CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Violence

Those noble slime-stains had some nerve, talking about her like that!

Melín fumed, watching Grobal Adon of the First Family and the others descend from the stage. The feeling in her gut was furious, sure, but also . . . queasy.

‘Arissen are violent. Violence is in their nature.’

You didn’t reach the age of eight without hearing that line. Hearing it from resentful Lowers was no big deal. From nobles? Totally different.

Sure, it was easy to laugh at pathetic, inbred Grobal while standing in line for a Descent. But it got less comfortable when one of them was about to be put in charge of you. In charge of everyone.

Tremi had been right about noblemen’s tools.

Melín’s head hurt. That wasn’t a surprise; she’d walked in here expecting to stand around and wait while her body reminded her of a fight she was missing.

She hadn’t expected to have opinions on who won.

Precious few of the candidates were worth a shred of hope. Adon, though, had just accused his brother of murder, and done it with conviction, in front of hundreds of people. He was worth keeping alive.

Convenient, that that was her job.

Security conditions for leaving the Hall of the Eminence weren’t optimal. As far as she could see, the posted guards had relaxed as if their work was done, and most Grobal were counting on the dense crowds for protection. Nekantor had promised that no one would pull out weapons until tomorrow.

But she knew what his promises were worth.

“Sirs,” she said, sharply enough so that all the First Family group could hear. “We may come under attack now that the event is over. Please ask your servants to prepare a strategy for the way home.”

Grobal Tagaret looked at her with dismay in his eyes, but nodded.

“Good idea,” said Pyaras. Soon, his Jarel was talking to Tagaret’s Kuarmei, and they then spoke to the others. Imbati bodyguards moved to post positions, which cleared up the question of who was coming home with them—mustache man and event announcer man moved off separately, with their Imbati. It looked like Adon, Tagaret, Pyaras, and Lady Selemei were in their group. Two of the manservants took the front, and two the back.

Adon stood stiff, his eyes wide. “Danger? Already?”

“Young sir,” Melín said, “perhaps not, but these precautions are to keep you safe. Please stay alert as we leave the Hall. Be ready to drop if I say.”

The boy made an unhappy sound in his throat, but nodded.

They moved out. The bottleneck of the door into the corridor brought Kuarmei and Jarel together in front of her, black silk shoulders converging to block her view ahead for a split second—

—gnash it—

—then they parted, revealing the corridor.

Two Cohort guards posted. One wysp. No curtains and no crowds.

Melín exhaled, and continued forward. Just past the posted guards, the corridor opened out into a fancy room.

Four curtains. Four guards posted. No crowds.

It wasn’t far, but still, there were a lot of obstacles between them and Adon’s home. They turned left, toward the suites wing. Another big fancy room—curtains, guards in this one, and a young lady in a velvet gown with her manservant, who backed against the wall to let them pass.

A doorway, and then here they were in the long suites corridor: a pair of guards posted, curtains, deep-silled windows, a wysp, two ladies, three men. Bronze doors, which meant safety within sight.

Adon gave a hiss.

Look again—one of the men wasn’t wearing velvet. His hand moved, pulling out of his pocket.

“Down!” Melín barked. Drew and fired.

Zzap!

The man screamed and crumpled to the floor. Nobles in the hallway bolted for safety behind their doors. A glance over her shoulder at her own group revealed the Imbati in ready stances, and every one of her noble companions crouched on the floor. Excellent.

“Imbati Dexelin, take Grobal Adon into the house, now,” Melín said. “I need one Imbati to help, but everyone else should join him.”

She ran forward, sickness growing in her stomach. That wasn’t a wysp she’d just shot. The would-be assassin wasn’t screaming now, but panting convulsively, curled around his injury. Still-curling smoke carried the smell of burnt flesh, but nothing appeared to be on fire. She shoved his shoulder, enough to see: caught him in the fingers, as she’d intended, and missed the weapon’s power cell, which might have exploded.

Was it worth it? The money, in exchange for your fingers? She didn’t ask him. If he was lucky, some of them might be saved.

Merciful Heile, what would Durkinar say?

