CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Unexpected Guardians
You weren’t supposed to feel alone in a classroom full of cousins. Adon struggled to keep his mind on the Schoolmaster’s math lesson, while his cousin Xeref kept reaching back and writing notes on his paper, and Cahemsin kept poking his back and whispering. Safety was worth it, though. It was.
Really, it was.
He sighed, and forced his hand to copy down another triangle, another rectangle. Calculate the areas. Calculate the circumferences. Calculate the shooting angle from the classroom door to his head. Maybe he could duck under the metal desk, if it came to it? At least Xeref was in between.
“I don’t know why we’re learning this,” his cousin Ganni drawled at Schoolmaster Churon’s back—Churon was chalking up a new series of shapes that would have looked better embroidered on a velvet coat. “Math is for merchants. Are you a Melumalai?”
“You’re a Melumalai,” one of the girls snapped. “Do your work.”
Cahemsin whispered, “Actually, math is for Kartunnen.”
Schoolmaster Churon turned and scowled straight at Adon, hands on his hips. “That’s enough. If you fail to study, Lowers who do know math will cheat you and make you look ignorant. Ten extra problems for everyone. Better copy them down fast before the bell rings.” He started chalking a series of rectangles, triangles, and trapezoids.
“See what you’ve done now,” Adon murmured under his breath as his pen flew. Too many cross-outs; he was going to have to write this over again on new paper, and also get ink smears washed off his gloves. Cahemsin kicked at his heels. This sort of thing was why he didn’t join their gang. If Tagaret and Della hadn’t left, he wouldn’t have had to.
Maybe something terrible would happen, and bring them back, so that everything could start to be all right.
He checked the angle to the door again, and the bell rang. The sound zinged down his nerves. He leapt up.
No, slow down. You’re going to role-play with Xeref and Cahemsin.
He forced himself to tag along as his cousins sauntered out of class and into the hall. The hall was busy with colors: lots of students bright as jewels, a few more soberly toned Schoolmasters. Orange was the unwelcome presence of extra guards beside the columns, beside the foot of the grand marble staircase that led to the second floor, and beside the classroom doors.
He should have been able to borrow a bodyguard. It made no sense for Mother to be so upset about the suggestion. If only he were older, he could hire Talabel, who was about to be certified.
They arrived just as the bronze doors of the play hall swung open. Cahemsin pushed past him, knocking his shoulder hard enough that it was easier to spin than stop himself.
“Come on,” said Xeref, and ran after.
Twins help him. Adon ran to keep up, and found they’d both converged on an Imbati in a spot beneath the embroidered hanging of the Great Grobal Fyn, between two brass tables.
It was Talabel. Her golden face was carefully blank, not a single wrinkle in the cosmetic dot between her brows.
Adon tensed. “What are you doing?”
“Why shouldn’t we test a top servant?” asked Xeref. “You’ve done it plenty of times.”
“Top servant,” Adon said, skeptically.
“Sure. Saved your life, didn’t she?”
He flushed, and looked at Talabel again. Her normally expressive face said nothing. “She did save my life,” he agreed. “Nekantor’s Dexelin helped her.”
Cahemsin smiled. “So that makes her special, right?”
“She’s your favorite,” said Xeref.
Adon swallowed.
“In fact,” said Cahemsin, “Cousin Jorem will be turning seventeen soon. Maybe he should hire her.”
“No.” The word escaped before he could stop it.
“What? Adon, are you saying he can’t hire her? All he’d have to do is write a letter.”
“And turn seventeen,” Adon said. “That won’t be for—” He couldn’t remember; too many cousins. “Well, it isn’t going to happen tomorrow. I could hire her first.”
Xeref laughed out loud. “Not likely. Your Age of Choice is four years off.”
“Not if I become Heir.”
“Get a bit of attention from your own brother and you start thinking you’re better than us, eh?” sneered Xeref.
Cahemsin got an infuriating smirk on his face. “Hm, so you’re going to arrange Herin’s death, and survive everyone trying to murder you for three weeks, just for this one servant. Yeah, sure. I see what’s really going on.” He spat. “Imbati-lover.”
“Son of a Lower!” Adon retorted.
Cahemsin slapped him across the face.
Adon kicked him in the shins. For an instant as his cousin fell, his heart filled with triumph, but then he realized Talabel had vanished. Not only that, but now everyone in the entire hall was looking at them, and here he was standing over his cousin, and Cahemsin was . . . crying?
