CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Respect and Insult
Why was she here, looking for a killer?
Melín scanned the fancy neighborhood that the business card in her pocket had brought her to. Daylights, rows of shops facing a busy circumference that crossed in front of her. Trunks of shinca, an occasional harmless wysp. Nothing like sunblast, and the fight all her nightmares reminded her she should have been fighting.
Treminindi knew what that was like; she shared that loss. For that reason alone, she deserved the respect of a warning.
The address couldn’t be far. On the right side of the radius that had brought her here from the Residence was a neighborhood full of Imbati apartments, probably well-connected Household types who wanted to live as close to work as possible. The circumference, though, was a mercantile zone. She turned left, watching the numbers along the row of buildings, looking for 742.
The numbers were weird. She kept passing archways that led into courtyards full of shops, and every time she did, the numbers jumped higher.
Here, maybe?
She turned in under an archway on her left. No; this couldn’t be right. It smelled too Kartunnen. The shops all had front walls of curved glass, and in the center of the courtyard, a fountain caught water from the cavern roof. Closest by was a fancy clothes shop, and the number 744; she’d skipped right over her destination.
Frowning, she turned around and walked back out through the arch. The building immediately to her right was 740. But this was the right street . . .
On the other side of 740 was a gap. She peeked in. It wasn’t an Akrabitti trashway, as she’d assumed. It was actually a very short alley leading to a railed stairway, and the number . . .
There we go.
Melín jogged to the top of the stairs and found a landing across the back side of the upper story. She peered up at a peephole in the door.
The door opened.
“Well, if it isn’t the best Wysp Specialist in the Division, come to see me.” Treminindi gave a wry smile. “You’re going to draw attention to me with that orange uniform. Hurry on in.”
“I’m not staying,” Melín said. This was a small space, lit by one bare ceiling bulb. It contained only a very old-looking metal desk with a stool on the near side. A chair sat between the desk and the large frosted window, which, if you could’ve seen through it, would overlook the circumference.
“Tell me you are, though,” said the veteran. “You’re a gift to me at precisely the right time. We’re about to get very busy.”
Melín shrugged. “It must be very inconvenient, with Karyas in the hospital.”
Tremi gave an indignant snort. “That Cohort First belongs to the Eminence. She’s not one of mine.”
“No? Why did I see you talking at the Riverside, then?”
“I caught her following you. It occurred to me that if you saw us together, you might be tempted to speak to me.”
Melín raised her eyebrows. “I was tempted to punch you. Karyas wasn’t the only one following me.”
The veteran shrugged, and sat on the corner of her desk. “I admit I haven’t had the best aim, when approaching you. Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t do this job well.”
“Look,” said Melín, “I already have a job. I’ve just been made Selection bodyguard. They even promoted me to Third.”
“So do I have to fight you, now?” Tremi sighed. “I gue—”
“Plis’ boots, Tremi, no!” Melín took a deep breath, and spread both hands to show she wasn’t about to grab for a weapon. “I thought you should know, though, since I may be shooting at your people. My plan is not to kill them.”
“Fancy plan, Specialist. I can tell you’ve never done this before.”
“Think what you like. I respect you, so I’m being polite. Let your people know at least one Selection bodyguard will be shooting to disable. Unless they want a change of career, they can leave Adon of the First Family alone.”
“Coward,” said Tremi.
“Nice word, seni.”
“I can make you rich.”
“No, thanks,” she said, and turned back toward the door.
You’re not going to make me a killer.
She’d figured out how to ignore Imbati—at least, gotten used to seeing them in the halls of the Residence. Door guard wasn’t at all the same job as personal bodyguard, though. Today, she had to pass through the black wall.
That meant stepping carefully.
Melín presented herself at the office of the Household Director, just inside the main Residence entrance. The bronze door was open, and a pair of children in maroon uniforms stood just inside it: a tall, dark-haired girl of around thirteen, and a pale-haired boy who looked around seven. Both of them wore the Imbati child’s black dot painted between their eyebrows. Director Samirya herself was a tall, thin woman with golden skin and dark hair pulled tightly back; she sat on a tall stool at a brushed-steel podium. At the moment, she was murmuring into a microphone while her hands flew across an ordinator keyboard. The wall above the podium held the largest ordinator screen Melín had ever seen, with what looked like an approximation of a map, in green on black, with names and blinking lights.
Not that the Household Director should catch her looking.
