CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Accession Ball

Father called this a day of opportunity—and it was—but the ‘most important event of his life’ had just turned his friends into enemies, and a handshake into a threat of death. Tagaret struggled not to cringe at the excitement of the crowd. Half the First Family had now packed into the suite, including at least six of the Family’s eligible males. Erex had charge of the younger ones, Father of the older, but Father was shamelessly playing favorites, and Tagaret could feel the glares of the men in their twenties. No Lady Selemei, so the major standoff was still to come.

“Tagaret, good luck tonight!” Yet another overenthusiastic middle-aged cousin offered a handshake, then hesitated.

Tagaret tugged tight his white, pearl-buttoned gloves, and smiled when the man decided to thump his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Stop messing with those gloves, or I’ll take them,” Father rumbled.

“Father, they’re for safety.”

“Young Tagaret,” said Fedron, “we need you to look serious, not artisanal.”

He would have given anything for Reyn right now. Searching for a friendly face, Tagaret waved to his cousin Inkala, who came and lifted his hands consideringly.

“How do you think they look?” he asked.

“Perfectly good!” Inkala giggled. “On your mother . . .”

“Come on!”

Mother’s gloved hand touched his arm. “Come over here a second, love,” she said. “You don’t have your mourning scarf on.”

Any excuse for a break. He let Mother take him aside, threading through the crowded dining room and stopping just inside the kitchen’s swinging doors. When Keeper Premel saw them, he bowed and stepped out.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Tagaret said. “I know it’s important. I know what the Heir’s power means. It’s just that I can’t stand it.”

Mother kissed his cheek gently. “I know, love.” She found the long, moon-yellow mourning scarf he’d stuffed into his pocket, and knotted it around his right arm just below the elbow. The ends fluttered down to his knee, whispering of Mother Elinda’s gentle comfort—but it was impossible to feel comforted, knowing how Indal had died.

He tugged at his gloves again. Mother’s were midnight black with diamonds, like her dress, and came up past her elbows. Which raised the question—

“Mother, where’s Aloran?”

Mother blushed and hugged herself. “I told him to meet us at the vestibule as we go out.”

“Father will complain again.”

She raised her head defiantly. “You think I care a pin for what your father thinks?”

What a question. Tagaret decided to be honest. “Mother, if you really didn’t care, don’t you think you’d realize that Aloran has vowed himself to you, not Father? It’s no defeat if you’re the one giving the orders.”

Mother looked annoyed. “I’ll concede the point, Tagaret. But here’s the problem: he’s a man. He doesn’t disappear into his black the way he should. I turn, and I see him, and he’s a man. Now you’ll tell me it doesn’t matter.”

Tagaret shrugged. No point lecturing her on something she’d told him a hundred times. And bringing up Father’s bias for male bodyguards wouldn’t help at all.

She squeezed his arm. “I’m trying, love. I’ve written to Eyli, and she assured me again that she vouches for him, so I am, I promise. But you need to try, too. Whether you’re the First Family’s candidate matters less to me tonight than that the Pelismara Society sees you behave as the man you are. Do I need to ask Erex to take you in his group?”

That made his cheeks burn. “No. I’m sorry.”

Mother lifted her head. “Thank you, Premel, for permitting our intrusion.” She took Tagaret’s arm. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you walk in with Pyaras? You need the company, and Erex would like a break from handling him.”

“But Pyaras isn’t eligible,” Tagaret said.

Mother nodded. “And if you tell him that, he might believe you.”

So they found Pyaras and joined the mass procession of the First Family, at least the portion of it that answered to Father, walking in between orange-uniformed Arissen toward the central wing and the Hall of the Eminence. Father and Fedron were at the front, side by side, accompanied by Sorn and Chenna. Tagaret came behind with the other eligibles, doing his best to smile. Pyaras was definitely upset about something, but his energetic presence made it easier to ignore Nekantor stalking the edge of the group, and the prospect of Selemei’s imminent appearance. Mother walked on Tagaret’s left, smiling at everyone’s compliments for her gown and gloves; Aloran followed so quietly it seemed impossible even she should notice.

“Tagaret,” Pyaras said suddenly. “Am I in your gang? Did you ask?”

Oh, no. “Sorry,” Tagaret said. “I hadn’t yet—but with the Selection on, it’s just you and me anyway. First Family first, and all that.”

Pyaras’ dark brows knit. “I should be eligible, you know. Everyone always said so. I’m big enough!”

