CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

One Life

Gentle rocking, rocking, rocking . . . a boat, floating through the gray. And somewhere in the mist, a thread of melody, pulling . . .

Rocking, rocking, a voice now . . . a song of mm, oo, so and how does this work, oo, sustainer of life, la, so, I want to talk to her, so, mm . . .

The melody, stronger . . . billows in the gray . . . the rocking, the pulling, so, oo, me, lu, ma, la, i . . . what are you doing, mm, rocking, rocking . . .

No more melody now, voices, and rocking, castemate, listen, listen, it’s just music, why shouldn’t she listen, listen, and the pipes are louder now in the mist . . .

Don, don, don . . . drums on the inside . . .

Oww . . .

Into the gray pierced a single perfect note on the triscili, that curled into a melody.

A voice spoke quietly beside her ear. “Now you’re able to hear the music, so. But keep your eyes closed, all right?”

Forder.

Della kept her eyes closed. The light coming through her eyelids was dim red-orange, and there was knocking in her belly. In her ears, there was music—

For Della.

Vant was here, too.

More of her body came into focus. Her head and back felt heavy, and her feet light, as if she were on a slope. There were warm covers. In her stomach came a weird, stretching movement.

Still floating in the melody, she remembered why she was here.

Tears welled up, escaped, warm lines on her temple cooling as they reached her hair. Questions surfaced in her mind.

Where are the doctors? Where’s my Yoral? Where’s Tagaret?

Am I safe?

Forder and Vant had awakened her, somehow. She wasn’t supposed to be awake. If the doctors found out, they might make her sleep again. But she couldn’t learn any answers with her eyes closed. She cracked them open just slightly, praying for Sirin’s luck. This wasn’t her usual bed; she’d been moved. It was a hospital bed, shoved up against the wall. Forder was sitting beside her head, watching her, intent and serious. Her ears told her that Vant was somewhere down by her feet. She couldn’t see any of the people who had put her here, but Yoral would be somewhere in the room.

Yoral had the authority to make the doctor stand down, if he was on her side.

He should have been.

He would be, so long as Tagaret didn’t come in.

Yoral.

She practiced his name silently. Her tongue felt heavy. Whenever her eyes closed, she felt the drift again. When she was reasonably sure she could say the word intelligibly, she took the risk.

“Yoral.”

“Shhh,” said Forder. “Grobal Della, shhhh, don’t speak.”

But she’d been right. Through the crack in her eyelids, she saw a black silk shape arrive just on the other side of Forder.

“Mistress,” Yoral said. “There’s been some mistake—”

“What vow . . . did you swear?”

“Oh, Mistress . . .”

A new voice spoke. “Wait, she’s not supposed to be able to—Melumalai, what did you do—”

Rage flared inside her, burning away the gray. “Kartunnen, you will not touch my friend, Melumalai Forder. Yoral, if you remember your vow, send the doctor away now.”

“Doctor,” Yoral said. “You are excused. I will take charge of the Lady’s care from here.”

A few seconds’ silence. Then, “May your honorable service earn its just reward, sir.” And the sound of the bedroom door, opening, then thudding shut.

“Mistress,” said Yoral. He knelt on the floor. “I’m so sorry for what I did.”

Della took a breath. It felt shallow, pressed by the weight of her belly. “You were supposed to protect my person. You let them detain me.”

“Mistress, I was selfish,” he confessed. “You had put yourself at risk. But I betrayed you. I put my own worries about your physical safety ahead of your will and your wellbeing, when it was only a minor contraction.”

She turned her head. Yoral had bowed so low she couldn’t see him any more. Forder was still standing by her bed, using his body to block access to a suspended bag of fluid that was attached to her arm with a tube. She shuddered, and tears welled up again.

“I love you, Yoral. I want to trust you.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m going to have to forbid you to discuss my care with Tagaret, unless I give you express permission.”

“Yes, Mistress. Shall I call him to speak with you?”

“No.” Saying it made the tears come faster. Her belly felt warm and uncomfortable. “I’m not ready to speak to him. Disconnect me.” She couldn’t bear to hear him hesitate, so she pushed on. “I promise not to hurt myself. I promise to stay in bed if you give me what I want, and give me no reason to get up again. Now, disconnect me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Yoral. “Melumalai Forder, will you please step out?”

“Imbati: may your honorable service earn its just reward, sir,” said Forder. “Don’t injure her again. She’s my friend, so.” He frowned, and his hand patted Della’s hair gently. Then he vanished from her side.

“Vant may stay,” Della said. “He’s not blocking your access.”

