THE PARAGON, Book 3 of

THE NOME CHRONICLES

Chapter One

Neith

 

I CLOSE MY EYES BUT THEY pop right open as if on a spring. As much as I want to hide behind my lids, I can’t.

It’s the same thing at night. I no longer sleep without dreaming and when the black forms behind my eyes it quickly transforms into painful visions that stab at my chest. They remind me of the deaths left in my wake. They haven’t all been my fault but the evidence speaks for itself—being close to me can get you dead.

The first to go was Loic. He was followed by Erhart, then James. The deaths didn’t stop there. I watched, paralyzed, as Mehrdad put a bullet in Master Portan’s head—a man who’d been like a father to me. That bloody scene replays when my mind is supposed to be still.

The next death was Adela’s and it came at my hands. Sometimes, I feel the cold steel of the weapon I used. I see the disbelief on her face when the first bullet pierced her shoulder. I don’t recall her expression as the second bullet entered her because my eyes were clenched shut.

Oddly enough, I’m not haunted by Father’s passing. Discovering he lied to me and put my life at risk probably has something to do with it. Yet, I hear him speak to me far too often. His voice seeps into my brain, unbidden under a variety of circumstances.

Bel bleeding out before me is perhaps the worst scene of them all. I relive the confusing emotions that accompanied that grisly moment. Hate. Fear. Sorrow. Loss. Love.

That last one causes me the most disquiet. After all she’d done to me, love was the overwhelming feeling in my heart as death dulled her gaze.

Turning from unpleasant memories, I blow air from my lips and look ahead as a dry wind hurtles between the mourners standing outside the crypt. It’s as if nature coordinated with the funeral planners to provide the sort of day that would suit the occasion. Trees are bereft of leaves and the branches sing a sad song as they crack into each other with every new gust. Even the grass at my feet is in despair—brown and sad-looking.

Love.

Before me, love stains several cheeks with salty tears and brings forth wailing sounds from quivering lips. It breaks the straight spines of those ahead of me, causing them to hunch forward, bowing under its weight.

I, however, will not bow.

As if to test my vow, Invier pilfers into my brain. I recall my seventeenth birthday party. Invier gave me a jet-black box with a handwritten love letter, telling me he wanted forever. Together.

My breath cuts short for a brief second. I will never forget that day as it led me down the path of many mistakes. All because of love.

My tongue dries.

I will not allow love or a similar emotion masquerading in disguise to sneak into my heart ever again.

Ever!

Fully committed, I stand on the wilting grass and watch the antics ahead. Thank goodness I’ve spent years pretending to be the perfect scioness. Today, I can play my part to perfection. My face is arranged in long, somber lines that match my long, dress the color of licorice. There’s no visible difference between myself and those truly mourning.

The pyre burns high into the dull sky. Crackling accompanies the sparks of flame that leap from the fire as if to escape the searing heat. They fizzle to nothing, never having gone far.

“Apparently, she’s the one who wanted the burial to happen so quickly. It’s only been two days,” a watery voice behind me says.

“Gosh, someone would have to hold me up if I’d just lost my best friend. How does she do it?” someone adds. High pitched, this voice cuts through the sounds of bereavement.

The watery voice says, “She lost her nome’s master, her father and then her best friend.” Sad sighs follow from more than one person.

“And all in a matter of weeks.”

“If Master Agan keeled over, it would be a good thing. But my father and my best friend? I’d be a complete wreck.”

“She’s handling it well. Does anyone know why there wasn’t a public funeral for her father? I heard …”

I tune them out and chortle inwardly. If only they knew the truth. Bel wasn’t my best friend at the end. She was a complete stranger. Bel betrayed me as well as her family and the rest of the nomes. Still, here I am maintaining this charade in her honor. It has nothing to do with the relationship we had.

Not too far ahead, Aunty Tari’s red eyes connect with mine. She grimaces and folds her head into her son, Dan’s chest. Olia and Kilali, her two remaining daughters, lean into each other, their shoulders leaping and falling in their grief.

