CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the Shadow
This morning, Della’s body felt different. It wasn’t the first time something about her pregnancy had changed overnight, but today she struggled so much to hold her stomach in that even the idea of a day gown was exhausting. Unfortunately, this happened to coincide with Household Director Aimali making an unexpected visit. Della received her in housecoat and slippers.
“Greetings of the day, Aimali.”
“Noble Lady.” The Imbati bowed, and handed her a letter with Adon’s handwriting on it.
“Tagaret,” Della called. “Adon’s sent another letter!”
Tagaret came out to the vestibule, thanked Aimali, and scanned the letter. He smiled. “Adon’s wishing me happy birthday a few days early.”
“Congratulations, sir,” Aimali said. She didn’t immediately leave.
In fact, she never brought the mail.
“Director, is there something else?” Della asked.
“Noble Lady, there’s been some disturbance, so. You’ll excuse us, I hope.”
“Disturbance?”
Tagaret dropped the hand holding the letter to his side. “What kind?”
“Noble sir, a Venorai came here with a child, seeking Lady Della. Claiming they had spoken, so. We told her to leave. You must understand, noble sir, Venorai are known to lie. But she gave us the card of your Yoral, so.”
“Venorai Castremei!” Della exclaimed. “Is she still here? Can you bring her to see me, please?”
The Household Director hesitated. “I believe we’ve given you shame, noble Lady . . .” She bowed to the floor.
“No, please, get up, Aimali,” Della said. “I’m so sorry; I should have told you. I’m trying to understand your city by speaking with people of every caste. I was remiss in not informing you I might have a Lower visitor.”
Aimali got to her feet, though concern remained in the shape of her crescent cross tattoo. “May I escort her to you, then, noble Lady?”
“Please do.” Once she’d stepped away, Della turned to Tagaret apologetically. “She’ll be afraid, but I’d like you to meet her . . .”
Tagaret gently kissed her cheek. “I’ll let you take the lead.”
Venorai Castremei arrived in their fancy sitting room, wide-eyed, clinging to her daughter. Her brown leather hat and gray curls were the same, but it looked as though she’d dressed specially for her visit; today she wore a green skirt beneath her castemark belt, and a silk shirt with a stylized pattern of brown spiders. The girl was in blue trousers and shirt, but her brown leather vest had the same spiders stamped on its lower edge. Her arm was in a cast. She kept glancing over her shoulder at the Household Director as if the Imbati might bite her.
“Thank you so much, Director,” Della said. “You are excused.”
“Noble Lady.” Aimali bowed and left them.
The young girl’s focus shifted immediately to Tagaret, though he’d taken a seat on a blue stuffed chair so he would look less tall.
“I’m so sorry for the trouble you had reaching me,” Della said. Her belly felt like it was bulging visibly, but if she tried to support it, she’d develop a habit that would eventually draw the wrong people’s attention. And if their secret came out, their suite neighbors might try to send them back to Pelismara. “I’m glad you’re here. This is my partner, Tagaret.”
Castremei didn’t exactly smile. “Noble Lady, we only came to say, so grateful ever.” She glanced at Tagaret, and then back, anxiously.
“You’re welcome.” Della gave her a gentle smile. “I hope you got the care you needed. I wasn’t much impressed with Doctor Iyemmelim.”
“Nor I, noble Lady, nor I,” the Venorai agreed. “But Sind needs an arm, for work, so.”
Della tried not to wince as she studied the girl, and the brown belt that looked too broad for her. Venorai were destined for work. And if you were destined for work, not working would be worse. “I hope it doesn’t hurt too much, Sind.”
Sind bobbed her head. “Eased, now, noble Lady.”
“Noble Lady, we’re not able to repay you,” said Castremei. “Except I brought you this, for your hat.” She held out a long, iridescent green feather.
Della went to her, and took it carefully. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I’ve seen these feathers on hats in the city. What bird do they come from?”
“That’s from the tail of a male beyfrull, noble Lady.”