“Adon of the First Family,” said the Schoolmaster Supervisor, grasping him by the collar of his jacket, “you’re coming with me.”
Within moments he’d been dragged off through the vaulted stone hallway to the office. The Schoolmaster Supervisor sat him in a brass chair against the wall, and told him to stay. Then he stomped off, probably to hear from Cahemsin what had happened.
Adon stayed.
He felt sick to his stomach; his face felt hot. You weren’t supposed to say such a terrible thing. Not to a cousin. Especially not when it was true.
Mother was going to be so angry.
There was a click. Adon straightened up fast, tightening gloved fists on his thighs. The main hallway door didn’t open, though. A curtain on the wall beside him moved.
Nekantor’s Dexelin stepped out from behind it. “Young Master Adon, please forgive me.”
Adon frowned. “You’ve been watching me. For the last three weeks, anyway. Don’t try to deny it; I can tell.”
“I won’t deny it, young Master.”
“And now you’re here because I got myself in trouble, so you can report on me to Nekantor?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
He knew the polite denial when he heard it. He crossed his arms. “Well, you probably are.”
The servant said, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to draw your cousins’ attention to Talabel, sir.”
Rage flashed in him again. “I certainly did not! I don’t want my brother’s attention on her, either. Or on me. Or on you, Varin gnash it! Nekantor is cruel and horrible. I see how he talks to you.”
A flush reddened Dexelin’s face.
Adon quickly looked away. “I’m sorry; I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t stand it. You deserve better than that. The Headmaster of the Academy should be giving you a medal, and instead Nekantor makes him force you into a Privilege contest.”
“Young Master, where . . . ?” Dexelin whispered. “I came to ask . . .”
“Where what?”
“Sir . . . where did you learn . . . what you know?”
Adon shook his head, baffled. “What I know? I know something?”
“Never mind.”
“Do you mean Nekantor is looking for some kind of information from me?”
“No, sir,” the Imbati replied. “He is not.”
That was a shockingly direct answer. Adon raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s good, at least. You’re generous with me.” He glanced at Dexelin cautiously, wondering what he could get away with.
“You . . . wish to make a request, young Master?”
Adon took a deep breath. “Dexelin, obviously you’ve been asked to watch me. I won’t stop you. Just . . . can you let me know when you’re nearby? It would be nice to know you were there protecting me.” He hugged himself. “That is, if you are there to protect me, and not just steal my secrets.”
Dexelin looked at him as if to answer, but the arrival of a hand rattled the handle of the main door. Dexelin leapt up and vanished behind the curtain.
Adon braced himself, looking down at his knees contritely. The Schoolmaster Supervisor would punish him, and he deserved it; he had to endure it.
Mother’s voice drifted in as the door opened.
“I’m very sorry, Supervisor.” First in the door was the leading edge of a pale blue gown, and then Mother swooped in, followed by the Schoolmaster Supervisor. She reached out her hand to him, but Adon didn’t take it. He stood up and went to her left side, as close to Aloran as he could reasonably manage. “Adon’s been upset ever since his brother Tagaret left, haven’t you, Adon.”
Adon gulped. “Yes.”
“Look at the Supervisor and tell him it won’t happen again.”
Adon glanced up at Mother’s face. She was tense around the eyes; her eyebrows were raised expectantly, her lips a firm line. Heile’s mercy, going home to her punishment would be worse. But he deserved it; he had to endure it.
“Well?” the Schoolmaster Supervisor demanded.
Adon looked up just enough to see the Supervisor’s angry, bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “It will never happen again.”
Mother didn’t take him home. Instead, she grabbed his forearm and dragged him out into the grounds.
Where was she taking him?
Adon tried to meet Aloran’s gaze as he stumbled along, but Aloran kept his eyes studiously on Mother’s shoulder.
“Mother,” Adon said.
She didn’t answer. Maybe she wasn’t speaking to him, now. They crossed the gardens to the sound of swishing silk and crunching gravel, until they reached a small side gate.
The Arissen guards saw Mother and immediately let them out.
Once off the Residence grounds, Mother seemed to relax slightly. Her pace slowed. This was the corner of the plaza closest to the Imbati Academy, less crowded than the others, because the radius in this corner only led out toward the northern Grobal neighborhoods. The tourist crowds were thinner today. One group was looking up at the cylindrical housing of the Alixi’s Elevator. Another was near the shinca, and another near the Academy gate.
Mother took a deep breath, then released his arm.
