CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Saving Lives

Della sat very straight while her unwelcome resident battered her inside. No sign of you, now. It’s only me, being very obviously home and safe. But since Adon and Imbati Aloran had stepped out, Tamelera had dropped her face in her hands, and the resulting silence invited someone to pounce.

Tagaret was angry with her—and it would not take many words for him to reveal her secret to everyone present. As kind as Tamelera had been, a sick feeling too high in her gut said the bread excuse wasn’t going to fool anyone.

No. She had to pounce first.

“We all need to agree on something, Lady Selemei,” she said. “Adon cannot be the Family’s choice for Heir, no matter what Nekantor says. He’s been through too much already.”

Lady Selemei nodded sadly. “Poor young man. I hope he starts feeling better. You realize, Nekantor will be hard to dissuade.”

“Your son Corrim could represent the Family,” Della said. “Or Pyaras could, maybe.”

“He participated in your evacuation today, did he?” Tagaret asked. “Pyaras?”

Lady Selemei frowned. “I can only assume—Arbiter Lorman was in charge of that.”

Della squirmed. A horrible feeling seized her, hearing the word assume applied to Pyaras. No one had much chance to express their worries, though, because the door to the master bedroom opened. Adon looked a little better—moving, walking—though she would never have wished to see such a haunted expression on a child’s face. Tamelera jumped up and ran to him.

“I’ve spoken to young Master Adon, Lady,” said Imbati Aloran. “We should make sure to reach out to the investigators.”

“Thank you, Aloran,” Tamelera sighed. “Oh, Adon. My sweet, brave boy.”

“I love you, Mother,” said Adon.

Then the door from the sitting room cracked open, and the First Houseman looked through. “Mistresses and Masters, before you concern yourselves terribly about Master Pyaras, I should inform you that he’s approaching us at this very moment.”

Della caught her breath. “Is he?”

Tagaret asked, “How do you know?”

“I just asked the Household Director, sir, and was told he’d left his suite two minutes ago, so I checked the hall. Under the circumstances, it seemed best. I shall most certainly invite him in.” Della didn’t like the tilt of his head, though. Something bad was coming.

The look on Pyaras’ face, when he arrived, was dreadful. Tagaret jumped up and wrapped an arm around his cousin’s shoulders. Pyaras reached across, patting him as though to make sure he was real. The drawing room was becoming quite crowded, and they had some rearranging to do; Serjer and Premel brought in a pair of extra chairs, and Lady Selemei asked for hers to be placed beside Della’s, while Pyaras remained under Tagaret’s arm and joined him on the couch. For fear of drawing notice, Della kept her gaze away from Lady Selemei’s, and held very still.

“I’ll save you the trouble of asking where I was,” Pyaras said sharply. “I was at the targetball arena on the second level. The Eminence’s bodyguard must have thought he’d get lost in the crowds there after escaping the Residence, but Nekantor’s pet, Karyas, found him. She shot a wysp and caused an explosion that killed him. Along with more than twenty innocent Arissen spectators. I helped the doctors treat the wounded.”

All the breath vanished out of the room.

Della caught herself about to say ‘what?’ as if, by making him repeat it, she could fix a tear in the fabric of what was possible. She hugged herself. Most of the others were just staring.

The fear of something just like this was why they had dropped everything and come back from Selimna. But, against disaster of this magnitude, they’d managed so little . . .

Tamelera was the one who found words. “Pyaras, have you eaten anything tonight?”

Pyaras seemed startled. “I don’t know.” He gulped, eyes shining, and started blinking fast. “I was—busy, helping.”

Tagaret pulled his cousin’s head tight against his cheek and shook him gently. “I’m sure we can find something for you to eat.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lady Selemei said suddenly. “I believe I’ve stayed too long. This should be your time.”

“Not at all,” said Tamelera. “Please, Cousin, we consider you family. Do join us for dinner. We can stay right here, if Premel wouldn’t mind bringing the food in.”

Lady Selemei relaxed. “Thank you, I would like to,” she said. She glanced over; Della blushed at the attention. “I’m sure we’re all hungry.”

