CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Apologies

Mother!” Tagaret shouted. His flailing heart cut off his breath and tried to choke him—he burst into her room without knocking, startling her at her writing table. “Mother, help, Nekantor’s got Aloran!”

Mother stood so fast she upended her chair onto the carpet. “Sweet Heile, where?”

“His rooms. I didn’t know how to stop him, Mother, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

But words wouldn’t help. He turned and ran out again, letting her follow. This was his fault. The anonymous note had done its job too well—Varin knew what would happen if they didn’t get there fast. What if he got his wish, but Aloran was the price? Oh, holy Mai!

Down the hall, Nekantor’s Arissen woman stood in the hall outside his room as if nothing unusual were going on. Tagaret ignored her and banged on the door. “Nekantor! Let me in!”

No answer.

Mother rushed up beside him. “Aloran!” she cried, her voice edged with terror. “Don’t let him hurt you!”

Still nothing.

Tagaret put his shoulder into the door and leaned on the handle, hard. Nekantor always locked his door, Varin gnash him—he’d get Arissen Karyas to melt the lock if he had to—

It wasn’t locked.

The door gave way. Tagaret half-fell into the room and stumbled straight into Nekantor’s back. Nekantor shrieked and whirled, his arm raised high. A leather belt swung from his hand like a whip.

Tagaret threw himself on his brother and knocked him down. Punched him in the stomach, in the chest. Nekantor curled into a ball screaming, and it was just what he deserved, and Tagaret hit him again, again, in the side, in the back, over and over.

“Tagaret, stop!” Mother’s voice.

No— Nekantor would pay, finally would be punished for everything he’d done!

“Aloran, stop him.”

Hands under his arms. An irresistible force pulled him upward, and just like that he was suspended in midair, the motions of his fists useless. He cried out in dismay and frustration.

“Young Master, thank you,” Aloran said softly. “I’ll be all right.”

“Aloran,” said Mother. “Bring him out.”

The strong hands lowered; Tagaret felt his feet touch the floor. Aloran’s arm around his back was hard as iron, but he wouldn’t have fought it. The terrible anger was gone—only guilt remained, as if his heart had caved in. “I’m sorry, Aloran,” Tagaret murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Aloran said nothing.

“Karyas,” said Mother. “You are remiss in your duty. Mind your charge.”

The Arissen woman twitched, but clapped her right hand to her left shoulder in salute. She went into Nekantor’s room and shut the door.

“Mother,” said Tagaret. “I’m sorry . . .” What else could he say? But no matter how many times he said it, it was never enough.

“Are you finished?” Mother asked severely.

Oh, the look on her face . . . Tagaret gulped and nodded.

“Now, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to pull yourself together, and we’re going back in there. You and Aloran are going to apologize to Nekantor.”

“What?” he cried. It came out as a squeak. “But that’s not fair!”

Mother grabbed his arms. “Fair has nothing to do with this, Tagaret,” she hissed. “Nekantor has an important event to attend, and he has to be in the Hall of the Eminence in thirty minutes. You and Aloran have to help him get there.”

“But he can’t—”

She shook him so hard his teeth clacked together. “You don’t understand! Tagaret, he’s like your father. If he’s late for the Selection, he’ll blame you. If he blames you, he’ll punish you. If he considers you harmless like Garr has always considered me—he’ll hurt you, and that will satisfy him. But if he ever decides you’re a real threat, he won’t be satisfied until you’re dead.”

“Mother . . .” He shook his head. But his eyes crept to Aloran standing there silent, his suit disarranged, who knew how many whip-lashes on his back. Aloran was the undeniable proof that she was right—he’d done nothing but stand in Nekantor’s path, and this was his reward. If Nekantor ever suspected who had written the note . . . “What can I do?” he whispered.

Mother’s grip softened, and she put her arms around him. Tagaret leaned forward against her hair.

“Be harmless,” she said. “Tell him it was a tantrum. You were upset and jealous about Lady Della, and you got angry because it was your turn to have Aloran, not his. Apologize and offer to help him get ready so he won’t be late.”

Tagaret stepped back and looked at her. His eyes felt hot and his throat raw. “Oh, Mother . . .”

“Keep yourself safe,” Mother insisted.

