CHAPTER FIVE
A Duel of Questions
You had to tell them you were fine. Not being dead with your brains splattered across a door had to count for something.
“I’m fine.” Adon had said it to the mirror last night, lots of times.
“I’m fine.” He’d said it to everyone.
Well, almost everyone. He hadn’t said it to Imbati Aloran. Aloran always saw straight through him.
He wasn’t fine.
His own favorite clothes, hung on brass rails all along his walls, had become ominous strangers in the dark. He curled in bed and covered his head with the sheet, but couldn’t stop hearing that sound:
Zzap!
Sometimes the memory stopped there. Other times he remembered the rest of it, and struggled not to throw up. What he’d done for the last several hours didn’t really count as sleeping.
A soft click came from the inner wall of his room, and the air changed. Morning? Adon pulled the sheet down just enough to recognize a familiar figure in black moving out, backward, from behind the curtain that covered the Maze door. Tall, strong, with straight dark hair in a long ponytail. He closed his eyes again, pretending sleep.
Some seconds later, a hand touched his shoulder. Imbati Aloran’s velvet voice said, “Adon, it’s time to wake up. I’ll turn on your lights.”
Adon inhaled a long breath through his nose, and wearily pushed himself up to sit, blinking as the lights came on. “I’m awake.”
Ordinarily, after waking him, Aloran went to fetch him clothes from the rails. Today, though, the servant sat down on his bed and looked at him directly. Adon sent a puzzled glance toward a suit hanging near the window.
Aloran’s mouth curved slightly. No; obviously that wasn’t how things were going to work today. Something in the way Aloran looked at him suggested there would be a surprise, and maybe this was part of it: finding himself playing Don’t-Talk with Aloran the way they used to when he was small.
Adon exhaled half a laugh, in spite of himself.
Mai’s truth, he loved this game.
Should he ask if Mother was nearby? He tried looking curious, and glancing at the main door of his room.
Aloran’s dark eyes moved as though he was thinking. Obviously she was in the house, but just as clearly, there was no hurry.
He should probably get dressed, though.
Imbati Aloran gave a faint smile and moved toward his dresser, but only came back with his underpants and undershirt. Adon tried to ask why, but got no hints about that. Since words were forbidden in this game, he could never quite tell if it was that he’d failed to make his thoughts clear with his face, or just that Aloran wasn’t answering. He allowed the servant to help him out of his pajamas and into the fresh underthings.
Aloran gave him another look, and Adon sat up straighter, readying himself. For something. He nodded.
Aloran went over to his desk. There was something on top of it. That hadn’t been there before—a type of case he definitely recognized. Now Adon leapt to his feet, grinning. New clothes! Suddenly it felt like his birthday. He watched the first garment emerge in Aloran’s hands: green velvet trousers with a stripe of black silk down the outside seam.
Wow, look at the fine work. The subtle texturing of the velvet . . . the green embroidery at the edges of the silk, that made it look subtly indented . . . This had to be Kartunnen Jaia’s doing. Mother had taken him over to Jaia’s studio for a fitting relatively recently. And here he’d been thinking the delay meant nothing had come of it.
Once he had his new pants on, Aloran helped him into a fine shirt of pale green silk whose topmost button was set with an emerald. The velvet coat crowned the outfit: it was snug in the sleeves and chest, collarless, with an opening just wide enough to show off the emerald button, and it flared down to his knees with narrow godets in embroidery-edged black silk.
Gods, it felt amazing on, too. This had to be the most grown-up thing he’d ever worn. He twirled, and the coat hem undulated marvelously. He grinned his gratitude at Aloran, who smiled back.
Then the Imbati walked to the main door and opened it. “Lady,” he said, “we’re ready for you.”
Mother stood outside. Imbati Aloran offered her his hand, and she took it, allowing him to escort her into the room. The two of them were so pure. He was to her exactly what the ideal manservant should be: a bodyguard and nurse, a faithful companion, a confidant, a comfort. She was so lucky to have hired him after Father died. Today, she was wearing a hand-painted silk gown with a tree design. Its leaves were precisely the same shade of green as his new coat. That couldn’t be coincidence.
“Mother, you’ve been planning this.” Adon started to grin again.
“Of course!” she said. “When it comes to clothing, I always plan. Congratulations on your thirteenth birthday, darling boy.” She reached for him with her free hand, and leaned down close; her lips brushed his cheekbone.
Adon blushed. “I guess I made it.” Zzap! “Barely.”