“You’re so kind. I don’t need any sort of repayment, really.” But with them here, brave enough to come miles along the Arzenmiri and face down the Household Director, maybe . . . “I do wonder—would you be willing to teach us about your people?”
Castremei narrowed her eyes, and pulled Sind closer to her waist.
“I don’t mean to frighten you,” Della said. “Please let me explain. Tagaret and I haven’t lived in Selimna long. We’re trying very hard to be kind and polite to the people we meet. Whenever I visit Up-Bend, though, no one will take me near the Arzenmiri tributary. I fear we haven’t had much of a chance to meet Venorai, until I met you.”
“Don’t worry, noble Lady, you’re kind, so.”
“You and Sind are the only Venorai I know.”
Tagaret spoke suddenly, but softly. “I got a letter from a cousin of mine recently, and he told me something I found shocking.”
Castremei was wary again. She shuffled her boots on the silk carpet.
“He said the more paper we use, the more of your people get hurt. I can’t believe no one ever told me that before.”
Castremei grunted. “That’s true.”
“But that’s terrible,” said Della. “How awful that we could know so little, that we could hurt you without knowing it.” She kept her face open, pleading, hoping Castremei wouldn’t give her another one of those narrow-eyed looks.
The Venorai woman eyed her up and down, chewing on her lower lip. She studied Tagaret, and then looked back at her. “Noble Lady, if you mean it, you ought to come home with me.”
Go home with her! Della gulped. “Are you sure we can’t just talk?”
“Noble Lady, if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, so.”
“I would believe you,” said Tagaret. “I promise.”
Della shook her head. Any objection she might have voiced died before it reached her tongue. Venorai lie. Doctor Iyemmelim had said it, and Director Aimali, too. “Yoral,” she said. “How long will it take us to get ready?”
“Wait,” said Tagaret. “I’m not comfortable with this. Yoral, don’t you think it’s too dangerous for her right now?”
Della turned to look between them, and caught Yoral blushing.
“I don’t know, Master Tagaret,” he said.
“I need to—I just—” Tagaret didn’t finish his sentence, but stood abruptly and left through the door into the back room.
Yoral followed him.
What?
It took a second before she could control her voice and speak calmly. It was inappropriate to leave a guest unattended, but what those two had done was much worse. “Castremei, I’m sorry. Please excuse me for a moment.”
She stormed into the back.
“You!”
Tagaret and Yoral had obviously been talking in low voices; they looked up, startled. Della struggled to compose herself; it was hard to get a deep enough breath.
“Tagaret, you had better have an excellent reason for this.”
Tagaret held out both hands, conciliatory. “I’m sorry. I don’t think going home with a Venorai is a good idea.”
“What’s not a good idea is taking my servant from me. And making me leave a guest unattended in order to get him back. Yoral, at your station, please.”
A devastated look flashed across Yoral’s face, and he lowered his gray head. “I’m sorry, Mistress.” He returned to his place behind her shoulder.
Della glared at Tagaret.
“Love,” said Tagaret. “It’s clear she’s not inviting me; only you.”
She snorted. “Do you really think I’m likely to be attacked by so many people my Yoral won’t be able to defend me?”
Tagaret swallowed and lowered his voice. “Della, how the Venorai live . . . please, think. They are where Kinders fever originated.”
Oh, so animal-like living conditions? Fury blazed inside her, but she held herself back. Of course Tagaret would be afraid; Kinders fever had almost killed him. “Please, listen to yourself,” she said. “You told me not to wear gloves to Dorlis and Nenda, Melumalai, so we could be properly polite. You were fine with me visiting Iyemmelim. But with Venorai, you won’t let me do what I need to strengthen this relationship? We talked about this. I’m inoculated against Kinders fever. I’ll be all right.”
Tagaret bit his lip.
“Tagaret, I know you’re scared. But please, remember what we’re here for.”
“All right.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. Let me hug you before you go?”
She took as deep a breath as she could manage, and let it out slowly. “Of course.” She wrapped her arms around him; he rubbed her back. “I love you, Tagaret,” she said. “Could you please go out to Castremei, apologize, and tell her I’ll be right out? I need to use the bathroom, and change into proper clothes.”
