CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Desperate Measures
There was nothing worse than being tied down and kicked internally for thirty solid hours. Escape from the seatbelt was incredibly welcome, but Della’s legs wobbled, and she was out of breath by the time she and Tagaret reached Lady Selemei’s office. Tagaret pushed in the door without knocking; she followed him and leaned against one of the desks in the outer office, panting.
Lady Selemei’s son Corrim gave a sort of yelp and dashed for the inner office door, crying, “Mother! It’s Tagaret!”
Lady Selemei’s voice echoed from inside. “Tagaret?” The Lady rushed out with her Ustin behind her shoulder. “Tagaret! Della—what are you doing here? What’s wrong?”
“Lady,” Della began, but couldn’t manage another word before her unwelcome resident cut her short with a vicious kick under the ribs.
“It’s an emergency,” said Tagaret. “We think Nekantor’s going to try to assassinate the Eminence Herin. Today.”
“Today? Why?” Selemei dropped one gloved hand into her jasper-striped skirts. “Holy Sirin, Tagaret, it’s your birthday. You’re thirty-one. I should have thought of it before.”
Della finally found enough breath. “The question is, what can we do to stop it?”
“Imbati first.” Lady Selemei turned to the tall servant behind her. “Ustin, every manservant and every member of the Household must know about these suspicions immediately. But you haven’t heard this news from us.”
Imbati Ustin smoothly bowed until her head touched the floor. “My heart is as deep as the heavens. No word uttered in confidence will escape it.” She stood swiftly and leapt out the door.
“That’s not enough, is it?” Della asked.
“It might be,” said Lady Selemei. “But the Luck-Bringer’s hand is not always kind. We need to take other steps. For one thing, people will soon realize you’ve come home, and wonder why.”
“I’ve thought about that,” said Tagaret. “I’ve come home because I couldn’t bear to be away from Adon on my birthday.”
Selemei nodded. “It’ll do, for most people’s purposes—but let’s think ahead. Say we do manage to save Herin from your brother’s plan; Nekantor must not suspect that you’ve acted against him.”
Della swallowed. Already her fingers felt cold, her stomach uncomfortably hot and full. In her panic, she’d forgotten to put on her gloves. “We can go home,” she said. “We want to see Tamelera and Adon anyway. Tagaret, we’ll make sure that you’re in plain sight of people who can vouch for you.”
Tagaret nodded.
“Keep in contact, please,” said Lady Selemei. “I’ll get working on contingency plans, in case we fail.”
In case of Heir Selection. The memory of last time washed over her with a sickening rush. Death, panic, traps, extortion . . . “Mai help us,” Della whispered.
“We can’t fail,” Tagaret said. “We just can’t.”
“Let’s go home,” said Della. “The sooner we get there, the safer you are. And we should take Forder with us. We shouldn’t leave him waiting in the floater for an hour while we figure things out.”
On their way to take Forder to the suites wing, they sighted several members of the Household standing on the alert. Not in customary locations, so Ustin’s message must already be traveling fast. It was reassuring.
A little.
Leaving Forder to wait by the door of their suite, Della and Tagaret entered. Lady Tamelera half-screamed at the sight of them. She ran and clasped them both tightly in her arms. “Oh, my loves, my darlings! And Tagaret, love, it’s your birthday, congratulations . . . not seeing you was killing me, and now, and now!”
“I love you, Mother,” Tagaret sighed, leaning into her shoulder. “I missed you so much.”
“I love you, too,” Della said. It was weird to be back here so suddenly, and discover so many things exactly the same as before.
“Here I haven’t prepared a single thing to celebrate . . .” Tamelera stepped back from their arms. “Serjer, contact Kartunnen Vant and tell him to come right away. We must at least have music.”
“Right away, Mistress,” said Serjer. “I do believe we have a guest?”
“Forder, please come in,” Della called. Forder walked in, looking about with wide eyes. “Forder, this is Tagaret’s mother, Lady Tamelera. Mother, this is our friend Forder, the son of the paper merchants Tagaret wrote to you about. He’ll expect to shake your hand. You should tell him how many times.”
“Oh, well,” said Tamelera. “Perhaps I’ll curtsy, and you can bow, Forder. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Forder crossed one forearm across his stomach and bowed. “Greetings of the day, Lady Tamelera.”
“I do hope you like music, Forder,” said Della. “It’s one of our family’s favorite things.”
“Yes,” said Forder heartily. “I own a player machine and one hundred and thirty-four recordings, so.”
“This will be an excellent gathering, then,” said Tamelera.
“It will,” Della agreed. “But I don’t think it will be perfect until you call Adon home from school.”
She’d tried to say it lightly, but Tamelera was too smart. She looked between her and Tagaret, blue eyes piercing. “What is it? Is Adon in danger?”
Oh, gods, that question. Was he in danger? Mercy! If Herin fell, he would be. Selemei’s youngest son and oldest grandson would be. Pyaras would be. Every boy between twelve and thirty was eligible . . .
Not yet. Not yet! They could still stop this.
“No,” she answered.
“I’ll explain when Adon’s here,” said Tagaret. “How about I go get him? He did say in his letter that he wanted to see me. That would make a lovely surprise.”
“Of course, love,” said Tamelera. “Adon will be thrilled.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
The moment he left, here she found herself—face to face with Tamelera. Despite Forder standing by, it felt like being stripped naked. She was instantly certain Tamelera knew. And of course the interloper chose this moment to start knocking on her spine. In Pelismara, being pregnant came with expectations, and consequences. Della tried to smile, but the sheer weight of everything threatened to crush her.
“My lovely Della,” said Tamelera gently. “How can I make you feel comfortable? You’ve been on the Road so long . . . are you hungry?”
That question felt like a trap. Her throat went dry. The problem was, she was hungry. Very. “I—uh, I wouldn’t mind something to eat. Forder, are you hungry?”