“It’s not about being big, Pyaras.”

“But I’m almost twelve! My blood is pure!”

Tagaret frowned. “Of course it is. Who says otherwise?”

Pyaras flushed and mumbled, “People call me ‘Arissen’ at school. Don’t tell my father. Grenth started it, because I hit him.”

“Varin’s teeth.” Tagaret squeezed his cousin’s strong shoulders. No way had Grenth started it, though; that kind of subtle retaliation was pure Nekantor. “I’ll let you join my gang, all right? I’ll tell the others. You don’t need to ask again.”

Pyaras hugged him so hard his feet came off the floor.

“Pyaras, calm down,” Father growled. “You’ll cause trouble in security.”

Tunnel-hounds were on duty outside the Hall of the Eminence. One approached them now, trotting on small dark paws, snuffling their feet and knees with its eyeless head and broad, sensitive nose. Whether it was trained to sniff poisons or sense energy weapons, it apparently found none in their party.

Fedron eyed the animal and shrugged. “Tunnel-hounds didn’t save Dest from assassination last time. He was downed with a simple projectile. I worry about precedent.”

Tagaret scanned the heavily guarded foyer for assassins. “You think they’d try it again?”

“No one would do it at the Ball,” said Father. “Besides, projectiles are so uninspired.”

“Permit us, sirs?” Two Arissen guards approached, carrying tunnel-hounds. An upper-body check was unpleasant, but tolerable in the name of safety. Pyaras actually crooned to the hound and offered it his fingers, but when the guard smiled at him, he scowled.

The Arissen passed them in.

Tagaret sucked a breath. Potential enemies packed the Hall of the Eminence, glittering in their finery from the wall hangings all the way to the stage with the wooden throne, while mourning scarves in grieving yellow whispered, death. To be on guard, he needed his eyes open. And to be the man Mother wanted everyone to see, he had to stand gracefully, making the high mosaic vaults his portrait frames, and the crystal chandeliers his spotlights. More and more eyes watched him as the Great Families entered through doors around the Hall. From this vantage point he couldn’t clearly identify either Ninth Family or Eleventh. Sixth seemed like it might be in the far corner.

Reyn. Gowan. Fernar. Della. They were with him now only as a haunting ache. He exchanged glances with the cousins around him, but only Pyaras smiled.

Soon after they arrived in the First Family’s assigned area, a reverent voice sang a single clear note that cut through the murmuring gossip. The crowd hushed, and the lights dimmed, revealing the stately form of the Voice of Elinda upon the stage. She stood with arms reaching forward, her deep blue sacramental robes overlayered with a yellow funereal cloak. A silver moon-disc shone upon her chest. When silence was at last complete, she sang the prayer:

“All with eyes in this place, hear me, gaze and turn your faces upward! Though ages pass, the heavens still show us the inevitable way: the Silent Sister spins and circles beneath our feet, and her holy siblings dance with her around our great Father.”

Tagaret turned his face up. In the mosaic arches above, tiny gold tiles hinted of the stars. Mother had tried to lift him up to them, but had managed only to bring their likeness down, in the diamonds across her gown. “Father Varin,” he mumbled. “Source of all life.”

“Today we honor Indal of the Fifth Family,” said the Voice of Elinda. “He rose in brightness, and grew to glory, Eminence of all this land which takes our great Father’s name. Nightfall came too quickly upon him.” She raised her arms high, and her sleeves fell into great curves like those of Mother Elinda herself.

Tagaret loosened the scarf at his elbow, and nudged Pyaras to do the same. They raised their scarves as arms rose across the Hall, sweeping the room in yellow.

“All honor to Indal of the Fifth Family as he sets in this life,” the Voice of Elinda said. “Let him find his way to our great Mother’s arms and take his place among the stars.”

“Honor to Indal of the Fifth Family,” rumbled through the crowd.

“Indal of the Fifth Family, we release you into our Mother’s care.”

“We release you.”

Tagaret let go. Scarves twisted and fluttered to the carpet. Better if the fever could be banished so easily.

Now a man’s baritone began to sing—the Voice of Varin rising. First to appear out of the crowd, though, was the Heir. Pyaras grabbed Tagaret’s arm excitedly. Herin climbed slowly onto the stage, shining out across the Hall in a suit of regal white silk. The Voice of Varin, wearing the gold disc of Varin upon his chest, mounted the steps behind him. Herin stopped at the center of the stage, and the Voice of Varin wrapped the white-and-gold drape of the Eminence around his shoulders, fastening it on his right shoulder with a shining pin.

