CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
No Lies
Pyaras couldn’t stand sitting and waiting. But there was no better place to do it; whatever news there was to be had about Adon and Melín, it would reach here first. He wanted to pace, but this was Tagaret’s house, and Lady Tamelera was sitting on the next couch.
Watching the door was agony. Watching Tamelera was worse. Her Aloran stood behind her, quiet as usual, and outwardly calm. If he watched her with more attentiveness than was appropriate, it was impossible to tell.
They’re waiting for their child.
He couldn’t condemn them for it. After all, what was he doing here?
I’m waiting to glimpse my Arissen lover’s hair.
A terrible confession. And, oh! the thoughts that came with it. Her breath, her kiss, her grip, her energy—they conquered him like she always did. He doubled over in a flush of acute embarrassment, and clutched his head in his hands.
Thank Heile for mercy, Lady Tamelera seemed too preoccupied to notice.
She was the lucky one. Every Lady was constantly attended by a manservant, so no one could reproach Aloran for the care that was his duty anyway. Adon had inherited his mother’s very Grobal face, and since Tagaret’s father had been dark-haired in his youth, even that could pass unremarked. Every detail conspired to spare Aloran from accusation. He was safe.
Melín, though, was glaringly visible to everyone, and in danger of death every second she was near this family. They were probably shooting at her right now.
The doorbell rang.
Lady Tamelera sprang up from her seat. “They wouldn’t ring the bell.” She turned toward Aloran. “It can’t be—holy Eyn look down on us! Elinda forbear!”
“Lady,” Aloran murmured. “I’m here.”
Pyaras quickly turned away, and pretended he hadn’t been looking. The prayer echoed in his head. Blessed Eyn, look down on us—bring them home safe. Bring Melín here so I can tell her to stay away from us forever . . .
Serjer looked out from behind the vestibule curtain. “I’m sorry for your alarm, Mistress. Lady Selemei is here, accompanied by a Doctor Kartunnen Wint. They say they are here to see Mistress Della.”
“Oh—oh, mercy of Heile, do please ask them in.”
This was none of his business; maybe he shouldn’t have come here in the first place. Still, Pyaras stood up politely as Lady Selemei came in.
Lady Selemei handed her cane to her Ustin, and took Tamelera’s hand in both of hers. “Tamelera, it’s good to see you. This is such a difficult day for everyone. Have you had any news?”
“None,” Tamelera sighed. “We’re waiting for Adon to return from a lunch meeting.”
“My heart aches for you,” Lady Selemei said, shaking her head.
“It really doesn’t feel right,” Pyaras remarked. “I remember the day after the Round of Twelve being nothing but news and rumors pouring in all day. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”
Lady Selemei turned and looked at him. “Yes. It worked that way last time, and the time before. This isn’t normal.” She turned back to Tamelera. “How is Della doing?”
Tamelera shook her head. “She’s awake. She’s scared. No change in her condition.”
“Ladies, pardon me,” said the doctor, an older Kartunnen woman in a gray medical coat, whose hair was tied back in a red-and-silver knot. “If I’m correct in understanding that Lady Della has been abused by doctors in the past, and hasn’t suffered any bleeding with this pregnancy . . .”
“That’s correct, doctor,” Tamelera said.
“Then I would like to invite her to begin by speaking with me in a public room.”
“Serjer,” Lady Tamelera said. “Could you ask them to come out, please?”
“Right away, Mistress.”
Pyaras crossed his arms in frustration, then realized what he was doing and uncrossed them. He forced himself to admit that it made no difference whether Serjer walked away from his station; nothing would make Adon and Melín come home any faster. He tried sitting down, but it was unbearable. He stood up again.
Then Della and Tagaret walked together out of the back rooms. Tagaret had one arm wrapped around Della’s shoulders, and supported her hand with the other. She was in a dressing gown, and her beautiful copper hair had been brushed. She looked far better than she had lying in bed. She seemed both scared and worried—Mai’s truth, so did they all. Della glanced toward the doctor, and then quickly looked away. “Maybe we could just wait for Adon with all of you?”
“Fine by me,” said Pyaras.
Tagaret nodded. “Thank you for asking us to come out, Doctor. This is a scary time. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Della glanced at the doctor again. “Don’t make me.”
“Lady, we don’t need to do anything you’re not ready to do,” the doctor said. “Perhaps we could just have a conversation today.”
Della pressed her lips together for several seconds. “It’s that—Mother, can you stay? I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Oh! Oh, my love . . .” Tamelera went to them, silk gown swishing, and enfolded both Della and Tagaret in her arms. “That’s perfect, because we don’t want to be alone either.”
