His shoulders twitched. “Home isn’t what I expected. I can’t really see myself staying here.”

“You don’t mean to expose her?” She didn’t want him to remain, she wanted him to come back to Tabbaqera where he belonged. But it wasn’t her life or her homeland or her throne.

“What do you expect me to do, Qanath?” Ordinarily he would have growled it at her, but his voice was hollow with fatigue, as if a surfeit of emotion had sapped him of all energy. “This isn’t Tabb. There aren’t rules she has to obey. She is the Scolate, but there is no Illiumate or Hakam to look over her shoulders, with the power to stop her if she crosses lines.”

“You mean to walk away?”

“Should I murder her? My own mother?”

“You carry the essence of vengeance inside you, I’m not sure you’re allowed to turn the other cheek.”

The anger she had expected earlier appeared: he swiveled around to glare at her, baring his teeth. She had carefully positioned herself out of reach when she came out here, though. It would take a lot of extra effort to disentangle himself from the banister if he wanted to slap her. “What makes you think I give a shit what I’m allowed to do?”

Qanath winced. “That wasn’t what I meant. Havec, did he… Did he never explain what an Avatethura Master is?”

The anger had already faded, and it hadn’t been replaced by his habitual world-weary irony; he was uncommonly somber and chose to shake his head. He had put the eyeliner back on, she noticed. She was glad to see it: the fact that he was wearing it again suggested he was contemplating coming home.

She crouched beside him, gripping one of the uprights. “Did he mention the other schools to you? Despair, bloodlust, hatred—”

“Madness, arrogance, yeah,” he offered. “He mentioned them. I can’t remember the others.”

“Despair, bloodlust, hatred, madness, pride,” she corrected. “Plus love, glory, and righteousness.”

“Huh,” he said, to show that he was listening.

“You remember Adaba? Kur wasn’t the only warrior she created.”

“I thought everyone but her died.”

“The Archetypes of War didn’t. They don’t have bodies to kill.”

“Are you telling me,” he said slowly, “the title ‘archetype’ is literal? They’re… ideas?”

“You know I’m not a priest.” She let go the railing long enough to wave her hands in front of her. “But I think. In a sense. They’re forces of nature, but also beings possessed of will. I know you’re wondering, Love, what harm could that be?”

He interrupted. “Qanath. No. I’m the last person in the universe who needs to have the destructive qualities of love explained to them.”

“Oh.”

“What I was wondering was: Why did you bring this up?”

She made a face, wondering how he would take it when he understood what exactly he’d been saddled with. It appalled her that Xar anKebbal had never explained. “The Archetypes of War and their Embodiments are a partnership, but the creature inside you is single-minded. Disinterested in consequences. Your job is to temper its fierce will.”

“I see.” He wasn’t nearly as alarmed as he ought to be in the circumstances, and she wondered if he didn’t believe her.

“The thing is, it’s really powerful and it’s inside you. It can’t get out even if it wants to, that’s the point. But you’re not its jailor. Kebbal is ancient and deserving of respect, you can’t take care of it if you go around spitting on it.”

Havec sucked in a deep breath in one swift gasp and expelled it slowly through his nose. “You’re saying it’s not just my job to keep it contained but to make the experience bearable.”

“I don’t want you to hurt anyone.” She lowered her voice. “These people are beneath you, they don’t deserve your wrath. But that thing in you is dangerous, and the way I heard it explained, the only thing the Archetypes love more fiercely than their archetypes is their hosts. When people wrong you, I think you may have to retaliate.”

“Well.” Havec was brisk, totally unalarmed. He grasped the handrail with both hands and hoisted himself to his feet, then dusted his backside off casually. “It’s just as well I killed my cousin, isn’t it?”

Qanath stared at him, waiting to be told this was a joke. He looked back at her, and for once his eyes weren’t sharp and cold. They sparkled with reckless merriment she had only seen in him before when he was picking a fight. “What?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Just now. Mostly I did it to spite her, but I always hated the bullying piece of shit. And I swear, I almost think they were sleeping together, isn’t that disgusting?”

“We were separated for like two minutes!”

“It doesn’t take that long.”

A voice raised in alarm in the building behind them. If Havec’s mother was the villain who exiled him and stole his throne, she wasn’t going to be content to pass back everything she took from him just because he knew. She needed to cover up her crime, and that meant she needed both of them to die.

Havec was the one tasked with keeping them alive and he was completely unsurprised. He had struck the sparks and been sitting up here waiting for the conflagration. She could practically see his ears perk, and his eyes twinkled. “We probably ought to go.”

He gripped the railing again and swung a leg over. Once he was standing on the far side, he met her eyes and waggled his brows mischievously. Then he dropped from view. A moment later she heard him calling, “Let’s not hang about, shall we?”

She went to the railing and stepped over the way he had done, although her legs were shorter and it was harder for her. Then she looked down. It was only a single story, but she could already see herself dropping clumsily into the snow and breaking both legs. It was deep enough to conceal the ground entirely, making it hard to gauge where the solid soil lay.

“Come on,” he hissed, holding up his arms. “All you have to do is let go.”

Qanath closed her eyes and let go. “And don’t—” he began. A scream slipped out of her lips as the bottom dropped out of her world, but she had hardly begun to fall when his hands closed on her waist, easing her to the ground. “—scream,” he finished as her feet sank into the snow and stopped.

“If you don’t want me to scream, don’t make me jump off buildings. Or, you know, don’t randomly kill the heirs of countries when we’re trapped in the same house.”

Havec shrugged as he turned away. Shaking her head, Qanath hastened to follow him; why did she waste her breath? If he had ever once repented anything he’d done, he certainly hadn’t admitted it to anyone.

As she scrambled after him, she asked, “Will you try to take your throne from her?”

He shot her a startled look. “Hell no, fuck this place.”

“Does that mean you’re coming home?”

He led them north and east to the big windowless building, where he slid open one door. The interior was dark, but it smelled of large animals and stale poop. “Light,” Havec whispered, shoving closed the door.

She fumbled through her coat pockets, hoping against hope all her crystals weren’t still in her bag. She breathed a sigh of gratitude when her hand closed around a cold hard shape. Rows of sleepy horses were revealed by its light. As she lifted it to cast a wider beam, Havec already had a saddle in both hands and was moving along the outer wall, sizing up his options.

“Can you not just light a lamp?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Can’t you?”

He cast her a look before stopping before a gray horse with a black mane. He rested the saddle over the door of the stall to free his hands while he swung it open. He led the animal out into the central area and began with the labor of saddling it while Qanath danced anxiously. Shouts arose beyond the walls of the building, the sounds of hunters already hunting out of doors.

Havec only had the one horse saddled but made next for the door. Qanath could hear it too, the thudding footfalls of someone approaching at a run. A moment later, the door slid open again and a lone man entered. He was on the small side, maybe a decade older than her, and his hair was tied in a simple club at his neck.

He saw her standing there and parted his lips to shout, but by then Havec had him from behind and slapped a hand over his mouth. Sliding the door closed with the heel of one boot, he said in a hushed but cheerful voice, “Hey there, Timeth. Long time, no see.”

The man’s eyes went wider, swiveling in their sockets. He had been grappling over his shoulders, trying to lay a hand on the man behind him, but went still. Havec said something to him in his own language, voice warm, but at the last moment, the other man’s brows went up and he let out a muffled shout.