CHAPTER SIX
How to Respond to Disappointment
This birthday party was doomed. Knowing that Tagaret and Adon were out facing threats from Innis of the Fifth Family made Della’s spine feel cold, and dread permeated every detail of the preparations. Even the smell of food drifting in from the kitchen seemed somehow wrong. Tamelera had designed an excellent plan to protect Vant and their other Kartunnen visitors from harm whenever Nekantor showed up, but all of the house’s usual defenses felt fragile. This was a terrible time to be inviting outsiders in.
She’d also trapped herself when she’d offered to help the Household with preparations. Serjer the First Houseman and Premel the Household Keeper were moving furniture, but Tamelera had asked her to put away the collection of ceramic statuettes that sat on a shelf in the dining room—and today was one of her clumsy days. Every move she made seemed to bump her into a doorjamb, a table corner, a chair. Though she wasn’t wearing gloves, she fumbled a delicate figurine of a dancer, and nearly dropped it.
“Mistress,” her Yoral said. “May I get you anything?”
She set the figurine into its box, and took a deep breath. No; this was worse than a clumsy day. The odd aches she often suffered were worse than ever. Today her body almost didn’t belong to her. “No, thank you.”
“May I check your blood pressure?”
“Not now, all right? I just need to take a break for a minute.”
Unreliable product of the decline of the Race, down to her very core. But you had to keep moving forward; it was that, or give up completely.
She walked out into the sitting room. Her Yoral, bless him, stayed close. He’d been marked to her since she was born, and his steady presence fended off panic.
The front door clicked. Through a gap in the front vestibule curtain, she glimpsed movement. Then Tagaret’s Kuarmei pushed the curtain aside.
“Kuarmei, is it over?”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Kuarmei, bowing. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just stopping by to pick up something in Lady Tamelera’s room.” She crossed the sitting room quickly.
Della tried to catch up with her, and just managed to stop the bronze doors before they could quite swing shut. She shoved them open again and followed into the private drawing room. “Can you please tell me how it went?”
The compact Imbati woman paused beside one of the couches. “It was a strange proceeding, Lady,” she said. “I believe the Heir Nekantor would claim victory, but likely so would Arbiter Innis of the Fifth Family. Information was exchanged.”
“Oh.” Della frowned. “That’s odd. I can’t believe nothing would happen, with all those enemies in the same room. Innis works hard to get what he wants.” He’d worked hard to get her, all those years ago. Thank heavens, she and Tagaret had stopped him.
“I do believe certain things were learned, Lady,” Kuarmei said. “Excuse me.”
“Of course.”
Kuarmei knocked on Tamelera’s door. The door swung slightly open, and she slipped through.
“Where’s Tagaret?” Della asked, too late. “Did he go straight to work?”
The door had already closed. Kuarmei didn’t come out again. After a minute or so, Della frowned and turned to her Yoral.
“Yoral?”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Was that—odd?”
His dark brows pinched together, creasing his tattoo. “I believe so, Mistress.”
Della planted her hands on her hips and chewed her lip. “Something’s going on. Why would Kuarmei need anything in Tamelera’s room?”
“I can’t imagine, Mistress.”
“Hm.” What if Kuarmei had done that on purpose? But why—to draw her out of the sitting room? When she turned around, her thigh bumped the corner of the couch. She snorted disgust at herself, and rubbed it, walking out to the sitting room again. The Household was still working on party preparations: Serjer and Premel were adjusting the placement of food tables along the wall of the dining room. No Tagaret.
Della pursed her lips. There was one place he might be. “Yoral, stay here for a minute, please.” She crossed to Tagaret’s office door, and opened it.
Tagaret lay motionless in his formal green suit in the middle of his office floor, between the desk and the couch. His long arms and legs were splayed out, and he stared into the ceiling arches without blinking. For an instant, her blood turned to ice—but then Tagaret startled and tried to scramble to his feet.
“Heile have mercy, Tagaret!” she cried. “Are you going to scare me like that? I thought we’d be rushing you to the Medical Center!”
Tagaret lost whatever momentum he’d had, and sank back to a sitting position, hiding behind folded knees and elbows. “I’m sorry.”
