CHAPTER SEVEN

Mikael’s sparring session with his student, Eli, helped work out some of his frustrations with his inability to do anything about the death in his dream. Teaching was one of the ways he felt he actually could earn his place in the Lucas Family. If they ever let him have more students, that was.

But he had a couple of leads to pursue, so after he went off duty, Mikael headed down to Below to find Jannika. It was shortly after the shift change, so while she ate, he sat with one leg folded beneath him on the wooden chair, sipping an overly hot cup of tea.

Jannika had chosen a table on the far edge of the mess and sat stirring her soup—a bean soup this time that smelled exceptionally meaty. The mess was crowded with tired sentries, so Mikael’s emotions weren’t likely to stand out above the ambient in the room. It was currently the overwhelming group feeling of relief and pleasure at having come off a long, chilly shift. The comfort of bootlaces loosened, jackets and overcoats set aside. No one even gave Mikael a second glance at this hour, but he held his thoughts quiet to keep it that way.

Jannika began their conversation by bemoaning the state of her feet. Since she’d just come off duty, Mikael didn’t blame her. Every sentry complained, just as he had back in Lee Province. And while he hadn’t stood sentry duty since then, the previous year he’d been sent to investigate a violation of the treaty in Jannsen Province. The Jannsen Family had refused to provide guards for the Anvarrid House ruling there, and as part of his intervention, Mikael had served as a guard while the House and Family involved worked out their problems.

Jannika set down her spoon and leaned closer. “So what happened in your office today? Iselin said the prince slipped rather spectacularly. A big explosion of fury, she called it. She was on Two Above directly over the Daujom’s offices, so she felt it.”

Iselin said. Mikael sighed inwardly, suspecting that Iselin blamed him for that incident. But it did save him time fishing about for a tactful way to insert his desired topic into the conversation. “You know I can’t discuss that with you.”

Jannika sat back in her chair and actually smiled at him. “And?”

Lucas girls didn’t smile much. It was one of the things he missed from Lee; people there smiled more. The Lucas Family took itself far too seriously, even when not on duty.

As if to belie that thought, the occupants of the long table nearest them broke up in sudden laughter, the volume about them rising sharply before it settled again to normal.

“Well, it wasn’t my fault,” Mikael said to Jannika with relative surety. “I can tell you that much.”

There was a limit to what he could say about Dahar without feeling disloyal. He didn’t have many sources of information among the Lucas Family, though. Deborah wouldn’t discuss her nephew with him. Mikael wouldn’t go to Elisabet, either. Asking her to share what she knew might put her in an uncomfortable spot since she was both Kai’s guard and under Deborah’s sponsorship. Eli was far too straightlaced to gossip. No, Jannika was his best bet for rooting out what he wanted to know.

So when she continued to smile at him, he added, “He had an argument with Kai, and that set him off.”

The sentries in the hallways would have noticed Dahar’s stalking out of the office shortly after Kai’s exit, so Mikael wasn’t giving away anything that wasn’t common knowledge.

Jannika shook her head and picked up her spoon again. “The chaplains should lock them up.”

Mikael choked on his tea. It was an old tactic, to take a pair of complainants and lock them in a room together until they worked out their differences. He could only imagine how poorly that would work out. Dahar would not take well to being told what to do and would rant about the elders overstepping the bounds of their authority. Kai would sit down in a corner and furiously ignore his father. “That’s an interesting image,” Mikael managed after a moment. “I do think Kai’s upset about something.”

Now, that was walking the line.

Jannika took a bite of her soup. “Kai’s difficult. That’s what I heard from Demas.”

Ah yes, Demas was the man in the twenty-fives for whom she’d broken off their relationship. And while Mikael didn’t care about Demas’ opinion one way or another, Demas was in Elisabet’s yeargroup. Elisabet was Kai’s primary guard and would never gossip, but Tova and Peder filled in for her when she had other commitments. Surely one of them let something slip. “Did he ever stand in for Elisabet?”

Jannika shook her head. “No. The others just talked about Kai a great deal. I would have tea with them in the evenings back then. You should come visit the twenty-twos.”

Mikael nearly dropped his teacup, but ruthlessly tamped down his surprise at that offer. He’d believed that Jannika wasn’t after a contract, but he might have to change that assessment. An invitation to join a yeargroup for an evening was tantamount to courtship. Each yeargroup had a delicate balance of togetherness, their own particular way of acting that kept the yeargroup comfortable and happy—the sensitives in particular. Introducing a new person into the group was a delicate proposition, rarely undertaken lightly.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said quickly, which let him know she hadn’t missed his reaction. “I only think you should socialize with the yeargroups more, get to know some of us.”