“Yes,” said Forder.
“Maybe we could have something when Tagaret gets back?”
The corners of Tamelera’s mouth curved upward. “Oh, I have to ask you. Did you enjoy the bread in Selimna?”
Della startled, and a smile sneaked onto her lips. “Yes!”
Tamelera nodded. “All these years later, and I still remember it so clearly. When I was there, I couldn’t stop eating it. My figure changed entirely.”
Della blinked at her. That wasn’t true at all. Not that Tagaret had ever mentioned. But, staring at Tamelera, she realized her partner-mother did know . . . and had just handed her a shield. Her eyes felt hot. “M-my goodness, I believe it,” she stammered. “I went to the bakery every morning.”
“Well, you’re home now. Please, try to relax. Forder, have a seat. I’ll ask Keeper Premel to get us some drinks.”
Forder dutifully went to a chair and sat in it.
The couch also looked very comfortable, but before she could sit down, a kick hit her in the bladder. “Mother, and Forder, will you excuse me for a moment before we eat?”
“Of course,” Tamelera said. “Take your time.”
Della walked back through the familiar double doors, and into her former rooms. To the bathroom. Yoral, who had silently accompanied her, helped her lift her skirts.
“Mistress, call me if you need anything.”
“Of course, Yoral.” She held her smile until he closed the door, and then bit her lip as she sat down.
The fear was back.
Every hour of the voyage, she’d become more conscious of the struggle to hold everything in—her bulging stomach, her feelings, her tears, her urine, everything. She’d felt like she was getting up to go to the bathroom constantly, and she’d wobbled into things at least three times. There was a bruise on her forearm, and probably one on her knee. The worst bruises, though, were inside—injuries of repeated sharp blows under her ribs, inside her hips, assaults where no one could see.
Now that she was here, the bulge felt like a disaster, a cavern lake heavy with too much water, moments away from the inevitable collapse that would flood everything underneath. In nightmares, she’d re-experienced the horror of the failure to come: a lake of blood, and at the center of it, a twisted corpse with hair and teeth.
Not now, not now, not now . . .
But the longer the waiting lasted, the worse the end would be. How could she beg for it not to be now?
Heile have mercy, have mercy on me . . .
Apparently, it would not be right now. Della stood, stepped away from the toilet, rearranged herself, and washed her hands. Took a deep breath, though breaths weren’t deep enough any more. She opened the bathroom door, and gave Yoral a nod that meant, not yet.
He nodded back. He’d been counting the weeks, the months, the fifths; she hadn’t, and didn’t want to ask. Mother Elinda’s eyes felt cold on the back of her neck.
She was still here. Still putting one foot in front of the other.
When she emerged into the sitting room, she found Serjer holding instrument cases. Vant was standing in the vestibule.
“Vant!” She almost ran to hug him, but he wouldn’t have appreciated it.
He smiled, and bowed. “Lady Della.”
“You came so quickly. I’ve missed you—have you met Forder?”
“I hadn’t yet had a chance to introduce them,” said Tamelera.
“Well! Kartunnen Vant, this is my friend, Melumalai Forder. Melumalai Forder, Kartunnen Vant.”
“Kartunnen,” said Forder, standing up. “The focused mind is the sustainer of life.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Vant. And immediately blushed so red that the burn scar on his left cheekbone stood out.
“You have a scar on your face!” Forder exclaimed with delight. “I have one, too. Not on my face. Here; look.” He held out his left hand to the musician. “A paper cutter sliced off the tip of my finger, so.”
“Oh, ouch!” said Vant. “I’m so sorry.” Sympathy seemed to snap him out of his embarrassment.
“Please, both of you, make yourselves comfortable,” said Tamelera. “Vant, do have something to eat with us before you have to start working.”
“You’re kind, Lady, but I’m happy to play.”
Vant took a wooden chair from the gaming table, set up in the corner by Tagaret’s office, and played a series of beautiful songs on the pipes while they sat together, drinking juice and tea and eating crackers. Forder seemed to love the music, and after a time he abandoned his food to go and stand near Vant, watching his fingers on the pipes.
At last, Tagaret returned. He looked quite solemn, though he smiled whenever he looked down at Adon.
Adon had changed as nothing else had. He’d filled out the green velvet suit he’d received for his birthday, and looked very grown up; his dark hair was longer, almost in his eyes, and he was at least an inch taller. Della went to him and started to ask for a hug, but already he was flinging his arms around her.
“Oh, Adon,” she sighed. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“I can’t believe it,” Adon said. “I can’t believe you came home, for me.”
Della looked to Tagaret and saw him swallow, anxiety bobbing in his throat.
“We are so happy that we can be with you today,” Tagaret said, then lowered his voice. “I wish celebration were the only reason.”
Tamelera drew closer, closing her fists on her skirts. “I had a feeling.”
Adon sighed. “So did I. There are too many Household in the halls today. And too many guards.”
“I’m not surprised you noticed.” Della mustered her courage to say it aloud, but hesitated, glancing at Vant and Forder in the corner. “Adon, we won’t keep secrets from you, but we’ll be in danger if we’re ever identified as the source of this, so you mustn’t speak of it outside the house.”
Adon’s eyebrows rose into his hair. “In danger—?” He shook his head. “All right. I won’t say a word.”
“We think Nekantor will try to kill the Eminence Herin today.”
“Wh—Varin’s teeth!”
“Adon,” said Tamelera reprovingly. Her back had stiffened, though she’d scarcely moved. “I assume you’re sure, and have a good reason to be telling Adon.”
“This is about him, Mother,” Della said. “Nekantor wouldn’t have picked today unless it were.”
“I can’t compete with him any more,” Tagaret explained. “You remember how Nekantor placed Unger of the Fifth Family in Selimna, when we were expecting him to send us? That looks like it was part of a larger plan to place prominent young men from other Families outside of Pelismara. We only recently realized what it meant.”