Della clasped her shaking fingers together. “What in Varin’s name is going on? Did Lady Selemei cancel your work for today? Why didn’t you want me to know you were at home?”
“I didn’t know how—Love, I didn’t want to worry you.”
“So instead you scared me to death?”
Tagaret sighed. “Oh, Della. I’m sorry.” But he didn’t say he was all right.
“What’s going on?”
Tagaret took a breath as if to speak, then shook his head helplessly.
Della gathered up her skirts and sat down awkwardly across from him. “Is it me? It is, isn’t it. Did Innis bring his partner with him? How old is she, eighteen? Is she pregnant already?”
Tagaret winced, but then he looked her in the face. “Della, I love you. Nothing that happened is about you, darling, not at all. I love you so much. It’s just—I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, either.” But she had, gods knew she had. Failed him, and hurt him, and herself, so many times. She hardly knew how speak about it anymore, but she had to try. “I know I haven’t managed to be—” A mother . . . the word so dripped with shame that she couldn’t even say it. The last time they’d been intimate had been more than two months ago, and she’d wanted it, and hated it—herself—both, really—and ended up in tears. She took a deep breath, and a second, before she managed, “—what you expect me to be.”
“I don’t expect you to be anything,” Tagaret insisted, shaking his head. “Didn’t we decide long ago we weren’t going to play their games?”
“We aren’t, but the decline isn’t a game.”
“It is. Just a much larger and more implacable one.” Tagaret shifted to sit beside her, and removed his gloves. When he touched her hand, the form of her objections dissolved on her tongue. His touch made her skin tingle again, just when she’d almost convinced herself that yesterday’s feeling had been her imagination. He twined his long fingers in hers.
Her whole body came alive at his touch. Della caught a breath, and held his hand tighter. “What’s wrong, then?”
He sighed, as if out of a well as deep as the city. “Well—everything.”
There was a lot. “The attacks? The Privilege competition? Adon’s birthday? Or do you mean the inoculant objectors?” She gulped. “Do you think all this is going to threaten our Selimna project?”
Tagaret looked at her, stricken, for several seconds. Then he dropped his head. “I’m just so tired,” he whispered toward the floor. “So tired, Della. All the measures we’ve taken to keep Nek out of this house. All the efforts to keep him away from Adon. And, meanwhile, I have to work between him and Selemei every day—it’s exhausting. Playing his ally while constantly running to keep us ahead of him. Trying to keep him calm so he won’t lash out. Creating distractions so I can have decent conversations with allies from the Second and Ninth Families. The secrecy. The vigilance. The plans that never come to anything. They wear me down. All these years, and we’ve never even set foot in Selimna.”
These were echoes of the fears that played in her head at night. She stroked the back of his hand; it felt as musical as shiazin strings. “Sweet love of my heart. If you think back to how bad the decline was right after Herin took the throne, you can see how far we’ve come. And with Selimna, well, we’re almost there.”
“You don’t understand. Everything depends on Nekantor, and we can’t—we can’t depend on him. We can’t trust him.”
He was right, of course.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” she said. “Except that nothing’s changed. We’ve never been able to trust him.”
“Nothing’s changed, that’s exactly it,” said Tagaret. “This is his world, Della. The more I understand it, the more I see it’s just like him. Everything in the ‘right’ box gets left alone, and everything outside it gets destroyed. No one is safe from exploitation. I talk to Selemei about our inoculation numbers, and I feel like we’re making progress. But immunity to Kinders fever doesn’t magically confer comfort interacting with Lowers. The Pelismara Society is still afraid to look outside itself. Our goal was to help everyone. How many people are we really helping?”
“I don’t know,” Della said. “But even if you only helped one person, wouldn’t that make a difference?”
“There are only two ways to keep Nek’s trust. First, I have to make sure he sees me ‘report’ to him. Second, I have to be careful what gets discussed in the assistants’ office so nothing can reach him independently through the Eminence. Every time I lie to him, it feels like he’s changing me. I used to think he was like my father, and he is, but it’s worse than that. He’s like gravity. And he’s not even Eminence yet.” He pulled away from her and dropped his face into his hands.