I certainly don’t. Yet he felt more alone than ever. “I don’t know if you want to hear this, Tagaret,” Pyaras said, “but there’s been no Selection news yet. Bad or good.”
“What?” Tagaret asked. “No news at all?” He looked over at the First Houseman, who had followed them out. “Serjer, nothing from the other Families?”
Serjer bowed. “No, sir. I’m afraid not.”
Tagaret shook his head. “Something’s wrong.”
The front door burst open. Adon wobbled in first; then came his Dexelin and Arbiter Lorman and his Oidi, and finally—
“Melín,” Pyaras breathed, though he wanted to shout it. “Thank all the gods.”
“Shut the doors.” Melín’s face was severe. “Check all the windows.” Imbati Serjer ran off at once.
Whatever had happened, it was bad.
“Adon,” Lady Tamelera cried, running to throw her arms around him, “Adon, love, are you all right?”
“S-sort of,” said Adon. He looked drawn and exhausted, so pale his skin was almost green.
“What’s that smell?” Della asked. “Smoke?”
Tamelera lifted her hands from Adon’s back. They were black with ash. “Oh, love, what happened? Did someone shoot you? Your new suit . . .”
“Oh, gods!” Adon jerked away. “I—I think I’m going to be sick.” He ran off into the back, with his Dexelin close behind.
“Can I do anything to help?” Pyaras asked. They ignored him.
“Doctor,” said Lady Tamelera, “Adon may be injured. May I trouble you to come with me for a moment?”
“Of course, Lady.” The two of them went after Adon into the back of the house.
“Arbiter Lorman,” said Tagaret. “Are you well? Shall I get you a drink of water?”
The Arbiter demurred, then seemed to notice that his hands were shaking, and said, “Yes, please.”
Tagaret strode off toward the dining room door.
Pyaras found himself alone with Melín, Lady Selemei, and Arbiter Lorman. Hopefully Lady Selemei could handle Lorman right now, because he had to ask:
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
Melín tensed. “Why should you care, sir?”
Sirin and Eyn, how he despised that word. “Why shouldn’t I care about what happens to you? When my own family has put you in danger?”
She gritted her teeth and didn’t respond.
“I knew it,” said Arbiter Lorman.
“Knew what?” asked Lady Selemei.
“Pyaras,” Lorman hissed, pointing at him with one shaking hand. “You have no manners. No honor. Your muckwalking is compulsive!”
“Lorman,” Lady Selemei scolded. “That’s a terrible thing to say. I realize you’re upset, but this is not the time.”
“No, Lady, this is the perfect time,” Lorman said. “Look at what he’s doing. He couldn’t keep a promise if his life depended on it.”
Something inside him snapped. “Varin gnash you, Lorman, that’s enough!” Pyaras roared. “How dare you talk to me about promises? Do I look like the First Family’s candidate for Heir? No? Oh, that’s right, the actual candidate just ran out with his new suit half burnt off after you failed to keep your promise to me. You shame me, twist me into becoming a tool for the Family’s purposes, and then drop me when I’m less than convenient? I’ll talk to whoever in Varin’s name I like!”
Lorman gaped at him.
Blast all of this. Pyaras turned to Melín. “Go. Please. Quit this horrid, dangerous job. Get away from my stinking family. Stay away from me and never speak to me again.”
Tagaret had just emerged from the dining room; he stood blinking, glass of water forgotten in his hand. Selemei had been shocked into silence.
“Pardon me, everyone,” Pyaras said. “I’ll be going now.”
He walked out the front door and slammed it shut behind him.
This was the way he would wake up forever: a black abyss inside, aching with confused dreams of a life that might actually mean something. And one day—maybe even tomorrow, in barter for a vote to make Adon Heir—the First Family would find him useful enough to offer him a partner. Some pretty, fragile girl who would fear him and do as she was told.
Gods, what he would have to do, so that she might bear him sickly children for the gods-forsaken Race!
Mechanically, he got himself out of bed, cleaned up, and got dressed, with his Jarel’s help. It was pretty early; Father wouldn’t be awake yet.
Halfway through a bite of morning mushroom tart he remembered he was allowed to see Arissen, now. He dropped his fork to the table.
“Mmf! Jarel, jogging—” He gulped down his food. He hadn’t been out with Veriga since the day the Eminence died. “Is it too late?”
“I don’t believe so, sir.”