“Mother,” Adon pleaded. “I’m so sorry.”
“Of course you are. You weren’t thinking at all.”
That hurt. “I’m really sorry, I promise. Can we go home, please?”
“This is more important, love,” she said. “I’ve been putting it off, but now I see that was a mistake. We’re going to visit the Academy for a few minutes, and I need you to be on your absolute best behavior. Use your manners; you know how.”
“I’m sorry.” Then he saw the gate wardens. “Are we invited?”
“Not yet, but we will be.” Mother looked down at him and, unexpectedly, flashed him a smile. “Just think, this is where Aloran went to school.”
It was, too. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him when he’d been here last. The Imbati Service Academy wasn’t supposed to be a building for hosting Privilege competitions; it was a school. Aloran had told him about the classes there, which had funny names like ‘Hands,’ or ‘Types,’ or ‘Waiting.’
A Kartunnen toddler in a baby-sized gray coat was squatting down beside the Academy gate. Under the tolerant attention of the gate wardens, she was patting her hand on the red stone threshold below it. When her parents spotted them coming, they scooped her away.
Mother’s Aloran stepped to the front, and bowed to the wardens with their diamond-within-diamond tattoos. They exchanged quiet words, and a warden ran off toward the main building.
Adon looked down at the red stone the child had been patting. There was an inscription carved into it—one barely legible at the center where feet had trodden it smooth. ‘Cross this threshold with’—one or two unreadable words, and then, maybe, ‘heart’?—‘and the Mysteries shall be revealed.’
Mysteries? He looked up at the Academy building. Its stone columns burned at their tops with golden fire, and its two wings folded around its front courtyard, hiding what lay behind. Secrets and safety for Imbati. Maybe the missing word was ‘selfless,’ since Imbati vowed themselves to others. He could easily believe that the Headmaster knew mysteries—he had a document signed by the Great Grobal Fyn himself!
At last the warden returned. She opened the gate, escorted them across the courtyard, and ushered them through the main entrance. Now that they weren’t being herded with a crowd, Adon could see the full layout of the foyer, which had several heavy bronze doors, as well as corridors leading out of it on both sides. The doors to the Headmaster’s office were closed.
“Mother,” he whispered. “What do we do now?”
“Not to worry, young Master,” said Aloran. He turned to Mother and gave an unusually deep bow. “With your permission, Lady, I’ll go in ahead.”
She gave the tiniest nod.
Aloran slipped through the doors into the Headmaster’s office.
He was gone a long time. At least, it felt long. That might have been because the two of them were standing alone in a formal, empty hall. Adon glanced up at Mother; she looked more tense now than angry, alternately wringing her hands and smoothing her skirts. What were they doing here? Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with Cahemsin—oh, Heile’s mercy, was it about making him disappear?
He’d lose his mind if he just stood here wondering.
“Look, Mother,” he said. “There are flame emblems in the vaults where the arches meet, too.”
Mother didn’t immediately respond. Just when he thought she wouldn’t reply at all, she looked at him. “What?”
“Art,” he said. “There are flame emblems on the ceiling, and these floor tiles are amazing.” They were white, with a branching pattern in gold that looked almost like the tree on Mother’s dress.
Mother sighed. “I love you, Adon.”
At last, the office doors cracked open. The first person he saw was Aloran, whose face clearly said, be on your best behavior. Adon glanced at Mother; she gave a tense smile.
“You go on in, love. I’ll wait here.”
Adon swallowed, and walked in. The inner office furniture was in its proper place this time, and his mouth dropped open. The chairs were normal enough, but the large desk was topped with a thick panel of wood. Wood! It even looked like a single piece . . . Gods, where would you acquire such a thing? Cut it whole from a tree? How could you, without being attacked by wysps?
“Welcome, young Adon of the First Family,” said the Headmaster, from behind the incredible desk. “I’m pleased to see you.”
His calm voice was so soothing, washing Adon’s worries down around his feet. Adon bowed impulsively. “Headmaster, thank you for seeing me.”
“Young Adon, I’ve just spoken with Tamelera’s Aloran. He has explained to me the fear you and your family feel after the attempt on your life.”
“Yes, Headmaster.” He swallowed. “Maybe he also told you about how Nekantor is sending his Dexelin to follow me. Again—or, still.”
“He did,” the Headmaster agreed. “I’m sure it’s particularly difficult now that your Household has been diminished.”
Adon nodded.
