Mazes of Power

by Juliette Wade

  He shivered, but she was right. What if he’d never spoken to Della? And what if he really could see the sky? He took a deep breath. “Well, if—”

  His door shuddered against its new lock. “Tagaret, are you in there?”

  Father.

  Mother’s hands flew to her mouth. Eyli, though, looked like the world was ending. This was what was wrong. Not Mother’s plan, but somehow, this. What was Father up to?

  “Tagaret, answer me!”

  Tagaret exhaled. Slowly, he went and answered the door. “Yes, Father. I’m here.”

  “Good.” Father pushed in, forcing him to step back out of the way. “I need you to—oh, hello, dear.”

  “Hello, Garr,” said Mother evenly.

  “Well, since you’re both here, there’s been some news. The source of the Kinders fever has been found.”

  Tagaret set his teeth. He was not going to pretend curiosity.

  Father wrapped an arm around his shoulders, immobilizing him. “It wasn’t the orchestra; it was Kartunnen . . . professionals. Orn was patronizing that whorehouse everyone’s been talking about!”

  Mother looked utterly disgusted.

  “Father!” Tagaret protested.

  “Anyway, Tagaret, I need you for something. Come with me to my room.”

  “Now?” He sneaked a glance at Mother. Imagine it: not just spirit globes, but real stars. Moving air, and Mother Elinda shining, maybe even Heile and her six siblings arrayed across the heavens . . . “I’m busy. Mother and I, we’re planning something.”

  “I’m afraid it can’t wait.” Father started dragging him out of the room.

  “Father, stop!” Tagaret cried.

  “What is it, son?”

  “Mother and I were having a—a private talk! You can’t just barge in like that—and I can’t believe you’d mention prostitutes in front of her!”

  Father pulled him into the drawing room and shut his door. “Son, you’ll see why this is important. After all, once you’ve had your birthday, you’ll be choosing a servant. And of course you both had to hear the Kinders fever news. No point in trying to protect Tamelera; she’d have heard worse rumors if she hadn’t heard the truth from me. The fact is, Orn was an idiot.”

  Tagaret almost laughed in disbelief. “You’re insulting the dead now?”

  “Complimenting the living, my boy!” Father laughed. “You’re ten times the man he was. I know you’re too smart to risk yourself with Lowers for sale.” He pulled Tagaret’s ear to his mouth, confidentially. “It’s so important for boys your age to have close friends, like Reyn.”

  “Varin’s teeth, Father!” Tagaret tried to throw him off.

  Father only clamped tighter. “Understand me, Tagaret. Play with whomever you like—it will make for good political influence later. But anyone else gets word of you wasting your value to the Race, and you’ll wish you were no son of mine.”

  Varin help him—Father was a beast! When Imbati Sorn opened the door of the master bedroom, Tagaret simply went in. It didn’t matter what this was about. The faster he got in, the faster he could get out and go back to Mother.

  In his parents’ room, the chairs from the lounge corner had been pulled out into the middle of the floor. Between them stood an Imbati—Aloran, the one from the play session.

  No tattoo on his face for now, but maybe not for long.

  Dear gods.

  Father grinned. “Now, don’t tell your mother,” he said. “It’s a surprise.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Un-Imbati

  Grobal Tagaret was not the person he’d wanted to see.

  Aloran fought the urge to tense his arms and shoulders. Distance yourself, the lesson said. Measured breaths relieve the body. Relief of the body calms the mind. The calm mind is observant and prepared.

  Eyli’s pleas had been too moving to deny, but he’d never imagined this. The luxury in the house was undeniable—walking in through the sitting room he’d even noticed an extravagant game table and chairs of inlaid wood—but contrary to the romantic suggestion of the Master and Mistress’ shared bed, the atmosphere of conflict here was stifling.

  Grobal Garr made it worse with every word. He hadn’t mentioned the Lady once—not even to hint that she might have concerns relevant to the hiring of her own servant. The task of pleasing such a man put him only two breaths away from panic, yet he must hide all emotion from Garr’s Sorn, who had stayed watching while the Master stepped out.