It better not be. He pushed away from the table and ran for the front door, flinging himself down the stairways and into the gardens. Maybe Veriga had stopped coming, when everything got crazy. He wouldn’t have blamed him.
But when he reached their usual meeting spot, he found Evvi tied to the pole.
“Evvi, pup!” The tunnel-hound recognized his voice, and started wiggling joyfully. Pyaras fell on his knees in the gravel and took her in his arms, rubbing his face against her velvety head. “Where’s Veriga, huh, pup? Why isn’t he with you?”
“Because I was looking around for you.”
Veriga. It suddenly hit him how close he’d come to never doing this again. Pyaras hid his face in the tunnel-hound’s fur until he could face his friend without choking up.
“Hey, uh, sorry. We had a dangerous few days, there.”
“Me, too. Can’t talk about it.” Veriga bent and untied Evvi from the pole. “Let’s run.”
Running felt unbelievably good. Breathing, moving, the crunch of gravel, Veriga running ahead of him. They circled out past the Ring and around the Arissen section and back, twice. Veriga brought them into the Ring to finish up, like he always did; Pyaras grabbed a drink of water from the fountain, then joined him sitting on the low wall around the sand.
“You said something about danger?” Veriga asked, leaning elbows on his knees with his hands hanging. “Anything new I should know about?”
“No one’s making any of the usual Selection attacks,” said Pyaras. “They’re only attacking Adon. Thank Heile you’re not a part of that. Nekantor’s had Melín guarding him, but she might have quit.”
Veriga grunted. “All right.”
“Also, the Round of Twelve turned out to be all about Arissen. Paper Shadows were mentioned. And Adon publicly accused Nekantor of murder, so, yeah.”
“Hmph. Did anything happen after that?”
Pyaras shook his head. “Not to Adon. There was a cabinet member who seemed interested, though. Fifth Family. He wanted to talk about the investigation. You haven’t heard anything from him?”
“Not me,” Veriga said. “Chief of Police might have; I wouldn’t know.”
Pyaras looked at him, over his shoulder. “You’re staying safe, right?”
“Best I can.”
“Nothing you can tell me about the investigation?”
“Not and stay safe.”
Pyaras nodded. “Run again tomorrow?”
Veriga slapped his knees and stood up. “See you then.”
If Melín was gone, that was for the best. She hated him now; and she was safer out of his reach. He had Veriga. He had the Division, and Commander Tret. Of course, when he’d shown up at work Tret had given him a look like he was crazy, and told him to check back in when the Selection was over.
Which was fair.
Pyaras knocked on Tagaret’s door.
Imbati Serjer opened it. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Serjer. Does everybody hate me now?”
“Of course not, sir. Do come in. The family has decided against going out today.”
“Thanks. Sounds very sensible.” He pushed through the vestibule curtain. The sitting room was empty.
“I can call Master Tagaret for you, sir,” said Serjer. “He’s in the back with Lady Della at the moment.”
Pyaras shook his head. “Don’t bother him if he’s busy. I can sit by myself awhile. I live here half the time, anyway.”
Serjer answered with a slight smile. “You are always welcome, sir.”
Pyaras wandered to the nearest couch. He could still feel the warm effort of the run in his muscles. He’d just started to sit when Melín walked in through the drawing room doors.
He jolted to his feet.
She stared at him. The intensity of her attention stopped his breath. He couldn’t hide the tears that leapt into his eyes. Couldn’t hide the guilt, either. He looked down at his own hands, and eventually managed enough breath to speak.
“Melín, please. Please, may I talk to you?”
Her reply was wary. “No lies.”
“The truth, I swear. Or Mai strike me.”
She hesitated for a second. Then she crossed the room, buckles clinking on her boots, and pushed open the door of Tagaret’s office.
Pyaras followed her in. The office was as comfortable as ever, soft carpet, soft chairs, warm light. Tagaret had hung a few paintings back on the walls. For some reason, a tidy daybed had been set up on the floor. His thoughts leapt instantly to the things the two of them could do on it.
Shut up, you.
“Adon is sleeping here,” said Melín, who’d obviously noticed. “His bedroom isn’t safe.”
“Ah.” His heart pounded; if he looked at her, he couldn’t trust it not to break. He kept his eyes on a shadow the desk cast across the thick carpet. “Good idea. You’re an excellent bodyguard. Not that I’d expect anything else—you’re magnificent—but it’s killing me and I wish you would stop.”
“Because of what happened to Veriga.”