“Innis of the Fifth Family figured it out first,” Della added.
Tamelera hissed in a breath. “Of course he did. And we know what his answer was. So what do we do now?”
“Well, we have outside witnesses who can place me here at home,” said Tagaret. “I can probably go out, so long as I’m publicly visible. Unless we hear of arrests or violence, we need to keep trying to stop it. There are people we need to reach out to.”
“Yes,” Della agreed. “I’m going to go out with Forder and find the murder shop.”
What did a murder shop look like?
A shop with shelves full of human bones?
A dirty alleyway where bloodthirsty Arissen would skulk out of sight?
A hidden drinking spot allowing Arissen to numb all compassion with alcohol before they did terrible deeds?
Heile have mercy!
By the time her Yoral pulled the skimmer to a stop at Barell Circumference and Ensindim Radius, Della was trying hard not to panic. This neighborhood wasn’t ill-lit or unclean, however—quite the opposite. One corner of the intersection was occupied by an irregular stone cascade with a bright shinca piercing through it; the others were shops typical of those you’d expect anywhere along this road, fancy specialty places run by Melumalai. Neither she nor Melumalai Forder looked out of place here, even if no one would have expected them to arrive together.
Which meant she might be right in front of a murder shop, with no idea how to find it.
“Grobal Della,” said Forder, “why do you need to find this place?”
Della blushed, and stood up with one hand on the edge of the skimmer seat; her balance was weird again. “I—I’m not sure,” she admitted. She’d brought Forder because he’d seen the shadow of the card, but as for why she should be here? It wasn’t as though she could find assassins and say ‘Don’t kill Herin, please’ for best results . . . “I guess I’m tired of feeling like killers are out there and we don’t know who they are. I’ve been through this once before, Forder.”
“When did you go through this before?”
“About fourteen years ago. The Eminence died, and when that happens, suddenly everyone starts walking around with guards, fearing shadows.”
“Paper Shadows?”
“Yes.” She nodded and pushed her hair behind her ears. “Paper Shadows are Arissen with weapons. They tried to kill Tagaret. And his brother Nekantor. They did kill one of the other young men . . . but no one ever tries to find them. Why would no one ever try to find them? Why would no one hold them responsible?”
“Hm,” said Forder. “Recycling, so.”
She turned to look at him, and wobbled; her Yoral caught her elbow. “You’re right.” Adon’s assassin had been caught, and then killed. If the Paper Shadows were ever held responsible, they could no longer be used. “Varin gnash them all,” she spat. “The assassins, Innis, all of them.” Any divine retribution would have to wait until they died, though, and right now it seemed like this was a dead end.
Herin still didn’t deserve to be killed.
Do something.
“No. Crown of Mai, I’m not giving up. Yoral, let’s just walk and look into a few of these shops.”
“Of course, Mistress.” He offered her his arm.
“Forder, you can look around, if you’d like. I’m sorry I took you away from the music on a chase into the dark.”
Forder only beamed. “This is a tour, so,” he said. “Mom said Pelismara was flat, but it’s so very very flat! I need to make notes on the layouts of stores, anyway.”
“Well, please do. How about we meet back here in twelve minutes?”
Forder readied a pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket, and wandered off.
Della started looking. There was a Kartunnen-owned jewelry store across from the shinca; it shared a front wall with a restaurant, and across the street was a small theater that advertised a singing competition. Both restaurant and theater were closed at this hour. On the fourth corner were a clothing shop and a shop with silk and wood items. There was no shop on the shinca corner itself, but the nearest building was an empty storefront with paper in the windows.
Paper in the windows seemed promising. She tried to peer through a crack at the side of it, to no avail.
“Excuse me, Mistress,” her Yoral said. “May I look?”
She stepped back, while he placed one foot on the sill of the papered window and hopped up to look through a larger gap nearer the top.
“What can you see?” she asked.
Yoral hopped back down. “It’s construction,” he said. “I don’t think this is what we’re looking for.”
She sighed. “We came all the way out here.”
Yoral reached into a hidden pocket and extracted the card that had brought them. “Mistress,” he said, considering it, “I don’t believe the Paper Shadows should want to make their contacts difficult to find.”
“May I see?” A normal business card would have a number on it. She took the card and flipped it over. Nothing written on the card, and there’d been no numbers in the shadow, only the name of the intersection. The only other feature the card had was its gold edge, and gold corners. Which, come to think of it, were asymmetrical, which was odd. They might be intended to signify something. A gold edge might be a number one. Gold-dipped corners, though? She held the gold edge in her hand, imagining it as a number one drawn between the upper and lower edges of the card. “Yoral? Do you see a store numbered one and six, or six and one?”
Yoral walked back toward the intersection, looking at the numbers. Suddenly he stopped, and ran back to her. “It’s one and six, Lady. This way.”
She held his fist, to make it easier to hurry. He led her back across the intersection to the shop called Silk and Wood. Its front window displayed several kinds of paper and envelopes, as well as wooden trinkets—rings, trays, bowls, and bottles.
Forder was already inside, taking notes.
Yoral opened the door for her, and a bell rang somewhere; Della walked in warily.
“Hello, Forder,” she said.
Forder turned around. “This isn’t a silk and wood shop, so.”
How in Sirin’s name had he figured that out? “Let’s not talk about that for now,” she said. “All right?”
“All right.”
A blond Melumalai with a cute upturned nose came out from the back.
“Welcome, Lady,” the cute man said. He gave a wary glance at Forder, who still stood in the center of the shop, but then returned attention to her with a smile. “You realize, of course, that our paper is very expensive. Would you like to consider our selections?”
“Yes. Melumalai . . . ?”
