CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Responsibility

What!”

He couldn’t remember shoving away from her, but Pyaras found himself staggering backward. He hit the side of the larger bed, almost toppled, and sat down with a thud.

“Pyaras, be careful, for Mai’s sake!”

“Gods—gods!” He couldn’t even untangle his thoughts well enough to swear properly. “Is that why he doesn’t want to be chosen?”

“No!” Della pushed up on one elbow, eyes wide. “Adon doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t? How can he not know?”

She shook her head, and didn’t answer.

Adon—half Imbati—and he didn’t know? How was that possible?

But if he did know, maybe he would try harder not to be so graceful and quiet. He would never have dared start a fight with his cousin Cahemsin. And maybe, instead of being so comfortable with Aloran, he would try to push him away. He might try to hide from the Society entirely. Or Fall—gods forbid—which was what the Society would require of him if they found out.

No. No. Adon was best just as he was, colorful and quiet both at once.

His mind still struggled. Wouldn’t you be able to feel it if you were half Imbati? Because the more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. It showed in everything Adon did. He had naturally excellent Imbati manners. He understood them so well. And he liked to be around them . . .

What did that say about him and Arissen?

His mouth went dry.

“Pyaras, please,” said Della. “You have to talk to the First Family Council. You have to try to take the candidacy instead. You’re healthy enough.”

“I am healthy enough.” Just like Adon was. “Sirin and Eyn help me.”

“Pyaras, tell me you’ll talk to them.”

“I’ll talk to them, yes, of course I’ll talk to them,” he said. He stood up. “I’d just better go and talk to some other people first.”

Della was looking up at him, confusion in her green eyes.

“I won’t let them choose Adon, all right? I’ll talk to them, I swear.”

“It’s so dangerous,” she murmured. “If Adon ever took a position of such importance, there would be incredible attention focused on him. Someone would be bound to find out eventually, and then . . .”

“I get it. I won’t let that happen. Thank you for telling me.”

He closed her door respectfully, but then the hurry seized him. He laid his shoulder into the doors to the sitting room and excused himself from the house as quickly as possible. He ran upstairs to his own suite, cast a quick greeting over his shoulder to the First Housewoman as he entered, and hurried past the sitting room into the back to find Father.

He knocked on Father’s door. “Father, may I come in?”

“Come on in.”

Father was in the same position he always was, propped up on pillows and looking vaguely frustrated—but now he looked worried, too. “What’s happened, my Pira? No more murders, Heile grant?”

Pyaras took a deep breath, and shook out his fingers. “Nothing like that, Father. Can I ask—I mean, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course.”

One of the caretakers brought a brass chair; Pyaras nodded thanks and sat down in it. Now that he was here, with Father, some of the anxiety drained away. Father’s face was his face, if somewhat narrower: brows in the same strong arch as his own; mouth with the same set. When he was little, he’d been made much of, praised over and over for being so much like the admirable Administrator Vull.

He’d hated every second of it, right up until everyone decided he was part Arissen.

“Son, what’s wrong?”

“Were you there when I was born?”

“Yes, I was.”

That surprised him more than he expected. “What, you watched?”

Father’s brows pinched. “Pira, that’s not done. When the doctors let me in, my sweet Indelis was holding you in her arms.” His voice quavered. “That was the happiest moment of my life.”

“I’m so sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Mother had died when he was three; she was a legend, embodied in phrases Father sometimes used, and in the colorful pouf in the sitting room. It was easy to forget she’d been a real part of Father’s life. Pyaras leaned forward and laid his hand over Father’s, oh-so-lightly so as not to hurt him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Don’t worry; I love talking about her. Indelis was so beautiful, and so full of life. Those were wonderful times.” Father sighed. “I sometimes wonder where we would be now, if we could have stopped trying to have children. But Indelis wanted so badly to have as many children as Lady Selemei—all the Ladies did. At that time, no one had the slightest suspicion that Lady Selemei wished to stop, or that the strength of her wish would carry her all the way to the cabinet.”

Pyaras had questions. But he didn’t have time. “I’m sorry, Father. I’d love to hear the whole story, but I have to go.”

“Do you?”

“It’s Selection business,” he explained. “I have to talk to Arbiter Lorman. It can’t wait.”

Father frowned. “You’re being respectful of young Adon, aren’t you, Pira?”

For a second, doubts thundered over him like rockfall, but he gritted his teeth. “Of course,” he said. “I’d give my life for him. I’ll talk to you later.”