He couldn’t help looking up. She’d taken off her helmet and set it on the corner of Tagaret’s desk. Her hair, shorn close to her skin, made his fingers tingle to touch her; her gaze pierced him to the core. His next inhale was an effort. “How did you . . . ?”
“Adon told me,” she said. “But I don’t think he told me the whole story.”
“You want—”
“No lies.”
He swallowed. “All right—uh, I was eleven. One day I sort of beat up one of Nekantor’s friends, and he started calling me Arissen. I hated it, and I hated him, but I was an ignorant child, so decided I hated Arissen.”
He almost looked at her, but a wave of shame forced his eyes back down. He wiped his lip with one hand.
“The Eminence died, and Tagaret was supposed to become the First Family’s candidate for Heir. He heard me insulting Arissen, and got angry, and told me to talk to his Selection bodyguard.”
“Ah,” she said. “So that was Veriga.”
“Yes.” It hurt to think of him, young and still unharmed. “It went bad fast. Tagaret and I got sick with Kinders fever. I thought Tagaret would die. Nekantor stole the candidacy, and next thing I knew, Veriga had been poisoned.”
“Thank Heile for blessing him with healing.”
He nodded. “I—sat with Veriga, while—” He couldn’t say it. Already the memories of the medical center came rising, trying to overwhelm him. He raised both hands and pressed them to his head.
“Hey,” said Melín.
He looked at her.
“You don’t need to tell me that part. Sit down for a minute.”
“Yeah.” He skirted the daybed to the couch, and sat. She didn’t join him, but leaned on the edge of the desk, considering.
“Here’s something I don’t get,” she said. “Why would you still see him?”
“I probably shouldn’t,” he admitted. “My father hates me seeing him. Arbiter Lorman keeps an enormous file on all our unsavory activities. I don’t know—Veriga’s my friend. His tunnel-hound likes me. He takes me jogging. He takes me to targetball.”
Melín’s gaze sharpened. “Did he take you to the Descent?”
“I wouldn’t have known what a Descent was if he didn’t take me. He meant to teach me a lesson that night. But I lost him in the crowds, and it didn’t turn out like either of us had planned.”
“Ha,” Melín said, mirthlessly. “Obviously not.”
“I have a talent for doing stupid things, I guess. Veriga did crossmark me, but he couldn’t have done it if I didn’t consent. He wanted me to see how Arissen live—to humble me, so I could learn not to be so pushy.” He picked at the arm of the couch with his fingernail, and sighed. “Not so I could learn that everything in my life up to that point had been false.”
She frowned. “No lies.”
“I’m not.” Clubs and restaurants and prostitutes—all the pointless orsheth he’d spent on Lowers’ bodies that he’d never cared enough to tell apart . . . it was sickening. He couldn’t explain it. “I promised I would never crossmark again, after that. I wasn’t crossmarked at the targetball.”
She thought for a long while before speaking again. “So why did you tell me somebody shot you?”
“Somebody did.” He glanced up at her. “A Paper Shadow.”
“Plis in a mist! Your family begs for weapons fire.”
“I guess we do.”
“Why did you kiss me?”
That question aroused him instantly. He crossed his legs and looked away toward the office door, so he wouldn’t look at her—or worse, at Adon’s bed.
“Y-you said you w-wanted to,” he stammered. “And I w-wanted to. Nobody ever—I didn’t expect—I mean—I thought it was for fun. I never expected to see you again.”
She snorted. “That makes us even. I didn’t expect to see you again either. That’s what Descent nights are for: leave your lovers at home and explore a bit. Try something new. Celebrate being alive.”
He turned to look at her. “Lovers?”
Melín narrowed her eyes. “Veriga lives alone, does he?”
“Uh, yeah.” He swallowed. “With his tunnel-hound. He got her for medical reasons.” The word lovers bounced around awkwardly in his head.
“So maybe he’s not interested in sex. Or maybe he’s a team player, and his lovers take turns staying over.”
“I have no idea.” Here he’d thought he knew so much about Arissen. How had Veriga never talked to him about lovers?
Stupid question. Veriga had a way of responding to undue curiosity: ‘Enough, young nobleman.’
But the questions that spun in his head right now eroded a thousand things he’d thought he was certain about. Did Veriga really hate brothels? Was he just uninterested? Or did he have real lovers, before whom paid professionals looked flimsy as paper?
Pyaras shook his head. “Melín, all I know is, it doesn’t matter what I meant to do that night. I—” It was hard to breathe with her looking at him like that, but he had to say it. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You are more real than every lover I’ve ever had. You gave me something I never imagined I was looking for. For one night, I knew how to celebrate being alive—and now I don’t know what to do.”