“Melumalai will do, Lady.” He bent down behind his counter as she approached it, and for an instant she really thought he might come up again with a tray full of human skulls. Instead, what he came up with was a tray made of glossy wood, with four short stacks of paper on it. Each type was embossed with a number, and two of the stacks had gold-dipped corners. One type had gold on all four of its edges.
“Wow, look at these, Forder,” she said. To the nameless Melumalai, she smiled. “The embossing looks very nice.”
“We do specialty embossing,” the man said. “You can put your name on the paper—any name you like, in fact.”
Forder arrived beside her elbow. “Castemate, you wear a heavy chain, so.”
The nameless Melumalai gave a strained smile. The castemark necklace he wore was thick silver, with ten stones in it. Showing off his wealth, at least compared to Forder with his simple pendant. Forder was most definitely not poor.
“That’s praise in Selimna,” said Forder. “Is Pelismara different?”
“Thank you, Castemate,” said the man. “Lady, perhaps we should speak of your needs in our private office. Whose name you would like stamped, and when you need the delivery. We can deliver by today, if your need is urgent.”
“Oh, it’s not—”
Forder hooked the corner of the wooden tray with one finger and pulled it decisively toward him. His notepad was gone, and now he held his blue light. Why hadn’t she guessed he would always have it with him? By the time the blond man had blinked twice, he’d run checks on three of the paper stacks.
“Castemate, don’t touch the merchandise!”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Della said. “He won’t damage it. He’s a friend of mine.”
“What? Lady—”
“Forder,” she said, “I think you should stop.”
“But, Grobal Della,” Forder objected.
“Please. Let me finish talking with this man.”
Forder frowned. “Well, don’t buy anything.”
“Don’t worry.” She smiled at the Melumalai. “Do I have any way of meeting the delivery personnel?”
The Melumalai smiled back. “That’s not part of our service, I’m afraid.”
“Can you give me prices now, or only after we’ve settled on the embossing details?”
“We’ll need to have a private meeting, Lady.” He shot a pointed glance of disapproval at Forder, who was now realigning every sheet to its original position. “What’s he doing?”
“Why, he’s sorry and wouldn’t want to leave your display disarranged, of course,” she said. “I’m not in a hurry with my order. I’ll speak with you soon, when we can meet privately.”
“Thank you, Lady. We’ll be happy to do business with you.”
“Come, Forder, let’s go.” As she went to follow Forder out the shop door, an idea stopped her. “Melumalai, what’s your cancellation policy for existing orders?”
The cute man had disappeared beneath the counter with his tray, but now he stood up again. “With refund, Lady? One week.”
“Without?”
“Sixty-six hours for a provincial delivery. Two hours for a delivery in Pelismara.”
“Can I buy out an existing order?”
The cute man blinked at her. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. Thank you, Melumalai.”
She held her breath, walking out. She joined Forder in the skimmer, while Yoral took the controls. Hopefully they didn’t look too wary of being shot. Yoral engaged repulsion, and they drove down the Circumference. Only then did she dare exhale. She turned to Forder, whose short brown hair was ruffled by the wind of their passing.
“Forder, how in Sirin’s name did you know that was the shop we were looking for?”
“Easy,” said Forder. “Silk and Wood, but only silk paper was displayed. No silk handkerchiefs or scarves. Wood items, but no wood-waste paper. No sensible wholesaler would offer a client only half their merchandise, so.”
“Clearly, we should have asked you first, then.”
“Mistress,” said Yoral, “I’m certain that Melumalai’s offer to emboss names was code for identifying a target.”
“He’s protecting killers,” Della said. “You can’t actually speak to the Paper Shadows, just to a Melumalai who won’t give his name.”
“Yes, Mistress. He’s also protecting himself from his own clients, who expect to stay anonymous.”
Forder snorted scornfully. “That man doesn’t know paper at all. He’s an orsheth-eater, so.”
Despite the deep disapproval in Forder’s voice, she couldn’t stop a laugh at the image of the cute man crunching down on a stack of orsheth coins. “What? They eat money?”
Forder shook his head. “I don’t know Pelismara’s way to say it. High price, way over base cost because the item value means nothing. Their true deal isn’t legal, so.”
“Shadow-sellers,” Yoral said. “That’s what they’re called here.”
“Ugh,” said Della. “And now we know why. Let’s get home and see if there’s been any news.”
So, the news,” Della said. “It’s not bad?”
Tagaret stopped pacing the sitting room, came to her, and wrapped her in a tight embrace. “Thank Eyn you’re back. It’s not bad, love, but it’s not good either. It’s nothing.”
She rubbed his back, and the unwelcome resident gave a kick she was sure he’d also felt. “That’s about as much as we learned, too.” Who knew what would happen if she reported Silk and Wood to the Pelismar Police? They might disturb the Melumalai, and the store might be shut down, but surely it would just pop up elsewhere. She couldn’t imagine it would make any difference in a delivery scheduled for today. She sat down on the couch, relieved to be off her feet, though any relief could only be temporary.
“Grobal Tagaret,” said Forder, taking a seat farther down from her. “‘Nothing’ means no Arissen shooting, so.”
“That’s true,” Tagaret agreed. “At least, so far.”
“We appreciate your help very much, Forder,” said Della. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Me, too.”
“I’m hungry, too,” said Adon, who sat beside Tamelera on the couch opposite. He was flipping the edge of his green velvet jacket against his knee. “This isn’t how I imagined this day would go.”
“Let’s ask Keeper Premel to get lunch on,” said Tamelera.
“I don’t disagree about lunch,” said Della, brushing down her skirts decisively to distract from a series of internal thumps. “But what do we do next? Walk up the rotunda stairs to the Eminent Chambers and tell Herin that his Heir is trying to kill him?”
“Grobal Della,” Forder announced, “I don’t want to talk to the Eminence, so.”