  And now, to face Grobal Tagaret, too?

  Yet, perhaps this was better. The boy might divulge information about his mother that his father had not.

  Grobal Garr gestured expansively with the arm that wasn’t clamped around his son. “This is Imbati Aloran,” he declared. “Aloran, my elder son Tagaret.”

  Grobal Tagaret glared at him, body rigid, mouth trembling.

  That look felt like a knife in his side. Yet Eyli had asked him to be here; and even if she hadn’t, the Lady still deserved his best effort. Aloran bowed deeply. “It is my pleasure, young sir.” And to please the father, added, “If I may presume, sir, a very promising-looking boy.”

  Grobal Garr chuckled. “Yes, indeed, very promising. He’ll reach seventeen tomorrow.”

  “Congratulations, young sir,” Aloran said.

  Grobal Tagaret didn’t answer.

  “Don’t you see why I brought you, Tagaret?” Grobal Garr asked. “It’s perfect practice for choosing your own servant. Besides, if we like Aloran, he’ll be a present for your mother’s birthday, so he’ll be your bodyguard, too, until you find your own. You might as well help me test him.”

  Judging from the outrage on Grobal Tagaret’s face, his father’s birthday surprise wouldn’t stay secret for long. Would the boy devise some test to reflect that outrage? Would there be any chance for him to show his good intentions?

  Grobal Tagaret shrugged off his father’s arm. “Fine,” he said. “Just what I needed, an Imbati lesson.” He lay facedown on the floor, provoking a frown from his father, but no visible reaction from Garr’s Sorn. “Aloran, pick me up.”

  Was that all? Aloran’s skin prickled with relief. The unconscious fallen was a familiar challenge, pair-practiced a thousand times with his bunkmate, Endredan, and easier still when he knew the ‘victim’ had sustained no injuries. A fine opportunity to communicate good will. Slipping one hand under the Grobal boy’s near shoulder, he rolled him into his arm, then lifted his knees and carried him to one of the lounge chairs. “Please excuse my imposition, young sir,” he murmured.

  Grobal Tagaret looked at him.

  He should have sent some signal, but under Sorn’s sharp gray eyes, he could do nothing. Aloran lowered his eyes. Young sir, please understand. I promise to love where I serve.

  “Oh, Tagaret, well done!” cried Grobal Garr. “Quite an ingenious test of his physical abilities. All right, what’s next?” He had walked over near his wooden dresser; he picked up a white ceramic rabbit that sat upon it and brought it with him back to the chairs. “Escort duties.”

  Aloran kept his breathing level. “Yes, sir.”

  Grobal Garr sat heavily, turning the rabbit over in his fingers. “Frankly, Aloran, when we’re out in public, I find my Tamelera receives more attention than she should. How do you propose to address this problem?”

  Aloran struggled not to react. More attention than she should? What did that mean? It was none of her partner’s business how she was escorted. All he could think to do was fall back on an early lesson, from the days before he’d rejected becoming a nurse-escort.

  “The Lady dictates our direction, sir,” he said. “I scan the surrounding gazes. Lowers’ attention is unimportant and will add to the Lady’s appearance of attractiveness. Female attention creates the illusion of jealousy, and thus should be considered an enhancement to the Lady’s reputation. Male attenti
on is undesirable. Any gaze to the face merits a discouraging glance; three seconds of continuous attention necessitates a shift of position to break the gaze with my body.”

  Grobal Tagaret looked really angry now.

  Grobal Garr nodded. “And if there is an unwanted verbal approach?”

  “A noble lady will not immediately respond to verbal advances; usually there is a slight pause, into which I can interpose myself as the primary speaker.”

  “A systematic plan,” said Grobal Garr. “Tagaret, what do you think?”

  “They do that for schoolgirls, Father,” the boy said.

  “Now, son, ladies are ladies, and must be treated with the same respect no matter what their age.”

  Aloran couldn’t stop a twitch. Did he really call his ignorance of her wishes respect?

  Grobal Tagaret exploded. “I can’t believe you! Mother loves her Eyli—how could you take her away without even telling her?” He pointed a shaking finger at Aloran. “And now you’re dragging this poor Imbati into it when he doesn’t know any better?”