The music made it easier for her to endure the removal of tape, and the press-and-pull of Yoral disconnecting her from the tube. Yoral kept pressure on her arm for half a minute, and finally bandaged her. She lay for more than a minute, breathing, hovering at the edge of exhaustion.

“You may go now, Yoral,” she said, when she found energy to speak. “Please turn off the service speakers for half an hour. I want to listen to music, alone.”

“Mistress,” said Yoral, in a miserable voice.

“Vant will call you if there is any emergency.”

She lay there for a long time, bathing in the music. Disappearing into melodies had always been one of her favorite methods of forgetting herself. But the knocking inside her wouldn’t let her escape. And there was also the misery of knowing she couldn’t trust the ones she had always trusted. At last, she gathered her energy and turned onto her side. She could see Vant sitting on a brass chair near her feet, wearing his fine gray coat over a blue silk shirt.

“Vant?”

The musician stood, placed his triscili gently on the seat of the chair, and walked over to her. “Lady Della, I’m so glad you’re awake,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Tell me . . . have you seen my family?”

“I saw them this morning,” he said. “Your parents are well. Your sister is in good spirits. She and I are learning a new piece together, for yojosmei and triscili. I’m trying to convince her to learn the triscili part to get a new perspective on the piece, but she doesn’t always listen.”

“No, she doesn’t. Especially when she’s lost in music she loves.”

“Especially then,” he agreed.

“I’m glad she has you,” Della sighed. Tears rose in her throat, and she struggled not to sob. “I love your music, Vant. You’ve been s-such a gift to my whole family. We—we’ve been friends for a long time, h-haven’t we?” Would he object to her calling him a friend? She reached out and touched his sleeve, but didn’t have the energy to hold her arm up.

Vant laid his hand over hers. “We have, Lady.”

Oh, bless him. She turned her hand to his. He seemed startled, but allowed her to hold it. To think a musician was the only person here she really trusted . . .

“I do still want to send you to Selimna,” she sighed. “You would love it there. They would love you.”

“You’re so kind to me, Lady. I can’t go.”

“Liadis would miss you, but it wouldn’t be forever. The travel isn’t so bad. Everyone there would support you.”

“Lady, it’s not safe for me to leave Pelismara. Please understand. I’m only an apprentice. Kartunnen Ryanin . . . requires things of me.”

Something in the way he said it sent cold suspicion through her. She turned her head to look up into his face. “Vant, what is it?”

He turned his face away.

“Is your master abusing you?”

His face twitched.

Mercy, he was. “How bad is it? Maybe I could get help for you—my cousin has a friend in the police—”

“Lady, no,” Vant cried, suddenly in a panic. He tried to pull his hand away, but she didn’t let him. “Please, no—that would be so much worse!”

She gulped. What a turn this conversation had taken . . . “I’m sorry. Vant, you’re important to me. You saved me, today. I can’t not try to help you, there has to be something . . .”

“I’m—I’m breaking the law,” he stammered.

“What?”

“I’m not Kartunnen.” He tried to pull his hand away.

“Don’t.” She pulled his hand closer to her face. “Vant, I don’t understand. You’re a composer. You play yojosmei, shiazin, pipes, and triscili, at least. You’re the most brilliant musician I know. And how long have we known each other? Since I was thirteen?”

“I’ve been lucky,” he said. “I haven’t been caught. But, can’t you see? It doesn’t matter what Ryanin does, you can’t help me. Arissen will kill me for what I’ve done.”

Every word out of his mouth made it forty times worse. “Trigis and Bes, now I have to help you! Sixteen years, and you suffering secretly all that time? You just saved my life. How can I not save yours?”

“You can’t,” he said. “Anyway, you won’t want to.”

“You’re my friend. I love your music, and I love you. I don’t care what else you are.”

“I’m Akrabitti.”

She blinked at him, stunned. Then he tried to pull his hand away again. She gathered wits enough not to let go.

“Vant,” she whispered. “You are, aren’t you.” That look on his face, when he’d accidentally called Forder sir . . .

He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I’ve never told you what Tagaret and I are trying to do in Selimna,” she said, slowly. “We went there because we hope to understand the city, and the people who live there. All of them, Highest to Lowest. We want to change things. Little things at first, but little things add up to big things over time. I met Forder there. I’ve learned so much from him. I met a woman named Venorai Castremei. I tried and tried to think of a way to meet an Akrabitti, but I never once managed it. And here you are, and you’re one of my oldest friends.” She sighed. “And it seems that I know almost nothing about you.”