Della took his shoulder. “You’re still yourself, Tagaret. You still believe that the Grobal Trust meant for us to care for everyone. We’re still planning. He still doesn’t know.”
“But what if I’m torturing myself for no reason? What if I’m waiting for something that will never happen? What’s our grand plan, anyway? Lady Selemei’s paper contract?”
“We have to start somewhere.”
“Who says Selimnar Melumalai will have any interest in talking to us?”
“We’ll find an excuse. You can bring the card Lorman gave us and ask them to duplicate it, or something.”
“In the end, we’re nothing but weak-blooded, meddling nobles who think they run the place.”
Weak-blooded. To her very core.
No. Their success depended on not giving in to despair. Defiantly, Della lifted Tagaret’s hand and pressed it to her lips. She inhaled in shock at the incredible scent of it, which sent a hot blush racing all the way to her toes.
“Mm—blessing of Eyn, Tagaret, kiss me quick, before this feeling goes away.”
“All right, but—”
She covered his mouth with hers. Gods, why did he taste so sweet? By some miracle it was exactly as it had been when their love was still forbidden, unsoured by duty, pain, blood. Great heavens! She couldn’t let him go long enough to cry for joy, just kissed him, again, again, deeper, buried her fingers in his hair, filled herself with the scent and taste of love for which she had been starving.
The ancient stories said that Eyn the Wanderer journeyed through the dark, praying that her lover Sirin would not forget her. Della’s own dark journeys, all these fruitless years, had felt as long. But Tagaret had never forgotten her—he hadn’t. He hadn’t! He met her with desire both solemn and fierce. His embrace, his lips, his tongue, his hands on her body, they were nothing short of holy. Their touch changed her into something beautiful.
She couldn’t have explained how she got her clothes off, or he his, but they managed it. He guided her down to the carpet and kissed down her neck and chest. When she tried to pull him over her, though, she couldn’t breathe. She flipped onto her side, pushed him onto his back, and tried again. Yes, like this! Now he was the foundation of her world, and they were one. She gasped in joy, gasped again at each rising wave until bliss lit her like a star.
She fell forward into his arms.
“Oh, Della.” Tagaret took a deep breath, and her head rose and fell. In this moment, her body felt perfect in the way it shaped over his. She could still feel where her nipples pressed against his skin, and where they were joined. She nuzzled the fine hairs on his chest, mixed with the copper strands of her hair. He stroked her head and sighed. “Mmmm, Della.”
“I love you.”
“Sirin and Eyn, yes,” he agreed. “I love you so much.” He rummaged one-handed in the pile of his clothes, and came up with a handkerchief.
Della took it, shaking her head incredulously as they separated. “Oh, dear gods, what are we doing in your office?” The desk and couch loomed.
She gathered up her clothes, some of which had landed draped over the arm of the couch, and put them on as best she could. Tagaret finished dressing before she did, moved behind her and worked on the back fastenings of her gown. She couldn’t help leaning into him, rubbing against his legs. It wasn’t gone. The feeling wasn’t gone.
“Della . . . uh, mm . . . darling . . . ?”
She wanted him all over again. It wasn’t remotely sensible. They had guests coming. She laughed out loud at herself. “I know. We should probably get changed for the party.”
Tagaret nodded, and offered her his hand. Together, they processed with great ceremony out of the office, across the sitting room, and through the double doors into the back.
At that moment, Tamelera emerged from her own room, strikingly dressed for the party in a silk dress hand-painted with a tree on it: converging lines of brown that twined downward from clouds of green. Her braids were wound upward, decorated with bright green enamel pins like closed eyes. She looked ten years younger in that style—even more so because her hand rested over her Aloran’s, as if she were a young lady, and he her nurse-escort. Imbati Aloran was also wearing something new—a suit that was very dark green instead of black.
Della blushed. She and Tagaret were scandalously rumpled in comparison.
Tamelera smiled knowingly. “Take your time,” she said. “I’ll greet Vant and the musicians and the tailor’s family when they arrive, and make sure they’re comfortable. Adon should be home from school shortly.”
