CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Witness

How can you be alone when you’ve witnessed something terrible?

You can’t. You just can’t.

Adon curled in a ball on the couch in the private drawing room, with Mother’s arm around him on one side, and Aloran’s on the other. Tagaret and Della were here, too: Tagaret was folded into the other couch, and Della sat straight-backed on the chair. But he felt alone anyway. He pressed his face into his knees until his cheekbones hurt.

The memories cut. They tumbled in his mind like sharp stones that would never wear smooth.

When they’d reached home, Nekantor’s Dexelin had—brokenly—told Mother and Aloran the basics of what happened. At least he’d been able to speak again by that time. How, Adon had no idea. His own tongue might as well have been permanently glued down.

“How could you?” Tagaret’s voice cried. “How could you have left? And through the window, of all things?”

“Tagaret,” said Mother, above his ear. “It’s not a good time to ask Adon questions.”

“I meant Della.”

Della snapped, “At least I was doing something!”

“Both of you, hush.” Mother’s hand moved on his back, rubbing gently.

There was a change in the room, and a new voice—Imbati Serjer’s voice, at a carefully gentle pitch. “Masters, Mistresses, Lady Selemei has come asking after your safety.”

“Do let her come in,” said Tagaret.

Aloran’s arm slid down off his back, and his weight lifted off the couch. With him gone, it was too easy to hear voices echo in the waiting silence.

Plist! Plist, what’s happening? Oh, no . . . Zzap! He’s shooting! Everybody get out . . . Holy Mai help me, what he’s turned me into, help me, oh holy Mai!

Plist, what’s happening? Oh, no . . . Zzap! He’s shooting! Everybody get out . . .

Adon groaned aloud, so a real sound might break the awful loop just for a second.

“Would you like to go into your room, love?” Mother asked.

But he couldn’t be alone. He reached one hand across, over his shoulder, and felt for Mother’s fingers. When he found them, he held on tight.

“All right, don’t worry,” she murmured. “Of course you can stay.”

“Good evening,” said Lady Selemei’s voice. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“No; we’re sorry,” Tagaret replied. “We happen to be in something of a state at the moment.”

“It’s understandable. Were you all here when it happened?”

“I was here, and so was Mother,” Tagaret said. A hint of anger crept into his voice. “Della and Adon were not.”

“Young Adon,” said Lady Selemei, “thank Heile you’re safe.”

Safe. Was he safe? He was, of course he was. Mother was here holding his hand, and Aloran was standing near, and they were deep in the house. There was no safer place in the world. He lifted his head by a hair’s breadth, but the voices tried to echo in the space between his face and his knees. He pushed his face down again.

“Our apologies, Lady,” said Mother. “Adon’s not ready to speak quite yet.”

Lady Selemei seemed to think about that for a few seconds. “Della, where were you?” she asked.

“The Eminence’s dining room,” said Della.

“Oh, Bes save us!” Tagaret burst out. “That very room?! What if he’d killed you?”

“My Yoral was with me the entire time,” Della said. “He checked it for traps and found none, so I stayed until Herin and Lady Falya came for dinner, to warn them. Herin told me to leave, but Lady Falya took me aside to the Chambers for a minute. When I came out, I found Arissen Karyas trying to kill the guard who had been posted at the dining room door. I thought Karyas was the killer trying to reach Herin, so I stopped them and sent them away.”

Adon twitched. The First Family Lady with no manners was Della? She’d seen the fighting Arissen? Suddenly he wasn’t alone with those particular echoes. He raised his head just enough to look at Della through the fringe of his hair.

“What?” she demanded irritably, in response to some look from Tagaret that he hadn’t seen. Her back was straight as a shinca. “I thought that was it; how could I have known?”

“I’m surprised at you, Tagaret,” said Lady Selemei. “None of us knew. And of course Della wanted to take some kind of action. You had come all this way. And you were personally constrained, but she was not.”

“It’s just that—!” Tagaret broke off, and crossed his arms.

“It’s not fair to imagine anyone could have anticipated this,” Lady Selemei said. “Nothing like it has ever happened.”

“Something doesn’t make sense,” said Della. “This doesn’t seem like Nekantor. I have no doubt that he arranged it, but shooti—” She broke off, with a remorseful glance toward Adon. “I mean, but, the thing that actually happened? I can’t imagine him arranging it. It’s too chaotic.”