She’d started to pull away, but now she leaned forward again, her warm cheek pressing firmly against his. In his ear, her voice trembled. “I’m grateful for you every day, Adon. But now, more than ever.”
Any other day, he might have argued. “I love you, Mother.” He looked up. “You, too, Aloran.”
Aloran’s reply was clear in his eyes.
“Oh!” Adon remembered. “Tagaret and Della will just love this suit—I have to show them.”
At this hour, chances were they would be having breakfast. Adon ran out across the private drawing room, pushed through the double doors to the sitting room, and nearly ran smack into Tagaret’s back. He threw up his hands and managed to stop just as they hit.
Tagaret’s body swayed, but he didn’t react to the collision, except to feel behind him. That wasn’t normal. Alarmed, Adon let his brother take his shoulder and guide him to his side—into a confrontation.
Nekantor was here.
Heile help him.
Nekantor and Tagaret were staring at each other. Silence vibrated in the air between them as if echoing with years of terrible words. Had they been fighting? Adon looked to Imbati Dexelin, but the servant with the braided hair didn’t meet his eyes. For someone who’d just saved a life, he looked awfully unhappy.
“Why?” Tagaret said. “Here’s Adon, but why do you need to talk to him?”
Nekantor snorted. “Don’t pretend you don’t understand what’s going on here, Tagaret. Adon and Pyaras were targeted. You know what will happen if we let such an attack go unanswered. Everyone will think the First Family is weak, and you know what that means . . .”
“Yes, yes, I know what it means.”
Adon pressed his lips together. They were talking about him, not to him, which he hated. Usually.
Tagaret gave an exasperated sigh. “Nek, one of those Arissen is dead, and we’re never going to find the other one.”
“I don’t need to find Arissen,” said Nekantor. “I know who’s really responsible. Innis of the Fifth Family.”
Gods, he knew? Adon glanced up at the side of Tagaret’s face; Tagaret’s eyebrows had pinched skeptically.
“How do you know? How do you know it wasn’t, say, the Eminence Herin?”
“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Nekantor snapped. He glanced up at the wall behind them, and started opening and closing his hands. “Herin already has all the power he could want. Innis, though—Innis would have been Heir if I hadn’t beaten him. He hasn’t forgotten his humiliating defeat. It shows in his choice of targets.”
Adon swallowed.
Zzap!
Tagaret opened his hands. “There is a police investigation going on, and they’ll—”
“Fah. The police won’t pin it to him. When have you ever heard of an assassin being arrested? Arissen will protect their own.”
Or shoot their own. Adon didn’t dare say it.
Zzap!
All Tagaret said was, “I’m not sure that’s how it works, Nek.”
“Even so, Tagaret. Even so.” Nekantor started wringing his hands. “Innis has plans. Secrets. He’s going to do something worse, and I’m going to find out what it is, and teach him a lesson before he can catch us unprepared again. So I’ve challenged him to Imbati Privilege.”
Adon blinked. Wait . . . Imbati Privilege, did he mean like—?
Tagaret’s mouth fell open. Maybe he was too shocked to speak.
Adon wasn’t. “Imbati Privilege, are you even serious?” he demanded. “Nobody’s done that in a hundred years! This isn’t The Great Grobal Fyn and the Duel of Secrets.”
Nekantor’s gaze snapped to him, latching on like a grip. It squeezed his breath. Adon tugged his new jacket straight and tried to stand taller.
Nekantor said through clenched teeth, “If it’s good enough for the founder of Varin, little brother, it’s good enough for me.”
“Well,” said Tagaret reasonably, “so long as Innis doesn’t laugh at the suggestion.”
“Shows what you know, Tagaret. He’s already agreed to meet at the Imbati Service Academy this morning. And you’re coming. One hour from now, with Adon and Pyaras.” He waved a hand. “Don’t even start telling me you have important work. Lady’s politics can wait.” He smiled at Adon. “Take a day off school for your birthday; you’re welcome.”
Adon managed not to grimace.
“Nek,” Tagaret protested. “Aren’t you worried about exposing First Family information in this competition?”
“That’s for my Dexelin to handle.”
Just look at poor Dexelin flinch! Holy Mai, no wonder he was so miserable. Shoved into a public conflict of questions with absolutely no training? Adon tried to catch the Imbati’s eyes sympathetically, and Dexelin stared at him in shock.
“See you both there,” Nekantor snapped. “With Pyaras. One hour.” He turned on his heel and walked out.
Adon blinked after him for a minute before he could even shake his head. “Tagaret?”
“Yeah?”
“That—doesn’t make any sense.”
Tagaret squeezed his shoulder comfortingly and called, “Serjer?”
