CHAPTER THIRTY

Broken

No one should be allowed to hold a party three days after a murder.

Adon walked with arms crossed, chin pressed to his chest, staring at a spot on the floor in front of him so he could ignore the yellow mourning scarf tied to his arm. Shoes were flickering in and out of that spot: the suede-soled leather boots that belonged to Tagaret’s Kuarmei. Their silent, regular movement was comforting. He didn’t want to see the mob of the First Family surrounding him. Most of them were chattering and gossiping as if the world hadn’t already been broken.

Mother was the sensible one; she’d told her Aloran she had a headache and she needed to be treated for it at home. It wasn’t fair that she could get out of this so easily. She probably didn’t really have a headache—but he was developing one.

Xeref and Cahemsin had attached themselves to him, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t speaking. Occasionally, they darted back and forth to tug on other people’s mourning scarves. At the moment, the two of them were arguing about whether Arissen Drenas had been a monster, or just out of his mind.

He was neither. He was just a guard who would kill for Nekantor.

The new Eminence.

The fact that Drenas was now dead made it even less likely that his victims would ever see justice. And Nekantor would be at this party. Which meant Adon would have to smile, or something, and pretend Nekantor wasn’t a murderer.

Mai help me.

There was so much security. They met a whole orange wall of it in the hallway leading to the Residence’s central section. Tunnel-hounds lolloped about on the ground, and some of his cousins shied away; Arbiter Lorman shooed them forward.

“You’re not nervous about tunnel-hounds, are you?” That was Pyaras, on his left. “They don’t make good pets, but they’re smart, and very sweet.”

Adon shrugged. “They’re just—big? And kind of weird.” The dark animal snuffled at his feet and knees with its wide, soft snout. Its paws looked too big for its body, and part of him couldn’t help wishing it had eyes.

Not that everything needed eyes, but fish generally came on a plate.

As weird as they were, tunnel-hounds were easier to trust than armed guards. A big Arissen in Cohort orange carried a tunnel-hound in among them to sniff for poisons and weapons as far as their shoulders. When he came near, Adon accidentally looked into his eyes.

Arissen eyes, gray, and thoroughly bored. You couldn’t tell what the man was thinking. There was no way to know if he was another one who would kill for Nekantor.

Adon straightened his gloves.

“Thank you, Arissen,” Pyaras said, and they went through.

Most people were moving toward the main door of the Hall of the Eminence, but Tagaret and Lady Selemei took them up along a side corridor to a private entrance peopled by even more guards. These guards were questioning everyone to be sure they were all members of the Eminence’s family. Adon stuck close to Tagaret and Pyaras. Already he wanted to go home and change clothes. The tight mourning scarf made his arm feel numb.

At last they were passed through.

This was a roped-off passageway along the stone wall at the head of the Hall. There was an opening in the ropes just this side of the stage steps. They turned left into the First Family’s audience area.

In the rest of the room bubbled the chaos of the Pelismara Society—people, people, and more people. They wore yellow scarves, to be sure, but all were dressed in jewel-toned fashions, adorned with the finest accessories, eagerly waiting to see the accession of the new Eminence as if they weren’t properly in mourning at all. Their gossiping voices echoed up to the ceiling vaults, among the stars of a mosaic sky.

A false sky, with no gods to judge them.

The new Eminence, himself, was quite close by, sheltered from general view by a column embedded in the wall. Nekantor stood with his back pressed against the stone, scowling down at the gold watch on his wrist. He wore a regal-looking white suit, with no mourning scarf, and no gloves. His Dexelin had assumed bodyguard stance between him and anyone who might approach, causing Family members to keep away and fill other parts of the enclosure as they arrived.

Adon tried to meet Dexelin’s eyes, but the servant wouldn’t look at him.

Soon, Lady Selemei and her Ustin came, and also Speaker Fedron with his Chenna. Arbiter Lorman was accompanied by his Oidi. All the eligible male cousins old enough to command manservants kept to the edges, while the younger ones milled about in the center. Adon put distance between himself and Nekantor before it became too crowded to move. If he could stay close to the ropes, it would be easier to escape into the ballroom afterward.

Of course, here, there was no one to protect him. He hugged himself, and shivered.