He’d never been asked. Never, not even when he’d been involved with Jannika the year before. The twenty-threes, who were his own age, had never made any friendly overtures, and the twenty-fours were Kai’s group. Kai was definitely not welcoming. “I don’t know how the elders would feel about that.”

Jannika shrugged, her braids slipping back over her black-clad shoulder. “If I took off my boot, would you rub my foot?”

How can I say no to that? “Of course.”

She pried off one boot with her other foot, revealing a grayed sock—everything eventually turned gray in the laundry—and set the foot on the edge of his chair. Mikael obligingly rubbed the arch of her foot, provoking another smile from her.

“You’re not serious about this, are you?” she asked, her head tilting slightly.

She meant a potential relationship, he decided. He stopped rubbing, startled, until her eyebrows rose. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

Jannika was simple, one of the things he liked about her. She was easy to talk with. She had siblings and parents who were on good terms, pleasant friends—save for Iselin—and she didn’t have grand designs for her life. Or his, for that matter. He wasn’t sure whether she even knew about the Anvarrid side of his parentage and all the complications that came with that. They certainly hadn’t discussed his father. Or, more to the point, his grandfather.

There were reasons he’d never worried about finding a wife. He was only twenty-three. Plenty of Family men his age weren’t married. There was the niggling issue of Dahar’s wanting him to marry his daughter too. But most of all, Mikael wasn’t entirely certain he would live through his next dream. That would be a miserable thing to wish on any woman. Until his dreams were under control, he couldn’t see himself taking a wife.

He rubbed her foot with one hand and lifted his teacup with the other. “I’m not averse.”

She leaned farther back in her chair and set her foot on his thigh, allowing him to rub her ankle. The familiarity, which would have caused rebuke at any other time of day, was permissible at this hour in the mess, since there wouldn’t be any children around. This was a time slot reserved for adults.

He could feel an anklet under her sock, a fine chain. Sentries weren’t allowed any jewelry that would show, but if they could hide it under their uniforms, it was permitted. He’d have to remember that if he decided to buy her a present. Had the one she wore now come from Demas?

“This wasn’t an advance,” she said, “so why are we having dinner? Or tea, in your case.”

Another thing he liked about Jannika—her directness. She’d assumed his asking to join her had been a prelude to courtship on his part. “I was hoping to find out if you’ve heard any rumors.”

“About?”

“Kai.”

“Most of them are common knowledge,” she said with half a shrug. “He’s obsessed with Elisabet but he’s not bedding her, or rather she doesn’t let him. On the other hand, Tova is more than willing to take Elisabet’s place, although she’s not as good as Elisabet.”

Jannika meant, he suspected, that Elisabet was a better choice as guard, not a reference to any romantic advantages Tova—Elisabet’s Second among the female contingent of the twenty-fives—might or might not have. Mikael had heard all of that before, although never stated as bluntly. “That’s old news.”

“True.” She contemplated as she ate a bit more of her soup. “He’s been especially short-tempered lately. I have heard that.”

Again, nothing he didn’t know.

“There was some nasty gossip about him that came out a few weeks ago, but I don’t know what it was. The twenty-fives all shushed the person who hinted at it, like they’d spoken of poison.”

Mikael rubbed the tendon at the back of her ankle and rolled her foot around. A few weeks ago—that might be around the right time.

“That’s what you’re after, right?” Jannika asked before he had to ask.

“I wouldn’t know until I heard it.”

“And what do you intend to do with it?”

“Again, I won’t know until I know what it is.”

“Hmm.” She regarded him, eyes narrowed. “I could ask around.”

“Without getting into trouble?”

She shrugged. “Would you make it worth my time?”

“That depends on how much of your time I’m repaying you.”

“Never a straight answer from you,” she complained halfheartedly.

He gave her his brightest smile, wishing very delicately for her to trust him. Her brows rose again, but he suspected he’d won. He unfolded his legs so he could get a better grasp on her foot.

“Now, that I do remember,” she said, eyes closing with pleasure. “Strong hands. Can’t you come down this evening?”

He sighed, actually regretting that he couldn’t. He probably could have talked her into rubbing his feet in return, and while his feet didn’t hurt, he hadn’t been this close to a woman in months. Not in any capacity other than professional. He missed simple exchanges like this. “I’m sorry. I have to meet a writer for dinner to pry out some information.”

Her eyes opened halfway. “A woman writer?”

Was she going to be jealous over him? That would be a novel experience, one he might enjoy. “A writer for one of the Larossan newspapers, so no.”

“Ah. That’s fine, then,” she said. “Do you have time to do the other foot, at least?”