“Of course, Mother,” Tagaret said.
Della nodded. “We wouldn’t miss it.”
Even after she’d helped Tagaret get properly dressed, he looked wounded. Something bad had happened at the Academy this morning, and telling him it was all over didn’t seem to help. Della squeezed his hand as they left their rooms, but their gloves came between them.
They couldn’t go straight through to the party, either, because Pyaras was blocking the way, holding the double doors shut. He was dressed in red and wearing perfume, but even so, she could smell medicine on his head.
“Pyaras? What are you doing?”
Pyaras flushed. “Lady Tamelera is impervious to Arbiter Lorman’s complaints, so he decided to pick on me.”
“And so you hid?” Della demanded. “Mercy, are you four?”
He winced. “I don’t need you attacking me, too. I even scented up, and he still says I look like an Arissen.”
Tagaret snorted. “Oh, crown of Mai, that again? I’m sorry. You know we support you in your friendship with Veriga, don’t you?”
Pyaras flashed a split-second smile that quickly fell away. “Yeah.”
Della managed not to roll her eyes. “Of course we do. Keep in mind, Pyaras, you can survive assassins; you should be able to survive the Arbiter. If he does it again, tell him there’s nothing quite as noble as nearly getting killed for mysterious political reasons. Are you going to let us go to the party?”
Now Pyaras’ face brightened. “You’re never going to believe what Lady Tamelera did. This is so much better than all the stupid politicians last year. You should have seen Adon’s face when he realized.” He pushed open the doors.
She knew what Tamelera had done. She smiled as they followed Pyaras into the sitting room, which was hardly recognizable. Vant and the Selimnar musicians were playing in the front corner near Tagaret’s office door. Delicious-smelling food was arrayed on the tables on the wall near the dining room. Serjer and Premel had also pushed the chairs and sofas back against the walls. A folding screen of geometric brocade hid the corner directly to her right, while along the wall of Tagaret’s office stood an array of open garment cases bursting with colors. A gray-coated Kartunnen tailor and her two children were picking things out of the garment cases and handing them to the guests.
As they walked out, Tamelera’s voice said, “Oh, come now, Arbiter. This is a curated fashion show. This young employee is only doing her job.”
Della looked over. Arbiter Lorman was standing across from Tamelera in the front corner near Lady Selemei and her grown daughters, twisting his mustache. He’d obviously tried and failed to suppress the general mood of excitement. The open space at the center of the room was full of children in fabulous outfits, dancing to the music. Adon flourished a gold-edged cape of black velvet, to the obvious delight of Lady Selemei’s four-year-old granddaughter, who was twirling and clapping at once. Adon’s friend, Nayal of the Second Family, was marching alongside Adon’s older cousins Xeref and Cahemsin, all three of them wearing bright bicolor jackets. Another of Adon’s friends, Igan of the Ninth Family, called out,
“Adon—hey, Adon. Let me try the cape next.”
“Get your own.”
The tailor’s son raced to provide Igan with his desired cape, while the tailor’s daughter carried an armful of silk scarves around the edge of the room to tempt the adults sitting on the couches.
Lorman left Tamelera and walked toward them. Della quickly bent, took a scarf from the tailor’s daughter, and wrapped it dramatically around her face. It didn’t entirely block the smell, but it helped.
“Hello, Arbiter,” said Tagaret.
“So, so, Tagaret,” said Arbiter Lorman loudly, obviously meaning everyone in the room to hear. “I’m so glad you’re hosting us here on this wonderful occasion.”
“You’re so kind.”
“Well, so, yes, I’m honored to find myself in your home alongside members of the Second Family, and the Ninth Family, great allies in our political projects.” He gestured toward Tagaret’s friends, Menni of the Second Family and Gowan of the Ninth Family; they nodded back politely, though they kept their true smiles for the children. “So, so, may I say I only wish that the great Garr could be here at this moment, to see his third son reaching the age of thirteen. And, so, as someone who worked with Garr for years in Selimna, I believe I understand his spirit of Grobal tradition; and, because the last Family Arbiter, Erex, shamefully abandoned the Race and Fell to become a Kartunnen, he chose me to guide the First Family—”
Della could have screamed. What was Lorman thinking? Erex’s son was right here among the children . . . She managed to push through the guests to poor Cahemsin without letting Lorman see her smile drop. She bent to the frozen boy’s ear.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Please, ignore his terrible manners. We’re so happy you’re here . . .”
