CHAPTER TEN
Lady’s Politics
Now he knew what would happen if Mother stood up to Father. The whole house had seemed to vibrate, long into the night. Tagaret struggled to sleep, woke late, and stared at the ceiling vaults, wishing he didn’t have to move.
Wishing he’d never told Mother. Or that Father had never found Imbati Aloran. Or even that Mother and Father had never returned from Selimna at all.
The past held no solutions. But what did the present offer to end Mother’s misery?
He wanted Reyn.
Reyn, who always had his back, who always understood what he was going through. Who hadn’t spoken to him since his birthday, since Fernar set him up with Yoral.
I hurt him.
Admitting it put a desperate ache in his chest. He couldn’t help wanting Della. But he’d known how Reyn would feel. His body shivered in the tangle of memories. Mai help him, why was it suddenly so complicated? And today was Soremor 15th, when Lady Selemei would attempt to capitalize on his indiscretion.
Really, he should never have approached Della in the first place. It was too dangerous, too hurtful to everyone.
He needed Reyn.
Tagaret showered and dressed, but hesitated before leaving his rooms, and had Serjer bring in breakfast instead. The whole house felt brittle, as if any misstep might cause a rockfall. Best would be to escape the house entirely and not return until afternoon.
Did he dare risk facing Lady Selemei? What would she do to him if he did not?
Cautiously, he ventured out. The drawing room was empty. Tagaret cracked open the double doors—and found Father on the nearer couch, sitting with his back to him. He and Sorn formed a perfect blockade of the only exit.
And then Nekantor’s voice spoke up. “Father, Tagaret’s at the door.”
Varin’s teeth.
Father shifted on the couch and looked back. “Tagaret, come in,” he said. “I need to talk to you and your brother, both.”
So much for stealth. Tagaret took a deep breath and joined them. Nekantor had apparently been pacing out of sight, near the dining room door.
“Glad you’re finally up, Tagaret,” Father said. “You have a meeting today. Caredes of the Eighth Family, at two.”
Tagaret gulped. The same time as Lady Selemei’s tea?
This was it. To obey, he’d have to confess, and throw himself on Father’s protection. Maybe the punishment wouldn’t be so bad—after all, Father always insisted that Selemei wasn’t worth taking seriously.
But he couldn’t do it. He would far rather join a plan to ‘end ladies’ duties as we know them.’ In fact, why should he let Selemei frighten him? He would go to her tea; he would argue for her support of a law to protect Mother; and he would get a vote of the joint cabinet to make Father stop!
For a heady moment, the word no stood on his tongue, poised on the verge of an explosion. But then he thought of something safer.
“Father, I can’t. I’m already meeting someone at two. Amyel of the Ninth Family.”
Father looked skeptical. “Amyel approached you personally?”
“No—but you said I should take initiative and use my connections.” Tagaret held out both hands, praying Imbati Sorn wouldn’t pick out fictions from truths. He had to escape!
Father glanced over his shoulder, but Sorn remained silent. “Hmph. Sorn, contact Caredes and request a postponement; whatever’s most convenient for him.” Sorn bowed and vanished through the vestibule curtain. “Tagaret, have a seat.”
Tagaret closed his eyes. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He sighed and edged into a chair.
Nek continued to pace.
“Be careful with Amyel,” Father said. “Let him offer a sponsorship if he likes, but it’s too early to pursue a permanent position with him. Friendly as he seems, you can never quite predict what he’s going to do.”
Nekantor turned his head. “Meaning Father has yet to bring him in line.”
Father glared. “Nekantor . . .”
“I’m sure you can do it, Father.”
Father smiled stiffly. “And one more thing, Tagaret. About your friends, Yril and Grenth of the Twelfth Family.”
That sounded suspicious. “They’re not my friends.”
“Neither should they be. I’ll have you know, that brothel has been shut down, the employees are under arrest for crossmarking, and the head of the Twelfth Family Council has barred Yril and Grenth from all public events for the next month. They’re an embarrassment. I won’t hear of you associating with them.”
Tagaret glanced at Nekantor; he was smirking.
Gnash Nekantor. “What lies has Nek been telling you?” Tagaret demanded. “I’ve never associated with Yril and Grenth—they’re in his gang, not mine. They were probably acting on his orders. I’d expect Nekantor was in that brothel himself.”
Father looked startled. “Nekantor?”