  Aloran felt heat in his face. The young Master was wrong. He did know better—or he should have. By coming here, he’d made himself complicit in a scheme to hurt the Lady he was trying to serve. It was repugnant, un-Imbati. To have Grobal Tagaret defend him only made the shame worse—and it would be a miracle if Sorn didn’t notice it.

  “Tagaret,” Grobal Garr growled, “don’t make me sorry I included you. If you care for your mother at all, you’ll fix your attitude right now.”

  Grobal Tagaret clenched his jaw. “Here’s a question that will really help my mother—Aloran, how will you protect Lady Tamelera from Kinders fever?”

  Test her for allergy, and then decide. . . ? But if he said that, he’d be lucky to get away with merely confusing them. Hopeless as it was, he had to answer, “Young sir, the safety and well-being of my mistress is my first concern. Kinders fever is transmitted by touch. I will allow no one to touch her.”

  “So, there you go,” said Grobal Garr. “An excellent answer, Aloran.”

  “But Father,” Grobal Tagaret protested, “aren’t you even going to ask Mother before you go and have him marked?”

  “Of course I am, on her birthday. Aloran, that’ll be all for now—I’ll let Serjer show you out. Serjer!”

  Aloran held still. The sooner the First Houseman appeared, the sooner he’d be able to escape this. But seconds passed, and Serjer didn’t answer.

  “Serjer!” Grobal Garr called again. “Where could he be?”

  Aloran held his breath. Presumptuous even to think it, but could he be lucky enough to have the young Master show him out? Just the smallest moment where he might be able to apologize in private?

  “Shall I go get Serjer for you, Father?” Grobal Tagaret asked. Too sweetly—chances were better he’d go straight to his mother.

  “No, stay with me a moment,” said Garr. “Sorn, you may show Aloran out.”

  Sorn came to life with a bow. “Yes, Master.”

  Aloran surrendered his last chance and followed Sorn. The steel-haired servant stalked more than he walked—clearly, he was assiduous in maintaining combat readiness. Something about his carriage hinted of arrogance, though; or one might say, it bore a disconcerting similarity to his Master’s.

  In the entry vestibule, Garr’s Sorn made as if to let him out, but stopped with his hand on the door handle.

  “Oh, Imbati Aloran,” he said. “That was well done.”

  Hearing a fellow servant call him by caste name raised the hairs on his neck. Aloran swallowed. “I can only do my best, sir.”

  “Oh, you did perfectly. It’s good to know that our Lady’s servant may finally know his place.”

  What? Aloran looked into the senior servant’s face, and a conviction hit him in the stomach: something was wrong with Sorn. His tattoo might be Imbati, but the nobility that had seeped into his posture had taken over his words, suggesting even worse corruption deep inside. Very much his master’s man . . .

  Sorn’s mouth bent into the shadow of a smirk. “You’re excused,” he said, and opened the door.

  * * *

  —

  Aloran had never felt so grateful for the protection of the wardens at the Academy gates. He hurried to Master Ziara’s office, and almost smiled in relief when she answered his knock.

  “Come in,” said Master Ziara. When the door clicked shut, she added, “You’ve chosen a good moment to stop by. We’ve identified the fever: it’s the Selostei 19 variant, contagion rating medium, against which this year’s inoculant has shown seventy percent effectiveness. The Speaker contracted it from a Kartunnen—that’s how it hopped the Imbati wall. But the wall itself remains intact.”

  “Thank you, sir.” That was reassuring, at least.

  “I take it you’ve just completed your review.”

  “Yes, sir.” Aloran tried to untangle shame from suspicion so he wouldn’t blurt out wild accusations. “I think Grobal Garr liked me, but I’m not meant for his service. I’m certain now that Tamelera’s Eyli is being forced out. Lady Tamelera needs someone she can trust, but I have no idea if she’d want my services.”

  Master Ziara gaze-gestured sympathy. “This inquiry is problematic, but you may yet meet the Lady. We won’t know until the family contacts us again.”