Unfortunately, before food could arrive, Serjer announced more guests—this time, the sort of guests who could put her off her dinner. Speaker Fedron she didn’t mind so much, but Arbiter Lorman had her wrinkling her nose in disgust before he’d done more than walk in the door. Her unwelcome resident had just settled down; she’d hate for something to disturb it again. Lady Selemei stood to greet Speaker Fedron; he squeezed her gloved hand.

“Selemei, thank you so much for everything you did today,” Speaker Fedron said. “I don’t know where you got your intuition to evacuate the school and offices, but I’m certain you’ve saved lives.”

“It’s kind of you,” Selemei replied. “But when it comes to saving lives, the real credit should go to Pyaras, who helped the doctors at the targetball explosion, and to Lady Della.”

She hadn’t expected that. “Me?”

“You,” Selemei said. “You stopped Arissen Karyas from killing the guard at the dining room door. And, whether you meant to or not, you saved both Lady Falya and her Suril. Without you, they would have walked into the dining room with Herin and Plist and their servants, and never come out.”

I saved lives. Was that Sirin’s blessing, for luck, or was it—by any chance—Elinda’s? Turn your eyes softly on me, holy Mother of Souls . . .

“We’ll need to make some kind of statement,” said Speaker Fedron. Selemei’s words appeared to have shaken him. “So many people have been affected. I’ll call the cabinet together. We must honor the Imbati’s sacrifices, and the efforts of the rescuers.”

“Speaker, but, so, so,” objected Arbiter Lorman, twisting one side of his whiskers, “I don’t think we’ll have time for that. So, we have to prepare for the Accession Ball, and there are the security concerns—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lorman,” said Speaker Fedron. “Emergency meetings can be convened within an hour. This will be easy. I’m thinking the day after tomorrow, so we can compile a list of people to invite.”

“So, but, Speaker, you’ll tell me Pyaras must attend, and right now everyone across the Families is scrambling to concoct plans and arrange assassination attempts—so it’s hard enough just planning for the Ball . . .”

Della glanced at Selemei, who gave her a smile of sympathy. Her belly felt uncomfortable; she shifted slightly, trying not to draw attention, but it only got worse—her insides had turned into a large stone—

It hurt . . .

She winced, and hissed in a breath.

“Della,” said Tagaret. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said. But it got worse. “Tagaret—I don’t know—” Her heart started pounding.

“Oh, Elinda help us!” Tagaret exclaimed. “You did this to yourself! Why did you put yourself in danger when you know you’re in no condition—”

“Tagaret!” She cut him off, but too late; everyone was staring. Her fingers went cold.

“What? Are you telling me she’s pregnant?!” Lorman demanded. “Tagaret, I can’t believe you could be so irresponsible!”

Della cowered. The stone in her stomach wouldn’t relax. Her heart cut off her breath.

Selemei stood up. “Lorman, calm yourself.”

“They came back from Selimna as soon as they knew,” said Tamelera.

“But Lady Della has a history,” said Lorman. “A history of—”

“A history of tragedy and grief,” Tamelera interrupted. “Which you’re now making worse.”

“A history of failure,” Lorman snapped. “Of medical weakness. She should never have been brought into the Family.”

“No,” Della said. “No . . .” She couldn’t breathe, and the pain was getting worse.

Tagaret stood up. “Tell that to Nekantor,” he said, red-faced. “He made the arrangement.”

“You can’t tell anything to Nekantor!” Lorman shouted. “None of you understand the importance of this—do you think the decline is some kind of game? Nekantor threatens me if I offer him a partner, Tagaret can’t produce an heir, and Adon’s about to have everyone in Pelismara try to kill him! Gnash it, we are looking at the end of Garr’s line, and not one of you seems to care! What about the Race?”

“Tagaret,” Della moaned, “Tagaret . . .” She clutched at her stomach. Was it happening again?

“Heile help us!” Tagaret cried. “Serjer, call the Medical Center!”

“No!” Della shook her head. The pain had leveled out, but she couldn’t get enough air to shout. “Tagaret, no . . . It’s getting better, please . . .”

Tagaret stared at her, frozen, for several seconds, then dashed out the double doors.