Nekantor shuddered and started straightening his clothes. “Father, you wanted the whores punished,” he said. “They have been. Grenth and Yril were stupid enough to get caught, so they got what they deserved. What does it matter who else was involved? Would you like to know the two reasons why the First Family wins?”
Tagaret stared at his brother. Varin’s teeth—Nek had been responsible. He’d been there. It was disgusting, and Father didn’t even chastise him.
“What reasons?”
Nekantor smiled. “First, because Herin asked for the favor, and the First Family got it done. Second, because we know the truth before anyone else. The Eminence has been there, and that means he’s going to die.”
“What?!” Father lurched to his feet.
“Nekantor,” Tagaret protested. How many times had he heard that? “Father, may I please go now?”
“Where are you going?”
“To Reyn’s. He’s Ninth Family; he can help me with Amyel. You’re not taking Nek seriously, are you?”
Father had a gleam in his eye and breathed way too fast. “If there’s any slightest chance, we have to be prepared,” he said. “Your entire life could change, Tagaret. You haven’t seen an Heir Selection.”
It would have been alarming, if it hadn’t been so ridiculous. “Father, Nekantor has been predicting Indal’s death since the age of twelve.”
Father glanced behind him, as if wishing he hadn’t sent Sorn away. “All right, then. I’ll allow it.”
“Thank you.” Tagaret ducked behind the vestibule curtain and knocked on the door to the First Houseman’s hall, holding his finger to his lips as Serjer opened it. Serjer bowed, touching his hand to his heart and then his mouth.
“I’ll be at Reyn’s,” Tagaret said, then mouthed in a half-whisper, “And Selemei’s tea, at two. Tell only my mother.”
Something not quite a smile flickered in Serjer’s eyes. He held open the front door.
That was a narrow escape—imagine if Father had tried to send Sorn with him. Tagaret feigned a stroll at first. The suites hallways were less busy on weekends than school mornings, but a few neighbors were out, strolling beneath the arches or leaning on the deep windowsills that overlooked the flower gardens. No one here knew where Nekantor had been. And despite his earlier dismissal, the thought of Indal at the whorehouse refused to leave him. No, Nek couldn’t be right; and anyway, if Indal did die, he could just become Heir and fix everything. So there, Father.
The second he was out of sight in the spiral stairway, Tagaret climbed the steps as fast as he could.
At Reyn’s suite, Imbati Shara greeted him, and took him into the back. Tagaret looked for Reyn’s sister, but her door stayed closed.
“Young Mistress Iren is visiting a friend this morning,” Shara said. She knocked on Reyn’s open door. “Young Master? Tagaret of the First Family, for you.”
Tagaret held his breath for Reyn’s welcome, but there was silence. Then, “I’ll be right out.”
Could it be that bad? But Shara hadn’t turned him away.
“Do sit while you’re waiting, sir,” the Imbati said.
Tagaret moved toward the ocher couches, but his nerves were wound too tight to sit. A few moments later, Reyn emerged. He wore a loose silk house-jacket and a deliberately nonchalant expression.
“Hello, Tagaret,” he said. “How’s Della?”
That burned. “Reyn, don’t,” Tagaret said.
Reyn said nothing.
“Please, I’m sorry. Fernar and Gowan started that, and I couldn’t help—well, I mean, Della’s not my friend.” Oh, holy Bes, that was all wrong. He tried again. “I know I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I want to talk to you, like we did before.”
“Before?”
Tagaret nodded. He sat and patted the place beside him.
Reyn came closer, but he didn’t sit down. “You having problems again?”
Gods knew he was; he always was. But that wasn’t it. He caught Reyn’s sleeve. “Reyn, sit with me. I swear to the Twins, I’m sorry.”
Reyn didn’t move.
The desperation rose in his throat. Tagaret sucked a huge breath, to keep it from turning into panic. “Reyn, I miss you. You’re the best friend I could ever have.” He grasped Reyn’s hand.
Reyn’s fingers closed tight on his. The warmth of them expanded under his skin. Tagaret pulled, and Reyn sat slowly beside him, looking almost scared.
He couldn’t blame him. Looking down into his friend’s face, he felt as if they dangled over a ledge. “Reyn?”
Reyn kissed him hard.
Oh, gods, yes.