  “I understand.” He took a deep breath. “Sir, I have to tell you. Something strange happened while I was there, with Garr’s Sorn.”

  Master Ziara’s eyes widened, flicking unexpectedly toward the intercom station on her desk. But she spoke calmly. “He’s the head of your prospective Household. I’d understand if you were nervous of him.”

  “It was more than that.” How could he share what he’d sensed without looking like a fool? Evidence. She would ask for evidence. “Sorn called me by caste name. He said he wanted me to know my place.”

  Master Ziara pressed her lips into a slight frown. “Graduates of the Gentleman’s training don’t always value our skills as much as their own.”

  “Yes . . . yes, I know.” He sighed; he’d seen such attitudes before, but they had never rattled him like this. “That would make more sense than what I thought . . .”

  She waited, watching him.

  Aloran cleared his throat. “Sorn seemed wrong. Un-Imbati. He held me back in the vestibule and for a second I thought he might do something—unpredictable.” Horrible, his gut whispered. But for that he had no evidence at all.

  Master Ziara responded gently. “Aloran, this is a Household which clearly suffers much pressure. It may be that Sorn struggles in his leadership of the group as well; we can’t know at this point. After a difficult review, you might have been sensitized to such things.”

  That was a very reasonable explanation. Wrong—but reasonable. He sighed. “Thank you, Master Ziara.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear the family’s response.”

  “All right.”

  He left her office slowly. After observing those Grobal boys, he should just have trusted his instinct and stayed away. Tonight had been too great a risk, for so little learned. But now, Grobal Tagaret would tell his mother of the scheme, and that would be the end of it.

  Light footsteps tapped behind him. He glanced back, half-expecting Kiit. Instead, it was Master Ziara, hurrying away down the hall.

  Where was she going so fast?

  On impulse, he followed, just far enough to see her disappear into the Headmaster’s office. Could she be seeing the Headmaster about what he’d told her?

  He stopped himself.

  Here he’d been accusing Garr’s Sorn of un-Imbati behavior! What would he do, eavesdrop at the Headmaster’s door? No; he should go straight home before he did something stupid.

  Aloran took the orange-lit path past the catch-pools to the dormitory. The night’s review still echoed i
n his mind. He had learned one thing: the sons bore little resemblance to their father, so their mother was probably tall and thin. And since Grobal Garr’s temperament seemed to match Nekantor’s, maybe she was like Tagaret. Kind, but angry.

  Wait.

  He’d said that to Eyli, and she’d told him he knew more than he realized. He’d said other things, too . . . what had they been? Instantly he was torn, appalled that he’d let Grobal Garr suck him in, yet desperate to win through to the Lady. He began a breath pattern; confusion tangled to a knot in his stomach.

  He needed to see Kiit. In the dormitory, the ceiling lights were dimmed, but a few smaller lights remained along the rows of bunks—one of them, Kiit’s reading light. He walked over and checked for her bunkmate, Jeris, but the top bed was empty. Even better.

  “Aloran?” Kiit patted the bed beside her.

  He ducked in and pulled down the upper coverlet so it gave them some slight privacy. Kiit was beautiful in the shadowy light, face-naked and ready for bed.

  He forced himself to address public information first. “The fever news . . .”

  She nodded. “Already received.”

  Thank Heile. “My review . . .” he said, and stopped. How could he tell her? He’d never before envied her frankness, but he could have used it now. Maybe if she weren’t watching him . . . “Uh, may I brush your hair?”

  “Of course.” Kiit fetched her brush.

  Aloran brushed slowly. The tangles divided across the brush and fell away, and the words sighed out. “It was bad. I didn’t see the Lady.”

  “Oh, Aloran. I’m sorry.”

  He kept brushing.

  After a while Kiit shrugged. “It’s only one bad experience, though. You did say you thought the Lady was worth the risk.”

  “The Lady—” His moment of tantalizing insight revived, and indignation came with it. “Kiit, the Master hides her. He says she needs to be protected, and then he—” His voice failed. He uses me to hurt her.

  “Well, the ladies do need to be protected,” Kiit said. “Or we would have no vocation.”