Everyone knew the rumors. Venorai lie. Venorai never go anywhere alone. Venorai are dirty. Venorai spread disease. There were rumors about every caste. How could you know which were true or false without seeing for yourself?
More importantly, how could you make changes if you didn’t know what needed to change?
The way to the Venorai tributary was perfectly familiar. It led through the same roofway station they’d used to reach Iyemmelim Medical Center. This time, instead of walking away from the highest concentrations of Venorai on the deck, Della followed Castremei and her daughter straight into them, counting on Yoral to keep the crowd from closing in too tightly. Her heart raced.
I promise to believe what I see.
The Venorai exit from the station led them to a broad walkway across the roof of a huge building; it looked like it would lead directly to the opening of the tributary where the waterfall came down.
“We won’t go over there, noble Lady,” Castremei said. “You wouldn’t see near as much, so.” She beckoned them instead to the entrance of a steel-railed enclosure beside a sign reading ‘Union and Houses.’ The entire floor of the enclosure proved to be an elevator plate. Every person who boarded the plate with them was Venorai, and most of them were watching her. The plate descended slowly. She watched the roof pass upward beyond the rail, and then the space opened up. With it came noise, and a smell so intense she could almost see it thickening the air. After a moment’s struggle, she gave up and decided to breathe through her mouth. Covering her mouth with a handkerchief would surely offend the watchers.
The elevator stopped at a metal deck overlooking an enormous warehouse, at least four times larger, and far taller, than the space occupied by Dorlis and Nenda, Melumalai. The floor was distant below, seething with people and animals—so many it was hard to comprehend. She tried to make sense of which areas were enclosures, and which were meeting places, and which were storage areas for stone blocks, grain, or food.
“Castremei,” she said. “What is this?”
“The Union, noble Lady,” the Venorai replied. “We came for the view, but we won’t stay. We’re going to the Houses, so.” She turned away, and with Sind following, headed toward the exit tunnel. Della shook her head at the chaos, and went with them.
The smell in the exit tunnel was a diminished version of the smell inside the Union: musty, sweet, sour, musky, oily, a blend she couldn’t fully describe. Easier to breathe, at least. A thin line of lights ran along the low ceiling, and crowds of Venorai moved around them in both directions. In one section, there was bright light from the left. She watched between the bodies of passing Venorai, and realized the stone wall there had given way to window glass, showing nothing but white rushing water. Then the bright light vanished again and the thin line of lights showed the tunnel starting to slope upward.
“Sind and I are Spider House, so,” said Castremei.
“Oh!” said Della. “Is that why you have spiders on your clothes?”
The Venorai woman flashed her a proud smile and held out one arm. “This is Spider House’s proprietary silk, noble Lady.”
“Oh, well, then.”
“Houses have their stairways along here, so,” said Castremei. “In the house, some will be sleeping, so we’ll watch our steps, noble Lady, and Imbati, sir, won’t we?”
“We’ll watch our steps,” Della agreed. “Won’t we, Yoral.”
“Of course, Mistress.”
The Spider House stairway was on their left. It had spiders carved into the rock beside it. As they entered, Della asked, “Are there many Houses, Castremei?”
“Most of a hundred, I’d say, noble Lady.”
“That many!” Not much like the twelve Great Families, then.
The stairs lifted them up into a new mix of smells, and quite a din. Definitely more noise than she’d expect for a place where people were sleeping. But this didn’t look like a house—they were on an unremarkable railed metal walkway overlooking a river.
Della looked up, expecting the stone roof of the branch cavern, but instead, there was a ceiling overhead: heavy steel girders and concrete, with occasional lights.
Wait, did the whole tributary river run through the building? Or was this only a diverted section of it?
Castremei and her daughter didn’t pause by the river. They turned away to the opposite side of the walkway, which was lined with hanging panels of leather stamped along their edges with spiders. Sind disappeared between two panels without hesitation, and Castremei ducked through after her. Della considered the panels, but by the time she’d mustered her courage, Yoral had already come and pulled one forward, opening a gap.