Tagaret pulled him in tight, and Reyn’s hands escaped around him, down to his waist, across his back and up under his jacket. Hands of fire, sending heat straight to his center. He stood, pulling Reyn’s body against his, and Reyn’s tongue sneaked between his lips. He pursued it. Reyn’s mouth was softer inside than outside. A vision of her soft lips parting . . .
Tagaret pulled back, panting. “Wait.”
Reyn’s hands loosened, but his gaze intensified. “Why?”
Trigis and Bes—they had to stop. He’d never use Reyn like Father said, for politics, but was he using him anyway? “M-my clothes,” Tagaret mumbled. “I have that appointment with Lady Selemei, and I told Father I’d be seeing Amyel, too, so I can’t go home to change.”
“That’s an easy problem to fix.” Reyn glanced at the open door of his rooms.
Tagaret understood instantly. The biggest shock was the flush of urgency that bubbled up in him at the thought. He pulled Reyn closer without thinking. “But, Reyn,” he breathed. “I don’t want—you could get in trouble if anyone found out.”
“We’re alone here.” Reyn put a hand on his waist.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“What do you want?”
Della—but Della was impossible, and always had been. There was no one like Reyn, no one surer in his trust.
Before he could think too hard, Tagaret bolted for the bedroom and started to undress. He hesitated once at the sight of Reyn doing the same, but Reyn moved to him swiftly, eager lips and hot skin making it easy to respond, strong hands caressing until Tagaret gasped aloud.
In the swoon of pleasure, he could almost forget his doubt.
At lunch, Reyn held his knee under the table. That touch unlocked waves of memory intense enough to push all other thoughts out of Tagaret’s mind. He pressed his hand over Reyn’s and leaned against him, sneaking kisses when Imbati Shara stepped out. Eating became secondary; even peril kept a respectful distance.
Not until the caretaker respectfully inquired about his afternoon obligations did he remember himself. Tagaret laid out his challenges, and Reyn sensibly suggested that he should try to meet with Amyel while they still had time, in case Father decided to ask him questions. Unfortunately, when they attempted to make the arrangement, Shara informed them that both Gowan and his father were out.
So they’d have to take on Lady Selemei first.
Walking to the Conveyor’s Hall, he and Reyn kept at a carefully agreed distance—but once they’d skimmed out into the streets, he loved how Reyn wrapped one arm around his waist. He drove up the stone spine to the fourth level and turned east.
The Club Diamond stood in a section of the city-cavern where the roof soared high enough to accommodate a building of four stories. It was easily recognizable by its height, and its vertical rows of diamond-shaped windows. Out front, a crowd of Arissen in bright rust-red spilled from the sidewalk into the street.
Tagaret sucked in a breath and braked. “Something’s wrong.”
“Are you sure?” Reyn asked. “They look pretty relaxed, for Arissen.”
Tagaret examined them more closely. Maybe this wasn’t an emergency. Most of the Arissen weren’t in full uniform, and a few wore white with punctuations of Arissen red. He parked the skimmer and approached a young couple at the back of the crowd—both solid blocks of muscle in red shorts and white sleeveless shirts.
“Excuse me. Arissen?”
The woman snapped into a salute, chopping her open right hand to her left shoulder. “Sir.”
“Is everything all right, here?”
She grinned. “Oh, yes, sir. This is the Soremor open wrestle-off. I’m going to win.” Her companion burst into laughter and punched her; she shoved him back. “Well, I confess, sir, I’m fourteen-to-one. But I’m definitely going to beat him.”
“A wrestling competition?” Tagaret asked. “That’s all?”
“Yes, sir.”
Arissen life must be more careless than he thought, though it hardly seemed worth Falling for. “Plis’ strength to you both,” Tagaret said. “Please excuse us; we have an engagement inside.”
The young man raised a hand to his mouth. “Castemates, review!” he shouted. “Grobal to the door!” The effect was impressive. Every Arissen, uniformed or not, snapped to attention and stepped back, opening a straight path to the club entrance. Tagaret waved thanks, and he and Reyn hurried in.
The foyer inside was small, which explained the crowd in the street. Four doors lined the facing wall; the Arissen had lined up in front of the rightmost one. As they entered, an old Melumalai woman hurried up.
“Pardon, sirs, pardon. You are destined for the Lady’s tea concert, are you not? Elevator on the left, if you please, sirs.” She trotted ahead, pressed the call button, then bowed them into the elevator.