“Oh, Forder, we wouldn’t ask you to. That would be unfair.”
Forder glanced toward the corner. “I liked the music. Why did Kartunnen Vant leave?”
“I’ll ask him in again, I promise,” Della said. “For now, would you like to get in contact with your cousins?”
“Yes, please,” said Forder. “Their shop is on the third level, close to the Trao parks.”
“Serjer,” Della called. “Could you please arrange a ride for Forder?”
“Of course, Mistress Della,” the First Houseman answered.
“As far as talking to the Eminence,” said Tagaret, “I already sent my Kuarmei to request an informal audience. She was sent straight back. Herin isn’t interested in speaking with me.”
“Name of Varin.” Adon sprang up. “Hey, Herin, do you want to chat with someone from the First Family or do you want to die?” He reversed his stance with a twirl that flared his jacket, and poked one finger to his chin, mockingly. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m just too handsome to decide, maybe die?”
Della winced. “We could just barge in on him, if we knew where he was.”
“The Household Director would know,” said Tagaret. “But I don’t think we could convince her to tell us.”
Adon dropped his mocking pose. “I know.”
“Adon, please don’t joke,” said Della.
The boy’s cheeks flushed. “I’m not joking. Pyaras met Herin for lunch at Society Club Five a few weeks ago.”
She stared at him.
“I guess he might not eat there every day.”
Della looked at Tagaret.
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Tagaret.
“All right,” she agreed. “So long as we haven’t heard that all is lost, we might as well give this a try.”
Pelismara was such a cage—the feeling was worse because she’d just lost Selimna’s grand views. Della’s stomach muscles ached, alternately tensing and releasing against their burden. On either side of them, her Yoral and Tagaret’s Kuarmei walked warily, scanning the streets for killers as they approached Society Club Five.
Would killers really lie in wait in the street, though? That didn’t seem like Nekantor. Much as he enjoyed making a scene, his bigger plans tended to be covert and complex. If she had to guess, she’d pick something more subtle than Innis’ assassin-in-the-Grobal-School ploy. Something like—poison.
They crossed the sidewalk and entered the front door of the windowless club. As it thudded shut behind them, she felt more and more certain.
The headwaiter at the club was a gray-haired woman with the crescent-cross tattoo of the Household. Tagaret approached her to inquire about a table for lunch. Della scanned for the Eminence. The stripes of brown and white leather that covered the walls distracted somewhat from the diners’ faces, but maybe that was the point. Maybe Herin wasn’t here at all.
If he wasn’t here, she was definitely going to sit down and eat before going anywhere else. The juice and crackers she’d had earlier weren’t going to hold her much longer.
Wait—there. Herin sat at a small table with his back toward the corner, looking out across the entire dining room. He was wearing a dark brown suit with white lace today, and his hair lay in tight perfect curls against his head. He was already eating quite happily, conversing with his pale-skinned partner, Lady Falya. Lady Falya’s gold-and-brown hair was twined up onto her head, held there by sapphire-studded pins that matched her gown. Their manservants stood by, as did the huge Arissen bodyguard who had so disturbed Imbati Serjer at Adon’s birthday party.
“Tagaret,” she murmured. “I see them.” She twined her gloved fingers into Tagaret’s, all the while watching Herin’s fork move from his plate, to his mouth, and back. “We could wait for a table, or you could just take me over there directly. Before he gets a bad bite.”
Tagaret’s head snapped around and his brown eyes stared down at her in dismay. Then he nodded and said to the headwaiter, “Please excuse us for a moment, Imbati.”
Holding her hand in the crook of his elbow, Tagaret drew her into the dining area. Della squeezed his arm. People turned to watch them as they threaded in among the tables.
Hello, everyone. Yes, we’re back. Much as I wish we didn’t have to be.
They didn’t get very close. Herin’s Argun moved away from his Master, intercepting them when they were still two tables away. He inclined his head to them politely, but blocked the way forward.
“Sir, and Lady,” he said in his deep voice. “The Eminence is having a private meal, and must not be disturbed.”
“This is important,” Della said.
“We would like to speak with him privately, Imbati, please,” said Tagaret. “Just for a few moments, about a matter of grave importance.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” said Herin’s Argun. No slightest sign of concern on his face, not even a wrinkle in his tattoo.
Della could have screamed in frustration, but she managed to hold one more thing inside. “This is about keeping him safe, Imbati,” she pleaded. “Why wouldn’t you concern yourself with that?”
Lady Falya looked over her shoulder and frowned.
Della met her disapproving eyes, hoping to find some understanding there, but then the headwaiter appeared beside Argun, blocking them.
“Sir, Lady, I’m sorry, but we have no tables currently available.”
She knew what that meant. They were being asked to leave.
Well, she wasn’t going to stand here and wait to be physically encouraged. She turned and walked out of the dining area—managing, naturally, to bump through the corner of one of the tables with her thigh. She flung open the front door and stomped out. On the sidewalk she stopped, panting, digging her fingernails into her palms. She wanted to hit somebody.
“Mistress,” her Yoral said from behind her, with concern, “are you unwell?”
“Gnash it, I’ve hardly slept, I’ve been running around pointlessly, I’m hungry, and I’ve just been kicked out of a restaurant!”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Yoral reached into a pocket and passed her something small. It was a Selimnar treat—a compressed cube of dried fruit in a thin, dry grain wrapper that melted when she put it on her tongue. Instantly, it brought tears to her eyes.
She mumbled through the delicious stickiness, “Why did we even come back here?”
Gentle arms wrapped around her. Tagaret . . .
“Tagaret, we shouldn’t have come back. How can there be nothing we can do?”
“Sweet Della,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m sure we’ve done the right thing. Herin’s Argun probably stopped us because of the warning we sent out across the Imbati this morning.”
“But we still don’t know if Herin will walk out of that restaurant alive! I should just take the risk. I should go back in there and make them listen.”