She stepped through.
Elinda help me, look at all the children!
The huge room was full of them. They were running, crawling, playing, yelling, crying, laughing, held in each other’s arms. The sight hit her straight in the chest, and her knees weakened.
“Oh, Castremei,” she breathed. “Oh.”
“These are our Spider babies,” said Castremei fondly. “Too tiny for work, or too breakable, so.”
“Are they?” She searched as they moved through the crowd, but none of them looked over ten. And as Venorai, they’d be larger than Grobal of the same age, so they might be even younger, around eight or nine. A great many were grimy or snotty, and one large group of them was, appallingly, chasing and hitting each other with short lengths of rope, in an uproar of laughter. Was that what some people called animal-like? Some of the children were sitting in circles with their feet packed into the center, playing with actual furry animals. Limerets, she recognized from their slender bodies, and there was also another type, dark-furred, fist-sized, and plump. But she could find no disgust for these children in her heart, only awe and yearning. A few older, sunmarked and wrinkled people sat about chatting on stuffed leather cushions, caring little for the chaos. As they reached the edge of the open play space, she discovered a zone of children sleeping. Some were on the floor in patterns of four, using each other’s stomachs as pillows. Others were just sleeping all over each other.
She watched her step.
“Mama!” A boy ran up to Castremei and flung his arms around her waist. He stared suspiciously at Della. “Where’s Sind?”
“She’s gone her own way, so,” Castremei replied, grabbing his ears and wiggling them affectionately. “Find her as you like.”
“Castremei, how many of these are your children?” The question popped out, but she knew instantly it was a mistake. Even if the answer were only ‘two,’ it was bound to hurt. Her hand moved unconsciously toward her belly, and she forced it down by her side.
“Why, noble Lady, every one.”
“What? All of them?”
That was not any answer she’d expected; also, it was quite obviously impossible. Castremei only chuckled at her confusion.
“Noble Lady, Spider babies belong to all mothers and all fathers in Spider House.”
“They do? But aren’t there some who are your own? I mean, your very own.”
“Noble Lady.” Castremei shooed the boy on his way, and lowered her voice. “Venorai share; we don’t hoard. Especially not feelings. That’s unfair, so.”
“Oh? Oh. I’m sorry.” The apology was only reflex; it still didn’t make any sense. Della frowned, but followed her guide out of the sleeping area into an enormous steel-fixtured kitchen. Here were even more very young Venorai, every one of them busy at something: pounding, rolling, chopping, mixing, grinding. The smell in here was sharper than it was in the main room. Greener, and dizzily fresh.
How could you pretend to be mother to children who weren’t your own? Even setting aside the importance of a noble Family’s gifts to the Race, how could you minimize your own precious treasures to ‘share feelings’ with someone else’s? Much less everyone else’s!
Would she feel better about her failures among people so willing to share? Or just more guilty for claiming something that was theirs?
How could Venorai think that way?
“Rooms are upstairs, but they’re private, so,” Castremei said. “Some are for partners’ time. Some are for Union business.”
“Union business?” Della asked. “Shouldn’t that happen in the Union?”
Castremei smiled. “The Union is the House of all Houses, so Union business can happen anywhere. We’re all threads, and the Union winds us together, so. In the Union, everyone owns a voice to choose the ways of the Venorai, by vote.”
“Everyone?”
“At seven years, you’re able to speak your mind. You’re able to dig, weave, chop vegetables, spin silk,” Castremei explained sagely. “So, you’re able to vote.”
“You let seven-year-olds chop vegetables?”
“You saw them just now, noble Lady.” Castremei leveled a look at her. “By twelve, most are on mines or fields or spider tunnels, so. If you’re able to lose a finger, an arm, or a life, for your labor, then you’re able to speak for yourself in the Union.”
Della needed several seconds to control an overwhelming urge to find Doctor Iyemmelim and slap him. ‘Not a very careful people’? What about ‘people forced too young into dangerous work’?
Varin only knew, he was probably wrong about firehead, too.
“Castremei, excuse me for asking this question, if it’s too personal.”