Her face went hot. I didn’t kill him. I did my job. But her head felt like she’d driven a spike into it.

“Imbati,” she forced out, hoping one of them had followed.

“Sir.”

“If we give him to the Eminence’s Cohort, I doubt he’ll survive the day. I want him delivered to the Pelismar Police.”

“Jarel, get him to Arissen Veriga if you can.”

Melín turned around. The powerful Imbati woman wasn’t the only one who had stayed. Sirin and Eyn! She almost swore at Pyaras, but gulped it down. “Sir,” she spat. “What in Varin’s name is it about Veriga?”

Pyaras didn’t answer, just pressed his lips together as if she’d hurt him.

She looked away fast. “Imbati, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jarel. “The Household will get it done. The heart that is valiant triumphs over all.”

Within seconds, three more Imbati appeared from behind curtains and joined them. They hauled the assassin up, claiming his weapon from a bloody spot on the carpet and sealing it in a plastic bag. He cried out again as they carried him away.

The door to the First Family’s home suite still stood open. The First Houseman was there, watching; and farther back, through a gap in the curtains of the vestibule, so was Adon.

“Adon, sir,” Melín said. “All the way inside, please, for your safety.” He immediately vanished. Melín nodded to Serjer as she went in, and watched him until he’d pushed the door fully shut. “I’d like your approval to double-check the perimeter of the house,” she said. “I bet more attacks are coming.”

Serjer hesitated, then nodded. “You may, sir. The heart that is valiant triumphs over all.”

“Can I get a map?”

“The servants’ Maze encloses the house on both sides, sir,” Serjer said. “Palm locks are on the front and service doors. You may wish to check the windows on the outer walls, however.”

I sure may. “Thank you.” She started to turn away, but then looked back. “If you take me to them, we can both be certain.”

Serjer gave a tiny nod, and joined her.

They started in the suite’s northeast corner, which involved walking through Lady Tamelera’s bedroom and into one of the servants’ doors. Serjer was obviously uncomfortable with her here, but attackers might not follow rules. She’d bet this was Aloran’s room; he used the windowsill as a bookshelf, and kept an icon of Mai the Right. Serjer made sure of both window locks, allowing her to look past his arm to double-check. They checked the two windows in the Lady’s bedroom, and then the one at the end of the hall out of the drawing room.

“The last window is in Adon’s room, sir,” said Serjer.

Of course it was.

Stepping in gave her an instant glimpse of what kind of boy she was guarding. Wow, did he take clothes seriously. Organized, though: the walls of hanging garments were neatly arranged. He had all his gloves laid out in a circular pattern on the deep windowsill, fingers outward.

She really didn’t like that window. Locked or not, this was the first floor; anybody could break it if they tried hard enough. That would give them an easy straight shot.

“We’re going to have to move him,” she said.

Best option was probably the room next door, that she’d spotted as they’d come out of the master bedroom. She left Serjer locking the window, walked out of Adon’s room, and ducked in the neighboring door.

“What are you doing in here, Arissen?”

The voice was female, and didn’t sound particularly alarmed, but Melín froze anyway. A gray-haired Imbati manservant faced her, staring, with one arm cocked to throw.

I’ve been here before.

But she couldn’t have; she’d never walked into this room in her life. She didn’t shake her head, because that would give the Imbati an excuse to take her eye out.

She had a code, though . . .

Carefully, she sneaked her thumb and middle finger into his sightline and tapped twice.

There was no change in the Imbati’s threat posture.

Her throat felt dry. She swallowed. “My name is Melín, Lady. I’m Grobal Adon’s assigned Selection bodyguard. I can show you my credentials—”

“Yoral, you may allow her to show her credentials.”

Melín exhaled. “Thank you, Lady.” She fumbled the credential from her pocket and held it out. “I apologize for barging in. Grobal Adon was attacked just now, on the way back from the Round of Twelve. I was looking for a safer room for him to sleep in tonight, away from the windows. I intend no violence.”

“Sorry for the misunderstanding, then,” the Lady said. “Yoral, you may stand down.”

“Yes, Lady.” The Imbati lowered his arm. Even that motion was familiar . . .