The First Houseman stepped out of the vestibule with a bow. “Your brother has left, sir.”
Tagaret’s tall frame sagged. “I’m sorry, Adon. I’m so sorry. Nekantor . . . he’s very fearful, sometimes. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“His Dexelin is really upset.”
Tagaret raised his eyebrows. “Is he? Well, Mai’s truth. Of course he would be.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “One hour? I have no idea how to prepare for this.”
Adon almost laughed at that. “Who would? They’d have to be a hundred years old!”
Tagaret nodded. “I just wish we had more basis to accuse Innis of the Fifth Family than our brother’s insistence. He’s putting our information at risk, and for what?”
Adon shrugged. “Innis’ plan?”
“If he has one.” Tagaret sighed. “But I suppose, if Nek is right that Innis is behind this, he must have some plan. One that starts with assassinations.”
Zzap!
Adon’s stomach flipped as the truth hit: in one hour, he’d be standing in the same room as a man who might have tried to kill him. Twins stand by me. He gulped hard. “Tagaret?” his voice quavered on the word.
His brother turned, face falling. “Oh, Adon, I’m sorry, I should have thought . . .”
“Can I just—? I need a minute. I’ll be in my rooms.”
“Of course. Are you all right?”
Adon closed his hands on the edges of his new jacket to stop them shaking, and forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
I’m not fine.
Hot water felt good when it pounded on the top of his head. Getting in the shower had been the right idea; he wasn’t about to wear his celebratory suit to some bizarre Imbati competition, anyway. Everyone knew Nekantor couldn’t keep servants, but it had never felt this personal before. If only the whole situation could swirl and drain away between his toes . . . Adon angled his head so the shower hit the nape of his neck, watching the water run down over his body into the marble tub.
It would be all right, though. Tagaret would be there. Pyaras would be there. And Tagaret’s Kuarmei, and Pyaras’ Jarel.
Poor Dexelin.
A knock and click came from beyond the shower curtain.
“Adon, darling, are you all right?”
Bless her for wondering—but not for coming into his bathroom! “Mother, what are you doing? I’ll be ready to go, I promise. I just wanted to change my clothes.”
“Oh, of course. Did you want me to bring them in, then?”
He sighed. “Can you get me my old Kartunnen Ober suit, with the lace?”
“Be right back.”
Might as well get out, then. He shut off the water and toweled dry, then quickly clamped one corner of the towel under his arm and wrapped it around himself. Mother came back in with the requested amethyst-colored suit over her arm, her face carefully angled away. She set it down.
“I need to talk to you, Adon,” she said.
“Now? When I’m not dressed?”
“I can step out into your bedroom if you prefer, love. But I need to talk to you about your brother before you leave.”
“Oh. Well, you can stay, then.” A tremor ran down his legs to his toes. He grabbed his underwear, just barely getting it up far enough before the towel slipped out from under his arm and landed on the tiled floor. Clothes first. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be naked for. “So, Nekantor?” He stepped into his pants and pulled them up.
“Nekantor’s . . . not safe,” said Mother. “It’s important that you know that.”
He couldn’t remember ever feeling safe when Nekantor came around. Besides, he’d just seen what happened when Nekantor walked into his role-play class; it made him sick. Good thing putting on his silk shirt and arranging the lace gave him something to do with his hands. “I get that.”
“I’m not sure you know how much effort Tagaret and Della and I, and the Household, have put into keeping him away from you. Especially over the last year. You’ve surely noticed that we started holding salon gatherings here at the house, in spite of the pressure that puts on our Household.”
Adon’s fingers paused on a button. “Why the last year?”
“Are you dressed?”
“Dressed enough.”
Mother turned around and looked him in the eye. “Because ever since you turned twelve, you’ve become potentially useful to him, as a possible Heir candidate for the First Family.”
“Useful?” Adon echoed. “Who thinks that way?”
“Nekantor does,” said Mother. “If you ever see him in person, you can be sure he’s assessing you. Your intelligence. Your skills. Your potential contribution to the First Family’s interests.”
That sounded like some conversations he’d had with Schoolmasters. “A lot of people do that, though.”
“It’s different with Nekantor,” Mother insisted. “To him, the entire world is a game of kuarjos. Every person is a gamepiece. A warrior for our side—the First Family’s side—or the other side. To be used or sacrificed as necessary. He’s tried to use me before.”
“You?” Adon shuddered. “He didn’t, though, did he?”
Her face was deadly serious. “No. That time, he found a way to use Tagaret instead.”