The confined space brought Reyn wonderfully close to him. It also recalled Tagaret to the risk he had to take. Lady Selemei had already trapped him once—what if something went wrong, and Reyn were caught? “Reyn, I’m putting you in danger here,” he said. “You should stay outside and meet me afterward.”
“But I want to be here.” Reyn touched his sleeve. “To brave Melumalai with you again.”
Tagaret’s skin tingled. “But this is Lady Selemei. The risk—”
“Will be cut in half.” Reyn looked up seriously. “Listen. With me here, people won’t conclude you represent your father, or the whole First Family. And my presence as witness may limit Lady Selemei’s ability to pressure you.”
He wanted to kiss him. Instead, he nodded. “You’re the best.” A tone sounded, and the elevator doors opened. Selemei’s Ustin stood in the hall outside.
“Welcome, young sirs,” the Imbati said. “Follow me, please.”
At the end of the hall, they entered a broad space that was mostly dark. Spotlights illuminated a yojosmei at the center, and round tables around the edges of the room, where people spoke quietly.
The slow tap of a cane drew nearer, and Lady Selemei walked up, her deep blue gown separating itself only slowly from the dark. “Cousin Tagaret. I’m so pleased to see you here.”
Show no fear. “Thank you so much for inviting me,” Tagaret said. “May I introduce Reyn of the Ninth Family?”
“Reyn.” Lady Selemei offered him her golden hand, and Reyn kissed it. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady,” Reyn said.
“Consider yourself welcome here. Bringing a friend is not against the rules.”
What? Tagaret cleared his throat indignantly. “There are rules?”
Lady Selemei looked at him. “In a Lady’s world there are always rules, Cousin.”
That hurt. He thought instantly of Aloran’s systematic techniques to isolate Mother—of Mother’s shrieks echoing around the doors . . . “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” Lady Selemei said. “My rules are simple. First, you allow me to seat you as we enter. Second, you must speak to the people you sit with, and do so civilly. Third, you must respect our guest artist with silence, and not switch tables while he is playing.”
That didn’t sound bad. Tagaret glanced at Reyn, who shrugged. “I believe we can do that.”
“Then I know just the table for you.”
They followed her, threading between the pools of light. When Lady Selemei slowed, Tagaret shook his head in disbelief. He knew every person here: Arbiter Erex and his partner, Lady Keir; Amyel of the Ninth Family—and Gowan.
“Would you all be so kind as to look after our newest guests, my cousin Tagaret, and Reyn of the Ninth Family?” Lady Selemei asked.
“Of course, Selemei,” said Amyel.
“I told you he’d be here,” Gowan whispered.
“Tagaret!” exclaimed Arbiter Erex. “I admit, when I saw Gowan here, I started wondering if you might attend. I believe you’ve met Keir, my lovely partner?”
“Yes; it’s been a while,” Tagaret said. She’d been the youngest of Mother’s gaming friends, maybe twenty-five, with golden skin, dark eyebrows and black hair in a tower atop her head. “It’s a pleasure to see you. I hope you’ll think to visit our home soon—my mother would love to see you again.” He glanced cautiously at Erex, but if the Arbiter wished to deliver any warning, he couldn’t tell.
“I’d be happy to,” said Lady Keir.
“Keir, darling,” Erex said, “Did you know? Reyn is the son of the Safe Harbor Alixi.”
“Ah? I’ve always wanted to see Safe Harbor. I love the idea of red-banded city-caverns,” she said politely, but didn’t offer her hand. She flashed a smile at Lady Selemei. “Thanks for bringing them.”
“Enjoy your tea,” said Lady Selemei, and tapped away into the dark.
Amyel laughed. “Well, Tagaret, Gowan told me you’d need him here. I guess he was right.”
“I couldn’t be more grateful, sir,” Tagaret admitted. Only Fernar was missing. “Gowan, how did you know?”
Gowan shrugged. “Reyn told me. I figured we’d be stronger together than we would separately.”
“Absolutely.” Tagaret took his seat. “Amyel, sir, I’m very happy to see you. I hope you’ll forgive me—I had to tell my father I was discussing a sponsorship with you, so he’d let me leave the house.”
“Is that so?”
Tagaret flushed. “Sorry, sir. I don’t mind telling him it won’t work out. But if I hadn’t seen you at all, it would have been awkward.”
Amyel chuckled at that. “I see your point. Garr of the First Family must be handled with care.”
