Brother Qown took several deep breaths. He reminded himself he had, at least on some level, always known Quur capable of atrocities. After all, one didn’t become the largest empire in the world through compassion and a generous spirit. Quur had always crushed its enemies, mercilessly and without hesitation. This was … just that. Just another example.

But he had seen this example with his own eyes. And he knew it wouldn’t be the worst example he’d find in these books.

“Do you have any more volumes?” he asked instead of fleeing.

Thurvishar frowned at him. “This is dark research, my friend.”

“If I’m going to figure out how to cure a curse, I need to understand how the curse works,” Qown replied.

“The advanced books are kept locked away in the House D’Lorus archives,” Thurvishar admitted, “but since I’m the lord heir, I have the key.”

47: THE WITCH-QUEEN

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin briefly remembered being S’arric

Everyone remained quiet as Qown finished.

“The Academy spends a great deal of time researching—weapons. Spells usable as weapons,” Qown finally said. “They’ve become good at it.”

“When I said anyone who would use a weapon like that…” Kihrin swallowed and looked over at Janel. “You already knew.”

“I already knew,” she agreed. “I may hate talk of prophecies, but I will say this: Those prophecies that talk about the Hellwarrior toppling the Quuros empire? Smashing it to pieces? I hope those prophecies are true. Quur has earned it.”

“Now you sound like Teraeth.”

Janel refreshed her coffee. “Am I wrong?”

Kihrin scrubbed his eyes with his hands. He was losing track of what wrong meant. Horribly, he found himself agreeing with his brother—with Relos Var rather. Maybe everyone was wrong, and it was a matter of picking the wrong side you found more acceptable. “If the Empire of Quur is as powerful as you say … as horrible as you say … what chance would anyone have to rebel against them?”

“Sooner or later, everything falls.” Janel and Kihrin stared at each other for a rather long beat, before Janel took a deep breath. “Anyway, I believe it’s my turn.”

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

“Bikeinoh, I have a question for you.” I leaned over toward the woman while we waited for our turn at the practice yards.

Not all the women had been eager to take up weapons training, but a surprising number had. Even more were eager to learn to read and write and to explore the possibility they might have an aptitude for magic. The D’Lorus Lord Heir had been shocked to discover every single Yoran woman tested displayed a high magical aptitude. He muttered about it being unprecedented. The women laughed and reminded him that they were Yoran.

Bikeinoh turned to me. “Yes?”

“Who taught Veixizhau?”

She blinked at me. “What?”