Cahemsin didn’t move, so she couldn’t tell whether he was at all consoled. Gnash Lorman—they’d cut down the guest list this year, because a thirteenth birthday wasn’t the kind of political occasion that a twelfth birthday was. Why couldn’t they have left him out?
“I feel it’s my solemn duty to carry on the spirit of the great Garr in saying that I’m as proud of your family as if it were my own. So, Adon, you are our bright light and our future. Congratulations. How do you feel?”
Adon was glaring at Lorman. Della wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d responded rudely, but Tamelera had raised him too well. “Thank you, Arbiter Lorman. I definitely feel glad to be alive today. I also feel . . . that I’d like to introduce everyone to Kartunnen Jaia.” Adon looked over at the folding screen, beckoning. The tailor didn’t appear for several seconds, but then finally she came out, arranging her billowy gray coat. “Jaia’s my favorite artist working in fashion right now, and she’s provided all of the clothing today. Thank you so much for coming, Jaia.”
“Sorry that took me so long,” Jaia said, curtsying to the guests. “I was just finishing up something. Thank you, Grobal Adon, sir, and Lady Tamelera, for inviting me.”
At that moment, they discovered what she’d been finishing: out from behind the screen stepped Lady Selemei’s nineteen-year-old daughter, Lady Pelli. Pelli wore a long-sleeved gown of sapphire blue with a gorgeous embroidered neckline that traced curves against her albino-white skin. Her curly orange hair looked like a crown. Menni and Gowan and their partners burst into spontaneous applause.
How could that gown possibly fit Pelli so well? That should have been impossible for something pulled out of a case. Blessing of Heile, was Jaia modifying garments on the spot?
Della glanced up at Tagaret. “Your mother is cleverer than I gave her credit for. I have to see if Jaia brought anything for me.”
Tagaret smiled. “You should, absolutely.”
Fortunately, Adon’s attention to Jaia had effectively ended Lorman’s speech, and Cahemsin had resumed exchanging garments with the other children. Della waded through them to the edge of the privacy screen, and discovered that Lady Selemei had come to study the open cases, too.
“You can go first, Lady,” Della said, pulling the scarf down from her face now that Lorman was no longer near.
“Don’t be silly,” said Selemei. “We’re not in the cabinet office; of course you should go first. Jaia, do you have any gowns to fit my cousin Della, here?”
Della blushed, instantly conscious of their attention on her body, its vague discomforts, its bony points and soft curves in all the wrong places.
The tailor looked her up and down. “I believe so, Lady. Come in.”
It didn’t sound like any of the gowns had been intended for her. Nervously, Della entered and considered the beautiful pale blue and gold gown the Kartunnen presented to her. She took a deep breath. This is a party. Don’t expect it to fit; it doesn’t matter if it fits. Just try it.
Her throat felt tight.
It wasn’t long before she discovered the secret, though. The gown had hidden laces underneath the arms on both sides of the bodice. When Jaia’s deft fingers finished the adjustments, she would have sworn it had been sewn just for her. The implications were stunning—if she had a weird day, or a puffy day, Yoral could still make it fit, easily. Comfortably.
“May I buy this from you?” Della whispered.
“The Lady Tamelera has purchased everything here,” Jaia replied. “You are welcome to keep it.”
“And if I want another one?”
“I do have one more here, but you may also contact me any time, Lady.” She handed her a card, which Della immediately passed to her Yoral.
Then she steeled herself and stepped out, to a flurry of applause. While she’d been changing, Pyaras had put on an adult-sized bicolor jacket, and Tagaret a cape of emerald velvet. Della walked over to Pelli and embraced her; she smelled wonderful, her crown of hair scented with kalla oil.
“Thank you for coming, Pelli. You look so lovely.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” said Pelli. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Mother is very fond of your family.”