A Melumalai server laid down cups of tea; Tagaret lifted his and inhaled the warm steam.
“Quite correct,” Arbiter Erex agreed. “In fact, I’m amazed Selemei would invite Tagaret under his father’s nose. It’s a risky move.”
Tagaret looked up. “She invited you, too, Erex, sir.”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Erex tapped his clubbed fingers together. “She didn’t, in fact—she invited Keir. I’m just lucky my partner enjoys my company enough to bring me along.”
Lady Keir laughed. “Erex, you’re a dear.” When she looked at Tagaret, her brown eyes were serious. “You never know who to expect at these events, so my partner makes an excellent ally. And Selemei always invites the most intriguing ladies.”
Gowan leaned across the table. “Yes, but what is she trying to do?”
Tagaret looked at Erex, but the Arbiter said nothing. Risky to answer such a question when Ustin might be listening—though surely many of Selemei’s guests asked the same.
Amyel rubbed his chin. “I’ve attended twice now. There’s never any political discussion, but several charity projects have begun here, and there are always interesting people—for example, see over there? Cabinet Secretary Boros of the Second Family is here today, with his partner, and his son Menni.”
Tagaret looked. He recognized Menni, who had been a few years ahead of him in school. Menni’s mother had deep brown hair, while the Cabinet Secretary himself was golden-skinned and bald as a marble. They were holding hands.
Father never holds Mother’s hand.
“It’s quite natural,” Amyel concluded. “Being a Lady, Selemei hasn’t grown up getting to know the people she works with. Sensible, really, to invite them to tea.”
Tagaret nodded. Especially if you want to change ladies’ duties as we know them, and can’t become Heir.
“Try it,” said Lady Keir. “For Melumalai tea, it’s quite good.”
Tagaret sipped his tea. He waited for Lady Selemei to return, but as minutes slipped past, the conversation never waned. It was great to have Gowan and Reyn both here. Amyel was unfailingly friendly. Most striking, though, was the ease that Erex and Lady Keir enjoyed together. They never touched, but despite their age difference, they obviously liked each other. Tagaret couldn’t stop a pang inside.
The light dimmed above their table.
“Excellent,” said Amyel. “Time for the concert.”
Over the yojosmei, the spotlight intensified, drawing reflections from its double rows of polished stone keys, and a man in a flowing gray coat walked out of the dark.
Tagaret hissed in a breath. Kartunnen Ryanin.
He’d never imagined seeing the composer so close. Ryanin’s large frame was spare, his hair graying in a receding streak from each temple. His eyelids were painted black, and his green lower lip sparkled. He had large hands, and long fingers that caressed the upper keyboard with loving familiarity as he sat down. Once he began to play, there might as well have been nothing else in the room. His fingers and feet flowed like water, creating visions that no one had ever imagined. However Ryanin had arrived at this new style, it was amazing to hear. Della would have loved it—he must tell her.
Except that he’d probably never speak to her again.
All too soon, it was over. Ryanin bowed to the applause of the guests, then walked out the way he’d come, with a receding flutter of his gray coat. The music left behind a darkness that was more enticing than forbidding. Tagaret stood up.
Reyn reached for his arm. “Where are you going? To look for. . . ?”
“Shall we come with you?” asked Gowan.
“It’s all right,” Tagaret said. “I don’t want to cause a stir. I’m not going far; just to look at the yojosmei.”
He approached the instrument cautiously, gazing at the spot where Kartunnen Ryanin had sat, and the glimmering rows of agate keys, narrow above and wide below. It made him think of that other Kartunnen—the boy he’d seen at the edge of the Eminence’s ballroom and spoken to at the Melumalai concert hall. When he looked up again, Lady Selemei was standing beside him.
“It’s lovely to see you up,” she said. “It was a wonderful concert, I think.”
She’d been watching for him to move. Tagaret’s stomach clenched, but he took a deep breath. Reyn and Gowan were nearby; and it was better that he’d drawn her out into view, since she was less likely to attempt anything dangerous while people watched. “Yes, indeed,” he said. “Kartunnen Ryanin is brilliant.”
“I’m glad I engaged him.” Lady Selemei gave a modest smile. “Glad, too, that none of my guests have walked out. But gladdest of all that you came today. You’re more unusual than I gave you credit for, young man.”
“How so?”
The Lady shrugged. “Most of my visitors don’t leave their table until they’ve attended more than once, and none of them have ever gone to the yojosmei.”
