CHAPTER EIGHT
How to Disappear
How was it possible for your whole life to fall apart so quickly?
Adon stood with his hands clenched, watching catastrophe pile up in the sitting room. Serjer and Premel and Tagaret’s Kuarmei moved in and out, bringing bags and boxes, and more bags and more boxes. Nekantor’s orders about the furniture had been totally disregarded, because they needed room for all of it. So many boxes, some larger than he’d ever seen. They contained Tagaret and Della’s things, and it meant—
It meant they were going to—
He couldn’t stand it!
Adon forced his hands open and shook them out, but of course it didn’t help.
How could they leave? Selimna was thousands of miles away! Across the surface! What if wysps got them? What if cave-cats got them? What if they fell off a cliff?
Mother had said to stay out of the way, but he couldn’t do this; he might have only minutes more before they disappeared. He shoved through the double doors into the private drawing room, and walked in through Tagaret’s door without knocking.
The room was unrecognizable. The art from the walls was all gone; the bed was stripped, and the wardrobe doors hung open; even the door to the servants’ Maze had been propped wide. Tagaret was leaning over an open case on the bed, talking with his Kuarmei about its contents, and Della sat on a brass chair in the corner while her Yoral moved folded gowns from the top of the mattress into a large canvas bag. Two stranger Imbati from the Residence Household were also here, running in and out from the Maze with smaller cases and trays of miscellaneous items.
Holy Sirin help me.
Tagaret looked up. Adon opened his mouth to speak to him, but nothing came out. His brother turned and murmured a few more words to his Kuarmei, then walked over.
“Adon, are you all right?”
“Uh. No.”
His brother’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “I know this is sudden. I’m sorry.”
Adon’s head, when he shook it, felt heavy with horrible feelings. “Tagaret, you have to stay safe on the surface. You have to come back.”
“Well, we’ve hired an excellent driving team,” Tagaret said. “It’s a non-stop voyage company, and they’re prepared for all eventualities. As for coming back—I wish I could tell you when that will happen. But I promise to write to you.”
“Write to me? Oh, come on!” He jerked away, and stomped out the door into the private drawing room. Couldn’t bring himself to go out into the sitting room, though, where all the boxes were . . .
“Hey,” Tagaret called after him. “Hey—please, can we talk?”
Adon clenched his fists. Anger made his eyes burn.
“Look, I’m sorry,” said Tagaret, behind him.
He clenched his teeth.
“I hate leaving you,” Tagaret admitted softly. “It’s not fair, even though we’ve wanted to go to Selimna since before you were born. I get what you’re feeling, honestly, I do. The same thing happened to me.”
Adon grunted. “It wasn’t the same, though.”
“No, it wasn’t. Mother and Father both moved to Selimna, and I was left alone with Nekantor and the servants for five years.”
Wait—alone with Nekantor for five years? Disbelief turned him around. He stared at Tagaret. “That sounds like Varin’s teeth!”
Tagaret’s mouth pulled to one side. He went to the nearest couch and patted the spot beside him. “It wasn’t easy. I got through it with music, and by writing letters. I wrote to Mother almost every day.”
“What about Father?”
“I wrote to him when I had to.”
Adon sank down next to him, trying surreptitiously to memorize what Tagaret’s arm felt like, wrapping around his shoulders. “All right, I will. I’ll write to you.”
“And I promise I’ll write back. You might not realize this, but I write letters all the time. I wrote one to my best friend Reyn last night.”
“Weren’t you busy packing?”
Adon felt him shrug. “It wasn’t a long letter. But I couldn’t exactly not tell him he’d have to write to me in Selimna after this.” Tagaret was quiet a moment. “I’m sorry; I should have told my Kuarmei to leave some writing paper for you.”
“I can get some. Mother probably has some.”
“I’m sure she does.” Tagaret’s arm lifted slightly as though he’d considered getting up, but then it squeezed around him again. “Hey, so, I need to get back to the packing. Will you be all right with that?”
“Sure.”
“I’m sending Della out to talk to you. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Wait—”
Tagaret didn’t wait.
Adon scowled, but stayed put. Holy Mai, how had Tagaret done that? Trapped him into a conversation that made him clench his teeth just thinking about it? Della was the one who’d brought on this disaster. Tagaret adored her—and of course he would, not just because she was his partner but because she was the most beautiful Lady in all Varin besides Mother, and she was sweet and loving and had impeccable fashion sense.