My presence today and my insistence that the funerary rites be performed promptly has more to do with strategy than anything else. I need this over and done with so I can return to my duties as Arbiter of the Group of Twenty without anyone questioning my readiness.

What that really means is, I don’t want to give others reason to think this is a moment of weakness for me. A time when they can attack my nome in one way or another.

Let the world believe my tale that Bel accompanied me to Koroda to fight on behalf of the Twenty. Let them see her as a martyr. It reduces the chances of being accused of having a Minim supporter under my nose.

“Neith? Did you hear a word I said?”

My attention shifts and I zero in on Bel’s mother. No longer crying on her child, Aunty Tari is studying my face with an expression of concern on her own.

Smiling politely, I say, “My mind wandered to memories of good times, Aunty.”

She pats me on the shoulder, her face relaxing s lightly. “I understand, dear.”

Sweeping into the space beside me, with a grace that’s been trained into her from childhood, she adds, “You must find the time to deal with all the loss you … we…” She lapses into a strained silence and glances up at the gray sky. A solitary tear makes its way down the side of her face.

I watch closely as she gathers herself with a shuddering breath and the setting of her shoulders.

“We all have to find a way to deal with our losses,” she finally says, giving me a knowing look and now, it’s my turn to look away. Instead of upward as she did, I look at the Mezan family crypt. Hopefully, Aunty Tari won’t see the insincerity in my eyes. She’s known me since before I was born and I shouldn’t test her capacity to read the truth that lies there.

Bel’s brothers, Dan and Pree, shove their shoulders into the circular door that holds back the spirits of the Mezan dead. The door refuses to budge until Acri Parashar joins them in getting it closed. Despite my better judgment, pity worms its way into my chest for the boy who wanted to spend forever with her. I think Acri loved Bel and believed they had a future.

I loved her too and all I got for it was pain.

My gaze flicks to Uncle Eustace who is surrounded by well-wishers. They all seem to be speaking at the same time as if to make up for his lack of words and the glum void that hangs as though a wraith around him.

Aunty Tari angles her head that way and sighs. “I had to get away from them. At moments like this, I envy you burying your father as stealthily as you did. That and your position as Arbiter will shield you from the many people who will want to pay their respects.”

With no words to say, I nod in agreement and remain riveted on the people within my line of sight.

Custom demands we visit a grieving family once a week for up to two months. Some, like Titane Wuday, tried that with me since the announcement of Bel’s death. After I curtly informed them I was busy chasing rebels and had no time to spend with them, word traveled that I will not entertain such visits.

Aunty Tari and her family will not be so lucky.

“My dear,” she says in a soft voice, “remember that you are family and we love you. Maybe you should join us for Sunday dinners? Nabo and yourself came for those from time to time, but what if we made it a regular thing?” The last part comes out cracked and she sniffs unable to hold back her tears. Her sobbing wracks her body and for the first time, I notice how frail she has become.

Her skin, usually vibrant, is dull and pale. The sable hair on her head is uncharacteristically lifeless. What would happen if she knew the truth?

I envelope her in a hug, so she has someone to lean on.

It is okay to play the roles people expect as long as you are clear on who you really are and what your mission is.

Hearing Portan’s wisdom encourages me to hug Aunty Tari even tighter.

 

***

 

I’m almost at my airship when I hear heels clatter against the stone tiles behind me. Unwilling to turn around, I thread my way past other airships in the parking terminal. It’s been a long day and I’m ready to leave Pernold.

“Arbiter!”

It takes a lot of self-discipline not to speed up. I really have no interest in talking to whoever is calling for me. Especially now I see Landen Sohr, my nome’s head of security, waiting at the bottom of my airship’s stairs.

“Titane Reffour!”

That makes me wince. Whoever this lady is, she sounds rather demanding. I can hear it in her voice. She thinks she has a right to talk to me and that I have a duty to listen. How mistaken she is.

A few steps later, I lock eyes with Sohr and lift an eyebrow, asking who’s behind me. My disposition sours when she mouths Titane Floran.