“The day of the Eminence Indal has ended,” the Voice of Varin declared. “The day of the Eminence Herin has begun. All hail the Eminence Herin!”

“All hail the Eminence Herin!” The enormous shout pounded in Tagaret’s body.

The Eminence Herin raised his arms to the assembled people, who fell into silence. “It is with a heavy heart for my friend Indal that I take this responsibility upon myself,” he said. “And now I wish to dedicate myself to my people.”

Behind him, the throne looked less like the work of an artisan and more like an ancient vine that had grown out of the stage. Herin sat down upon it, stroking its burnished arms as if delighted by their curving, twined shape. The Voice of Elinda and the Voice of Varin moved to places on either side of him.

“What does that mean?” whispered Pyaras.

Tagaret had a general idea, but looked for Mother—she’d seen an Accession before.

“It’s for all the Varini,” Mother explained softly. “Herin has officially assumed the Grobal Trust on behalf of the Race, and now the Lowers will accept his leadership.”

An Arissen walked up onto the stage. He cut a powerful figure in his bright rust-red dress uniform, wearing the feather-crested helmet of a military Division Commander. He saluted before the throne. “I am Revett of the Pelismara Division, and I speak for the Arissen,” he said. “I give my people into your Trust.” He crossed to the Eminence’s other side and went to a small table at the back of the stage, where two Imbati, a male warden and female bureaucrat, watched him sign something. Then he returned to the front of the stage and stood proudly looking out.

Somewhere behind Tagaret, a singsong whisper came, “Arissen Pya-raas . . .”

Pyaras made a strangled sound, and whirled.

Gods, not in front of everyone! Tagaret flung his arms around him—for a second Pyaras struggled—then by Heile’s mercy, Pyaras subsided with a gasp, burying his face in Tagaret’s coat.

“You’re all right,” Tagaret murmured. Gnash Nekantor. “They’re wrong. Don’t listen to them.”

Pyaras fought tears. “I hate them,” he whispered. “Arissen—I hate them!”

Don’t let Father notice . . . Tagaret patted his back. “Just don’t listen.”

By the time he looked up, three more Lowers had come onstage. A small, graceful and dignified Imbati man with long white hair and the faded tattoo of a manservant, and a sharp-eyed Kartunnen woman with a purple lip and pale gray academic robes both stood at the front looking out. A huge Venorai woman now presented herself to the Eminence. She was obviously a surface worker, for her skin was a striking sunmarked brown. She wore a laborer’s thick black belt over a gaudy tunic. Blinking at it, he realized the design was a print of flowers.

“I am Kitrin, elected leader of the Venorai Union, and I speak for all of us.” Her powerful voice made the room seem small, and only got louder as she added, “I speak for the ones who give you your brass, your orsheth, and your food.” Murmurs of dismay and disapproval ran through the crowd. “I give my people into your Trust.”

She strode off toward the signing table, and her place was taken by a Melumalai man who seemed meek in comparison. The weight of his silver-and-chrysolite necklace spoke louder than his words. “I am Odenli, chairman of the Melumalai Banking Syndicate, and I speak for the Melumalai. I give my people into your Trust.” He, too, went and signed his name.

Only one left. A nervous shiver ran down Tagaret’s back. He searched behind Odenli—there? No; that wasn’t a dark gray hood, just a shadow in the crowd. The stairs to the stage stayed empty.

The Akrabitti were missing.

Herin didn’t seem to notice. When the Melumalai returned to the front of the stage, he stood and raised a paternal hand over the glimmering line of Lowers. “With the spirit of the Great Grobal Fyn as my guide, I pledge myself to the Grobal Trust,” he declared. “Giving to each according to need, the hand of the Grobal shall guide the land of Varin.”

The Voice of Varin and the Voice of Elinda cried out again, “All hail the Eminence Herin!”

“The Eminence Herin!” boomed the crowd.

As the echoes died, Nekantor said sharply, “That was wrong. The pattern was broken.”

“Hush, Nekantor,” said Father. “Now, everyone stick together and watch your step; we’re moving to the ballroom.”

Tagaret took Pyaras’ shoulder and walked with the crowd toward the broad archway on the right of the stage, careful not to step on fallen mourning scarves. But for once, Nek was absolutely right. “It was wrong,” he said.