But, of them all, she was the one who knew best how to disappear. Between one day and the next, sometimes, she’d vanish. Mother said it wasn’t his business why, that they were lady’s concerns. Aloran said she was in the Medical Center because she was fragile—and also that it wasn’t his business. Sometimes she’d be gone for a day. Sometimes she’d be gone for two months.
This time, who knew how long she’d be gone? And she was taking Tagaret with her.
He dropped his eyes to his hands when Della came out. She was wearing traveling clothes: wide-legged flowing trousers, a high-necked white shirt, and a velvet jacket, all of which would have been near-impossible to acquire overnight. She must have been saving them for this moment. The trousers brushed the couch as she sat down, with a velvet-on-velvet sound.
“Sweet Adon,” she sighed. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“Why?” he blurted. “Why did you do it?”
She was quiet, maybe surprised. He didn’t want to look up at her, only looked high enough to see her emerald velvet knee, her pale hand on top of it, and the tips of her striking copper-red hair.
“You mean, why did I confront Nekantor? To protect Tagaret.”
Adon scowled. “How does going off to Selimna protect Tagaret?”
“You know that he’s been trying to go to Selimna since before you were born.”
Of course I know that. I’m not stupid. “He’s been trying to get promoted to Alixi.”
“No, actually.” Della sighed. “It would be easier if he were Alixi, but really he just wanted to go to Selimna. He had his heart set on this being his chance. And then Nekantor denied him, so I had to change Nekantor’s mind. Or, at least, turn him aside.”
Adon snorted. “I don’t see how you can say this is all Tagaret’s fault.”
“Where did you get that idea? The plan has always belonged to both of us.”
He crossed his arms.
“Adon.” Della’s hand reached out, and her fingertips touched the back of his wrist, just where his hand tucked into his elbow. “Do you really want to know why we want to go?”
Her voice was different, more cautious. He almost looked up.
“Can you keep a secret?” Della whispered. “I mean, truly keep it, as Aloran would?”
Startled, Adon looked up into her green eyes. Twins help him, she really meant it. In anger, he’d walked out onto a cracked cave floor. Could he safely walk off it again?
“Of course I can.” It came out a little surly. He took a deep breath, uncrossed his arms, and tried again. “Yes. I’ll keep it in my heart.”
Della leaned forward until her copper hair brushed his shoulder. “We don’t want what Grobal always want,” she said quietly. “We’ve been trying to go to Selimna so we can do something important.”
He shook his head. “But this is Pelismara. Everything important happens here. You can do anything you want.”
“You know we can’t do everything we want, Adon. Everything in Pelismara is under Nekantor’s eyes. Why else would we have worked so hard to keep them off you?”
He knew what Nekantor’s eyes felt like. “What do you want to do?”
“We want to teach people to treat each other properly, with love, no matter who they are.”
“What, like Lowers?”
“Listen. Imagine if we didn’t have to hide musicians in corners. Imagine . . . a place where Aloran could be loved the way he deserves.”
“Oh . . .” A warm flush spread from Adon’s cheeks down his neck. Mercy, could she really see his heart so easily? “Oh.”
“Tagaret and I both wish it could be here, with you—but it just can’t.”
“I understand.” The most shocking thing was, he actually did. “I’m going to write to you.”
“I love you, Adon.” She put her arms around him briefly, then stood and walked away.
Heart of Bes. Imagine—a place where he could make friends with Talabel if he wanted to. A place where no one scoffed if he sat for hours watching Kartunnen Jaia, or Ober, working with silk, needles, sewing machines. A place where he wouldn’t be chastised if he ever dared to mention Aloran outside the house.
The only problem was, they needed Mai the Right’s own miracle, because then Tagaret and Della wouldn’t have to disappear.
A surface-worthy floater looked like a big glass-and-steel bubble with a flat bottom. It hovered mysteriously above the stone surface of the road. It couldn’t fit inside the Conveyor’s Hall, which meant more work for the Household who were loading Tagaret and Della’s luggage into it.
Adon stood by Mother and her Aloran watching the process, trying to ignore how many wysps were drifting about. The tiny sparks cast their light unevenly across the floater, the luggage, the Arissen guards, and the people who moved back and forth from the open compartments to the stone arch of the Hall.
Ordinarily, wysps were easy to ignore. Now, all he could think of was danger. Tagaret and Della weren’t just going to another city; they would be traveling through wild wysps’ territory. Having wysps drift near was supposed to be good luck, but he definitely didn’t appreciate the reminder.