He took a deep breath, then knocked at the door. No one answered—he almost walked away. But he had to do this. “Nekantor, I’m sorry,” he called.

There were murmurs inside, and the door opened. Nekantor was there—scowling, but he’d already begun straightening his clothes. It seemed he hadn’t yet noticed the crazy state of his hair.

Tagaret deliberately hung his head. His heart screamed, but it wasn’t Mai’s help he needed now, it was Heile’s. “I’m sorry I hit you,” he said. “I was a stupid baby. I got too upset over Lady Della, and then you took Aloran when I wanted him, and I lost hold of myself. I guess—I don’t know.” He forced the words out, though they burned in his throat. “I guess I was too much my—my mother’s son.”

“You are stupid,” Nekantor growled. “You don’t know what’s good for you. That’s why I’m in the Selection tonight, and you’re not.”

At least he didn’t have to fake the blush. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. Can—” He choked on what he had to say, coughed, and sucked in a breath. “Can I help you?”

Nekantor laughed.

Tagaret blinked at him.

“You already have helped me, idiot,” Nekantor said. “You’ve got me a vote. And I’ve got you a very pretty, slightly used partner.”

“A, uuh,” he stammered. “Thank—?” He bit down on the word. Not thanks, outrage. “I mean—Nekantor, a used partner? What were you thinking?”

Nekantor laughed again. “I knew you’d feel that way. You’re welcome. Just make sure you arrange the ceremony as soon as possible so you can take credit for any of her gifts to the Race.”

Oh, dear gods! Tagaret’s mouth fell open.

Thank Heile, Aloran changed the subject. “Young Master Nekantor,” he said, “May I get you a comb before you leave for the Selection?”

“No!” Nekantor shouted. “I can do this by myself!” He slammed the door in their faces.

Tagaret stared at the door. Probably he should be relieved that Nek didn’t want them—but he couldn’t help wondering if Nek would be late and blame them anyway. His body still quivered with the after-echoes of rage. He rubbed his face with both hands.

“Tagaret, darling,” Mother said. “You should get ready for the Selection event now, too.”

Tagaret grimaced. “But what if Nek wins?” He couldn’t have felt more useless—nothing he’d done had slowed Nek down, only made him more dangerous than ever. “I couldn’t stand it.”

Mother lifted his hand in her warm fingers. “Love, who knows how the votes may have shifted? It may still end well.”

He rolled his eyes.

Mother gave his hand a firm shake. “Darling, you need to be seen. Were you listening to your brother? Lady Della’s plan worked better than we could have imagined—and that means you will have a partner soon, perhaps in a matter of days.”

A partner—only from Mother’s mouth did the words finally reach his heart. “Sirin and Eyn, you’re right,” he said. “Do you think I might see her tonight? I can’t believe it.”

“I don’t think you should expect that, Tagaret,” Mother said. “You have something else to do—you have to show strength, publicly, for her and for yourself. You’re a man now, with responsibilities. No matter what the outcome tonight, you’ll have to handle the rockfall that the two of you have brought upon yourselves.”

She was right. No matter how clever their plan, they couldn’t escape the game entirely. “I’ll go, then,” he said. “So I won’t be late.”

He rang for Kuarmei, and she helped him dress in the ocean suit that Mother had given him, deftly handling the long rows of pearl buttons along the cuffs.

As she fastened his coat, he remembered Reyn.

Reyn, who had run his finger down this sleeve, and told him the ocean was the secret behind this shifting pattern of glimmer and blue. Reyn, who had almost died of touching his hand, but would be caught in the changing tide now that Della could be his forever.

“Kuarmei,” he said. “Do you have paper?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Tagaret sat down at his desk. His chest felt as cold as the blank paper. At last he started to write.

To Reyn of the Ninth Family

Do you remember the first day we kissed? Then I imagine you must also remember copper and emeralds—I think you always knew she was never far outside my thoughts when we were together. It’s not that I ever loved you less, but I suppose there must be different kinds of love. And then there was the fever, and the Selection. And now there’s this: I’ve just learned I will be taking Lady Della in partnership. Nek arranged it, but I’d be lying if I said it isn’t what I always wanted. I hope you’ll decide not to scorn me—I’m pretty sure everyone else will. It’s the worst for you, though, so if you do, then I’ll understand. I guess becoming a man happened faster than I was ready for. Now that it’s happened, I’d better give it my best. I’m sorry.