“You think you’re so smart, when really you’re a liability,” Lorman snapped. “Going out and putting yourself in danger . . .”

“Lorman, stop,” said Fedron. “You’re making it worse.”

“Someone had to try to save Herin,” Della insisted. “I saved lives.”

Lorman glared at her. “Well, time to save another life.” He shoved out the double doors.

Speaker Fedron shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. Lady Della, I’m so sorry.” He went out after Lorman.

They were gone, finally—but so was Tagaret, and so was her safety. “Tamelera, Selemei, help me. Don’t let them. Please.” If she could just get enough air, surely she could make the stone inside her release, but she couldn’t control her breathing.

Tamelera came and wrapped an arm around her. “Della, I love you. But with the terrible danger to you, and to your child—don’t you think caution would be best?”

“It’s not a child,” she said. “It’s nothing. Lorman’s right, I’m a failure, and that means there’s nothing to save . . .”

“But, love, what if you’re wrong?”

“What if you’re wrong? What if Tagaret is wrong?”

“The doctors will know what to do,” said Tamelera. “That’s what they’re for.”

Lady Selemei sat down in the chair beside her. “Della, I understand your fear, but I don’t know what we can do. What doctors have you been seeing?”

“Yoral,” she said. “He’s been watching, looking after me. Yoral? Yoral, I need you.”

Yoral came out from behind a curtain. “Lady, breathe into this.” He handed her a silk handkerchief. “What are you experiencing?”

Putting her attention on it was a mistake; panic tried to throttle her, and tears started trickling down her cheeks. “M-my . . . it’s . . . hard, I g-guess . . .”

The doctors came suddenly. Four Kartunnen in gray medical coats rushed in the door as if they’d been told she was dying. Della tried to jump to her feet, but her stomach hurt, and she couldn’t stand up straight. She caught herself on the arm of the chair. She couldn’t have run. What would she do, climb out a window?

“I’m not dying,” she cried, clenching her fists to try to sound calm. “I don’t have bleeding. I don’t have anything. You can leave me alone.”

“Lady,” said one of the male doctors. She knew that one. He’d seen her many times, and his eyes were knowing, filled with the unquestioning certainty of every bloody moment he’d ever witnessed beside her bed. “Just come this way, please, so we can evaluate you.”

“No. Selemei, tell them no.”

Selemei winced. “Doctors, you should be able to evaluate her here.”

“Lady,” the male doctor said, “that would be highly indiscreet.”

Yoral spoke in her ear. “Please, Mistress. Just let them do the checks, for your own safety.”

“You’ve done the checks, Yoral,” she said. “How many more will you allow? Will you protect me?”

He didn’t reply.

“Tagaret!”

He came out from behind the doctors, speaking gently. “Della, my love, my darling, I forgive you for endangering yourself, all right? Don’t work yourself into a state, or everything will be worse. I’m here for you, no matter what you have to go through.”

“Go through! I shouldn’t have to go through—”

One of the doctors grabbed her arm. She spasmed in terror, trying to pull free, but another one grabbed her from the other side.

“No! You can’t—can’t let them do this. Oh, gods—help me, someone—help me!” She tried to hold onto words like a rope, but no one would catch the other end and pull her to safety. The Kartunnen were strong, and dragged her into her bedroom. “Help me!” she shrieked. No one came.

“Lady, please get in bed now.”

She couldn’t answer. She could only sob. She glimpsed Tagaret, talking with Yoral and one of the doctors outside the door, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Tagaret!”

“Lady, please, just get in bed.”

The doctor who had been speaking with Tagaret came in with a frown. “Lady, you’re overwrought. You’ll endanger yourself and your pregnancy. We’re going to need to ask you to get in bed and lie still. If you fight, or harm yourself, or try to climb out any windows, we’ll be forced to take steps.”

There were no windows in this room. There was no escape, and there would be no rescue. Della sank to the bed, wracked by silent sobs, with hot tears streaming down her face. A Kartunnen woman pushed her shoulders gently but implacably, forcing her down. And then there were two of them on her arm, and a needle, and tubes, and tape, and it was all happening again.

Coercion invaded her veins, cold as ice, and the fog rose until everything drowned in gray.