Wait. Melín took her eyes off the manservant, and looked for the Lady, who lay in a medical bed with her feet higher than her head, looking miserable.

Copper hair. The Lady from the hallway.

“Lady Della of the First Family?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. This Lady had been missing from the cabinet meeting. The name Della of the First Family had been glaringly absent from the scroll of heroes. What was she doing here? “We—I—missed you, at the cabinet meeting. Did you have some accident?”

The Lady frowned. “No accident. What do you mean, cabinet meeting?”

“For the heroes, Lady. Those who saved lives. You called Lady Falya out of the Eminence’s dining room. You saved me from Karyas.”

“You’re that Arissen?”

“My name is Melín.” She tucked her credential card back in her pocket, then drew herself up and saluted. “Thank you for saving me. Crown of Mai! You should have been honored for that.”

The Lady winced, and shifted in the bed, awkwardly, heavily. “I couldn’t be at any cabinet meeting, Melín. I was put—well, I was here.”

“Put?” The word popped out of her, propelled by outrage. She scanned the room. Hospital bed, double bed, bathroom through a door in the wall . . . It was just the Lady and her servant. Was someone keeping her captive here? That shouldn’t be possible. “Why?” she demanded, then added quickly, “Lady?”

“Because I’m . . .” The Lady’s face paled. “Pregnant.”

“Lady, someone put you in bed for being pregnant? Mai help us, that’s not a reason.”

“It is for me. They always—it’s to protect the child, so I don’t lose—again . . .”

“But, Lady, you were just as pregnant when you saved me. If there was no accident . . . I don’t understand.”

Lady Della clenched fists on her covers and bit off her words. “Of course you don’t. You’re not of the Grobal Race. Arissen don’t have the decline.”

Outrage half-strangled her. “Another precious noble knows so much about Arissen!” she snapped. “What, you think our health is perfect and we don’t ever miscarry?” Then she realized what she was doing and shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked together.

The Lady should have been furious, but instead, she looked baffled. “Do you?”

“Lady.” Deep breath; calm down, don’t shout. “It happened to my mother, three times. She had a womb weakness. She got it treated by a medic, though, when she had me, and then my brother.”

“A womb weakness,” the Lady whispered. “Yoral, do I have a womb weakness? That would explain a lot . . .”

“No, Lady. Not to my knowledge.”

Mai and Elinda stand witness! Melín turned on the servant and glared. “So let me get this straight, Imbati. You did no internal exam?”

He didn’t answer.

“If you did no internal exam, you don’t know if she has a womb weakness. And if she doesn’t have a womb weakness, then why—did they put—her in bed?!”

The Imbati lifted his eyes to look at her directly. One thing was sure: he had courage. “You would have to ask Master Tagaret, sir. And perhaps also Mistress Tamelera, and Lady Selemei, who witnessed it.”

Melín snorted. “You know what? I will. They’re all here—I’ll tell them what they’ve done.” If she could get them to hear. “Requesting your support, Lady. I’m not sure the Master of the house will like my opinion.”

“Wait a minute,” said Lady Della. “You would fight for me in this?”

“You fought for me, Lady.”

The Lady’s hands, which had relaxed, tightened on her sheets again. “Yoral, can you bring everyone in to speak to us?”

“Yes, Lady.”

Melín hopped out of the Imbati’s way as he left. “Lady, can you tell me exactly what they did?”

Lady Della looked away from her. “I felt hardness in my belly,” she said. “It hurt.”

“All right. How many times?”

“Once. Tagaret called the doctors. They put me in bed. They . . . made me sleep.”

I’m going to break somebody. “Lady, that’s—terrible.” It was the most polite word she could think of.

“Would you please . . . stand by me?”

“Happy to, Lady.” Melín crossed to the head of the Lady’s bed and set her back to the wall. Stupid risk, maybe, but did it really matter if she lost this job? Lady Della deserved so much better than this.

The others arrived all at once. Apparently, no one from this afternoon’s event had yet gone home, because suddenly it was two against four: her and Lady Della over here; and over there Grobal Tagaret, with his mother on one side and Lady Selemei on the other, and Pyaras sneaking in behind. The only reason it wasn’t twice that many was the small room couldn’t fit all their manservants.