“Darling, please don’t.”
“Mistress, I don’t suggest it,” said Yoral.
“What are you saying?” she demanded.
“Let’s trust Herin’s Argun,” Tagaret said. “He’s a consummate professional. Besides, if we try to approach again, the others in the club will take more notice of us.”
“Of you.”
“Sure, of me. But I don’t want there to be any chance of you,” he glanced down at her stomach, “getting hurt.”
She wanted to shake him. She looked up into his eyes. “Tagaret, you realize we’re being careful. I can guarantee you that Nekantor won’t do the same.”
“Della, you’re more important to me than Herin.”
She bit her lip. Why did we even come back here?
“Mistress,” said Yoral. “Please. We’ll think of something else.”
“I’m not comfortable just wondering if—”
“What if I ask my Kuarmei to stay?” Tagaret asked. “She can tell us if anything happens.”
Della glanced at the small Imbati woman. Didn’t Tagaret realize he wasn’t just putting Herin at risk, but potentially his Kuarmei also? Just in the name of getting her to go home?
Della took as deep a breath as she could manage. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Her appetite was stronger than her fear, but with every bite of lunch, she kept thinking about Herin—how the Eminence held that fork in his shapely golden hand, white lace swaying as he moved it up and down from his plate.
Whenever she looked up from her food, Tagaret seemed to be watching her. She loved his brown eyes. She loved the way he gazed at her, as he had ever since Yoral had first given him permission, as if he never wanted to stop. She wanted him to be doing it, preferably in bed, in their private suite in Selimna.
Footsteps approached the dining room door, and she held her breath.
Tagaret’s Kuarmei entered with a short bow. “The Eminence has left the restaurant, Master and Mistress.”
“Thank Heile,” Tagaret exclaimed.
Della exhaled, but a voice in her mind muttered, If he survived lunch, he certainly won’t survive dinner.
“All right, then,” she said. “What do we do next?”
Adon, who was sitting across from her, set down his fork. “Talk to Nekantor?”
“No!” Della cried. Tagaret and Tamelera echoed her at precisely the same moment, turning it into a general shout.
Adon shrank in his brass chair and raised both hands, shaking them apologetically. “All right, all right.”
“Sweet darling boy, I’m sorry,” said Tamelera, “but if you told Nekantor not to kill Herin, he’d know we suspected him of planning a murder. And then, if his plan failed, he’d blame us. He’d punish us.”
Adon squirmed a little. “But haven’t we tried everything else?”
“Not quite everything,” said Tagaret. “Kuarmei, can you reach out to Lady Selemei and ask her what she’s learned?”
“Right away, sir.” She ran out.
Half an hour passed, and Kuarmei did not return. At last Tamelera sighed and retired to her rooms so her Aloran could brush her hair.
“Della,” said Tagaret. “Would you like to play dareli? How about you, Adon?”
Cards, at a time like this?
But they had to pass the time somehow, so she nodded. Tagaret and Adon gave her first choice of the pretty wooden chairs at the gaming table in the sitting room. Adon got the second one, and Keeper Premel brought a metal stool for Tagaret. Tagaret dealt out the cards. While sorting her cards into families, Della glanced up every few seconds toward Imbati Serjer by the front door. The First Houseman looked back at her with sympathy.
The next time she looked, Serjer had disappeared.
She stood without thinking, and nearly tipped over her chair. “Serjer?”
Serjer reappeared. “Master, Mistress, Lady Selemei is at the door.”
Tagaret calmly set down his cards. “Ask her in, Serjer, by all means.”
“Heile have mercy,” Della whispered.
The Lady entered grim-faced, followed by her Ustin. She didn’t even begin with a greeting. “Well, we’re ready for whenever it happens.”
To hear Lady Selemei say it—not if, but when—was terrifying. Sickened, Della hugged herself. “Gods help us.”
“What did you do?” Tagaret asked.
“I had a serious talk with Speaker Fedron, and we decided to tell Arbiter Lorman we were testing the Family’s readiness for an emergency.” Lady Selemei looked meaningfully at one of the couches.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Della said, and gestured at the couch. “Please, do sit down.”
“Thank you.” Lady Selemei sat, leaned her cane against the couch arm, and arranged her striped skirts. “Fedron and I demanded a rehearsal of our strategy for evacuating First Family boys from the School and offices. I’m afraid it was an indelicate approach. If we’re wrong, we’ve terrified a great many people for no reason, and I’m sure I’ll hear something from the Schoolmasters about disrupting classes.”
No one said anything.
Adon, who was still holding two hands full of cards, heaved an exasperated sigh. “What are the chances of that?”
“Low,” said Tagaret.
Lady Selemei frowned. “I take it you haven’t had any success in counteracting him.”
Tagaret swallowed. “We’ve put people in a position to counteract him.”
“We did that this morning,” Lady Selemei said.
Gnash it, they’d done next to nothing.
“We tried,” said Della. “We tried to talk to Herin, but his Argun wouldn’t let us near.” Plis help them, they had to do something! “I could try to talk to Lady Falya. If she weren’t out in public like she was at lunch, or if I could find her alone, she might not perceive me as a danger. And then she could warn him.”
“Della, love,” said Tagaret, “that’s a pretty big risk.”
Della raised her eyebrows and stared at him. “Maybe it is. So?”
Tagaret pressed his lips together, with a glance at her Yoral. “Could Lady Selemei do it?”
Lady Selemei looked between them suspiciously. “I’m not the best person for that,” she said. “As a member of the cabinet, I’d surely be perceived as more of a threat. I don’t think Lady Falya would consent to see me.”
“Gnash all this!” Adon smacked down his cards on the gaming table and sprang out of his chair. “Is talking all we can do? I can’t stand this anymore.” He shoved through the double doors farther into the house.