Abruptly, the music stopped. The triscili played a high warning note that pierced the laughter and conversations.
Della backed up quickly, reached out and stopped the motion of the nearest children. Jaia’s son frowned in confusion.
“Kartunnen, get behind your changing screen, quick,” Della said. She shooed him as fast as she could; Lady Selemei had Jaia and was hurrying her to cover. The musicians took an instrument in each hand and joined them, though the space behind the screen became crowded. Serjer and Premel swept through the room gathering stray garments with astonishing speed. The garment cases were closed and locked in less than a minute.
“What’s happening?” Jaia’s son whispered.
“Hush, doll,” said Jaia. “The Eminence is here. You don’t want him to see you.”
Not exactly, but close enough. Della tugged her gloves tight, and adjusted her position to block the gap at the edge of the screen just as Jaia’s daughter escaped behind it.
Serjer scanned the room, then returned to the vestibule.
A second later, the Eminence Herin walked in. His golden looks seized every eye. He held his head high; the white and gold drape of office shone around his shoulders. His velvet suit was a conservative amber color, and matched his perfectly curled, golden-brown hair. He even smelled good. If anything, he’d only become more handsome over the years. She’d always found him a decent man; he prioritized his own Family, the Third, but worked hard to keep the rest of the Families’ demands in balance.
The Heir, the greater danger, joined him quietly. It was some time since Nekantor had looked his age, two years younger than Tagaret. The gray hair at his temples, and the tension lines around his eyes, could easily have convinced a stranger that he was forty instead of twenty-nine. He was clothed impeccably in pale brown silk, down to the tiniest detail. Never fancy, always careful never to usurp Herin’s place at the center of attention. But while the others watched the Eminence, his hungry brown eyes consumed them.
Della refused to fall into the Eminence’s thrall, and watched Nekantor’s eyes. With absolutely everything in the room either put away or moved, there was a real chance he’d become angry. What would he notice first? What might he attack?
The Kartunnen were safe out of sight behind her, so long as no one disturbed the screen; all the servants had vanished into the Maze. Menni and Gowan had both stood up; they knew Nekantor well enough to try to draw his attention off people who could less easily handle it. Della stood taller. See me, partner-brother, if you’d like. I know all your insults.
Lady Tamelera approached the Eminence Herin with a graceful curtsy that swayed through the painting on her dress. “Welcome to our home, your Eminence.”
“Lady Tamelera.” The Eminence Herin nodded magnanimously. “Thank you for receiving me among your guests. I see the Second and Ninth Families represented. Hello, Menni. How are you enjoying your work on the Second Family Council?”
“Very well, your Eminence,” Menni replied in his resonant voice.
“And Gowan, already working so closely with your father Amyel on cabinet business.” Herin smiled, and Gowan bowed; his long hair swayed. “Did I hear correctly that he received an inoculant this year? Is that a requirement these days in alliances with the First Family?”
Della met Tagaret’s glance. Was Herin trying to provoke Gowan? He was unlikely to succeed; Gowan was far too smooth.
“You heard correctly, your Eminence,” said Gowan, smiling. “I received one as well—but there are no requirements. My father tested negative for allergies and wished to feel confident in his interactions with Lowers; that’s all. I do believe I heard a rumor that your beautiful partner, Lady Falya, had expressed interest in getting tested.”
Herin’s answering smile was even more brilliant. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll be getting tested, too, inoculated if possible—we must make sure to avoid Heir Selections, after all.”
“Your Eminence,” said Lady Tamelera, curtsying. “You do us a great honor with your consideration.”
For an instant, Herin preened at the compliment, and Della had to hold back a chuckle. Then the Eminence held up one finger. “I don’t wish to disappoint my objector supporters too much, however. That is why I’ve made a personal gesture to them as well.” Herin made a flourishing gesture with his hand, and smiled as the crowd’s eyes followed the motion. “Drenas, ho!”
The vestibule curtain shrieked open. Inside stood a huge man in a bright orange Eminence’s Cohort uniform. Della, startled, felt an instant’s sympathy for Serjer, who must have had to cope with this man invading his entry hall. A stifled sound of shock came from the Kartunnen children hidden behind her.