What does Invier’s mother want from me? Before Father died, she committed her support for the Phalanx. Like any savvy businesswoman, she negotiated an increase in my family’s use of her nome’s adjudication services. This despite the fact that we conduct so many deals and no longer need adjudicators to go over our contracts. Her husband, who actually is an adjudicator, should have led the negotiation, but he was too distraught to participate. Not his wife though, and there’s something distasteful about how overtly opportunistic she is.

Or could it be the Titane seeks to plead for her son’s life? His treasonous support of Minim means there is a reward for his capture—dead or alive. That has to be it.

Taking a deep breath, I spin around and fix my face to be as neutral as possible. Best to get this over with. “How may I help you, Titane?”

“I’m so glad I caught you before you left, Arbiter,” she says as she approaches, fanning herself with a midnight lace fan that matches her dress. “Allow me to offer my deepest condolences on the passing of the great Nabo Reffour as well as your best friend.”

“Thank you, Titane.”

Instead of speaking, she shifts on the balls of her feet, twisting her closed fan in her hands.

Why is she wasting my time? Surely, she didn’t race after me simply to console me.

Be patient. Let your prey sweat. This life lesson is from Father and I groan internally at his cold tone flooding my head.

I stare at the Titane pointedly, trying my hardest not to say Get to the point!

My silence must do the trick as she swallows and says, “Arbiter, there is a tiny matter,”—she gestures, bringing together her index and middle fingers—“needing your attention.”

Waiting a heartbeat, I say, “Yes?”

“It involves my daughter, Song. My family was in talks with the Lebiers to conclude a union between their son, Victor, and herself.”

There’s a tug in my chest. I’m a little disappointed she’s not here to speak about Invier but don’t let myself dwell on it. Instead, my eyes wander to the sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose. They are so like those on his face.

As she drones on, my feet itch to keep moving. Nevertheless, I keep my face neutral and wait her out as Father’s voice replays in my head: Be patient. Let your prey sweat.

“The thing is, your declaration of Invier as a collaborator complicates things.”

“And?”

Her lids twitch. She wasn’t prepared for my brusque pitch and when she continues, she sounds uncertain. “Well, your father and I were forging a new friendship and I wonder if you could, in honor of that relationship, remove my son from the list of wanted collaborators.” She coughs and shifts her weight again. “It would allay the concerns of our soon-to-be in-laws and allow my daughter the pairing she wishes without this cloud hanging over everyone’s head.”

“No.”

I can see it takes her a while to process my blunt answer. When she does, she shrinks back, blinking as if trying to see me clearer.

“No?” Her soaring eyebrows belie her confusion. “People look upon us as if we are monsters even though we had no knowledge of …”

Her words are swallowed in her throat as I step forward. “If you wish to eliminate the specter of suspicion on your family, tell your son to turn himself in. If he does, I will spare him for his role in the destruction of my nome’s manufacturing facility in Tangor.”

She reaches for her left ear, tugging the jewelry-free lower lobe. Her lips part as if to speak but I silence her with a lifted hand.

“A better alternative would be to publicly disown him and declare he is no longer scion to your nome. That way, you disassociate from a traitor who faces the ultimate penalty for his crimes—death.”

She gasps at that last part and clasps her hands together at her chest. “Please, Arbiter. What you ask is more than I can give.”

I turn to the airship and begin my ascent. “And you demand more than you deserve considering your nome is home to a terrorist.” I stop at the top of the stairs and give her a sidelong glance. “Some would argue you must have known your son harbored pro-rebel sentiments and you neglected to alert others. In that case, you would equally be guilty of violating the Pact and disloyalty to your fellow nomes.”

Nothing more needs to be said as the threat is clear. Her shoulders slump as she looks up at me.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Titane Floran?”

“No, Arbiter.”

I step into the airship, followed by Sohr and the door clicks shut. It’s time to continue with my quest to eradicate Minim. And kill Invier.

 

***

 

The story continues in THE PARAGON.

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