“I’m sorry, Lady Selemei,” Tagaret said. “It’s been a tense day.”
“I understand; don’t worry,” the Lady replied.
“I’ll go talk to him,” said Della.
Tagaret smiled at her, sadly. “He’ll probably be changing clothes.”
He probably would be. She could have left it alone, but it seemed unfair not to acknowledge the discomfort that they all shared. She walked into the back.
The quiet here was different from the tension in the sitting room, and something of a relief. With Lady Selemei visiting, Tagaret wasn’t likely to mention her pregnancy explicitly, but she could feel him holding back. If they started arguing, it might slip out—and she just wasn’t ready to be compared to a woman who’d borne five confirmed children. Not today. She walked down the hallway to Adon’s door, and knocked.
“Adon, are you all right?”
Adon didn’t answer.
“I know this is hard. Can I come in and talk to you? Or are you getting changed?” She tested the door handle; it wasn’t locked. She cracked the door open and peeked into the soft, colorful space full of Adon’s fabulous clothes. “Adon?”
No sign of him. Was he hiding? Heavens, had she opened the door on him half-naked? She quickly ducked her head back out.
“Adon, are you getting dressed? I’m sorry if I startled you. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
No answer. With a twisting feeling in her chest, she peered back in. The room was empty, the bathroom dark with the door open. Adon’s gloves were in a neat pile on the floor.
Oh, no.
The window was open. She hurried to it and looked out, but couldn’t see Adon anywhere. What was he doing? How could he have gone out when he knew every eligible boy in the First Family had been evacuated to their homes for their own safety?
Unless . . . was he trying to get to Nekantor?
The twisting in her chest worsened, and she panted, clenching her fists. He would be all right, though, wouldn’t he, if he went to Nekantor? Nekantor would never hurt Adon, not if he wanted Adon to become his Heir.
Would Adon know not to implicate Tagaret in trying to stop him?
There was no way to know. And now that he was already out, no one could stop him from doing . . . whatever he planned to do.
The real question was, what did she plan to do?
Something.
But she knew what would happen if she went back to the others.
Before she knew it, she found herself assessing the height and width of the windowsill. She stood before it and lifted her skirts, gathering them into a bundle and shoving them in a pile on the stone. The window-casing was metal, and she could hold onto it with her fingers . . . if she could get up there.
“Mistress,” said a soft voice behind her. “Please, don’t.”
Yoral. In Selimna, he’d tried to stop her from going with Castremei. At the restaurant today, he’d tried to get her to go home.
“I’m going to warn Herin,” Della said, without turning. “Somebody has to. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to restrain me. If you want to keep me safe, you can help so I don’t get hurt when I jump out.”
“Oh, Mistress.”
“I’m not joking. I swear by the crown of Mai.”
“I know you aren’t.”
She turned around; her pile of skirts slid off the windowsill and cascaded down over her feet. Her Yoral was standing with his head leaned to one side. She knew him well enough to know there was emotion hiding in his expression. Sadness, maybe. Kindness, too. “I’m not ordering you to help me, Yoral. I’m begging you. You know how important this is. You said even one life saved means something—and if I can save Herin, it will save so many others. It’s just that I don’t think Tagaret will let me leave by the front door.”
“Mistress,” said Yoral, “he might want you to stay, but I don’t believe he would fight to keep you here.”
“I don’t want to fight him,” she said. “I don’t want to discuss it. There’s no time.”
Yoral inclined his head solemnly. “Mistress, if you’ll stop in Adon’s bathroom before we go, I’ll just fetch you a step-stool so you won’t struggle to climb. I think it would be safest if I caught you in the garden.”
“Yes, please,” she said. Her heart raced. Finally, they could do something!
If she’d hoped to find Adon by chance in the gardens, her wish went unanswered. In silent agreement, she and Yoral hurried across the grounds and into the central section of the Residence.
“Mistress, perhaps we should avoid the grand rotunda,” Yoral said.
Della frowned a moment, then shook her head. “No; I think we should use it. We might see Herin there.”
“We might also see the Heir Nekantor there, Mistress.”
She pressed her lips together. “I could handle that. I could just pretend I was looking for Adon.”
They crossed rooms decorated with statues of former Eminences until they reached the rotunda. This was a gorgeously bright space: white marble stairs curving upward on both sides along white marble walls punctuated with bright sconces and falls of Grobal-green curtain. There was even some daylight filtering in from outside through the dome of milky glass. Not a soul was here except themselves.
Della couldn’t hurry on the stairs. When she tried, she grew short of breath, and the unwelcome resident thumped her under the ribs. The first flight of stairs delivered them to the opening of the second-floor hall that led toward the back of the Residence. Unfortunately, this put them in plain view of the Heir’s suite, should Nekantor chance to come out. She started to climb again before she’d fully regained her comfort.
I could handle him, but I really don’t want to . . .
Somehow, she made it to the top. These stairs ended right in front of the Eminent Chambers. In the foyer before the Chambers door, six Arissen of the Eminence’s Cohort stood guard. Della paused for breath while they watched her. Even huge Arissen were small compared to the nude male figures in white marble who held the lintel of the Eminence’s door on their shoulders, and lighted globes in their hands.
“Arissen,” said Della, when she found enough breath to speak, “is Lady Falya in?”
One of the men clicked his heels. “No, Lady.”
Think. Where would Lady Falya be at this time of day?
“Yoral, should we try the library?” she asked. But then it hit her: dinner. “I know what to do. Thank you, Arissen.”
She walked around the rotunda’s edge and into the third-floor hallway. The guards at the entrance of the Eminence’s private library took no notice of her. There was a short, sunmarked guard standing beside the dining room door, who accosted her the moment she stopped moving.
“Lady, may I ask your business here?”