“Adon,” Della called. She walked nearer, a gorgeously bright figure in her noble colors leading a paler Kartunnen who wore canvas overalls and a gray coat with elbow-length sleeves. “This is our engineer, Adi.”
He drew himself up. “Hello, Adi.” What did she expect him to say? He glanced at Mother.
“We’re grateful for your skill in caring for our family, Kartunnen,” said Mother.
“We’re honored, Lady, and we’ll do our utmost,” the Kartunnen answered with a fancy bow.
“Don’t you have questions, Adon?” Della asked. “You were worried about our trip, right? Adi’s the one who will be on hand in case we have any difficulties with the floater. Her sisters Arri and Odri will take turns driving so we don’t have to stop.”
Adon tried to think of a question that wouldn’t be rude. “You’ve done this a lot, have you, Kartunnen?”
“Yes, sir,” the engineer answered. “We’ve recorded sixty-three surface voyages.”
“Just—be safe, all right?”
“Of course, sir. If you have any factual questions about our route, please direct them to Odri, sir. She’s wearing blue stripes.”
“I will.”
Adon glanced at Mother again, but she seemed lost in thought. Most of the questions he wanted to ask, he’d already asked Della. Part of it was that this didn’t seem real. It was like some kind of street theater performance with the floater as a stage, where eventually the Kartunnen actors would close all its various panels and doors and carry it away, leaving their lives unchanged.
But of course the moment came. Mother started crying, and Tagaret embraced her, and then came and folded Adon into a dark space of safety that felt tight and real. Adon clung to Tagaret’s jacket for longer than was proper. And then Della hugged him, too, and Tagaret and Della vanished into a compartment. The compartment doors closed and the floater drove away.
Gone.
It was just him, and Mother, and Aloran. His lungs felt raw, as if something had been pulled out of them.
Tagaret . . .
“Adon,” Mother said.
Adon held her hand, wishing he could take his glove off. They walked back along the familiar gravel paths toward home. Passing by the Grobal School, he couldn’t help noticing each entrance had three guards, not two. He tried to ignore it.
He couldn’t ignore Nekantor, though. His brother stood waiting for them, blocking the path to the Residence.
Adon tensed and almost bolted.
“Adon,” Nekantor said. “I thought you might be returning to school today.” His Dexelin stood behind his left shoulder, and the Arissen, Karyas, behind his right.
“No, Nekantor,” Adon growled. Anger joined the churn of loss in his stomach. We were saying goodbye. He didn’t say that; it shouldn’t have been any of Nekantor’s business.
“Nekantor,” said Mother, “he’ll go back when he’s ready.”
“Yes, of course.” Nekantor smiled at him.
He hated it.
“Well, Adon,” Nekantor said, reasonably. “I know it must be hard with Tagaret leaving. I’d like to offer you an opportunity.”
“No,” Adon said. And when Mother squeezed his hand, added, “Thank you.”
“It’s not a good time, Nekantor,” said Mother.
“But it’s nothing really. I’d just like to take you on a tour. I discovered when I became Heir that there are a great many beautiful spaces in the Residence that the public doesn’t have access to. I could take you around and show you some art that you’ve never seen.”
From anyone else, even the Eminence Herin himself, he would have loved the offer. But from Nekantor? How had Nekantor learned what he liked? Spies?
He glanced instinctively to Dexelin. The young servant’s eyes widened a little in surprise. It was clear, though, that Dexelin could offer no reassurance regarding his Master’s motives.
“No, thank you,” Adon said again.
“I guess you’ll have to wait, then. Maybe if you become Heir one day, you’ll see them.”
“I need to go home now.”
“Of course. Take care of yourself, Mother.”
A hand—Mother’s hand—squeezed his elbow so hard Adon startled and began walking forward.
“Thank you, Nekantor,” Mother said. “You take care of yourself, too.”
Adon walked fast, but even after they’d entered past a trio of guards into the Residence proper, he still felt shudders down his back.
“Mother,” he whispered. “He’s watching me.”
“He’s always watched you,” Mother replied. “How else do you think his Dexelin was able to save your life?”
“But he shouldn’t.” He couldn’t shake the feeling of Nekantor’s eyes on him, every time they passed one of the new Arissen guards. “I should have gone to Selimna with Tagaret and Della.”
“Not at all. It’s not safe for children to leave Pelismara.”
He snorted. “I bet Lowers take their children out of Pelismara.”