He’d scarcely made it out the door, however, when a voice spoke from behind him. “Master Pyaras, sir.”

Pyaras turned around. One of Father’s caretakers had followed him. “What is it?”

“Sir, I’m sorry if this seems rude, but if you wish for absolute certainty about your parentage . . . there is a way.”

“A fast way?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, sir, but I’m referring to genetic testing. Kartunnen don’t generally offer it to Grobal, but you could try requesting it if you so desired.”

“Thank you. I had no idea.”

“Sir.” The caretaker bowed and returned to Father’s room.

Pyaras stared at Father’s closed door. Absolute certainty—imagine it! Why would the Kartunnen restrict access to it, when every Grobal he knew would leap at the chance to know the truth?

But maybe that was the reason. The more he thought about it, the more dangerous it seemed. Imagine if he were to find a doctor willing to deliver a test, and discovered that his grandmother, or great-grandmother, had a secret Arissen lover! Or, what if a test found his Grobal ancestry was pure . . . but then Nekantor found out you could request testing?

If that knowledge ever became public in the Pelismara Society, there would be a mob rush for testing, with disastrous consequences. Adon would be forced to Fall. Tamelera, too. Who knows what effect it would have on Tagaret, or Nekantor, or the First Family as a whole? And it wouldn’t stop there. Every Family would rush to test, and suddenly everything would be exposed. Every secret dalliance. Every rape. Every flaw in the purity of every Family.

It would take the Great Families down like a wysp explosion.

Pyaras took a deep breath. No; if he wanted to protect Adon, he just had to have faith in Father, and in Mother, and in himself.

Returning to the vestibule, he asked his Jarel to double-check that he looked acceptable for a formal petition. Then he asked her to accompany him, and crossed the Residence to the office of the Arbiter of the First Family Council.

He wouldn’t hide from Lorman again.

Lorman’s Oidi opened the door at his knock. “Master,” he said. “Pyaras of the First Family.”

“Let him in.”

Pyaras walked in. Lorman had his back to him, rummaging in one of two large metal filing cabinets that stood in the corners of the room. Lorman’s gloves, with fingertips discolored by wax, sat in the center of his desk.

“Good afternoon, Arbiter,” Pyaras said, hoping to take charge of the topic. “I’m here to propose myself as a candidate for Heir for the First Family.”

Lorman stopped rummaging and looked over his shoulder. “Well. So, that’s . . . not what Nekantor told me.”

“I take it the Council hasn’t made its final decision yet.”

“So, that will happen this evening,” said Lorman. “However. So, so, I’ll be honest. I don’t believe you are well suited for the task.”

“I’m better suited than Adon,” Pyaras said firmly. “Adon’s not interested. There’s the doom of your whole effort, right there. You know a candidate has to give his all to achieve success. Nekantor almost broke himself trying to become Heir, and Garr actually died.”

Lorman looked at him skeptically.

“You don’t want Adon to be our candidate, Arbiter; I know you don’t. You’re so worried about the end of Garr’s line—you wouldn’t want him to be killed in Selection.”

“Well, so, what about you?” Lorman said. “You’re the end of Vull’s line.”

How could he respond to that? He was right: Father was dying. Soon, the house would be empty. He would be alone . . .

Not now. He shook himself, and pushed the thought away.

“Fine, then Adon and I mean the same loss risk. I’m as healthy as he is. Not many can say the same. It would set me ahead of many candidates from other Families.”

“All right, so, you’ve convinced me to listen,” said Lorman. “So let’s talk.” He turned back to his filing cabinet.

“What about?”

“So, you need to think about something.” The Arbiter pulled a slim folder from the drawer he’d been working in, shut the drawer, and brought the folder to his desk. “This is what our file on Adon looks like.” He set it down, and gave an unpleasant smile. “So, just a moment.”

Oh, boy. This was not going to be good.

Lorman returned to the cabinet and opened the drawer beneath the one where he’d previously been working. Pyaras didn’t have to stand on his toes to see that the entire drawer was full of papers. Those drawers, and the drawers in the cabinet in the opposite corner, obviously held records on every single child of the First Family, from the last who-knows-how-many years.

Lorman leaned into the drawer with two hands, and pulled out a file fully four inches thick. “This one is you.”

My whole life in paper. He’d been alive longer than Adon; clearly, he’d been followed by spies a lot more, too. What did they know? What didn’t they know?

Lorman set the file on his desk with a thud. “So. Well. If you’re willing to come and talk to us about this, you’re welcome. But you’ll have to be willing to come right now.”

