“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 w
ould 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 t
hrow 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.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Marking
After that disastrous review, Hands class seemed anticlimactic. Ball-handling felt so pointlessly innocuous that Aloran raised his arm and shot a ball hard at his partner, Katella. She caught it, of course. Katella was the Hands Master’s prize student.
“Nice throw,” she said, and fired it back at him. For an intense minute they pelted balls at one another. “You’re mixing Hands with Combat today,” she remarked. “Is this some special skill you’re developing?”
“You never know—” he caught and flung back another three balls, “—when you might need to catch something thrown at you hard. Happened to me in review, and I wasn’t ready.” Caught a fourth beside his head. Hadn’t caught that rabbit. It had missed him by pure luck.
Katella frowned and threw again. “Some review. A good mistress would protect you.”
The next ball hit him straight in the chest.
Maybe it wasn’t luck. The rabbit had missed, and those pinches that made no sense—they made perfect sense if she’d intended to protect him.
Eyli had promised: If she accepts you, she will protect you.
As if in answer to his thought, there was a knock on the classroom door. Balls dropped to the mats, bouncing unevenly into silence. Even before she walked in, he knew it would be Master Ziara. His insides were suddenly vacant.
“I call out Aloran, to be Marked Tamelera’s Aloran of the Household of the First Family.”
Aloran stared at her, struggling to find his lungs again. Then he realized his classmates were bowing to him, and forced his feet to move. The greatest honor at the Academy—the most prestigious position imaginable—the most terrifying Lady in all of Varin.
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