Pyaras looked up. “Really? Why?”

Tagaret shook his head. “Herin can’t have assumed the Trust for all the Varini when the Akrabitti were missing.” In fact, now that he thought about it, everything about those Lowers had been wrong. The beautiful silk costumes. The scripted words. None of them looked anything like the Arissen wrestlers, or Kartunnen Ryanin, or the Melumalai bartender. Only that Venorai woman had showed a glimpse of her true nature, and she’d won no favors from the crowd.

Pyaras made a face. “Who’d want to see a trasher, though?”

“Pyaras,” said Mother, chidingly.

“Well, they don’t.”

“It’s not that.” Mother lowered her voice. “It’s the ashers they don’t want to think of.”

Tagaret shuddered. Mother was right—he didn’t want to imagine the people who now held what was left of Indal. After the mourning moon had fallen, no one wanted to think about endings anymore.

They walked out of the deep archway into the ballroom, where an orchestra was playing. The crowd spread out, moved faster—began to speak of eligibles, and candidacies, and dealmaking. The hungry talk of Selection drowned the music, chattering on the stone walls, the windows, and the wooden floor.

Father beckoned and smiled, and people swarmed inward, armed with questions. Tagaret tried to watch the older eligibles’ example, but before long it was too much, and he simply had to answer on his own, with as much enthusiasm as possible. Yes, I’m seventeen now. My health report was excellent; Father’s Sorn has it if you’d like to see. Of course, who wouldn’t be excited? Yes, it was hard when Father was away. He was still my political mentor, though; we wrote letters twice a week. I’ve worked with him intensively since he returned. No, I haven’t attended a cabinet meeting. Yes, we discuss them at home. The envoys of rival Familes might compliment, but they couldn’t disguise their appetites, and their smiles were full of sharp teeth. Even with Imbati Sorn, Aloran, and Chenna tense on the alert, he felt nowhere near safe—and Lady Selemei might appear at any moment. Maybe she was somewhere near even now, trying to be brave enough to face Father. Tagaret tugged his gloves tighter.

“That’s it!” Father barked. “I’ve had it.” He trapped Tagaret’s wrists and yanked his gloves off.

“Father—” Tagaret gasped. His hands felt cold, and his stomach churned. “Father, please. I need those.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s time you got serious here.”

“Tagaret,” said Pyaras. “Look who’s coming.”

Mercy, not Selemei . . . Tagaret turned in a panic, but it wasn’t. A rush of relief weakened his knees. “Reyn!” he cried. “Fernar!”

“It’s great to see you,” Reyn said. In his eyes was a tinge of that desperate look he’d had when they were separated in the Conveyor’s Hall.

With the sensation now expanding in his stomach, he probably looked the same.

“You’re looking official, Tagaret,” Fernar grinned. “The portrait of an Heir candidate.”

Tagaret found a smile. “So are you.” Someone had styled Fernar’s dark hair, and he looked poised and confident. On impulse, Tagaret hugged him—and Fernar clasped solidly back, a proof that Selection hadn’t quite changed everything. “How in Eyn’s name did you escape the Eleventh Family?”

Fernar laughed, thumping him on the back. “Guile, fifteen rival eligibles, and a borrowed manservant.”

“Oh, well done!” Tagaret released him and embraced Reyn.

“I miss you,” Reyn whispered.

Oh, gods, yes. Tagaret didn’t trust himself to speak, just nodded. He forced himself to thump Reyn on the back, then reached out to include Fernar in a huddle. “What a mess,” he said. “When do we all get to be together again? Where’s Gowan?”

“In the center of attention, of course,” said Reyn. “No one’s so eligible as he!”

“Lucky him.”

Fernar shrugged. “He’s always been more about politics than the rest of us. It serves him well right now.”

“I’ll give you that,” Tagaret said. “Look, I should tell you—Pyaras here needs our protection, so when all this is over, he’s going to join us awhile. I hope you won’t mind.” Pyaras, who had been hanging nearby, smiled shyly.

“He is good in a fight,” said Fernar approvingly.

Reyn stiffened. “Tagaret—it’s Lady Selemei!”

Tagaret straightened fast, grasping at Reyn and Fernar’s hands for support. His heart pounded in his ears. Lady Selemei and her Ustin were still a few paces away. The Lady had handed her cane to her servant, and had clasped the hands of a man from the older eligible group; he had her eyes, and was smiling broadly at her. Nekantor drew near, as if thirsty for impending conflict. Father bristled.