That explained the echoing silence in the sitting room. “All right, Mother, I understand. I’ll be careful.”
“Stay near Tagaret and Pyaras when you go to this meeting, but especially Tagaret. If Nekantor talks to you, it’s safer to have someone nearby listening.”
“I will.” He turned to hook his crystalline-patterned coat with one finger.
“One more thing, love.”
He looked up into her face; seeing her fear so plainly made the world shiver. “Yes, Mother?”
“Never fight Nekantor when his eyes are on you. He’s too dangerous. Too cruel.” She reached out her hand. “Promise me.”
Adon took it. “I promise.”
I can do this.” Adon took a deep breath, tugged at his gloves, huffed the breath out again, and repeated to the door handle, “I can do this.”
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
He leapt backward. “What in the name of Mai!”
The door cracked open, and his older cousin came in. “Are you in there, Adon?”
“Varin’s teeth, Pyaras! Were you trying to break down my door?” Pyaras was the only grownup he knew who overdid absolutely everything. He was probably strong enough to break a door. The finely tailored sleeves of his ruby-red suit stretched over his arm muscles. He wasn’t even wearing gloves today, as if he didn’t care if people questioned his commitment to the health of the Race.
Of course, then he realized why Pyaras looked so different, and gulped.
Pyaras’ mouth quirked sideways. “Sorry.”
“Uh, I’m sorry, too.” It was one thing to know his cousin had been shot; totally another to see the injury. At the top of his forehead began an area of blistery red, nearly hairless skin, glistening with some kind of salve. The rest of his hair was so short it stuck straight up. “Shouldn’t you have a bandage on your head?”
“Probably, but I’d rather not treat this like some big drama. I won’t be made into some kind of show object for Nekantor.”
“Ugh,” Adon grunted. “Nekantor.”
“I couldn’t have said it better.”
“Mother said we were only kuarjos pieces to him.”
Pyaras nodded. “You should listen to your mother. You feeling all right?”
“Um.” Adon glanced away toward the window, where the rest of his gloves were arrayed in a star pattern on the stone sill. He grimaced.
“Yeah, me neither,” said Pyaras, with none of his usual bombast. “That was terrifying.”
“Whoa, really?” Of course it had been terrifying—but it was weird to hear Pyaras say it.
His big cousin’s mouth quirked. “Who needs sleep, right? I almost passed out while jogging this morning.”
“Ha!” said Adon. But that idea brought back the sound: zzap! He fought down the horrible images that lingered in his mind with the smell of smoke. He shook his hands at his cousin. “Crown of Mai, why do Arissen weapons have to exist in the first place?”
“Now, there’s an interesting question.” Pyaras made a grab for the brass desk chair, but hissed and snatched his hand away, hooking the chair with a foot instead.
Right, Heile’s mercy, his hands were injured, too—Adon could have kicked himself for forgetting it. Of course Pyaras wouldn’t wear gloves today.
Pyaras sat on the chair backward, forearms across the top. “Well, first off, energy weapons weren’t designed for police work. They’re ideal for the cities because they don’t create physical waste or release toxic gases—but they were designed to be used against wysps on the surface. We couldn’t put food on our tables without the Division to protect the harvests.”
“Arissen Veriga told you that, right?” Adon asked. “They said he was with you when you got shot.”
Pyaras jutted out his chin. “If my friend Veriga hadn’t been there, he couldn’t have put out the fire on my head.”
That was news! Adon blinked. “You’re pretty lucky, then.”
“Yes. I might have no hair at all.”
Zzap! “Or no head.”
“Mai’s truth.”
“Actually, my friend Talabel saved me,” Adon found himself saying. Oh, gods, did I just call Talabel a friend? But Pyaras had just called Veriga the same . . . He flushed. “Well, I mean, not—she’s, I saw her in play session and she’s my bodyguard sometimes. Mostly for role-play. Yesterday, for real. She’ll be certified soon.” He grimaced, bracing for a lecture—Arbiter Lorman would chastise him for being soft on Imbati; Mother would explain what was Not Spoken Of with people from outside the house. But Pyaras raised his eyebrows and smiled.
“Some people are just good people,” he said. “It’s the gift of the Twins that we have them in our lives.”
“Wow.” Adon stared at him for a second. “You’re right.”
“I’m sorry you’re getting yanked out of school for Nekantor’s dug-up farce.”
Adon shrugged. “Better than walking into a place where the next person in the door might try to shoot me.”
“They won’t try again,” said Pyaras.
Adon shook his head. “How can you be sure?”