“Aloran has asked me to protect you in the event that your life is . . . at risk of catastrophe.”
Adon blinked, and looked for Aloran. The faithful servant was standing by, watching the Headmaster with an expression of deep respect. “Did he? Thank you, Aloran.”
“Please tell me, then, young Adon: do you also wish for my protection?”
Adon gulped. The Headmaster’s solemnity filled every tiniest corner of the room; the next words spoken would have import. At that moment a wysp drifted up out of the floor, as if summoned by the strength of his wish. Maybe this one could bring him good luck. He took a deep breath.
“Headmaster,” he confessed, “I’ve never been so scared. If you can offer protection, then yes, I would wish it. Please.”
The Headmaster paid no attention to the wysp, but inclined his white head. “You understand, I suspect, young Adon, that the grounds of the Academy are intended for the protection of Imbati—that, as it stands, we could not entirely ensure your safety.”
He frowned, and shook his head. Did that mean no? “Yes, I do understand, I’m sorry . . .”
“I will therefore ask you first: do you wish to join us?”
“Wh—” Adon blinked. “Do I—what?”
“Young Adon. Should you wish to Fall, to become Imbati, you would need a sponsor among us. I am willing to serve as that sponsor. Is this your wish?”
His breath vanished; his tongue refused to form speech. Had he thought his life could fall apart quickly? Had he imagined his words might have import?
Disappear . . .
Now, knowing what it meant, he saw that the ground under him had dropped by a thousand feet. He dangled, breathless.
“A—uh,” he stammered. “Headmaster, it’s kind of you, but no. Thank you.”
Wait—dear gods, had he just refused all help? That wasn’t a fair choice! His heart started pounding.
The Headmaster’s face changed, in no way he could understand. “Here is our offer, then, young Adon. Please be aware that, given your refusal, it comes with strict conditions.”
“All right.”
“Should you feel your life is in imminent danger, you may enter any door into the servants’ Maze.”
“Wow.” Any door? He was only rarely permitted to enter Aloran’s room. And to think of it—any door—that was a kind of safety he could believe in. Something that had seemed impossible since the shooting.
“Here are the conditions,” the Headmaster said. “First, no one must see you entering a Maze door.”
“All right.”
“Second, once you enter, you must immediately announce yourself to the first Imbati you see. If you see no one, you must wait to be found, without returning to the main hallways.”
It only made sense, since he had no idea how to tell if he would walk into a room full of observers. “I understand.”
“Third, you must never speak to anyone but me or Tamelera’s Aloran about having this permission. If any of these conditions are broken, our offer will be instantly rescinded, and anything you have told anyone about it will be a lie. Will you accept?”
More powerful Grobal than he had accepted terms from the Headmaster. He stood straighter. “I accept, Headmaster.”
“Then I wish you safety.”
“May I say something?” Adon asked.
“You may.”
“I wouldn’t be alive without Imbati Talabel and Nekantor’s Dexelin. I’m sure you know that, but I’d like to do something to thank them.”
The Headmaster nodded. “Rest assured, sir, that young Talabel and Nekantor’s Dexelin have been commended for their actions in saving you.”
“Can you help Dexelin?” The question popped out all on its own. “Nekantor is being awful to him. Is there anything you can do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh.”
“Thank you for seeing us, Headmaster,” said Aloran, with a solemn bow.
Adon bowed, too. It seemed too little respect in the face of the offer he’d just accepted. Had the Headmaster agreed to it for Aloran’s sake, or was there something unusual about him? The thought was both heady and frightening. As he straightened, the Headmaster said,
“Not even your mother, young Adon.”
“No one,” Adon said. “I’ll respect your conditions—I swear by the crown of Mai.”
He walked out, shaking. Mother turned to him with a wan smile, and his throat constricted. He’d kept secrets before, but this one felt different.
“Are you coming home?” Mother asked.
His stomach dropped into his feet. Mercy—she’d thought he might actually Fall? “Yes, of course I’m coming home,” he said. “Sorry if I scared you.”
Mother looked to Aloran, and then back to him. Her eyes filled with tears.
Adon took her hand. “Are you all right?”
She squeezed his fingers so tightly he had to squeeze back so she wouldn’t hurt him. “Yes, love. Let’s go home, and I’ll ask Keeper Premel to get us some tea.”
You could change clothes as many times as you wanted, but you couldn’t really change your heart. Deep breaths only barely touched these shakes. In front of the mirror, Adon checked his new green jacket, and straightened the emerald at his throat. Why had they done it?