“Tagaret,” said Fedron. “Be polite with her, now.”

Fedron must have meant the warning for Father, but Father lumbered toward Selemei, showing no sign that he’d heard.

“Selemei, keep out of this,” he said.

Lady Selemei smiled, with a nervous glance for Tagaret, and held out one hand so Ustin could return her cane. “I’m sure it’s only natural for a Family’s cabinet members all to be present,” she said. “I only thought I’d give Brinx my good wishes.”

“Which shows you have no respect for the First Family’s strategy.”

“Garr, please.” Arbiter Erex stepped away from his group of younger boys. “I don’t believe direct confrontation is part of our strategy.”

Tagaret blinked. Direct confrontation. Selemei had said something at the tea: In a direct confrontation, we always lose. That was why she hadn’t come earlier, and why she hadn’t approached him first. She’d told him she needed the support of men. He was the one who needed to be brave enough.

He took a deep breath.

“Lady Selemei, thank you for coming,” he said loudly. “Father, and Fedron, I have a wonderful surprise for you! I’ve asked Lady Selemei to act as my sponsor tonight.”

Fedron’s mouth fell open. Father spluttered, “What?!”

“Why, congratulations!” Reyn exclaimed.

“Tagaret, that’s great news,” said Fernar.

Lady Selemei nodded to them. “It’s so kind of you both! I must say, Fedron, I was honored when Tagaret suggested it. I’m excited to have the opportunity at an occasion like this.”

“Tagaret . . .” Father swelled threateningly, on the brink of explosion. “You’re not serious.”

A bubble of fear tried to burst in Tagaret’s throat, but the only way out was forward. Seeing that Father’s hand had loosened around his white gloves, he snatched them back and put them on again, tugging them on tight. “Yes, yes, I am. Quite serious. Lady Selemei is the best possible sponsor for me tonight, even if you don’t see it.”

Father started to crack. “Even if I—!”

“He’s right,” said Nekantor.

Tagaret stared. Had Nekantor just said he was right?

Father seemed just as stunned. “What are you saying, Nekantor?”

Nekantor calmly straightened his vest. “I’m saying that the First Family can only be hurt if we are perceived to have a rift between our cabinet members. If Tagaret is seen escorted by Lady Selemei, the First Family demonstrates unity and our cause is strengthened.”

Lady Selemei relaxed into a demure smile. “I had no idea there was such an astute bit of strategy behind your invitation, Tagaret,” she said. “But I am happy to oblige.”

Father chewed his lip. “Fine, go ahead. Good to see you applying yourself, Tagaret.” His eyes added, We’ll talk about this later.

“Tagaret, I would very much enjoy a walk around the ballroom with you,” Lady Selemei said. “May we, so that we can meet some of our competition?”

And leave behind his friends? But Pyaras had Erex to look after him, and Reyn and Fernar were already being missed elsewhere—besides which, he’d do anything to get away from Father.

Tagaret said his goodbyes and began to walk. The crowd still felt dangerous, but it was totally different to be moving, and to be with Lady Selemei and Mother, guarded by Ustin and Aloran instead of Chenna and Sorn. Even the way the Lady held her cane lent an additional sense of protection.

“You know,” Tagaret said, “I think I might actually enjoy this evening.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Selemei. “It’s not every day you get handed a shortcut to your deepest desires.”

He conceded a nod. “You’re right, of course. I could really make some changes if I were Heir—but this feels like a cut through the adjuncts. Lots of cracks and pitfalls to die in.”

“You’ll have people looking after you.”

People like Father and Nekantor. Tagaret winced. “That’s worse, though. They all want to control me. I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

“Not sure it’s worth it?” Lady Selemei asked, looking at him sidelong. “On the contrary. You must not have thoroughly considered it.”

“Selemei,” Mother scolded.

“It’s all right, Mother.” Tagaret looked hard at Lady Selemei. “We’re allies now, aren’t we? What do you mean, I mustn’t have considered it?”

Lady Selemei raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps you didn’t realize the Heir has his pick of the Families, to take any partner he likes.”

Tagaret stopped breathing. The air had become a bath of electricity; his entire body prickled.

Della. What if she were no longer a dream? What if she could be real? Sirin and Eyn!

“Then let’s walk,” Tagaret said. “Let’s show our First Family strength.”