“Adon,” called Tagaret. “Hey, can we stand by you?” He’d brought along Pyaras.

“Yes, thank the Twins.” Adon sent a nod to Tagaret’s Kuarmei and Pyaras’ Jarel. This was much better. Safer. He nudged his toe into the white and green carpet, breaking the loops of the Grobal insignia.

A sound of swishing silk caught his ear. He looked over; two priests had entered through the side door and now walked nearer along the passageway.

The Voice of Varin was a man wearing light blue silk robes, with a gold sun-disk hanging down his chest on a heavy chain. He carried a length of white and gold cloth over one hand. Unexpectedly, he came into the First Family area, and made his way past them toward where Nekantor had hidden himself by the wall.

The Voice of Elinda, meanwhile, processed toward the stage. She was a tall, gray-haired woman wearing a silver moon-disk. Her moon-yellow funereal cloak draped over rich layers of deep blue silk. There was something about her—her stature, her grace, her dignity as she climbed onto the stage—that made you feel like the Mother of Souls was real.

Adon’s throat thickened. He heard Herin’s voice again—Plist! Plist, what’s happening?—and burst out in a gasp.

Tagaret squeezed his shoulders. “Adon, are you all right?”

Adon flung his arms around his brother’s waist and held on tight. “Tagaret . . .”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

The Voice of Elinda started to sing. Her clear voice penetrated the safety of Tagaret’s embrace, ringing into his ears, bringing tears to his eyes that he pressed into his brother’s jacket. “All with eyes in this place, hear me, gaze and turn your faces upward! Though ages pass, the heavens still show us the inevitable way: the silent sister spins and circles beneath our feet, and her holy siblings dance with her around our great Father.”

“Father Varin, source of all life,” the crowd responded.

Tagaret’s voice said softly from above him, “It is the inevitable way. Gods help us.”

“Today we honor Herin of the Third Family,” said the Voice of Elinda. “He rose in brightness, and grew to glory, Eminence of all this land which takes our great Father’s name. Nightfall came too quickly upon him.”

A poke. “Adon.”

Adon didn’t look up. Tagaret didn’t poke him again, but tugged at his arms until he couldn’t stand it any more. He let go, sniffing with irritation.

“Come on, raise your scarf.”

Fine. Adon tugged the scarf off his arm and held it up. Tagaret was holding his own as high as he could. Arms were raised everywhere around.

“All honor to Herin of the Third Family as he sets in this life,” said the Voice of Elinda. “Let him find his way to our great Mother’s arms, and take his place among the stars.”

“Honor to Herin of the Third Family,” the Pelismara Society rumbled.

“Herin of the Third Family, we release you into our Mother’s care.”

“We release you.”

Tagaret’s scarf fluttered downward. Adon let go of his own. For the tiniest moment, he was caught in wonder as scarves fell everywhere.

Then Nekantor pushed past him.

Once out into the clear, roped path, Nekantor gleamed with confidence. Focused on the stage, he looked like a ruler. Untouchable. Not a sniff of attention for the Voice of Varin, who had passively followed behind him.

That priest wasn’t Father Varin.

Father Varin would stand forty times Nekantor’s size. Father Varin would bring Mai the Right to gaze into Nekantor’s soul and sentence him. Father Varin would open his mouth upon teeth of fire. Father Varin would consume Nekantor, and gnash his soul in the flames.

The Voice of Varin only sang him up the stage stairs.

When Nekantor came to stand before the wooden throne, the Voice of Varin wrapped the long white and gold cloth around his thin shoulders. Nekantor shuddered once, as though it were heavier than it looked, but then he stood tall.

“The day of the Eminence Herin has ended,” cried the Voice of Varin. “The day of the Eminence Nekantor has begun. All hail the Eminence Nekantor!”

The room roared. “All hail the Eminence Nekantor!”

Nekantor smiled amid the shouts. But when those shouts faded, so did his smile. There was a bright ring on the little finger of his left hand; he began to rub it with his thumb. Then he spoke.

“Thank you all. Now I wish to dedicate myself to my people.”

The Voice of Elinda and the Voice of Varin moved to places on either side of the throne. The throne was carved from wood, ancient, gnarled, and twisted. Nekantor sat down in it.