She stepped cautiously between the children and stood to attention. “Cohort Third Melín, assigned as Selection bodyguard to Adon of the First Family.”
The Household Director ignored her.
Melín pursed her lips and glanced over her shoulder at the Imbati girl, who only stared at her stonily. She turned back just as Director Samirya slipped off her stool and walked over, long black skirts swishing. She was tall enough that Melín had to look up. The Household tattoo scored a severe line and downward-facing crescent between the Imbati’s eyebrows.
Bet that had hurt.
The Director curtsied respectfully. “The heart that is valiant triumphs over all, sir. Please present your password and credentials.”
The credentials were in her left inside pocket, while her maps and antidotes occupied her right. Nekantor himself had given her the password.
“Garr’s legacy,” she said. She pulled out three cards, separated out Tremi’s, and passed over the other two.
“Thank you, Melín, sir,” the Imbati said, returning a card to her, which she replaced in her pocket. “You will now be escorted to the home of Adon of the First Family, where you will present yourself to the First Houseman, Serjer. Do not leave your escort for any reason, or you will have to return here.”
“The children? Are they the escorts?” she asked, considering the two beside the door. The little boy stared fixedly; the girl was fiercely intent. She couldn’t help grinning. “Which one of you is going to take me?”
“First to answer shall escort Arissen Melín,” said Director Samirya. “What was her password?”
“Garr’s legacy,” the little boy answered instantly, in a quiet voice; the girl was louder, but a half a word behind.
“Very good, Xinta. Four minutes. Check in with Serjer when you arrive.”
“Yes, sir.” The Imbati boy gave Melín the smallest formal bow she’d ever seen. “The heart that is valiant triumphs over all, sir. Please follow me.”
Melín did, shaking her head. Imbati are so weird. Small as he was, the boy didn’t get distracted, or hesitate at all. She stuck with him gamely through the fancy halls and into a corridor on the first floor of the suites wing. The door opened as they approached it.
Her small escort bowed to the Household man inside. “Arissen Melín has arrived, Serjer, sir.”
“Thank you, Xinta.”
“Thanks, small Imbati,” said Melín. Her escort bowed again, and made his way back down the hall. She faced the First Houseman reluctantly; her escort had been amusing, but Serjer’s expressionless face made her thighs twitch.
He bowed. “The heart that is valiant triumphs over all, Arissen Melín, sir. Please enter the vestibule.”
She stepped inside, and the Houseman closed the door. This was a tiny rectangular space with green curtains on three sides. “So, Serjer—”
“Please repeat your password, sir.”
“Uh, Garr’s legacy.”
“Show me your weapons, please, sir.”
Melín frowned. She needed the First Houseman’s goodwill if she could get it. She unholstered her bolt weapon and held it out on the palm of one hand. She offered the dueling knife the Cohort had given her in the other.
If the Imbati tried to touch them, this was going to get awkward.
He didn’t. “I have your valiant word, Arissen, sir, that these are your only weapons.”
“Yes. One ranged and one close combat.” She tried smiling at him. “You have pretty tight security of your own, don’t you, Imbati.”
Not a twitch in his expression. “Yes, sir.”
Serjer pulled back the vestibule curtain, revealing a rich sitting room full of art and curtains and plush couches and chairs. Melín slipped her weapons back into their places, and began by identifying the exits: the door behind her, a single door on her left in the near corner, a pair of double doors straight ahead, a single door on the right near the far corner.
“I’d appreciate a map of the suite,” Melín said. “I didn’t receive one.”
Serjer nodded. “The heart that is valiant triumphs over all, sir. We have the suite covered. Our palm locks are intact on front and service doors. I keep lists of which members of the Residence Household are permitted to enter each room. These rules are enforced by me, by Household Keeper Premel, by Tagaret’s Kuarmei, and by Tamelera’s Aloran. You are currently permitted in the sitting room. If you encounter an unfamiliar member of the Household here, touch your thumb to your fourth finger and you will remain unmolested.”
They really did have a security plan. “That makes my job easier, Serjer, thank you,” she said.
“Please wait here, sir.” Serjer disappeared behind one of the side curtains of the vestibule—a servants’ door, or she’d eat a toad. And she’d bet there was a matching door on the opposite side.
“Sir,” said a new voice.