Now? With no time to prepare?

Pyaras considered the huge stack of papers. Was it everything he’d ever done? Then Sirin the Luck-Bringer could dance the silatunmi, because there was no way to prepare for that.

“Great!” Pyaras said. “Let’s go.”

Lorman sneaked several glances at him while putting his gloves back on. He patted his whiskers, and led the way out of the office, with his Oidi behind him carrying the files. They climbed stairs up to where a group of men and manservants waited outside a bronze door. Lorman nodded to them, and entered.

Pyaras took his time coming in with Jarel. This room wasn’t particularly special, just your basic small meeting room with a brass table and chairs, two windows, and green curtains in the corners. Lady Selemei was already seated in a chair beside Speaker Fedron at the near end of the table. Imbati Ustin and Chenna stood against the stone wall behind, so Jarel joined them.

“Pyaras!” Selemei called, without standing up. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Speaker Fedron stood, and offered one gloved hand. “I hope this means what I think it means.”

Pyaras shook his hand, smiling. “I’m here to propose myself for candidate.”

“Thank Heile,” said Lady Selemei. “I’ve been so worried.”

“Good man,” said Fedron. “Why don’t you stand between us? This is going to be interesting.”

The other members of the First Family Council took seats along the sides of the table, while their manservants stood by the walls behind them. Lorman set his files on the far end of the table.

Finally, Nekantor walked in. The look of satisfaction on his face immediately fell to a scowl. Pyaras gave him a deliberately pleasant smile. Gnash you, Nek, I’m not going to let you intimidate me.

Arbiter Lorman called the meeting to order, but Fedron interrupted him before he could announce any kind of agenda.

“Arbiter, I believe Pyaras brings us a pre-emptive order of business.”

“So, indeed,” Lorman agreed, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He stroked his mustache with one finger. “So, Pyaras, please explain why you’re joining us today.”

“I want to be the First Family’s candidate for Heir,” Pyaras answered.

Someone at the table started to laugh, but choked off amid the silence of the others. At least some of the men here believed he was serious. Maybe they’d seen him at the Ball.

“Fah,” said Nekantor. “Don’t be ridiculous. Adon is going to be our candidate; it’s already been decided.”

“By you, maybe,” Pyaras said, before anyone else could speak. “But the Eminence doesn’t choose his Family’s candidate; the Family Council does. I believe the honorable Council members would prefer a candidate who’s willing and able to fight through the Selection. We’re not likely to win without a candidate who’s willing to compete.”

“Adon is healthy,” said a bald man at the corner of the table.

“So am I,” Pyaras said. “Lorman has all my health records.”

“Pyaras is a muckwalker,” Nekantor growled. “He’s an Arissen.”

“I’m not an Arissen.” Pyaras looked across the Council members. “You all know my father, Administrator Vull. He can testify as to the circumstances of my birth.” The thought made him shudder. Father needed to be cared for, not forced in front of councils.

“Councilmen,” said Lady Selemei in a clear voice. “I will also testify to the circumstances of Pyaras’ birth. His mother, Lady Indelis, was a personal friend of mine.”

“So, was she, really?” asked Arbiter Lorman.

“She was. If you wish to pursue this, Arbiter, I’ll be happy to invite the manservants and medical staff who were present at the birth to testify before the Council.” Lady Selemei smiled. “Your Eminence, with respect, slurs against Pyaras are irrelevant to our discussion.”

“They’re relevant if the other Families take them seriously,” said Nekantor.

Pyaras snorted. “Nek, if they do, that’s your own fault. But they didn’t seem to when we were touring the Accession Ball.”

Nekantor growled, but Arbiter Lorman held up one hand. “Your Eminence, so. I believe our records are sufficient to disprove any specious accusations.” Slowly, he lowered his hand until it rested on the thick file of papers on the table in front of him. “However, so, well, we should definitely discuss certain events in Pyaras’ file before we proceed to make a decision.”

Pyaras kept his eyes on Lorman without flinching. “Of course, Arbiter.”

“So, so. To start with, Pyaras, you have a history of muckwalking with a man by the name of Arissen Veriga. So do you deny it?”

“I do not.” There would be no point lying; the truth was right in front of him.

“So how do you explain your actions, which are beneath the dignity of a member of the Grobal Race?”