Mother paused in front of their suite door and looked at him. “It’s not the same, Adon. Lowers have lots of children, because they don’t have the decline.”
He was an exception to the decline. He would be safe to go. But, at the same time, that only made him more valuable to the Race. They would never want him killed by a wild wysp.
He wasn’t exactly safe, here, either. Nekantor expected him to go back to school. How could he go back to school?
Imbati Aloran touched his palm to the lock pad, and the front door cracked open.
Adon blurted, “Mother, may I take your Aloran as my bodyguard?”
Mother froze.
Oh, no. Why had he said that? But he couldn’t help it—the words had welled up from a deep place, like a shudder in the earth that had waited too long and could no longer be kept down.
Mother clenched both gloved fists, as if fighting her own earthquake. Her ice-blue eyes, when they locked on his, blazed with terrifying fury.
“Under no circumstances. Will you ever. Take my Aloran.”
Adon stepped backward. His face felt hot. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“I’ll go in, now, Aloran.”
The servant pushed the door fully open, and she swooped inside. Aloran followed, as close as her shadow.
Adon crept in alone, slowly. His throat and chest hurt. His heart beat too hard.
“Welcome home, young Master,” said the First Houseman.
Adon couldn’t speak, just looked at him.
“I’m very sorry, young Master,” Serjer said, closing the front door. “Would you like me to speak to her on your behalf?”
No, thank you. He couldn’t get the words out.
Serjer nodded. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
Adon wandered in through the double doors to the private drawing room, but couldn’t sit down with Mother’s bedroom door right there looking at him. Instead, he found himself drifting into Tagaret and Della’s rooms.
Empty.
Empty walls, empty floor; stripped bed and vacant wardrobe left behind because they were too large to fit in a floater compartment and weren’t easy to break down. The wardrobe’s glass and metal doors hung open. This space was no longer theirs.
Adon sank down on the foot of the bed. He stuffed his gloves in his pocket, rubbed his face, and waited for his heart to calm. It was too early to write a letter when they had barely left. Maybe he’d feel better if he changed his clothes—but that would mean erasing the feel of Tagaret’s arms around him.
A sound crept under the door: murmurs in a high voice.
Mother was coming.
Oh, Twins help me . . . Adon sprang up and hopped into the wardrobe, pulling its doors shut behind him. He slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees.
What in Varin’s name was he doing? He could already hear Mother asking it: What do you think you’re doing, Adon? Hiding? At your age?
He listened hard to the silence outside. Maybe he’d been wrong; maybe he’d just have to grimace at his own immaturity and climb back out.
But then he heard Mother sigh. “He’s not here either. That was my fault. Mercy of Heile, he didn’t need me snapping at him. I suppose it was inevitable he would ask.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aloran’s voice replied.
“I should have seen this coming. I tried to protect our guests from Nekantor; I didn’t think he’d hurt us instead. Now, Lady Selemei is having to cope with the loss of the two assistants she trusted, and I don’t know how to keep him away from Adon. I won’t be able to create political distractions the way Tagaret did. And I can’t convene the salon every day.”
“Please, my Lady, don’t blame yourself. It’s impossible to prepare for every form of harm.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Come.”
There was a rustling sound. Mother’s silk gowns always rustled; maybe she was sitting down on the bed. Would the bed still be warm where he’d sat? Would she figure out he was in here? Adon held his breath, but exhaled when after a few moments she spoke again.
“Are Serjer and Premel all right? With Tagaret’s Kuarmei and Della’s Yoral gone so suddenly?”
“It is a loss. I’ll pass on your sympathies; they’ll appreciate them.”
“Crown of Mai, I wish we still had Kuarmei here! She could bodyguard him.”
Aloran answered after a long pause. “Lady, we may need to prepare for the worst.”
“Oh, gods, do you mean . . . ?”
“Everything about our life was designed to protect Adon. Nekantor just split that shield, and we have to assume he did it deliberately, out of self-interest. It’s clear he doesn’t intend to bring Adon harm, but there’s no way to anticipate what will happen next. Adon may need to disappear.”
“Mercy of Heile,” Mother moaned.
“I will always protect you, Lady,” Aloran said. “I have vowed my honor, my duty, my love—” He fell silent abruptly. There was more rustling, and then footsteps, and then nothing.
After waiting so long he couldn’t stand it any more, Adon cracked open the cold metal door. The room was empty. He stepped out of the wardrobe slowly, terrified by new questions he should never have had to ask.
What did they mean, he might need to disappear?