“I like music,” Tagaret said. “What I don’t like is playing games.”
“I can see that,” the Lady agreed. “That’s why I invited you.”
“Really?” Tagaret held his voice quiet with effort. “If that’s why you invited me, then why do I feel like you’re playing with me now? My mother says you wouldn’t endanger a young lady, but it looks like you’d still use one in order to get me here.”
Lady Selemei thought a moment. Then she faced him, placing both hands atop her cane. “I apologize, Tagaret.”
“What?”
“Cousin, I’ve always protected and supported ladies, but to achieve success in the cabinet, I need the support of men. Not just any men will do. When I saw you with that young Lady, I acted impulsively because I wanted to learn about you and test how far you’d go to protect her. But it’s true I put myself in a bind. If you’d been another sort of man, she would have been in danger. I used her unfairly.” She looked up, and the glimmer of a smile danced on her lips. “Fortunately for me, I was right about the sort of man you are—perhaps because I’ve raised two sons of my own.”
“Lady Selemei, does this mean we can speak frankly?”
“I believe so.”
“I need your help. My father’s had me talking to lots of people, but he controls every last one of them. I need to know what your ‘Lady’s politics’ is really about. Your guest list shows you’re not just interested in courting my father’s enemies.” How could he explain what he really wanted without endangering anyone? “Is it . . . the kind of politics that would help my mother?”
Selemei nodded, with such sadness he felt certain she knew. “You realize, of course, that telling you my goals would be a serious risk.”
He raised his eyebrows. “It’s a serious risk for us to be speaking at all.”
“How about this?” said Lady Selemei. “An exchange of risk: I tell you precisely what motivates my politics, and you allow me to sponsor you at your next public event. Just one—a concert perhaps, or a party.”
“I don’t know . . .” She’d certainly be better than Caredes, but Father would flip!
Lady Selemei leaned closer. “Think about your answer while I tell you mine. Lady’s politics is simply politics as executed by a Lady. You know your mother, and you’ve met young ladies, so you know we have to do things quietly. In a direct confrontation, we always lose.”
Tagaret nodded.
“But it’s not like that in all of Varin, is it?”
“No . . .” The evidence of that was just outside the club door, where Arissen men and women laughed together, waiting to wrestle one another.
“Ladies have wits. And we have the means to arrange for our own protection, given the chance. Your mother, for example, has excellent wits.”
His mind filled in the rest: . . . though Father never gives her the chance to arrange for her own protection.
“I work quietly now, young Cousin, in the hope that one day my two youngest daughters will be able to choose their own partners—boys their own age, whom they love. If I can get enough help and influence, the change might come soon enough for you and the young Lady I saw you with. Now, is that worth one event? You decide.”
Tagaret looked her in the eye—passionate, intelligent, so much like Mother. “One,” he said.
Lady Selemei started to smile, but turned and frowned at the sight of Imbati Ustin approaching fast. Someone was following her. Someone small, with white hair . . .
Mother’s Eyli.
His stomach lurched. Had Father found them out?
“We’re leaving, young Master,” Eyli said grimly. “With Reyn. Now.”
That was the caretaker’s tone, that would brook neither question nor denial. Tagaret hurried back to the table. Amyel was on his feet, manservant on the alert, with Gowan and Reyn beside him; Erex and Keir stepped aside, letting the five of them run behind Eyli toward the exit.
“Tagaret,” Reyn hissed, “What’s going on?”
Tagaret shook his head. “Some emergency. . . ?” He pushed out the concert hall doors, and gasped.
The corridor outside was filled with Imbati, all pressed flat against the wall to let their party through—theirs, and one other. A hand stopped the elevator door from closing, and Menni of the Second Family slipped in with his manservant. Reyn moved closer; the silence in the tiny space shivered with fearful questions that Tagaret didn’t dare ask.
At the bottom, Arissen were waiting for them—Arissen out of uniform, maybe redirected from the wrestling crowd. Menni and his servant boarded one skimmer; Amyel and Gowan took a second, with Amyel’s manservant driving. Tagaret crammed himself beside Reyn into the third, while Eyli reconfigured the controls so she could drive. The three Imbati moved out as a team, driving in formation with the Arissen.
“Tagaret,” Reyn whispered. “Was Nekantor right?”
“I hope not.”