Della swallowed. “Of course, Arissen. I’m here to see Lady Falya. I contacted her earlier today, but at the time she was busy and we didn’t have a chance to speak as we should. I thought I might catch her on her way to dinner.”
“Lady Falya is not here, Lady.”
“I’ll just wait, then. If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit. May I go in?”
“Yes, Lady.”
Of course, it was too early for dinner. The Eminence’s private dining room was empty. Yoral pulled out one of the chairs that faced the entry door, checking it thoroughly before he sat her in it. Then he left her and searched the room, checking each of the stalactite-brocade curtains in the corners, the kitchen entrance, and the curtain over the Maze entrance. He also checked under the edges of the silk carpet, and even vanished for some minutes under the table, which couldn’t have been comfortable for him.
“Have you found anything?” Della asked.
Yoral’s head came up on the other side of the table. He emerged, straightening his black silk suit. “Nothing, Mistress, I’m afraid. I suppose we can comfort ourselves that anyone thinking to set traps will find it difficult now, with us here.”
“I imagine so.”
Yoral moved behind her, so she turned in her chair and watched him check the opulent wooden sideboard, searching all of its carven crevices. Above it was the service curtain that allowed the Household to hand food through from the kitchen. Yoral lifted each panel one by one, giving a nod to someone on the other side.
“This room is clean, Mistress.”
Clean. If they were wrong, this was going to be very embarrassing. But they couldn’t be, could they? What else could they do but assume the worst, to prevent the worst from happening?
Della sat, absently rubbing the cold brass of the table. It wasn’t comfortable, thanks to occasional knocking on her inner bruises. She watched the door to the hall. Lady Falya, come in. Please come to dinner.
No one came in the hall door. After they’d been sitting for what felt like forever, a woman of the Household entered from the kitchen.
“Lady,” she said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave so we can set the table.”
Dismay melted her remaining confidence. “Imbati, please let me stay. You must have heard of the danger today. I need to warn the Eminence.”
The woman’s face didn’t even twitch.
“Has someone else spoken to him, then? Did the Household tell him something bad might be coming? Can I trust him to protect himself without my intervention?”
“Please, Castemate,” said Yoral.
The woman gave a short nod. “You may wait here, Lady. Provided that you stand in the corner.”
“Thank you, Imbati.” At least she wasn’t being sent home again. She stood when Yoral pulled out her chair; her belly stubbed on the table. She pressed hard against the pain as she walked to the corner. She leaned into the stone and watched the Household lay out a long white tablecloth with pressed napkins, and silver- and glassware at each place. Yoral didn’t seem to find anything amiss with the preparations.
The Household withdrew again.
If she had to wait much longer, she’d have to leave for reasons of personal discomfort. “Yoral, do you have any more food?”
The door to the hallway opened. Della jumped upright.
“A Lady and her manservant are here, your Eminence,” said the sunmarked guard’s voice. “She has been asking to speak to Lady Falya.”
They were here.
First to enter was Lady Falya’s servant, a slim pale-skinned woman with a look of deep disapproval in her eyes. Lady Falya, dressed in a beautiful silvery gown, stopped just behind her.
“Lady Falya,” said Della, curtsying.
The Lady’s fine brows drew together. “Why are you here? Again?”
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Lady. I need to speak with you, please, just for a moment. It’s life and death.”
“You’ve been following us.”
The Eminence Herin looked in behind his partner, and a frown crossed his beautiful face. He was flanked as usual by his Argun and by his enormous Arissen bodyguard. Someone else was approaching behind them. Who?
“I have an important Family meeting scheduled,” Herin said. “Your presence is inappropriate.”
“I’ll go, I promise. Just please, Lady, just give me two minutes.”
The Lady’s slate-gray eyes narrowed. “I’ll permit it,” she said. “Herin, dear, I’ll only be a second.”
Falya stepped to one side, and her servant returned to her shoulder; that opened just enough space for Della to slip through with a quick curtsy to the Eminence. The person who had just arrived behind them was an older man who didn’t seem dangerous at first glance.
“Arbiter Plist and I want to include you in the meeting, darling,” Herin protested. “Why are you taking this Lady seriously?”
“We can spare her for two minutes,” said Arbiter Plist. If they knew him and considered him safe, he would surely be from Herin’s Third Family Council.
“This won’t take two minutes,” Falya said meaningfully, and marched off down the hall. Della panted to catch up. When they reached the rotunda, Falya took the curving, stone-railed walkway on the right. Her servant opened the door to the Eminent Chambers between its guards in orange, and its bearers in white stone. Della followed her into the vestibule, where the two of them were enclosed by purple curtains. “All right, then,” Falya said. “What is it?”
“I’m Della of the First Family. I think your partner is in danger. We have reason to believe that his Heir is plotting to take action against him today.”
Falya glared. “The Heir is First Family, and so are you.”
Della gulped. “Nekantor might advance his Family politically, but we don’t trust him. If you’ve met him, you might understand why.”
“Yes, of course I’ve met him. We’ve been coping with him for years.”
The way she said ‘we’ was fascinating. Herin’s desire to include her in his political meeting suddenly made more sense. “Please,” Della said. “At least let me explain why we think there’s a danger.”
Falya was slightly taller; she considered Della sourly down her nose. “Go ahead.”
Blessing of Mai! “We’ve realized Nekantor was placing very young men of powerful Families in positions outside of Pelismara, like Unger of the Fifth Family, and Satenya of the Seventh Family. The Fifth Family detected a pattern and has already attempted to retaliate using the Paper Shadows. As for why today, we know that Nekantor wouldn’t want competition in an Heir Selection from my partner, his brother Tagaret—but today Tagaret has aged out of eligibility.”
“We’ve been on the alert most of the day,” Falya said severely. “What makes you think you’re any help? Why should I consider you anything more than a dangerous distraction at a critical moment?”
A critical moment? Della bit her lip. Oh, mercy!