“Imbati make fine bodyguards,” Herin said. “However, there can be no finer specimen than Drenas, here. We must keep safe every way we can.” He looked around. “Where’s young Adon of the First Family?”
Adon had been behind his mother; he stepped forward with admirable poise, still wearing his gold-edged cape. “I’m here, sir.”
The Eminence gave a beaming smile. “Congratulations on your birthday, young man.” He pulled a folded paper from an inside pocket of his coat—that special perquisite of boys, the birthday letter from the Eminence—and placed it in Adon’s hands.
“Thank you, your Eminence.”
“You’re looking quite well. Bit of a luckier thing than you expected, getting to thirteen, wasn’t it?”
Della almost snorted. What a thing to say! There was a second’s affronted silence, followed by a spattering of polite laughter.
Adon answered seriously. “Yes, sir, it was.”
Pyaras pushed forward out of the crowd. “Surely that’s not disappointment I hear in your tone, your Eminence?” he asked, with an assumed lightness that wasn’t very convincing. “We’ve just been through a bit of drama with the Fifth Family today. Surely you wouldn’t have anything at stake in the safety of the First Family?”
Wow, he dared! Of course he did; he was Pyaras. Della held her breath, but fortunately, the Eminence only laughed out loud.
“Getting your hair burned off would make anyone testy, Pyaras of the First Family. You should know that I’m taking these attacks very seriously. Arissen Drenas isn’t the only bodyguard who has recently come on duty. No; I’ve decided to make full use of our expanded Eminence’s Cohort, in order to protect all of the Race, here, and in the northern neighborhoods.”
Della raised her eyebrows. Wouldn’t that put the Cohort in conflict with the police?
Herin began to walk in a circle, meeting the eyes of the guests. “Some of you may have noticed the increased number of guards in the Residence, on the grounds and at the Grobal School. It’s my goal to make sure every person of quality within these grounds will be able to feel safe, including—” He gestured as he arrived back at his initial position. “—young Adon, here.”
Nekantor clapped, so Della quickly joined in, as did everyone else standing. It was important to cover any uncertainty among other party guests.
The Eminence flourished his hand, and nodded his head. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Tamelera. I am due shortly at an important meeting.”
Mother curtsied. “We are grateful for the honor Your Eminence has bestowed upon us.”
The Eminence Herin gave one last brilliant smile, and left. Fortunately, his huge Arissen bodyguard went with him.
Less fortunately, the Heir stayed behind.
“Ahh, Adon,” Nekantor said. “I’m so sorry about Herin’s inappropriate comment.” His gaze flickered around the room, and he gave a cough. “I see you’ve changed the arrangement of the sitting room.”
“It’s what I wanted for my birthday party,” Adon answered.
“I see.” Nekantor touched the three buttons on his vest with his fingers, one after the other. “I hope you’re enjoying it.”
“Yes, I am, thank you.”
“Sorry, of course you are. I should have said this to you when I saw you earlier, but we were busy: congratulations on your birthday.”
Della shifted uncomfortably. Hearing apologies out of Nekantor’s mouth made her stomach squirm; this had to be some kind of performance.
“Thank you,” said Adon, and bowed. “I’d like to thank your Dexelin for rescuing me yesterday.”
“Oh, really? Considerate boy.” Nekantor gave a strained smile. “We’ll be protecting you better, after this. Why choose between Arissen and Imbati when you could have both?” He gritted his teeth and lashed a look at Tamelera. “You shouldn’t have moved the furniture. And you didn’t invite Caredes of the Eighth Family; he was expecting it.”
“It’s my home, and I’ll do as I like,” Lady Tamelera said. “This isn’t a political birthday. It’s only for an afternoon.”
“Well, enjoy your party, then.”
Would he leave? Without ruining anything? Della held her breath.
Nekantor began to turn away, but then turned back again, opening and closing his fists. “Actually, before I go . . .” He smirked at Pyaras, who stiffened. “Cousin, I’m glad you cut your hair for your new job as Executor of the Pelismara Division. The Arissen there will like your new style. I imagine that will keep you busy more appropriately now that Lake Club has been shut down and all its employees arrested.”