They hit the rampway down, and the formation strung out. Tagaret felt like he’d left his stomach at the top. What if Nek was right? Was that the reason for this escort? Was every boy between twelve and thirty in danger now?
“Tagaret . . .” Reyn whispered.
“We’ll be all right.” Surrounded as they were, he couldn’t hold him, but he could feel Reyn’s body all down his side, even sense his fearful heartbeat. “We’ll be home soon.”
Reyn’s fingers sneaked into his; he held them tight.
In the Conveyor’s Hall, the Household was out in force. Several of them surrounded Menni as he left on foot. Amyel and Gowan left with probably seven more. At least ten Imbati surrounded their own skimmer—Tagaret put his arm around Reyn’s shoulders.
“Imbati,” he said, “Let him come with me.”
“Your pardon, young sir,” said a Household woman. “You must each receive an escort home. We have been so instructed.”
Reyn looked up with terror in his eyes. “It is, isn’t it. Indal is dead.”
Gods help them. What else could this be? Only the death of an Eminence could cause this kind of massive mobilization! Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be alone with Reyn, to hold him, to feel them both safe and alive.
“Imbati Shara will know for sure,” Tagaret said. “If Indal is dead, then you should go with them, Reyn. Get home, where you’ll be safe.”
“But you—”
“I promise, I’ll get home as fast as I can.”
Five Household servants took Reyn; another five escorted him and Eyli across the grounds, into the first-floor hall of the suites wing. Serjer had the door open before he or Eyli could touch it.
Inside, Mother was shrieking.
The awful sound reverberated through the open doorway. Anger—that was familiar—but also a terrible note of grief. Mother had known where he was. Did she think he’d been hurt?
He rushed in through the curtain. The sitting room was a disaster. Paintings and curtains had been torn off the walls. Mother stood near an upended gaming chair with her hair in disarray and her face streaked with tears. Nekantor was in a corner with his back to the wall, staring at his watch. Father stood red-faced near the dining room door with Sorn behind his shoulder.
“Tagaret!” he barked, striding forward. “About time!”
“You bastard!” Mother screamed. She picked up the keyzel marble set from the gaming table and flung the stone board at Father, toppling the table and sending marbles everywhere. “You can’t take my Eyli. You can’t do it!”
“Behave yourself, Tamelera,” Father growled. “Indal is dead. We have far more serious worries now. We need another bodyguard, and we need him this instant.”
Tagaret looked between them, unable to breathe. Indal was dead. Nekantor was right.
Reyn, be safe . . .
Mother clenched her fists. “Why? You need another servant who can run off and kill people for you?”
Sorn twitched. Tagaret turned his head in surprise, but the moment was gone. It couldn’t have been, though. Sorn never lost composure—never looked like anything but a statue carved in stone.
He turned back just in time to see Father reach Mother and backhand her across the face.
“Leave her alone!” Tagaret roared. “What in Varin’s name is going on here?”
Mother ran from the room, sobbing.
Tagaret tried to follow, but Father stepped into his way.
“We have more important business now, Tagaret,” he said. “It’s time for the Pelismar Cabinet to pick the next Heir, and I swear on Plis’ undying bones that it’s going to be you.”
“Gnash the cabinet. I’m going to Mother. Let me past!”
“Caredes will no longer do—nor will Amyel. They’ll have too much interest in their own Families’ candidates, and we can’t trust them. Fedron will be your sponsor now. The Accession Ball is in two days. We’ve got to make you look so incredible that every Family will know you’re the candidate to beat.”
Nekantor appeared beside Father, a disconcerting glow in his eyes. “Imagine it, Tagaret,” he said. “The First Family will advance to an unrivaled position. You’re going to win, and I’m going to help you.”
“Get away from me, Nek,” Tagaret growled. “I don’t want your help.”
Father thumped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Don’t make a mistake, son. Nekantor has some good ideas that we can execute by the time of the Ball. I can’t wait to see you walk into the ballroom with me and Fedron! This is going to be the most important event of your life.”
Tagaret clenched his teeth. How satisfying it would have been to throw Father’s manipulations back in his face, to tell him he’d promised ‘the most important event of his life’ to Lady Selemei. But Father would be livid, and wouldn’t let him by to see Mother, who was far more important. He lowered his head and pushed past Father, into the back of the suite.
He’d get his satisfaction when he saw Lady Selemei face-to-face with Father at the Ball.