“Noble Lady?”
“What’s firehead?”
“Oh, noble Lady.” Energy drained from Castremei’s hearty frame. She glanced at the floor, and sank down cross-legged. “I’ll just take a seat here, so.”
She couldn’t reasonably stand while her host was on the floor, so Della sank down, too, pressing the air out of her gown. Yoral remained standing.
“I’m sorry,” Della said. “I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to answer.”
“No, I’ll answer,” Castremei sighed. “Wysps carry fire, right? They’re fire, so.”
“Yes.”
“In the fields, and even in the mines, wysps are dangerous. We’re in their house, see?”
“Are you?”
“So we need to lure them away from where we work. Some of us are able. Wysp lurer is high-paying work, and paid in orsheth, not just in kind, so. But luring’s so much more dangerous, see, because what if wysps do follow?”
She started to see it. The boy, Lussy, must have been trying to help himself, maybe also his mother and all of Spider House by luring wysps away from the fields, and earning orsheth. But wysps were made of fire, and dangerous on the surface; naturally they’d burn if they got too close.
“I understand,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Castremei scowled. “Excuse me saying so, noble Lady, but only Venorai understand. Look up.”
Della blinked. “Look up . . . ?” She lifted her eyes.
Her heart fell into shadow.
Above their heads, the entire ceiling was hung with spirit globes. Each glass globe contained a tiny dim light: a remembrance for the dead whose souls had been taken to the stars by Mother Elinda. Growing up, Della had known the four that hung in the library of their home, each engraved with a name. Here, in this single House, there were thousands—so many that they didn’t hang with their own electrical wires, but had been plugged into cheap strip fixtures. She glimpsed the truth, then, and her throat closed up.
How many orphans lived in Spider House? How many partner-lost?
Would she have dared ask this woman of the children of her own labor, if she’d known the next question must be ‘How many has Elinda taken from you?’ And after that, ‘How old were they when they died?’
As a parent, could you refuse to love a child bereft? And what child could refuse to love a parent gutted by grief?
In the shadow cast by the mourning moon, who would refuse to share everything?
Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Castremei,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”
The shadow refused to leave her, even as Yoral escorted her home afterward. Della rubbed away her tears with a handkerchief, but more came after.
How was it possible for there to be so much suffering? Against this ocean of pain, all their careful plans seemed insubstantial. How could they possibly change this? How could they begin to help?
“Yoral,” she said, “did you see it, too?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Yoral answered. “It was nothing like what I was taught about Venorai. You were right to go. I was remiss.”
“What can we do, though?”
He didn’t immediately answer. “I’m sure you will find something, Mistress. Don’t imagine you’ve failed if you can’t save them all. Even one life saved would mean something. Even one broken arm healed means something.”
He was too kind. “I—” More tears trickled down her cheeks. “I think maybe I should lie down.”
But luck wasn’t with her. Tagaret’s Kuarmei intercepted them as they walked into the curtained vestibule. “Mistress,” she said, “we have a guest. Melumalai Forder arrived some minutes ago; Master Tagaret is with him.”
Della swallowed. Pull yourself together. It wasn’t the first time that social concerns had demanded precedence over her own comfort. She spread her handkerchief across her hands and pressed it to her face. After a moment, she crumpled the handkerchief and tucked it, and her tears, into her sleeve.
“Thank you, Kuarmei.” She took several breaths and then walked into the sitting room.
Tagaret was sitting on their striped couch beside the big Melumalai boy; he looked up in relief. “I’m so glad you’re home safe,” he said. Deeper emotion hid in between the words. “Forder and I have been talking about paper.”
She didn’t doubt that for a second. Paper was young Forder’s life, even as it was the Venorai’s death. And three months ago she’d scarcely given it a thought. Such a small thing, to wind together so many people’s lives.
“Greetings of the day, Grobal Della,” said Melumalai Forder. “You’re home, so.”
She nodded. “Indeed I am.”
“Grobal Tagaret is very kind,” said Forder. “He’s nice to speak to.”