Adon heard a click, and turned. The outside door had opened again, and in walked a big Arissen with a chest like a keg. He wore a white leather strap across the front of his red jacket, and a crested helmet topped with red kanguan feathers.

“Oh,” murmured Pyaras. As the Arissen neared, Pyaras said clearly, “Commander.”

The Arissen gave him a nod. “Executor.”

The way the Arissen spoke to Pyaras was friendly—and, to be honest, there was something totally different about an Arissen in rust-red instead of orange. But once the Commander had passed by, you could see the white strap on his jacket was connected to a scabbard in the back. A scabbard containing a huge knife.

That knife, next to his toes. In Dexelin’s hand. In Dexelin’s coat.

Where was it now?

Adon shivered and looked away. By the outside door, the Headmaster of the Imbati Academy had appeared, quietly awaiting his turn.

A big Arissen voice rang out behind him. “I am Tret of the Pelismara Division and I speak for the Arissen. I give my people into your Trust.”

Adon kept his eye on the Headmaster. Moruvia glanced over, a silent greeting in his eyes. Adon sucked in a breath, and his stomach flipped. How could he thank him for his protection? How could he explain what had happened when he’d claimed it?

There was no chance for better connection. The Headmaster walked with silent steps onto the wooden stage. When he spoke to Nekantor, his calm voice felt like a memory from long ago.

“I am Moruvia, Headmaster of the Imbati Service Academy, and I speak for the Imbati. I give my people into your Trust.” Moruvia then went and signed something at a table near the back wall before returning to stand beside the Arissen Commander.

The next Lower didn’t look at anyone, only stared piercingly into space. She was a Kartunnen with a purple-painted lip, voluminously robed in pale gray University regalia. From what Adon could see of her trousers, she was wearing hand-painted silk underneath. As she climbed, the back of her robes draped in angles over the stairs.

“I am Wilven, Chancellor of the University, and I speak for the Kartunnen,” she said clearly. “I give my people into your Trust.” She, too, went and signed at the back table.

Next, a muscular man leapt up the stage stairs. He had a thick brown belt and about a million sunmark spots over every exposed area of his skin. He swept his gaze across the room as though it were nothing more than an intimate gathering. “I am Leader Bestec of the Venorai Union, elected to speak for all of us. I give my people into your Trust.”

The Melumalai representative had already started up the stairs, moving slowly, with a cane. He had gray hair and a heavy necklace of large chrysolites set into teardrops of silver. Venorai Bestec returned from the back table before he even reached the center of the stage. “I am Odenli, chairman of the Melumalai Banking Syndicate,” he said, in a quavering voice. “I speak for the Melumalai. I give my people into your Trust.”

Melumalai wasn’t the last caste, but no one followed Odenli. Before the old Melumalai had returned from giving his signature, Nekantor stood impatiently.

The Eminence shifted from foot to foot, thumb still playing with the ring on his little finger. He was taller than any of the Lowers who stood before him, and he didn’t really look at them, but over their heads, off into the distance. When Odenli was finally in his proper place, Nekantor said to the far corners of the ceiling:

“With the spirit of the Great Grobal Fyn as my guide, I pledge myself to the Grobal Trust. Giving to each according to need, the hand of the Grobal shall guide the land of Varin.”

The two celestial Voices called together, “All hail the Eminence Nekantor!”

“All hail the Eminence Nekantor!” the crowd roared back. Then their noise split into a thousand chaotic noises of celebration, protest, anticipation. Adon found that the cousins around him had started moving, pushing him against the ropes.

“Well, holy Twins, here we go,” Pyaras muttered. “I hate this next part.”

Adon shook his head. “The Ball?”

“The Heir Selection.”

“This way,” said Tagaret, leading them toward the exit. “Now everyone moves to the ballroom. Keep your gloves on and your eyes open, Adon. Nek will be here any minute wanting to take you around to meet people, and most will not be your friends.”

Adon shuddered. “What if I don’t want to meet people with him?”

Tagaret’s mouth pulled sideways. “Trust me, you’ll meet people even if Nek has to drag you, so don’t make him. Pyaras and I will stay by you. Pyaras, you need to think very hard about impressing people here, because we need you to be the candidate for the First Family in spite of what Nekantor says.”

“Really?” Adon asked. What a relief that would be. “You have a plan to convince him?”