“Here’s the thing.” His cousin counted awkwardly on reddened fingers. “One, the Eminence Herin is alive and well. Big factor there. Two, assassination attempts are dangerous to the assassin, as you saw. Three, the whole Family is on alert now. Also the whole Household. The whole Society.”
“The whole Society,” Adon murmured. A weird euphoria tickled up his spine, as if the two of them had been thrust into a spotlight on an invisible stage. Still, it couldn’t banish that sound.
Zzap!
Now Pyaras chuckled. “And even if these guys today were the ones who tried to get you killed, they wouldn’t do it with the Heir and cabinet members around.”
“Ugh.” Adon checked his watch. “I guess we’d better go.”
“Don’t worry; I got you.” Pyaras stood up, and they walked out together.
Thank all the gods, Nekantor hadn’t shown up at the house. Instead, Lady Selemei and her Ustin had come, and also Fedron, the Speaker of the Cabinet, with his Chenna. Nothing like having gray and dignified cabinet members walk you out the front entrance of the Residence to make something feel consequential.
There were more Arissen guards in the hallways than usual. Adon hung back between Tagaret and Pyaras, watching cautiously past Lady Selemei’s head toward the Plaza of Varin.
This gravel path was in plain view of all the Lower tourists circulating in the Plaza. At first, they seemed to be looking at all sorts of things—the columns of the Courts building, the housing of the old Alixi’s Elevator, the Old Forum where the Administrators worked, or the single silver-glowing shinca tree that pierced upward through the Plaza’s center. But soon they all started turning toward the Residence grounds. None of them were brave enough to goggle between the iron bars of the fence, given the presence of four Eminence’s Cohort guards beside the main gate, but at least one Kartunnen pointed in this direction.
Yes, Lowers, enjoy, because we’re all fancy and on display.
Not that the members of this group were dressed for show. Lady Selemei’s gray silk gown had panels that gleamed like steel armor, so she was taking this seriously; Speaker Fedron wore an amber suit so basic it was clear he couldn’t be bothered to dignify the proceedings. Tagaret looked defensively formal in Grobal green, while Pyaras in ruby red wore the brightest color of the group. His own Kartunnen Ober suit was of higher quality than any of them except maybe Lady Selemei’s custom piece.
As the Arissen opened the gates, Selemei’s Ustin and Fedron’s Chenna moved to the front. Tagaret’s Kuarmei and Pyaras’ Jarel moved out to the sides, causing any nearby Lowers to pull back. The four Imbati created a square of safety, allowing the group to cross the near corner of the Plaza toward the Imbati Service Academy.
Nekantor was standing by the Academy gate. So was Arbiter Lorman of the First Family Council. Something was obviously wrong, because Arbiter Lorman had his hands on his hips, and Nekantor was practically quivering. In addition to their bodyguards, Nekantor had brought an Arissen with him: a woman with an orange Eminence’s Cohort uniform and brown sunmarked skin. The closer you got, the better you could hear him above the hum of the Plaza’s activity, spitting fury at the Academy gate wardens.
“How dare you speak to your superiors that way! Let us in.”
Both of the wardens bowed deeply, but they didn’t open the gate.
“Heir Nekantor, sir,” said one of them, “I deeply apologize for the inconvenience. The invitation that was extended to you naturally applies to your Dexelin, but we are not permitted to allow Arissen to enter the Academy.”
“Not permitted? Of course you’re permitted!”
“Regretfully, sir, I must inform you that we are not.”
“You’ll do as you’re told. Open this gate!”
“I will be happy to do so, sir, when your Arissen agrees to stay behind.”
The Arissen woman didn’t move or speak.
“Unacceptable,” Nekantor snapped. “Get me someone in charge.”
“Of course, Heir Nekantor, sir,” replied the warden. He ran away across the courtyard. Another warden, who had been standing beside the columns of the main Academy building, ran forward to take his place.
“So, so, Nekantor,” said Arbiter Lorman. “So, I mean, you could agree just to let your Arissen stand by the gate.”
“It’s principle, Lorman,” said Nekantor.
“So, your fa—” Lorman began, but Nekantor wheeled on him, and he didn’t finish his sentence.
That was when ‘someone in charge’ walked out into the courtyard of the Academy. You might not have realized he was important at first glance. He wore the manservant’s tattoo, but nothing distinguished the black silk suit he wore from that of the wardens; he was quite small, of a height with Lady Selemei, and a good deal older, with white hair falling to his shoulders. However, he moved smoothly and with dignity, and every warden’s posture shifted around him, realigning to orbit his gravity.