“He is,” she agreed. “Scoot over, Tagaret, love, I’d like to sit next to you.”
Tagaret made a space for her. She wrapped both hands around his upper arm and leaned against his shoulder, willing his warmth to ease the weight of the shadow.
“I want to go to Pelismara,” said Forder.
That was a surprise. “Really?” Della asked. “Why?”
“Business, so.”
“He’s been telling me,” said Tagaret. “It’s apparently something encouraged for young people of the major merchant families, to create business connections in other cities. Dorlis and Nenda had thought he wouldn’t be able to do it, but with the deal we just made, they’ve encouraged him to approach us about sending him over.”
Business connections seemed such a lighthearted thing. “What an interesting idea,” she said.
“Yes,” Forder agreed. “Nenda came from Pelismara when she was fifteen, the same age as me, so. And when she was eighteen, she met Dorlis.”
Della managed to smile. “That did turn out to be an excellent business connection.”
“They fell in love!”
“Yes,” she sighed. Bless Forder for his frank good nature. It really helped. “I shouldn’t forget,” she said. “That card I mentioned to you at the party—would you like to see it?”
“Definitely, yes please.”
“Yoral,” she said, “do you mind?”
Yoral quickly stepped out into their private rooms, returning with the pretty card, which he delivered to Forder. The Melumalai stared at it intently for a long time.
“What do you think?” Della asked.
“That’s gold on one edge and two corners, so. It makes the paper very heavy.”
Della shared a glance with Tagaret; he smiled at her.
“I believe this is pure silk,” said Forder.
“Is it?”
The boy took her polite comment as a serious question, and leaned forward, looking at her around Tagaret. “Of course, I should check.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his light-cylinder, which, apparently, he kept always at the ready. He shone his bluish light on the card, and a wrinkle formed between his eyebrows.
“Pure silk, then?” Tagaret asked.
Forder moved abruptly, sliding off the couch and walking on his knees to the low marble table. He held the card by its gold edge and shone the bluish light on it again. He growled in his throat, a sound that made Della’s chest tighten.
“Forder, what is it?”
“It is pure silk. Also, it casts a shadow. Barell and Ensindim.”
“What?”
“Grobal Della, you take a look, so.”
She stood and went to him, but had to kneel to see properly. The bluish light shining on the paper cast a shadow on the white marble, but unevenly; across the center of the shadowy rectangle, more light slipped through, tracing a pattern of bluish loops and dots. The words were quite clear.
“Barell and Ensindim.” Saying it aloud put dread into her blood.
“Barell?” Tagaret asked. “Isn’t that a circumference on Pelismara’s fourth level?”
Dread crystallized into horror. “Wait, Tagaret—the paper casts a shadow. The Paper Shadows!”
Tagaret paled. “Gods help us, are you sure? Arbiter Lorman gave me that card. Surely Lorman wouldn’t be telling me to hire an assassin!”
She shook her head. “Think of what he said. He said your father would know the right way to respond to the atrocity.” Lorman’s manner had been so strange and suggestive; she couldn’t doubt he’d known exactly what he was saying. “What if Lorman wanted us to go to Barell Circumference and Ensindim Radius, and hire Paper Shadows to retaliate against the Fifth Family?”
“We didn’t, though,” said Tagaret. “Because I’m not like my father; Nekantor is. And Lorman wouldn’t have contacted them without us.”
“He didn’t know who’d done it.”
“Nekantor did. He was certain it was Grobal Innis who had attacked us.”
“Grobal Tagaret, someone attacked you?” That was Forder, who sounded baffled.
“Not me, Forder,” Tagaret said gently. “My little brother. I’m sorry, but give us a minute to think, please, all right?”
Della sat back on her heels and pressed her hands together over her nose, trying to remember. Adon and Pyaras had been attacked, but not Tagaret. That felt important. Even at the time, it had felt like part of a much larger plan. And Nekantor had seemed so sure the attack had come from Innis of the Fifth Family, sure enough to challenge him to that Imbati Privilege competition. The competition where Tagaret learned Nek had chosen Unger for Alixi of Selimna.