For a second her eyes widened, and her lips trembled. Then she barked, “Gnash you! Why do I even care?”
He gulped and sat back against the couch cushions.
But her anger vanished as quickly as it had come. She rubbed her face with both hands. Then, slowly, she walked closer and sat down in the other corner of the couch, keeping a careful distance between them.
“I don’t think you understand,” she said. “Descent lovers are real, but I’ve had more than twenty.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t bear to consider what that meant.
“I was never lacking love. Drefne started as my barracks lover, then slowly got to know me, and lately he’s been a rescuer. He cooks the best breakfasts. Aripo was my Division therapist until she transferred me to someone else and when I asked why, she said she was struggling to keep her hands off me. I told her she didn’t have to try. She makes the tea.”
That didn’t make sense. “They’re both your lovers at the same time?”
“They’re not just my lovers, Pyaras, they’re my foundations. After each Descent lover has been forgotten, I go back to them. I was supposed to go back to them this time, too. Except I kept thinking about you. You were at that cursed targetball game. And after all the deaths, when Drefne and Aripo and I went home to nurse our injured hearts together, I wanted you there.” Her fists knotted on her knees. “I told them about you, gnash it! Do you have any idea what that means?”
The only thing he could be certain of was that he had no idea at all. And no foundations—she’d always stood on rock, and here he was on sand. His heart screamed that she couldn’t mean what she was saying. Maybe this was some Arissen thing? Because if it wasn’t—
She leaned closer. “I was ready to share everything with you! And then I found out.” She lowered her voice, but spat the words out. “It was a lie. I was nothing but your tool.”
“No,” he moaned, shaking his head. “You’re not, Melín, you’re not—there was only one lie. Crossmarking was my mistake, and I’m so sorry. You’re not my tool. You shouldn’t be anyone’s. All I want—”
There were no more words he could say. His heart screamed, I want you to be mine! But she wasn’t his. She never had been. He’d intended to play with her, and she’d intended to play with him, and whatever had happened afterward meant nothing. He had responsibilities. And she lived an Arissen life, one where she was fulfilled—one he could never understand.
He cleared his throat painfully. “All I want now is for you to go away, somewhere you’ll be safe from my family.”
“I get it, I do. But it’s not that easy. Nekantor stole me from my work in the Division to put me in the Cohort under his personal control. He’s put me in charge of keeping Adon alive until the end of the Heir Selection. Both times, he called it a reward.”
“Gods,” he said. “I hate Nekantor.”
“Unless you can keep me safe from him, then I’m trapped.”
A terrible thought struck him. Nekantor had clearly made Melín a favorite, next to Karyas. If Nek somehow got the idea that he’d made some claim on her, whatever he’d put her through up to this point would be nothing.
“No,” he said. “No—Melín, my seeing you, and talking to you, is putting you in danger. So if you can’t stop, then I have to. I’m sorry. I’m going to leave now.”
He stood quickly, without looking at her face, and walked out into the sitting room, toward the front door.
“Pyaras! Thank all the gods; I was looking for you.”
Pyaras turned around. “Tagaret?”
His cousin had just emerged through the double doors, and his face was unnaturally pale.
“What’s wrong?”
“You have to help me, I can’t do this.”
“Uh . . .”
“That doctor’s back. She’s in the room with Della, and she asked me to leave, but Della asked me to stay, and—I can’t say no if Della wants me there, but they’re going to take her clothes off!”
“What?” Pyaras blinked at him.
“To examine her, and the—you have to come with me.”
Pyaras shook his head, vehemently. “You can’t be serious. Della won’t want me to see her like that! She’s your partner, you’ve . . . seen her before. You need to do it.” Now Tagaret was staring. “What?”
It took a second before he realized Tagaret wasn’t staring at him. He turned around. Melín had come out of the office. She looked absolutely disgusted.
“Grobal Tagaret, sir, if you’re correct that Lady Della has requested your presence, you should be there. You’re not the one getting your parts looked at. You started this. The very least you can do is show up when she asks you to. Besides, you might see your child.” She didn’t wait for a response, but marched past them into the back.
“Mercy of Heile,” Tagaret said. “Our child. So many things could go wrong. So many already have—Pyaras, I’m scared.”
Staring his own best future in the face, Pyaras could hardly breathe. He put his arm around his cousin. “Della’s scared, too. She needs you. I’ll take you as far as the door.”