“Heir Nekantor, sir, greetings,” he said calmly. Adon found himself on his toes, wanting to hear him speak again.
“Headmaster Moruvia,” said Nekantor, sourly, but without the venom he’d used for the wardens. “I must be allowed in with both my attendants, Imbati Dexelin and Arissen Karyas. Your people have terrible manners.”
Headmaster Moruvia bowed. “Have pity on them, sir, trapped as they are between the wills of two powerful men.” His voice was more than calm; it was as still as a hidden cavern pool.
“What? You haven’t been speaking with Eminence Herin, have you? Or Innis?”
“Our contract is with the Great Grobal Fyn, Heir Nekantor, sir,” the Headmaster replied, bowing again. “I request your understanding in his name, just as you have requested ours.”
Nekantor seemed baffled by this turn of the conversation. “What are you talking about?”
“My apologies, sir. Every manservant’s contract rests upon a charter from the hand of Grobal Fyn, a document four hundred years old, preserved in the Academy archives. The Academy and its environs, sir, are preserved from uninvited entrance by Highers—in return for our oaths of silence. Our wardens only strive to protect the Great Families and their information, sir.”
“Fah,” said Nekantor. He lashed a look at Arissen Karyas, who snapped to attention with a loud click of boot-heels and stepped away to one side. The gates opened, and the Headmaster turned and walked calmly across the worn limestone courtyard, with the muttering Heir and everyone in their party following behind him.
Walking through the broad doorway, Adon ran his eyes up the nearest stone column; its capital was carved into golden flames. In the vaulted foyer, more wardens approached, subtly inviting them in different directions. Adon found himself directed into a group with Tagaret, Pyaras, and Arbiter Lorman. Their manservants stayed behind as a stocky warden directed them through a pair of doors on the left, into a spacious office. You could tell it was an office because the silk carpet had dents in it where a large desk and chairs had been removed.
It didn’t stay spacious long. The stocky warden took them straight ahead to the far wall, and seated them on metal stools against the stone, snug beside each other so he could feel Tagaret’s soft arm on one side, and Pyaras’ hard arm on the other. Nekantor and his Dexelin were seated at the wall to his left, as were Lady Selemei and Speaker Fedron, all of them carefully spaced so they wouldn’t touch. On the wall to his right, the Fifth Family’s party had been seated already: Grobal Innis was there, and his manservant, and two more men who had to be the Fifth Family’s cabinet members. The wardens who had seated them pushed the bronze doors shut so quietly they barely clicked, and then took places at the corners of the room, vigilant and silent.
The Headmaster walked to stand before the doors, bowed gracefully until his tattooed forehead touched the floor, then stood again.
“I am honored to convene this gathering in the tradition of the Great Grobal Fyn,” he intoned. “The challenge having been issued by the Heir Grobal Nekantor of the First Family, and having been accepted by the Arbiter Grobal Innis of the Fifth Family, Privilege will be contested by their manservants, Nekantor’s Dexelin and Innis’ Brithe. If the two of you will step forward and face each other before me.”
Adon swallowed hard. Dexelin’s braid today was tight and precise, beginning at the crest of his head; the line where his lips met was less certain. He looked incredibly young compared to Innis’ Brithe, whose hair was entirely gray.
The Headmaster spoke again. “Privilege is a competition of eight questions. Each competitor asks four questions in a row. The order of competitors is determined by a coin toss.”
Solemnity broke into amusement on faces around the room. Adon bit his lip to keep from smiling. It was one thing to read the words in a children’s book, another to imagine dignified Moruvia taking a coin that belonged in the hand of a Melumalai, and throwing it in the air. What was it supposed to do?
“Arissen do this all the time, you know,” Pyaras whispered. “Before targetball games.”
“They throw money?”
“Who’s that talking?” Nekantor snapped. “Pyaras, do you have something you’d like to explain to everyone about Arissen?”
“This is Headmaster Moruvia’s event,” said Pyaras through his teeth. His eyes flashed fury. “I don’t presume to know what Grobal Fyn intended.”
“Thank you, Grobal Pyaras, sir,” said Headmaster Moruvia. He held up a silver coin. “Innis’ Brithe, as the target of the challenge, you will choose either Varin or eight, and we shall see which design faces up when the coin lands. If you guess correctly, you may choose to question first or last.”
Brithe nodded. “Varin, please, sir.”
Moruvia threw the coin, which flipped and glittered in the air until it landed on the carpet at his feet. He looked down. “It’s Father Varin,” he said. “Brithe?”
“I wish to question last, sir.”