“Do you remember what happened to Grobal Innis of the Fifth Family?” she asked. “We thought he might have come here to threaten us, but he never did. We thought he might have been trying to escape retaliation from Nekantor, but Nekantor never retaliated.”
“You’re right. I haven’t heard anything about retaliation, either from Pyaras or from Adon. And I should have. Nekantor doesn’t let things go.”
“Innis spoke to Unger about it in the Ride car,” Della said. “Remember? He said something like he didn’t think Unger should have accepted the position when Nekantor made him Alixi.”
“Unger said he’d forced Nekantor’s hand, and Innis said no, he hadn’t.”
Forced his hand, and hadn’t. Like she thought she’d changed his mind, and hadn’t.
“Innis was behind the attacks,” she said. “You told me he was, when you came home from that Privilege competition. So that’s why Unger believed he forced Nekantor’s hand. But forced him to do what? To give Unger the appointment?”
“It can’t be that. The appointment happened before the attacks.”
She could feel that all of it was connected. She looked down at the card again. The Paper Shadows were supposed to bring about retaliation.
“Retaliation,” she whispered. “Tagaret, what if the attacks were the retaliation?”
“For Unger’s appointment? Why would you retaliate for an unexpected promotion? Unless—”
“Unless it wasn’t one.” Della shook her head. “Unger saw it that way, but Innis didn’t; he wanted Unger back in Pelismara. Wait—” She pressed her eyes closed, imagining the freight section of the Ride car, the men speaking above, something about how this was not Unger’s particular accomplishment . . . “Satenya. Who is Satenya?”
An unexpected voice spoke: Tagaret’s Kuarmei had emerged from the private rooms with an intense look on her face. “Mistress, Satenya of the Seventh Family is the new Alixi of Peak,” she said. “He passed through Daronvel Crossroads the day before you did.”
“And left his glove!” Della exclaimed. “I remember now. Two new Alixi, both under thirty. One from the Seventh Family and one from the Fifth, passing through Daronvel within days of each other, because . . . because . . .” Her whole body went cold. “Oh, mercy, Tagaret, it was because Nekantor wanted them out of Pelismara, and had the power to send them wherever he wanted. He had the power to send us wherever he wanted, too. I gave him the idea. We wanted to keep him from seeing what we were doing—but he wanted to keep us from seeing what he was doing!”
Tagaret’s voice shook. “And what he was doing—”
“He was sending promising young men of other Families out of Pelismara. It was supposed to look like promotions, but Innis saw it for what it really was—an attempt to remove potential Heir candidates. So he retaliated. Which means Nekantor is planning an Heir Selection. The Eminence Herin is in danger. Heile’s mercy, he might already be dead!”
“No,” Tagaret protested. “That can’t be it.”
“Of course it can.”
Tagaret shook his head vehemently. “But you weren’t there, at the Privilege competition. Innis’ Brithe asked that question. He asked whether Nekantor was planning to assassinate Herin, and Dexelin said ‘no.’”
Sweet Heile, how she wanted him to be right! But already, she knew the answer. “Dexelin didn’t know, Tagaret. Your brother can’t stand Imbati; he wouldn’t have told Dexelin his most dangerous secret.”
“Not in his first three weeks on the job.” Tagaret shook his head. “But if Nek was planning to kill Herin, shouldn’t he have done it already? He’s always had his eye on Adon; why not do all this when Adon turned twelve?”
The answer to that had just arrived in the mail this morning. “Because of you,” Della said. “In three days, you’ll be thirty-one. You won’t be eligible. So when Lorman chooses the First Family’s candidate for Heir, he’ll have to pick Adon.”
“This is bad.” Tagaret stood up. “We have to stop it. Warn Herin, somehow. A letter is too slow. And surely Nekantor will have spies watching the radiograph stations.”
There was only one solution. Della moved her skirts out of the way, braced both hands on the table, and stood up slowly. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Melumalai Forder,” she said. “Would you like to go to Pelismara?”
“Yes,” said Forder. “Today?”
She nodded. “Right now.”