“Do you ever consider the life you’d be living now if I hadn’t saved you?” Dyraien said to Rye. “You’d probably be sucking on the tits of some woman. And look at all the gratitude you’re showing me now. I thought we were family, Rye.”
“I thought we were too,” Rye said. “You say I’m your brother, but I feel more like a prisoner.”
Tahki had never seen Dyraien look as dangerous as he did then. Dyraien’s jaw clenched, his fists quivered, and his eyes deadlocked on Rye. And that’s when Tahki understood why they hadn’t been locked up or killed.
Dyraien needed Rye.
He wanted him on his side. He’d been deeply hurt by Rye’s actions, by the fact Rye believed Tahki over him. Dyraien saw Rye as his brother. If Sornjia had chosen to believe a stranger he hardly knew over Tahki, Tahki would feel indignation, embarrassment, betrayal.
For years Tahki thought he couldn’t stand his family. But now he realized those feelings of irritation had been a luxury. He had no idea how he would have survived had it not been for his father and brother. Though his father had taken architecture away, it was only because of his father’s love that he’d been able to study architecture in the first place. Most noble borns would force their son into politics or a more respectable field. But Tahki’s father had given him freedom. And Sornjia had always been there for him too. He’d always been on Tahki’s side. Never in Tahki’s life had he ever felt alone. Misunderstood, maybe, but never alone. Even though he was a prince, Dyraien had no one but Rye. Rye knew this too. Even though Rye had Tahki now, he still considered Dyraien his brother.
“The cat isn’t here,” Rye said. “That’s the truth. Now it’s your turn.”
Dyraien said in a flat voice, “Yes. I had my mother killed.”
Tahki felt a small relief at the confession.
Rye shook his head, slow and steady. “Why?”
“I saved her,” Dyraien said. “She was suffering. You have no idea the kind of madness that consumed her. It wasn’t the kind of crazy you see on the streets. It was crazy from another world. Inside her mind, she was stuck in the eighth hell.”
“But why now? Why kill her now and frame Tahki?”
“Because I needed her death in order to rule,” Dyraien said. “Tragedy brings a country together. My people will feel sympathy for me. The poor prince, first his mother was murdered by a foreign spy, then the evil council tried to take his country away. I will spearhead an expedition for justice, use her death to rally outrage among my people toward her killer. My people will flock to me like chicks flock to their mother. They will obey everything I say.”
“You did all this because you want to rule?”
“I did all this because I know what’s best for my people. This isn’t selfish, Rye. I’m doing this… all this… for them.” Dyraien turned to Gotem. “My family’s history is dark. But I’m going to change that. I’m going to bring us all into a new age of enlightenment.”
Dyraien walked over to Gotem. He shoved the monk’s head back and cleared gunk from his eyes with his thumb. “You awake?”
Gotem murmured. Dyraien pulled out his gag.
“Foolish boy,” Gotem said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Dyraien shushed him, the way a mother might shush a finicky child. “You have work to do.”
Rye was at his side. “Dyraien, let that man go.”
Dyraien glanced to Zinc. Without a word, the men and woman who had previously held Rye restrained him again.
“Dyraien,” Rye said. “Don’t do this.”
“You won’t listen to me,” Dyraien said. “Not until you see it with your own eyes. Not until you see what I’m fighting so hard to obtain.”
Rye struggled. “How can you believe in all this? How can you think this place you’re trying to reach is real?”
“Because,” Dyraien didn’t turn to him, “I dragged my mother’s body out of it when she entered ten years ago.”
He took out a knife, and in one swift motion drew the blade across Gotem’s forehead. The monk didn’t cry out like Tahki expected, but he clenched his teeth and cringed as blood covered his face in a red curtain. Tahki felt sick with horror.
“Are you mad?” Rye yelled.
Dyraien ignored him. “All right.” He spoke in an upbeat voice. “We have the minerals. I’ve arranged the circle. The monk’s blood has mixed with sacred water.” Dyraien raised his arms. “Now, open!”
Tahki shut his eyes and held his breath. The entire room fell silent.
Nothing happened.
Tahki peeked out one eye. Dyraien stood wide-eyed and panting. The room lay still. He opened both eyes and stared. Dyraien looked comical standing there, arms raised toward the placid black pool. It felt like a dream, or waking from a dream, realizing that the night’s events had only occurred in your head. Tahki almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.
Dyraien waited another minute before lowering his arms. He stepped toward Gotem. “What is it? What did I do wrong?”
Gotem looked at him and, despite the blood covering his face, answered in a calm voice. “Clearly, the gods don’t want you visiting.”
Dyraien looked ready to punch Gotem, but before he could bring his arm across the monk’s face, a burst of wind erupted from below the black pool. Tahki felt hot and cold air rush over his body, an acrid scent attached to it. The black water ascended, and Gotem’s scream tore through the room. The monk’s body flew upward to the ceiling like he weighed nothing at all. Tahki wanted to cry out, but everything inside his body locked up.
The waters wailed, a grief-stricken sound that devoured all others. A kind of electric current surged through the room. It pricked Tahki’s skin. He could feel the discharge beneath his muscles. It jolted through his bones. He tasted the grit of iron across his teeth and heard a hundred voices cry out in agony. He smelled