“Very good. For each question Brithe answers, Dexelin must also answer one. To decline a question, use the polite denial. Any imbalances in the number of questions answered by the end of questioning shall be resolved by returning to previously asked questions. Are the rules understood and accepted?”
“Yes, Headmaster,” replied Brithe and Dexelin, bowing in unison.
“Are they also understood and accepted by the Masters of the competitors?” the Headmaster asked.
“Yes,” said Innis. “Frivolous little event you’ve set up here, Nekantor. But anything that lets me access more First Family information, I already consider a win.”
“It’s a win for both of us, then.” Nekantor crossed his arms tightly. “Yes, Headmaster, I accept the terms. Let’s go.”
“Nekantor’s Dexelin, you may begin,” said Headmaster Moruvia.
There was a silence. The two manservants stared at each other, as if each wished the other would speak first, even though Nekantor’s Dexelin was designated to start. Someone’s stool squeaked.
At last, Dexelin cleared his throat. “Question one,” he said. “Who has Arbiter Innis most recently identified as the top possible Heir candidates for the First Family?”
Brithe’s lips tightened. “Tagaret, Pyaras, and Adon of the First Family.”
Adon tensed. It was awful, hearing his own name. He shouldn’t assume it meant anything, because everyone knew who the three of them were. It didn’t mean Innis had tried to kill them, necessarily. No one had tried to kill Tagaret, so far as they knew.
It just didn’t sound like coincidence, either.
“Question two,” said Dexelin. “Has Arbiter Innis ever contacted the Paper Shadows?”
Against his arm, Pyaras twitched. Adon nudged him; his cousin leaned to his ear and whispered, “Assassins.”
Adon gulped. How would Brithe answer that?
“I don’t know,” Brithe said.
That was the polite denial. The room tightened, as if everyone had leaned forward.
“The question has been refused,” said Headmaster Moruvia.
Innis’ Brithe shifted feet. Nekantor’s Dexelin winced slightly, and continued. “Question three: has Arbiter Innis conferred with his cousin Unger within the last week?”
Brithe’s lips tightened again. “Yes.”
“Question four: has Arbiter Innis conferred with any representatives of the Seventh Family within the last week?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Dexelin. Thank you, Brithe,” said the Headmaster. “Please, everyone, remain seated. The competitors may now have two minutes to confer with their Masters.” The room filled with quiet murmurs.
“That was odd,” Tagaret said. “Why would Dexelin ask about the last week?”
Adon frowned at him. Was that what he picked up on? Last week, but not the way both of the manservants hated every second of this? Imbati considered questions offensive when asked without consent—and this was basically an interrogation conducted at one-sixteenth speed. Brithe hadn’t even been able to answer without tensing his mouth, and now, Nekantor was giving Dexelin some kind of talking-to.
Tagaret took Adon’s shoulder. “You all right?”
“I guess.” He didn’t like the way Dexelin was standing as Nekantor spoke to him.
“If Heile’s merciful, this’ll be over soon,” said Pyaras. “I’ll get stiff.” He stretched his legs far out in front of him.
The wardens announced in unison that the competition would resume, and the Headmaster returned to his presiding place. Adon rubbed the amethyst silk on his knees, uncomfortably. Thinking of Dexelin having to take questions put a sour taste in his throat.
“Innis’ Brithe, you may begin,” said Headmaster Moruvia.
“Question one,” said Brithe. “Has the Heir Nekantor ever contacted the Paper Shadows?”
Dexelin swayed, as though he’d received a blow to the chest. “No.”
The answer seemed to dismay Brithe—or at least, he hesitated before proceeding. Maybe it was because he had refused to answer the same question. Had he expected Dexelin to refuse it also?
“Question two. Whom has the Heir Nekantor appointed to what positions in the last week?”
Dexelin swayed again. “My Master has made three appointments. Wenmor of the Ninth Family to Director of the Pelismara Secure Facility. Pyaras of the First Family to Executor of the Pelismara Division. Unger of the Fifth Family to Alixi of Selimna.”
“What?” Pyaras half-hopped out of his seat. “I thought that was a joke!”
“Pyaras!” Adon hissed. He grabbed his arm and pulled him down again. “Shhh, you’ll get in trouble . . .” He turned to look pleadingly at the Headmaster.
“Please continue, Brithe,” the Headmaster said—thank Heile, before Nekantor could make any sort of comment.
“Question three.” Brithe took a breath, but appeared to stop himself, and cleared his throat. “How long have you worked for the Heir Nekantor?”
Dexelin swayed, and glanced aside.