“Mistakes,” Adon mumbled.

“Adon, darling?” asked Mother.

The moment was gone, though. Because he’d spoken, now a dead man was back, choking in his memory, another dead man’s voice speaking in his ear, Plist? Plist, what’s happening? It stole the breath out of his lungs.

“Lady,” said Imbati Aloran. “May I have your permission to speak with young Master Adon alone for a few moments?”

Mother leaned close and squeezed him. “Would you, love?”

Adon nodded. It was hard to uncurl; his stomach felt like it might pour out horrors if left unprotected. He managed to get his feet on the floor and stumble into Mother’s bedroom when Aloran held the door open for him. Instead of stopping by the lounge chairs, though, Aloran passed the bed and opened the Maze door behind the curtain on the far side.

“Please, come in.”

Aloran’s private room was small. It had a single window onto the gardens, like his own. Unlike his own, it was spare, and scrupulously tidy. He was almost embarrassed to muss the bed by sitting on it. The only way he could make a bed so well would be not to sleep in it at all.

He’d been wrong, earlier. This was the safest place.

Aloran sat down beside him and looked him in the eye.

Adon wanted to speak—truly, he did. He took a breath, but it only came out again as a shuddering sigh.

“May I ask you a question, Adon?”

He nodded.

“Is your information dangerous?”

He nodded again. Tears prickled in his eyes.

“I could swear an oath to you to protect the information,” said Aloran. “But if I did so, it might be more difficult for us to solve this crime. I take it you might wish it solved.”

Adon swallowed, and glanced away toward the windowsill. On it stood a row of books, and a portrait-frame containing an icon of holy Mai the Right in armor. From this angle he could see Mai’s female embodiment, which looked an awful lot like Mother. She gave him the words he needed.

“Yes. Nekantor must be brought to justice.”

“Do you permit questions?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see Lady Della while you were out?”

“No,” Adon admitted. “But I saw the fighting Arissen. They scared me, and I hid.” He gulped. “They didn’t see me go in, I swear.”

“I believe you. So, as I understand, you entered the Maze quite near the Eminence’s dining room.”

And there was a knife. He could almost see it where it had landed, by his toes. He couldn’t say the words.

“Kitchen,” he said.

Aloran’s eyes widened. Then he controlled his expression and held out one hand between them, palm up.

Aloran never did that anymore. But he wasn’t about to question it. Adon put his hand on top of Aloran’s, so they were palm to palm. Then the faithful servant gathered him into his lap and put his arms around him.

Wrong again; this was the safest place, though he’d grown large for it. Adon rested his forehead against Aloran’s hair and took a deep breath beside his ear.

“The Arbiter died first,” he whispered. “Coughing.”

Aloran’s arms tightened around him.

“The Eminence was scared. And then someone shouted—loud as a rockfall—and then there was the shooting. The Household ran.”

“Did you count the shots?”

“There were—many. More than four.”

“Did you run?”

“Nekantor’s Dexelin carried me.”

Aloran started stroking his head. “When did Nekantor’s Dexelin come into the kitchen?”

“After me. Before . . . before.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He said something about an equation. And he said, ‘Oh, no’ when he heard the Eminence’s voice. And then he said to run. And then—” Adon breathed out, in a shudder. “Aloran, he’s in trouble.”

Aloran sighed. “Yes, he is. And he’s so young. It’s so hard when you’re newly Marked.”

“He fell down under me. He was—” He held Aloran tighter. “It was like he couldn’t hear me. He was shaking. And praying to Mai.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know where. In the Maze. Aloran, I don’t know what Nekantor is doing to him. I don’t know how to help him.”

Aloran squeezed him again. “I don’t know, either. You may need to consider that there may be no way to help him.”

“There has to be some way,” Adon insisted. “He saved me. Again.”

“It is only his duty as a bodyguard,” Aloran said firmly. “You are his Master’s brother. He is marked to the First Family, as I am.”

Adon pulled back slightly and considered the beautiful, curving tattoo that covered most of Aloran’s forehead. “Aloran, if the police come, will you talk to them?”

“Yes. I won’t let them interrogate you.”

Love and gratitude bubbled up in him. Adon flung his arms back around Aloran, and pressed their cheeks together.

“Are you ready to go back out?” Aloran asked.

Of course this safety couldn’t last. Adon sighed and looked down, blinking to push back tears before he looked up again. “Yes. I’m ready now.”