CHAPTER TWELVE

A Lesson

Where am I?

Noises had awakened him, and even with eyes closed, he remembered that the answer was a very, very bad one. Clomping footsteps; people moving. Whatever he did, he’d have to do it carefully. He cracked his eyes open just enough to see an Arissen walk past his feet. Another lay sleeping in the neighboring bed.

Melín was gone.

Pyaras tried to breathe. Don’t panic. Pretend everything is normal. He sneaked a hand off the side of the bed, and felt awkwardly for his clothes on the floor.

Slowly, he sat up, keeping the sheet draped over his lap. He pulled Veriga’s shirt on over his head, found his underwear and Veriga’s pants, Veriga’s handkerchief, his watch. Nothing was missing. The watch read seven o’clock forenoon, and he felt like he’d been pummeled with a club. He tried to rub his face with his hands, but it hurt too much.

A nearby Arissen laughed aloud.

Oh, gods, he had to get out of here—his face was probably as red as Veriga’s handkerchief. He slipped his feet into his shoes, and stood up. There were still plenty of empty beds in the hall, as well as a large number of sleepers. He tried to walk as they did, casually, but his breath felt too shallow.

“Well, Melín’s Descent lottery has a winner,” a man commented, smirking. “I see you wore your dress shoes for the occasion.”

A woman nearby added, “Seni, consider yourself lucky you can still walk.”

Oh Mother Elinda, take me now.

At last, he reached the exit door. The only problem was, he was right in the middle of the buildings, still surrounded by Arissen, with only the vaguest memory of how he’d gotten here. He didn’t dare ask the way, but when he reached an intersection, he glimpsed the giant stone curtain. That meant he should turn over this way . . .

He wandered until he reached the edge of the Arissen neighborhood. The sight of the fields was a relief, and the road to the rampway clearly marked. If only he could have run. His throat ached with thirst. Down the rampways he kept hold of the railings, because they were cool on his hands, and because his feet kept stumbling.

He was about ready to collapse by the time he turned into Veriga’s street on the third level. But he had to hold it together—what if Veriga’s Arissen neighbors glanced up when he passed their windows? Before he could reach the house, Veriga burst out the front door and ran up the sidewalk. The police officer grabbed his head and looked him in one eye, then the other.

“Varin gnash you, Pyaras!” he hissed. “Get inside.”

Pyaras hustled the last distance in Veriga’s hard arm, and turned into the house. Toeing off his shoes automatically, he mumbled, “I want to lie down.” The rugs on the floor looked awfully comfortable.

“No, you don’t,” Veriga growled, and dragged him into the kitchen, where he sat him down on an aluminum chair. There was large glass of water on the table. “You’re going to drink that water. The entire glass, this instant.”

“All right.” Pyaras reached for the glass, but Veriga grabbed the handkerchief, and it cut into his neck. “Ow!”

Veriga tugged again, and this time the handkerchief came off. “Drink!”

He drank. It tasted funny, like medicine, but it soothed his rough throat, and cooled his stomach. “Thank you.”

Veriga scowled. “If you’re planning to throw up, the bathroom is over there.” He pointed.

Pyaras shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He’d hardly drunk a thing; this bruised exhaustion was something else entirely.

“Fine.” Veriga slammed a plate of bread and fruit down in front of him, so hard that one of the rolls bounced off onto the aluminum surface of the table.

“Veriga,” Pyaras mumbled, through a mouthful. “I’m really sorry. I learned my lesson. It’s all right, though—nobody found out.”

“I certainly hope you’re right,” Veriga growled. “The lesson I learned was that if I stop trying to protect you from your own stupidity for a single second, whatever consequences come to you will be nothing compared to those for me and everyone else. Do you realize neither of us has slept all night?”

Oh, Heile have mercy—what was he thinking? Veriga was the last person who should have been serving him breakfast! “Where’s Jarel?”

“Varin’s flaming asshole!” Veriga flung up his hands.

“Veriga, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it! How Imbati put up with your behavior I’ll never know. She’s in the loft.”

Pyaras pushed back from the table, aching. The food and water helped. He walked out of the kitchen and considered the wall. This was part of his punishment, no question. He climbed up, slowly. His hands throbbed, and his limbs shook, but he made the top.

Jarel was sitting on top of Veriga’s weapons locker, back flat against the wall, her eyes cast aside. Evvi sat at her feet, head resting on her knee. Jarel’s face looked strange, as if she’d been crying. But Imbati never cried. No wonder Veriga was so angry.

“Jarel,” Pyaras said. “I was remiss.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. “You were.”

“I swear, as Mai the Right is my witness, I’ll never treat you with such disrespect again.”

She only looked at him, silent. After a long moment she took a deep breath. “Let’s get you clean and back into your proper clothes, sir. I’m pleased to see you escaped unscathed.”

For a guilty instant he heard Melín’s voice again, murmuring into his ear. “Pyaras . . .”

He hadn’t escaped at all. What a mess—it would be a miracle if Veriga ever spoke to him again.