He’s looking at me. Adon felt a tingle behind his ears. He leaned forward slightly, trying to help Dexelin be strong.
“Three weeks,” Dexelin said.
Brithe definitely didn’t like that, probably because Dexelin had him cornered. There was only one question left, and Dexelin hadn’t refused a single one. If Dexelin answered the last one, Brithe was going to have to answer the question about the Paper Shadows.
“Question four,” said Brithe. “Is Nekantor planning to assassinate the Eminence Herin?”
Quiet gasps came from people around the room, but Dexelin didn’t even sway this time, even though he had every right to be shocked.
“No.”
Brithe swallowed.
“Respectfully, Brithe,” said Headmaster Moruvia. “I request you give an answer to the refused question. Has Arbiter Innis ever contacted the Paper Shadows?”
The older servant’s lips parted and he didn’t answer for several seconds. Finally, he said, “Yes.”
Yes? Adon stiffened and bumped his head against the stone wall. Mai help him, Nekantor was right?
“This competition is concluded,” announced the Headmaster with a bow. “The Academy has been honored by your visit. You are free to return to your other obligations.”
Nekantor got up first, with a smile. His Dexelin came to his side, and they left together through the bronze doors, which the attending wardens pulled open for them. Lorman and Pyaras stood up and started stretching their legs, so Adon joined them.
Innis didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry to leave, despite what had come out of the questioning. In fact—
Adon tugged at Tagaret’s shoulder. “Innis is coming!”
Tagaret stood up slowly. Adon’s heart pounded. He tried to position himself between Tagaret and Pyaras.
“Tagaret, Pyaras,” said Innis casually. “I thought I’d be remiss not to say hello while we were all here.” He was shorter than either of them, and balding, with a long forehead that fell into a nose so noble it dominated his face. His fashion sense was careful and refined. His suit was a deep sapphire blue with occasional fine stripes of red through it, and his gray gloves had pearls at the wrists. “I’m sorry about the circumstances.”
“That’s a thing to say,” said Pyaras. “Given what we’ve just learned.”
“Oh?” Innis raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think we’ve learned very much. The Courts won’t consider any of this legally binding. Who knows how many times I’ve contacted the Paper Shadows, or when, or how successfully?”
Adon gulped. Innis was right; no matter what Nekantor thought, the Courts had nothing.
Innis smiled politely; Adon could see straight up his nostrils. “Tagaret, I hope you and Lady Della are well.”
He knew Della by name? Adon glanced between them. Tagaret’s expression looked strange, though he answered politely enough.
“Yes, of course. As I hope for you and your young partner.”
“I can’t complain about how that part worked out,” Innis chuckled. “We’ll be announcing her pregnancy soon.”
Tagaret’s answer was strained. “May Heile and Elinda bless you.”
“Won’t you introduce me to your brother?” Innis asked.
“Of course. This is Adon. Adon, this is Arbiter Innis of the Fifth Family Council.”
A bolt of fear zapped from Adon’s neck down into his shoes, but he extended his hand. Glove fabric made the Arbiter’s grip shift and slip. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arbiter,” he said.
“As it is for me, young man.”
Selfish cat. You should never have put your Brithe through that. He didn’t say it out loud. “I think we need to go home,” he said instead.
“Of course,” said Innis. “Excuse me.” He rejoined his party and they left together, looking sour.
Adon exhaled. “Let’s go.” Pyaras came with him immediately, but they hadn’t gone two steps before Lady Selemei called after them.
“Adon, Pyaras, please wait.”
Adon turned around. Tagaret hadn’t moved at all. Lady Selemei was standing beside him, gently rubbing his upper arm.
“Tagaret,” said Adon, “are you all right?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Lady Selemei.
“Don’t tell her,” Tagaret whispered. His voice made Adon feel cold. “Selemei, Pyaras—you can’t tell her.”
“She’s your partner,” Lady Selemei said gently. “It should be between the two of you.”
Adon looked between them, stomach twisting. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Adon, just promise me something,” Tagaret said. “Say you won’t talk about this with Della. I have to be the one to tell her.”
“All right,” he said. “I promise. I’m sorry . . . ?”
“Thank you for hosting us, Headmaster,” said Pyaras. Adon made sure to look gratefully at both the Headmaster and the wardens as they passed by. Their servants rejoined them in the foyer, taking bodyguard positions as they exited the front doors.
“Tagaret?” Adon whispered. “Why can’t we talk to Della?”
“She—” Tagaret grimaced, and his voice was hoarse and strange. “She still has to host your birthday party.”