “Thank you.”

With that, she stood and inscribed a gate—carving runes in the air, using them to return to wherever she spent her days. The Manol, Brother Qown supposed.

But because he had stayed a moment longer, he was also there when Relos Var leaned back in his chair, snarling silently as he looked off into the distance. The wizard crushed the metal goblet in his hand into a small, dense ball before tossing the whole thing in the fire.

41: A MOTHER’S LOVE

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin failed to bluff Gadrith

“Kihrin, are you all right?” Janel asked.

Kihrin slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. “It’s like you said—we know all the same people. Hey, at least I know what happened to my harp.”

Janel stared at him. “You play the harp?”

“Yes, I play the harp. And Valathea was my—” Kihrin trailed off as Janel’s eyebrows rose. Then he remembered what Teraeth had said about having a type. He cleared his throat. “It’s not like that. Teraeth and I are friends.”

“Oh, of course,” Janel agreed. “How could it be? You only run with mares.”