Vant looked at her, sadly. “You have my secret, now. What do you want to know?”

“Who are the Akrabitti?”

He stood silent for a long time. “We’re the Patient Folk,” he said at last.

“Are you waiting for something?”

“The fires of heaven, I suppose. To burn away the pain from our souls.”

The misery in his voice—she couldn’t stand it. And she couldn’t stand to be making it worse.

“Wait,” she said. “I have an idea. Could I take you away from Kartunnen Ryanin? You could be my personal musical attendant, and write songs for me, and live in your own apartment so he couldn’t reach you. And, you could help me understand your people, and how you see things. In whatever way you wanted.”

Vant gaped at her. “Lady, you’d really . . . ?”

Lying down with your feet above your head was the worst possible position to convince someone from, but she tried to speak sincerity with her eyes.

Vant took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush. “Can my mother live with me?”

She’d never even thought about whether he might have a family. “Partner, too, if you want,” she said. And made herself say the word, “Children.”

“I don’t have that kind of family,” Vant said. “My life’s not safe. My mother and I live in the Blocks. My father died of blood poisoning in Indal 6, and she can’t work anymore, so I pay a Bargain to all the folk who support her while I’m working. Ryanin pays me more than I could ever earn at a trash center. But when he isn’t happy with me, he threatens her. She always says she’s close enough to the Gate that it doesn’t matter . . .”

Had she imagined she would slap Iyemmelim? Ryanin deserved worse! But Vant’s safety was more important. He must never, ever be forced to work at a trash center. “Of course she can live with you,” Della said. “I’ll need a few days to arrange it.”

Vant’s hand in hers moved again, but this time, he squeezed her fingers. “I’m so sorry you haven’t been well,” he said.

“I’m getting better now, I promise. Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

“It’s Soremor fifteenth.”

Della thought hard. Four days since Tagaret’s birthday, when the Eminence died. That meant only two days before the Heir Selection began in earnest. Adon might already be the family’s candidate. But he might not be, yet. And if he wasn’t, there was only one person who could really stop it.

“Would you mind stepping out and asking my Yoral to summon Pyaras to me?”

“Of course, Lady.” He pulled his hand gently out of her grip.

“Bless you, Vant. We’ll talk again soon.”

For a long time, she was alone with her unwelcome resident. She dozed, woke, shifted to her back again, and then to her other side. Finally, there was a loud knock on the door. Yoral, bless him, had done exactly as she’d requested.

“Come in.”

Pyaras came in. His dark eyebrows pinched together when he saw her. “Della, hey. Look, I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you.”

“I wouldn’t have known if you had.”

“Oh, I’m an idiot. Sorry. I’m glad you’re awake.” He came over, and stood by her elbow. “How are you feeling?”

What a question. “How do you think I’m feeling?”

“Mai’s truth. These days, it’s hard—I won’t lie, I’ve been wanting to run away from everything.”

“Me, too,” she said. “It’s all a trap.”

Pyaras looked at her, a glance that encompassed her, the hospital bed, everything. He winced. “Yeah.”

Della gathered her courage. “Look, Pyaras. I need to talk to you about the Heir Selection.”

He snorted. “Just when I thought people were going to leave me alone.”

“I’m sure that would be nice. But you need to be the First Family’s candidate.”

“They want Adon.”

“I don’t care. It has to be you.”

Pyaras shook his head. “Are you serious? Della, no. Even if I wanted it, it’s not realistic. You know what people think of me; any approval I get will only come if I’m Executor.”

“This isn’t about what people think of you!” she snapped. He took a breath to object, but she cut him off. “It’s not about the horrors you’ve been through, either. Adon has been through horrors, too, and that’s not stopping anyone from laying candidacy on his head. It’s not even about the idea of spending hours with Nekantor every day.”

“What, then?” He sounded exasperated. “What do you think it’s about?”

“Saving Adon’s life.”

“By risking my own? No thank you.”

She grunted in frustration. “Listen, Pyaras! Adon’s life will be in danger if he enters the competition. But if he wins, it could destroy the Family. It could destroy everything.”

Pyaras frowned. “What in Varin’s name are you saying?”

“Come here.” She reached an arm toward him. “I’ll tell you exactly why Adon can’t be our Heir candidate.”

He moved closer, but not close enough. She tapped one finger to her lips. “Put your ear right here.”

Pyaras shook his head. He looked nervous bending down, as though afraid she would scream and break his ear.

Della pulled him close until she could whisper where no one else could possibly hear.

“Imbati Aloran is Adon’s father.”