Melín turned around. An Imbati woman about her height now approached, as the double doors swung shut behind her. This woman wore the complex tattoo of a personal bodyguard, and moved with taut menace. Her dark hair was graying at the temples. She stopped just outside knife range, and gave a short bow without ever taking her eyes from Melín’s face.
“The heart that is valiant triumphs over all, sir. My name is Kuarmei. My Master is Tagaret of the First Family, Master of this house and older brother of the Eminence Nekantor and of Adon.”
Definitely a fighter. “I’m pleased to meet you, Kuarmei.”
“When did you join the Eminence’s Cohort, sir?”
“At the start of Heken, this year. Just over two months ago.”
“Sir, you have advanced quickly.”
I wish I hadn’t. “I suppose I have.”
“Why did you move from the Pelismara Division to the Eminence’s Cohort, sir?”
They knew more about her than she’d thought. She could see no reason to lie. “The Eminence Nekantor forced me to, Kuarmei. It was not my choice.”
“Please wait a moment, sir.” Kuarmei exited the way she had come.
A tall man with a manservant’s tattoo and long black hair stepped smoothly out before the door swung shut. This man wore more color than she usually expected from Imbati; his suit was not quite black, and dark red embroidery made a pattern on his chest. He had the same fighter’s motions as Kuarmei, and a considerable reach advantage. She wouldn’t have wanted to fight him.
She gave him a nod. “Imbati.”
“The heart that is valiant triumphs over all, sir,” the man replied, in a soft baritone. “I am Tamelera’s Aloran. My Lady is the mother of Tagaret, Nekantor, and Adon.”
“Hello, Aloran.”
“I have two questions for you, sir.”
“Go ahead.”
“One. Do you have any current bets or betting debts?”
“No,” she said, and then remembered Drefne. “Unless you count that I owe my roommate dinner out.”
The Imbati nodded. “Two. What is wrong with Nekantor?”
“Wrong with him?”
What kind of question was that? In the home of his own family?
But maybe this was exactly where she should expect such a question—it would explain the First Houseman’s lists, the hand code she’d been given, and this elaborate series of interviews. Nekantor’s family knew him. Did they fear him?
Did they think she was on his side?
“Arissen Melín, sir,” said Imbati Aloran. “Please answer the question.”
“Of course.” Melín swallowed. “The Eminence Nekantor permits no human feeling for death.” She found herself reaching unconsciously for the place on her right arm where she’d worn a mourning armband. “His rewards are used for control. He can’t be trusted.” She risked a guess. “Even with his brother Adon.”
The Imbati inclined his head to her. “I will now escort you into the private drawing room, sir. If you encounter unfamiliar members of the Household there, touch your thumb to your middle finger two times, and you will remain unmolested.”
She tested the gesture. “Thank you, Aloran.”
“Please come in and meet the family.”
Hand of Sirin, she’d passed the black wall. She took a deep breath, and followed Imbati Aloran through the double doors.
This room was busier to her eye than the one she’d just left. The walls here were packed full of art, including paintings, and hangings of woven cloth.
Three people sat on a couch facing her. One of them looked startlingly like Nekantor, if maybe a bit younger, with no gray in his sandstone hair—that would be Kuarmei’s Master, Tagaret. There was also an older woman with intricately braided hair and a colorful silk gown—Aloran’s Mistress, Tamelera. Between them was the boy she was supposed to guard: a dark-haired young nobleman in a suit of green patterned silk, with lace at his throat and at the wrists of his white gloves. Grobal Adon of the First Family.
They looked exactly like you’d expect nobles to look, right down to their noses. Except there was one truly striking thing about them: they all looked grief-stricken, as though someone had just died.
Mai’s truth, someone had.
A lot of people had—people who deserved to be mourned.
Maybe these three wouldn’t be so bad.
Melín stood to attention and saluted, chopping her right hand to her left shoulder. “Cohort Third Melín reporting for duty, sirs, Lady.”
“Welcome, Melín,” said Lady Tamelera. The boy’s mother. Also the man’s—and the Eminence’s. “We’re deeply grateful that Adon will have your protection in the coming days.”
“I’ll do my best for him, Lady. I believe it would be advantageous for me to discuss security arrangements with your Household.”
“They will be happy to assist you in your assignment,” said Grobal Tagaret.
Heh—happy, right. “Thank you, sir.”
The First Houseman looked in from the front. “Guests for the Round of Twelve are arriving, Masters, Mistress.”
“Coming,” said Grobal Tagaret. “Adon, you get to know Arissen Melín, and come out when you’re ready, all right?”