Of course it was for his safety. He had nearly been killed. But Falling was such a . . . complete solution, it was frightening. And why Imbati?
But of course, that question also answered itself. He knew more about Imbati than he did about other Lowers. Maybe Cahemsin’s father had known a lot about Kartunnen.
Guilt washed over him. He’d done a terrible thing today.
Four more minutes, or eight, or even twenty, wouldn’t make this any better, and Mother would be waiting for him at dinner.
He went out.
Pushing through the doors into the sitting room, he discovered Pyaras, who had apparently just finished greeting Serjer. Pyaras wore a loose garnet-red house coat as if he were in his own home. His Jarel stood behind him. Pyaras looked over at Adon and grinned.
“Adon! You’re looking fabulous tonight. How are things?”
His new secret caught in his throat. “All right, I guess.”
“Come here and give me a hug.”
“Uh . . .”
“And before you start wondering, yes, your mother asked me to come, but it’s not her fault. I should have realized I ought to come around more, with Tagaret not here to look after you.”
Adon hesitated. “All right, that’s fair.”
Pyaras came close, but thank all the gods, he didn’t grab. His muscular arm was gentle, wrapping around Adon’s shoulders. “Do you know what’s for dinner?”
Adon laughed; it came out sounding nervous. “No.”
“It’ll be good, whatever it is; your Keeper’s great. Good evening, Tamelera.”
Mother had appeared in the door of the dining room. “Thank you so much for coming, Pyaras,” she said. “Come in; we should sit.”
As he sat down, Adon glanced at Mother. She’d arranged this. She would expect him to talk to Pyaras about something. Today was the last thing he wanted to talk about.
Pyaras wasn’t short or wide, but he looked both when he sat in Tagaret’s chair. Keeper Premel and the manservants brought appetizers of poached fruit to their places.
Adon took a bite. His new secret made it hard to swallow.
“How are you enjoying your new job, Pyaras?” Mother asked.
“I love it when I’m with the Arissen,” Pyaras said. He flashed a smile that quickly subsided. “But of course, I had to give a report to Eminence Herin today and he didn’t care one bit about anything I said. And then there’s Nekantor, who’s surely using me for something, coming around with all his demands.”
Nekantor. Adon’s stomach turned over, and he set down his spoon. “He came around? Is he watching you, too?”
“He’s always done that,” said Pyaras. “What’s new is, now he’s pressuring me. He keeps stopping by at weird times, full of things he wants me to order the Division to do, and none of them make any sense. Here’s one: he asked me to raise paper yields and then refused to acknowledge any costs. Not that I expect his requests to make sense; I mean, this is Nekantor we’re talking about. He’s always messing with me.” He sounded so casual about it, as though he had no idea how dangerous his cousin could be.
Mother had quietly finished her fruit; she passed her empty plate to her Aloran. “It sounds like he’s testing you.”
“I’m sure he is.”
Awful thought—Adon shuddered. “So . . . did you do what he said?”
Pyaras barked a laugh. “Of course not. I have no desire to make the whole Division hate me.”
“Mercy of Heile, you said no?”
His cousin raised one dark eyebrow. “Saying no, now that’s a different question, isn’t it? I just let Nek say his piece, nodded my head, and then ignored it. I haven’t even told Commander Tret.”
Mother raised her eyebrows high. “I hate to say this, Pyaras, but I’m afraid you’re just postponing your problem.”
“Fair enough. I am.” He scooped up the last piece of fruit from his plate. “But enough about me. Adon, I notice you haven’t told me anything about how you tried to beat up your cousin.”
Adon froze, ice in his spine, fire in his face. He gulped hard. “I didn’t like the way he was treating my friend.”
“Oh, I see.” Pyaras rubbed his napkin across his mouth. “Is it the friend you told me about? They gave you trouble about her, didn’t they.”
He couldn’t answer. Mother, why did you have to invite him over tonight? It still hurt, thinking about how Talabel had vanished. And then there had been Dexelin sneaking in to find him, and then Mother grabbing his arm, dragging him off to—
The secret rose in his throat again, hard as a stone. He fought it until his throat started to hurt. He couldn’t talk to anyone about the Academy . . .
No, wait. He’d sworn not to tell anyone about the Maze. But Mother already knew what had happened at the Academy, and so did Aloran, and Pyaras understood about Talabel, so . . .
“Something scary happened today,” Adon said. “I got asked if I wanted to Fall.”