“Are they really?” Pyaras asked. “My father raised me to believe in the Grobal Trust, which gives us a responsibility to care for Lowers. Arissen Veriga saved the life of the Eminence Nekantor in the last Heir Selection, by eating poisoned food intended for him. I watched how he suffered for it. He deserved to be acknowledged for his sacrifice, but he received no gratitude from Nekantor, and no recognition for his heroism. I therefore chose to honor him with my own care, and in return he taught me about Arissen, a skill which not only allows me to better fulfill the Grobal Trust, but which the Eminence Nekantor himself has found useful.”

“That’s why you’re Executor,” said Nekantor sourly. “Not an Heir candidate.”

“Well, so, we’ll get to that in a moment,” said Lorman. “And your—unsavory—activities with Arissen Veriga?”

He swallowed an uncomfortable wave of guilt, but there was only one plausible way to get the Council to set those aside. “Veriga teaches me about Arissen,” he said. “I’m his student. I get to choose what I learn from him as much as my cousins get to tell their Schoolmasters what to teach.”

Lorman’s eyes narrowed, but some of the other council members were nodding. Maybe they didn’t know what all he and Veriga had gotten up to. Or maybe they didn’t care about his behavior as much as they cared that the First Family had a plausible story to tell.

“So. Arissen Veriga submitted a report to Speaker Fedron the day before the Accession Ball,” said Lorman. “According to that report, you worked alongside an Arissen by the name of Melín. So, explain to the council who she is.”

Oh, Sirin and Eyn, let him not be blushing! If spies had seen anything of his encounters with Melín, his chances were zero; he’d have to hope Veriga’s report was their only source. “Arissen Melín is a Wysp Specialist in the Pelismara Division,” he said. “And I am its Executor. I did encounter her at the targetball disaster, but I did most of my work helping Doctor Kartunnen Yaleni treat the wounded.”

“One more question,” said Lorman.

He tried to keep his voice level. “Certainly.”

“So, recently, you were given an order, as Executor, to direct the Pelismara Division to increase paper yields. And so, well, not only did you not carry it out, you went to the Eminence Herin of the Third Family in order to countermand it. So how do you justify acting against the First Family in this manner?”

What? Pyaras tried not to stare. That wasn’t at all where he’d imagined that question starting, or ending up. Not Veriga this time, or Melín, but his defense of the Division was being construed as some kind of betrayal?

“I was trying to protect my cousin Nekantor from looking like a fool,” he said.

“Pyaras . . .” Nekantor growled.

Pyaras turned to face him. “What did you think, Nekantor, that I was just going to carry out an order that would get Division—” He carefully chose which word to use next—“assets maimed and killed, and waste thousands upon thousands of orsheth in medical costs, damages, and compensation? And make you look incompetent before you’d even taken the throne? How would that advance the interests of the First Family?”

“You’re to do as you’re told,” Nekantor snapped.

“If you give me orders that aren’t contrary to the Family’s long-term interests, naturally, I will.” Pyaras scanned the men around the table. Several of them were smirking. Very odd—but maybe some in the Council favored the idea of an Heir candidate who could stand up to Nekantor.

“Thank you, Pyaras,” said Arbiter Lorman. He smoothed his mustache with one hand. “So, one last thing. We are willing to place you alongside Adon on our ballot for candidate, only if you can make us a promise.”

Oh, Plis help me . . . He knew, with a sick feeling in his gut, exactly what Lorman was going to say.

“You must promise to remember your responsibility to the Grobal Race. So, by this, I mean, your time to learn from Arissen is over. You must never again have any social contact with them, beyond what normal interactions are expected between an Heir and his guards and Commanders.”

Pyaras had clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. How could he promise he would never speak to Veriga again?

He would be alone . . .

But the more power he gained, the more danger Veriga would be in, merely for associating with him. Veriga was in danger enough because of what they had in that enormous file of papers. And now it would be worse—because Veriga was working with the Chief of Police on the investigation into the Eminence Herin’s murder.

Adon had to be protected.

And both Veriga and Melín were safer without him.

“No contact beyond expected official interactions,” he said, though his tongue felt like paper. “I swear it. Jarel, please bear witness.”

“Witnessed, sir,” said Jarel tonelessly from the wall.

“Well, so, then,” said Lorman. “Councilors, shall we prepare to vote?”

“FAH!” Nekantor exploded. He shoved away from the table and strode out of the room, with his Dexelin running to catch up.

“Lorman,” said one of the men at the table, “does the Eminence need to participate in the vote?”

“So, I’ll go talk to him,” Lorman said. He smiled at Pyaras and preened his mustache. “So, so, Pyaras. Thank you. You may be excused.”