“What?” Pyaras cried. “Arrested!”
“Aww.” Nekantor’s smirk grew wider. “Are you sure you shouldn’t thank me, Cousin? I gave you a job perfectly suited to your temperament.”
“Gnash you!”
Della winced. Pyaras was so easily baited.
Nekantor waved a hand. “Poor manners won’t matter in your new job—one of its many advantages. Oh, and Tagaret, I have to apologize for this morning.”
Tagaret jerked as if he’d been struck.
Oh, no.
This was why she’d found him on the floor. When he spoke of despair, he’d been trying to tell her something. Whatever Nekantor had done, it was so terrible that Tagaret hadn’t even been able to put it into words.
But of course, Nekantor could.
“I should have told you that I’d appointed Unger of the Fifth Family as Alixi of Selimna.”
For a second, all she could do was blink.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—!
The horror tried to accelerate into a scream, but she would not permit it. She would not let thirteen years of work be destroyed. She would not let Tagaret lie devastated where she’d found him. She held her breath, and compressed the scream into a single burning demand:
Do something.
“I don’t accept that,” she snapped.
Nekantor’s gaze whipped to hers. He showed his teeth. “Oh, don’t you, my darling sister? And why not?”
She would not flinch, and risk revealing those who hid behind her. She had his attention; now she had to remember what Tagaret had taught her.
Never try to stop Nekantor. Try to turn him. Change the game.
“I know you, Brother,” she said, glancing down at her gloves and assuming as calm and reasonable a tone as she could manage. “I don’t accept that you’d cave in to Innis’ threats, or concede Selimna to the Fifth Family without a larger plan to reclaim it. I mean, you’re the Heir. Nekantor of the First Family! Cowardice is below you.”
Nekantor’s gaze sharpened. “Ha! It is, indeed.”
“You’re playing games again. You’ve planned to come here, to test how we respond to disappointment, and then tell us you’re sending Tagaret as your agent to keep the Fifth Family from consolidating its hold over the city.” She forced a smile.
Nekantor stared at her silently. Della breathed fast between smiling lips, struggling against the scream, until she felt dizzy and her ears started to tingle. At last, a slow answering smile slid across Nekantor’s lips.
“How clever you are to find me out, Della. I knew there must have been some reason my brother brought you into the family.”
I know your insults. She gave a curtsy. “Thank you.”
“Unger left for Selimna this afternoon. I need you ready to leave tomorrow morning.”
A hot flush rushed to her cheeks. “We can do that, can’t we, Tagaret.”
“This really isn’t the appropriate time to discuss plans,” said Nekantor. “Tagaret, when this party is over, you’ll report to me immediately.”
Della dared a glance over at Tagaret. He was standing straight again. It made her heart leap.
“Of course, Brother,” Tagaret said.
“And—” Nekantor wagged one finger. “Make Mother put the furniture back where it belongs. Enjoy your birthday, Adon.” He turned on one heel and stalked out.
Della swayed on her feet, but Tagaret rushed up behind her, his warm arms holding her, supporting her.
Lady Tamelera smoothed her skirts and walked to the center of the room. “Oh, my dear friends, I’m terribly sorry about that. The good news is, now that the unfortunate but necessary portion of the party is over, we have more refreshments for you. Desserts are in the dining room!”
Lady Selemei responded with a light laugh—the reassuring sound that was her signature, even in the face of danger. “We would be delighted to try them.”
The party broke into small groups, parents telling their children that everything was all right, and that this Household was known for unsurpassed food and drink, so why shouldn’t we all have some?
Della turned into Tagaret’s arms. He bent down to her ear; buoyed by his nearness, she kissed his jawline.
“Della, my beautiful, amazing Della, Mai was standing by you just now,” he whispered. “That was brilliant! He came here to hurt us, and you made him change his plan.”
Della leaned her head against Tagaret’s collarbone. What was Nekantor’s plan? Had she really changed it? Or had she only managed to change their role in it?
Right now, it didn’t matter. She closed her hands on Tagaret’s lapels, and stood on her toes.
“Oh, my love, we’re finally going!”