I hope Lady Della has some courage.

Grobal Tagaret sniffed and looked at her down his nose. “Arissen Melín. You wished to say something?”

“Grobal Tagaret, sir,” she said. “I came in here on my security check, and I found Lady Della stuck in bed. She saved my life, sir, on the day the Eminence Herin died. And she told me what happened after that. You did—wrong, when you forced her into this bed against her will.”

Gnash it, she’d backed off what she meant to say! Was it because Grobal Tagaret looked so much like his brother? She could have kicked herself. Come on, forget who he is for a minute.

Grobal Tagaret crossed his arms. “You’re presumptuous, Arissen.”

“So are you, sir. Thinking you’ll prevent her from miscarrying by drugging her and forcing her down.”

He scowled. “Varin’s teeth! You know nothing about her.”

“Neither do you, sir. She hasn’t had an internal exam.”

“She’s my partner. I’ve lived through this with her for more than twelve years!”

She had no idea what to say to that. Had the Lady never had an internal exam in twelve years? Why, in Heile’s name, why?!

“Tagaret,” said Lady Selemei. “An exam could make certain.”

His head snapped around toward the Lady. “Certain of what?”

“The health of her pregnancy,” said Lady Selemei.

Melín clenched her fists. “Every pregnancy is different, sir. Maybe you knew she’d miscarried before, but without an internal exam there’s no way to be sure why. I can’t believe you decided it was fine to restrain your own partner based on nothing but guesses and fear.”

“I did no such thing.” But he looked away. Such obvious guilt!

“What did you do, then, sir?” she demanded. “Were you out of the house when strangers attacked your partner with needles and stuck her in a bed? Or were you here to watch them do it?”

“Enough!” Tagaret snapped. “You have no authority here. You have no manners. All you’ve done is prove that Arissen do have violence in their nature.”

“Tagaret!” Lady Della exclaimed. “Tagaret, please.”

“Go ahead, sir, fire me,” Melín said. “You’re absolutely right. We Arissen do have violence in our nature—enough to recognize violence when we see it done. Just because you didn’t personally lay hands on Lady Della doesn’t mean you’re not responsible. Maybe if you’d drugged her and tied her down yourself, you might have realized what in Varin’s name you were doing.”

Grobal Tagaret flushed, and clenched his fists.

She had it coming, now. She braced herself. Is your punishment as much fun as your brother’s rewards?

Lady Tamelera laid one hand gently on her son’s shoulder. “Tagaret—how you remind me of your father.”

Blood drained out of Grobal Tagaret’s face. He turned to her in horror. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, dear gods, Mother, what have I done?” In two long steps, he rushed across the room to Lady Della’s bed and fell over her, his head on her chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was just trying to—I was angry when you ran away, and then—the pain, I was so scared, but she’s right, I don’t know anything . . .”

Lady Della’s hand moved lightly to stroke his hair. “You might be right,” she said. “If you are, and I need to, I’ll stay in bed. But let’s be honest.” She hiccupped, clearly struggling not to sob. “Chances are better this is a . . . a growth, and not a child at all.”

Dear gods, the despair in those words! Melín swallowed hard. “You may not have to grieve, Lady. And even if you do—be certain.”

Lady Della nudged Tagaret until he stood up again, but kept hold of his hand.

“How?” she asked. “How can we be certain?”

“A medic could scan the child, Lady. Not that I know how to take you to one.”

“Leave that to me.” That was Lady Selemei. “I’ll call my personal doctor.”

Unbelievable. They had listened. They had changed. They were planning, now—and Pyaras was smiling. It wasn’t like the smiles she’d seen on him before; it was triumphant, full of admiration and pride. Her insides melted, and her cheeks burned.

Time to go. Now.

“Lady Della,” she said. “Please excuse me.”

“Melín, wait.” The Lady reached a hand above her head, and touched her arm. “Would you be willing to sit with me, when the doctor comes?”

“As my duties permit, Lady.” She shook her head. “Why?”

The Lady smiled gently up at her. “I could use your courage.”