Tagaret of the First Family

He almost threw it away the instant he was finished, but what words could possibly serve instead? He sighed and folded the paper closed.

“Shall I deliver it for you, sir?” Kuarmei asked.

Tagaret blushed. “No, thank you. I think I’d better do this one myself.”

Mother wished him luck with a smile and a kiss, but his shame only deepened as he climbed the stairs. The letter burned in his inside pocket; he gritted his teeth and forced his feet forward. Kuarmei kept him from feeling exposed—but Reyn had kept him from feeling alone. At Reyn’s door he took a deep breath and knocked.

Imbati Shara opened the door, but had scarcely begun her greeting when Lady Iren exploded into the vestibule in an amethyst whirl of joy.

“Tagaret?” she exclaimed. “We were expecting Cousin Gowan!”

“I’m sorry . . .”

“No, no, come in. He’ll be so happy to see you! We’re going out tonight, we’re really, finally going out!”

“Won’t you come in, sir?” said Imbati Shara, with determination.

He couldn’t have said no. When the curtain opened, he discovered Reyn beaming at him, standing on his feet and looking quite put together in his ruby suit with the lace collar. If anything, his remaining traces of thinness made him look more mature.

“Reyn!” Tagaret ran to hug him without thinking—then realized what he was doing and blurted, “Reyn, I’m taking a partner.”

“What?” Reyn looked stunned. “You can’t be serious—who?”

“Copper and emeralds . . .”

Reyn spluttered. “B—but Tagaret, didn’t she—”

“No.”

“But Tagaret, she did—there was a man—”

Desperately, Tagaret pulled him close and whispered in his ear. “It was me, Reyn. I did it. Nek arranged the partnership, but even he doesn’t know. I need you to understand.”

Reyn stepped back, incredulously. “That’s—” He shook his head. “Tagaret, you—that’s really—wow. Brave . . .”

Shara spoke from the vestibule. “Sir, your cousin is here.”

Reyn waved. “Send him in.”

Gowan was wearing sapphire tonight. “Reyn, you look terrific,” he exclaimed, then, “Tagaret?”

“Hello, Gowan,” said Tagaret. “I’m so glad both of you are alive and well.”

“Thank Heile and Imbati Aloran,” said Gowan wryly.

“Gowan, Tagaret’s brought some news.”

Gowan looked at Reyn. “Really, what kind?”

Tagaret cleared his throat. “I—”

“He’s taking a partner in the name of Sirin and Eyn,” Reyn said. “Lady Della of the Sixth Family.”

Gowan exploded. “What?!”

Tagaret winced. “Gowan, don’t . . .”

“But Tagaret, she—”

Reyn cut him off. “Gowan, listen. Didn’t you say you’d had enough of being shot at? Haven’t you told me that Heir Selection is the worst thing that could happen to the Race, that it forces us to kill our own children and tear out one another’s throats?”

Gowan’s brow furrowed. “Yeah . . .”

“So, what is shunning the Sixth Family going to do for us, except doom us to more disease and dying children? Tagaret is taking a stand against that, for love, and for the good of the Race. And we have to stand by him.”

Gowan flushed and looked down at his lace cuffs. “It is forward-thinking, I suppose. One could consider it a sacrifice for the greater good—and a great charity to the poor Lady.”

“One could,” Tagaret agreed. Gowan had it all wrong, but he wasn’t about to object. When Reyn moved closer, Tagaret found his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Thank you. Bless you both.”

“Let’s stick together tonight,” Reyn said.

Gowan smiled. “We should—we’re going out for an evening event again at last.”

Gods, yes. “Here’s to Fernar,” Tagaret said. “Elinda keep him.”

“Fernar,” Reyn and Gowan echoed solemnly.

“Tagaret,” Gowan added, “I’d like to ask Pyaras to join us, too. He stopped what could have become a serious rift between our Families.”

“You’re right.” Tagaret nodded. “All right, then. Let’s go cheer for Nek—and pray he doesn’t win.”