“Well, not yet.”

“I’m not doing it,” said Pyaras. “I have the job I want.”

“Regardless,” said Tagaret. “You’re still sticking with us, because there’s no way we’re leaving Adon unprotected right now. Say yes.”

“All right, fine, yes.”

People started moving. Adon shuffled his feet to stay in the midst of the First Family crowd, but as close as possible to Tagaret and Kuarmei, and to Pyaras and Jarel. Slowly, they all crossed the aisle and passed under the archway into the tunnel that led to the ballroom.

Halfway through the tunnel they found Nekantor, standing with his back against the wall. He was closing and opening his hands, muttering angrily under his breath. His Dexelin stood beside him, just out of his Master’s arm’s reach—a distance that looked distressingly deliberate.

Adon stopped walking.

Tagaret squeezed Adon’s arm, speaking low and quickly. “I need to talk to Nekantor; stay near and listen. Pyaras, you stick here with Adon. Let the others go around us.” He walked up to Nekantor, and said loudly, “Congratulations, Brother!”

Nekantor’s head snapped up.

Tagaret made a deep bow. “Or I should say, congratulations, your Eminence.”

“Ha,” said Nekantor. He looked down at his watch. “Yes, actually, you should say that.”

“Look how far we’ve come, thanks to you,” Tagaret said. “Look what you’ve accomplished for the First Family. We’re all indebted to you. It’s what Father would have dreamed of.”

Adon blinked. His first thought was that Tagaret was an incredible liar—but when he thought about it, nothing he’d said was technically untrue. More than that, the praise had an immediate positive effect on Nekantor’s mood. He stopped muttering. His hands, instead of closing and opening at his sides, floated to the buttons of his vest, touching them one by one.

“He dreamed of it,” said Nekantor, looking at Tagaret again. “But Garr didn’t do this.”

“No, he didn’t,” Tagaret agreed. “You did. Now we get to celebrate you, and work toward the Heir Selection. I hope you’ll help me.”

“Help you? You’ll be helping me.”

“Yes, of course,” said Tagaret. “This is all your plan. I just want to make sure I remember it right. I believe you said you wished to approach the Second Family first. Did you want to take both Fedron and Selemei with us?”

“Gnash it, no.” Nekantor stood away from the wall. “Tagaret, you’re hopeless at politics. We’ve discussed this. Fedron and Selemei will stay in the First Family’s area with the other eligible boys.”

“I know we can rely on my Kuarmei and your Dexelin while we walk, but I think a bit of extra security might be a good idea. Can we bring Pyaras’ Jarel?”

“Yes,” said Nekantor. “Pyaras is no threat. Are you ready to go, Adon?”

Adon startled at the sound of his own name, and cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“Hurry up, then.”

Together, they walked into the ballroom. The huge space was quickly filling with people whose eager talk echoed up into the vaults of the ceiling. There was no more sign of sadness or mourning. Nekantor took them straight to the First Family’s area, to the right of the entry arch. Tagaret had definitely changed his mood—by the time he’d greeted Speaker Fedron, Lady Selemei, and Arbiter Lorman, he seemed as confident as when he’d first stepped up onto the stage. He demanded that Adon prepare to tour the room immediately.

Ugh, of course.

At least they would have manservants with them. Imbati Dexelin, Kuarmei, and Jarel arrayed themselves in defensive formation all around, and the seven of them moved out into the crowd beneath the glittering crystal chandeliers. Adon tugged his gloves tight and kept his eyes open.

“Tagaret,” he whispered, “I don’t know what to talk about.”

Nekantor snorted. “Nothing yet. Just look healthy.”

“Just be ready to answer questions about your health and studies, if you get them,” said Tagaret. On his other side, Pyaras walked along looking stiff and unhappy.

“Your Eminence!” A man with long hair and a beautiful suit of gray silk with emeralds came out of the crowd. It was Tagaret’s friend, Gowan. “Tagaret, and Adon, and Pyaras, nice to see you.”

“Gowan,” said Nekantor, and pulled a smile. “Do you have any possible candidates to introduce us to?”

“Of course,” Gowan said, gesturing a boy forward. “You already know my cousin Igan.”

