“Hi, Mother,” he said to the empty room. To his surprise, it felt good to say it. But there was no answer. There never would be, and he felt a pain deep within his chest. “You really screwed me over, didn’t you? I could have handled the hotel and the clients and sponsoring the Ironhorns – but a phoenix channel? The weight of saving the Empire on my shoulders? You should have said something earlier. You should have prepared me. We saw each other just a few months ago. You could have told me then.”
He wrestled with his thoughts, feeling them pulled this way and that. He was being unfair and he knew it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you. I was selfish, and a fool, and I’ve spent a third of my life hiding from the person you raised me to be.” He turned away abruptly, walking back to the stairs and pausing there for several minutes before he was able to return to her urn.
“I hated you so much after Holikan,” he said, hearing the anger in his own words. “I hated the way you had raised me; the tutors and the schedules and the expectations. I hated that my childhood was years shorter than those of my friends because you saw my potential and sought to cultivate it. I was a prodigy at what I did, but the pressure you put on me made me brittle. I wasn’t prepared for a disaster like Holikan. It was my fault – my responsibility – but you were culpable.
“I don’t think I can blame you any longer, though. You just did what you thought was best. I know how much you loved me. Love is in short supply among the guild-families, and I wish I had told you that I loved you back while you were still alive. I wish I’d forgiven you.” He paused, staring at the empty pedestal. “I forgive you, Mother. You made mistakes, but you also put a lot of good in me. You made sure that I cared about people and ideals, and not just godglass and money. You made sure I was the type of person who would save a glassdamned bird from a war zone, even though it was a waste of my time. You made me different from the rest of these guild-families, and if there’s anything that redeems me it’ll be that. I can’t promise I’ll make you proud. But I will try.”
He knelt and touched the urn briefly before turning his gaze toward the marble bust immediately to the right of the empty pedestal. It was of a young man with a strong jaw, high forehead, and flat ears. He looked nothing like Demir, oddly enough, until you peered into the eyes. Even in marble they were clever, and the cocky smile on the man’s lips looked like the sculptor had taken it from Demir’s mirror.
Demir ran his hand over the familiar contours of the man’s face, like he’d done hundreds of times as a child. “Take care of her, Dad,” he said, and turned and left the crypt.
He emerged into the afternoon sun and took a moment to stare up into the sky, composing himself until the pain in his chest began to recede and he could breathe deeply without difficulty. He felt … a little more complete. Like he’d taken a step he didn’t know he needed to take. He shook it out of his head, forcing himself to return to the greater world.
There was a lump caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get it down. How was he possibly going to do this? To find Thessa? To make a phoenix channel? To protect all his new responsibilities? His mother’s note had said not to trust even Breenen with knowledge of the phoenix channel. Did he really have to do all this alone?
A sound suddenly reached him, echoing from inside the hotel. He tilted his head, listening carefully until it repeated again, then again. It was his name, and he recognized the voice that was shouting it. He was sprinting for the garden door before he could stop himself, flying down the hallways.
“Demir!” the voice demanded. “Where is Demir?”
He reached the top of the stairs to find the biggest man he’d ever seen standing just inside the front door. He was six and a half feet tall and half as wide, with the light skin of a northern provincial and the thick accent to match. He wore a fine embroidered jacket of crimson and purple that made Demir’s whole wardrobe look drab. His face was enormous, as big around as a barrel, small eyes and mouth buried in flesh like a bucketful of bread dough. His brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail that went down below his shoulders.
Demir could pick out the newest members of the hotel staff by which ones were staring with absolute awe and fear. Baby Montego, world champion cudgelist, one of the few people who could make a glassdancer piss themselves in fear.
“Baby!” Demir yelled. He took the stairs two at a time and sprinted across the lobby.
“Demir, what are you … Do not do that!”
Demir leapt into the giant’s embrace, wrapping his arms around the thick neck and squeezing as hard as humanly possible. Montego gave a long-suffering sigh and Demir felt a hesitant pat on the back.
He dropped to the floor, took a step back, and gave his best friend a long and thoughtful look. “Baby, you have gotten really glassdamned fat.”
“I have broken stronger men for smaller insults,” Montego grumbled.
“Then you should stop looking like a milk-fat, overgrown toddler,” Demir shot back. He turned to call toward the concierge’s office, “Breenen, have the suite next to mine made up for Montego. Make sure he gets every service and comfort.”
“I am here on the matter of your mother’s death,” Montego replied, shaking a newspaper at Demir. “I will not be babied.”
“Then I shall not have our carpenter construct an enormous crib. Tell me how you got here so quickly.”
“My yacht had just returned to port when Capric’s message arrived. I bought every spare horse and carriage between here and Yavlli so I could travel without interruption. Speak, Demir! Tell me what has happened.”
“In private.” Demir grabbed Montego by the sleeve, dragging him toward the stairs. They were soon inside his office, where he closed the door and allowed himself to collapse onto one of the sofas. For the first time in two days, he felt all of the public masks he wore fall away and he was able to be himself – raw and unguarded – around another person. At that moment he made the conscious decision to tell Montego everything. To piss with Mother’s warning. If he couldn’t trust Montego with the world, he might as well hang himself now.
The giant cudgelist remained near the door, staring at Demir. “You look awful.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not joking, Demir. I haven’t seen you look this out of sorts since Holikan. This isn’t just your mother’s death. Something has happened. You will tell me now.”
“Mother is dead. I have returned. I now have to save a young woman so that she can help me save the world.”
“I think I’d like the longer version.”
Demir took a deep breath, resisting the urge to reach for a glass of whiskey or a piece of mind-numbing dazeglass. “Then you shall have it.” He recounted the events of the last two days in detail, leaving nothing out, talking until his throat was dry and his head pounded. Montego sat on the sofa opposite of him, leaning on a silver-headed cane, a look of focus on his comically broad face. When people saw Montego they rarely looked past his size or his cudgeling record, but Demir knew that beneath that heavy brow was a mind not unlike his own. Montego was sometimes quiet, sometimes gregarious, but always brilliant.
Demir finished his tale with a sigh, throwing his arms wide. “It’s too much, Baby. I can’t do it.”
“Slow down,” Montego responded, holding up a massive hand. “You do not trust the Assembly’s investigation?”