Lady Tamelera kissed her youngest son on the top of the head, then rose and took Grobal Tagaret’s arm. Together they walked out to the front.
The boy, Grobal Adon, sighed heavily. “All right.” He got to his feet with unexpected grace. He was not yet as tall as she was. “Is there anything you’d like to know, Arissen Melín?”
“Sir,” she said, “how old are you?”
“Thirteen.” Grobal Adon looked down for a second, then cast a glance up through the fringe of his dark hair. “I’m going to ask you something, now.”
“I’m happy to answer, sir.”
“Why were you fighting in the hall with Arissen Karyas?”
Melín managed not to gape. The yelp she’d heard—the one that had distracted her and allowed Karyas to wrest control—this was that boy? “Sir,” she said. “I believed Karyas intended to murder the Eminence Herin.” She wasn’t about to mention how.
“You were wrong.”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
The boy took a breath as if to ask something else, but then the double doors burst open and a man ran in, straight into Adon’s arms before she could do more than blink.
“Twins, Adon, I’m so sorry, I tried to stop them—”
Gods, I’m supposed to be on duty! “Sir!” she snapped. “Some distance, please!” She grabbed the man by his coat and hauled him backward off Adon; he turned his face in shock.
It was Pyaras.
“Varin gnash your face!” she shouted, and flung him away from her. Her whole body flushed so hard she almost shook—anger, this was only anger, by Plis!
“Melín—oh gods . . .” Pyaras stumbled backward, hit the door, and fell through it.
“Lying carrion! How dare you do that to me?”
“Arissen Melín,” said a cold voice from over Pyaras’ head, beyond the now-open door. “Explain this behavior.”
At least six Grobal were staring at her from the sitting room. Including Nekantor.
My ass. I am so dead.
She gulped, but couldn’t make a sound.
“Oh,” said Pyaras. He made a hoarse noise like a chuckle as he picked himself up off the floor. “Don’t worry, Nek, it’s my fault. I wasn’t thinking, and I grabbed Adon without realizing she—our new bodyguard, that is—was on duty. I hope she treats anyone else who tries to touch him so . . .” He licked his lips. “Decisively.”
Decisively. The way his tongue moved across his lips, or maybe the way he straightened his clothes, made her traitorous stomach turn over. Under the weight of noble eyes, she didn’t dare move, not even to smack herself in the head.
“So, Pyaras, why—” This was another of the nobles, a man with a ridiculous curled mustache. “—would you allow a Lower to speak to you in this manner? This is not behavior befitting—”
“Lorman,” Pyaras cut him off, “weren’t you paying attention when I told you about learning from Arissen? There’s a unique Arissen tradition. And it says that you’re allowed to chastise a superior if that superior has given you a particular type of insult. And I’m afraid I really did give insult to our bodyguard. Entirely without meaning to, but there it is. Arissen Melín, are you satisfied with your redress?”
He was lying his ass off for her. Why?
With Nekantor still staring, she could only snap to attention and hope for the best.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Nekantor snorted. “There’s no such tradition, Pyaras.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me how much you know about Arissen, Nek.”
The Eminence only gave a low hiss.
Fury still bubbled inside her. Why, she wanted to scream. Why would you lie for me? Why would you sit outside a Descent? Why would you crossmark? Why would you let me kiss you?
No—that last question was too easy. Angry as she was, she still wanted to get him alone and do a lot more than ask him questions. Reminding herself that he was a pathetic nobleman wasn’t working; she needed an ice bath. She’d better be very careful not to get him alone.
Lying piece of carrion.
“Arissen Melín!” the Eminence snapped. “Resume your duties!”
She saluted—“Sir!”—and returned to Adon’s side. The boy was staring at her, but he couldn’t see how her insides were shaking. He kept on staring, while Pyaras stepped out into the sitting room and the door with all the faces swung shut.
“Arissen Melín, are you all right?”
“Perfectly, sir. I apologize for my outburst.”
The boy lowered his voice. “You know, it’s natural to hate Nekantor, but Pyaras is a good cousin. Loud, but good.”
“Cousin?” Her voice cracked. “Pyaras and you and the Eminence—your fathers were brothers? Sir?”
Adon’s brow wrinkled in a frown, but then he exhaled and half-smiled. “No, of course not, Arissen Melín. Our grandfathers were brothers.”
Right. Because that made it so much better.