Hey, Igan. Adon met his friend’s gaze, but this wasn’t like it had been at his birthday party. Igan was a rival now.

“Give our best wishes to your father,” Tagaret said.

When they walked away again, Adon tugged his sleeve. “Who’s Gowan’s father?”

“Amyel of the Ninth Family,” said Tagaret. “He’s always been kind to me.”

“He’s also in the cabinet,” said Nekantor. “If we’re nice enough, he might vote for you.”

The next people they met were from the Second Family. Adon faced his friend Nayal like a stranger and tried to keep smiling while Tagaret and Pyaras spoke with their friend Menni, and Nekantor spoke with Menni’s father Boros, who was bald with a booming voice and was also in the cabinet. It wasn’t hard to imagine the calculations in Nekantor’s head.

“Tagaret,” said Menni suddenly. “Have you been to see the Fifth Family yet? You’ll never believe who I saw arguing with Arbiter Innis.”

“Really, who?”

Menni shook Tagaret’s arm. “Unger.”

“What? He came back?”

Adon pushed up to them. “Who’s Unger?”

“The Alixi of Selimna,” said Tagaret. “He shouldn’t be here.”

“No, he shouldn’t,” Nekantor agreed sourly. “But don’t worry, Adon. Forfeiting the position of Alixi to become an Heir candidate won’t exactly make him look like a competent politician. You’ll beat him easily.”

Adon swallowed. “I don’t know . . .”

“Forfeiting!” Tagaret exclaimed. “Sirin and Eyn, I have to tell—” He broke off, and his face fell.

Della. Adon squeezed Tagaret’s arm.

“All right, no time for that,” said Nekantor. “Let’s go.”

They didn’t actually try to talk to Arbiter Innis or Unger of the Fifth Family. Nekantor was more interested in the Eighth Family—specifically, in an old man with eerie bulging eyes named Caredes. Eighth Family also meant his roleplay bully, Venmer. Adon stuck close to Tagaret and Pyaras to avoid him, but that meant having to join in the adult conversation.

“Adon of the First Family.” The old man scowled at him. “Any new diseases?”

Ugh. “No, sir,” said Adon.

“Caredes,” said Nekantor. “Let me introduce my brother Adon. He’s perfectly healthy, as I’m sure you already know. Adon, this is Caredes of the Eighth Family. He was at your birthday party last year.”

Caredes pointed a finger at Adon’s face. “You should have invited me this year. It’s your mother’s fault. Is she here?”

He didn’t slap the finger away; he didn’t step backward. “I’m sorry, sir, she’s not.”

“And I see you’re also dragging your cousin around. Pyaras, you still a muckwalker?”

Adon winced and glanced at Pyaras.

“Oh, Caredes,” said Pyaras, with a beaming smile. “I’m happy to say that my muckwalking days are over. I’m now the Executor of the Pelismara Division, fully licensed to interact with Arissen—and finding my past experience quite useful.”

“Are you, now?” Caredes looked surprised. “Clever choice, Nekantor. I might be interested in an alliance, if it comes to that.”

“Thank you so very much,” Nekantor replied. “I wish you good evening.”

By the time they had circulated through the entire ballroom, everything started mixing together in a big unfriendly blur. No one felt near as dangerous as Nekantor, though. The biggest surprise was how much fun Pyaras seemed to be having; his big cousin had grinned wider with every attempted insult, and flashed his Executorship like a shield.

“Fah,” Nekantor said, as they arrived back to the First Family’s area. “Don’t be too happy with yourself, Pyaras.” He walked off to Arbiter Lorman and started pulling at his shoulder, talking in his ear.

Adon looked for a place to hide, just for a few seconds’ break—but he’d scarcely taken a breath when Lady Selemei and Speaker Fedron walked up. The Lady took Adon’s shoulder.

“How did that go?” she asked. “Are you feeling all right?”

Adon shrugged. “Not terrible, I guess.”

Speaker Fedron nodded. “It’s an ambitious crowd. I’m sure you did well.”

In one corner of his eye, Adon could see Nekantor giving Lorman a lecture; and in the other, Tagaret was speaking seriously into Pyaras’ ear. Pyaras scowled, and his voice cut through the noise of the crowd.

“I don’t care how well you think I did, Tagaret. I’m still not doing it.”