In Dreaming Bound

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  “Oh.” Three seemed like it would be awkward. In many ways. She wanted to give that idea some thought before she said anything more. “Well, how do we know that Mikael triggered it, and not me?”

  “Hmmm . . . I honestly don’t know,” Deborah conceded, “but we always blame the broadcaster.”

  That last part was meant jokingly, but Shironne suspected there was a hint of truth in there. About the blame. Kai had once told Shironne that Mikael would eventually drown out her mind, making her into a copy of him. It didn’t feel that way to her. “Maybe he tries to make a bond with everyone,” she suggested, feeling defensive now, “and I’m the only one it worked with. So maybe I . . . wanted to be bound, sort of.”

  “That has also occurred to me,” Deborah said, a hint of laughter entering her voice. A surge of affection came with that, reassuring Shironne as to the woman’s intentions. “I only want what’s best for both of you. This would be easier if we could sit down like reasonable people and discuss what’s happening between you on a regular basis. But the elders have made their decisions, so we need to work within those constraints from now on. Do you understand?”

  Shironne pressed her frustration firmly down. It probably showed on her face anyway. “Yes, ma’am.”

  When she got back to her barracks, Shironne intended to ask Tabita to calculate exactly how many days until she became an adult.

  * * *

  Synen seemed to have a special sense for when Mikael would come down into town hunting a drink. Before Shironne, Mikael had come to the Hermlin Black to drink himself senseless before a dream; that would limit how much other sensitives picked up from his dreams. But this time he didn’t have the excuse of an impending dream. He just wanted to be somewhere other than the office, and a chat with Synen, who seemed to have a feel for the citizenry of this part of town.

  Once Synen had put a glass of whisky in his hands, Mikael waited contentedly in the kitchen at the table as the man took care of the main room and his wife made lunch. She occasionally glanced at him with a rumpled brow, wiping her hands on her red apron. Mikael had sat at this table enough times that the kitchen with its large stove and pennants that prayed for warmth merely struck him as homey. It certainly smelled good, whatever she was cooking.

  A man walked into the kitchen wearing an overcoat that likely cost as much as the garb of every customer in the tavern combined. He gestured toward Synen, who joined him by the doors, then bowed low. He called his wife over and the two exited into the tavern’s main room, leaving Mikael alone with the newcomer.

  No, not quite alone. Another man in austere gray stood discreetly by the door, eyes evaluating. Big for a Larossan. That would be a bodyguard. His overcoat surely hid a weapon or two.

  The first man regarded Mikael with little expression. Perhaps a touch of curiosity. His clothing told Mikael very little about him other than his wealth. His garb was conservative and well tailored. Larossan in style, which said he lived in the Larossan world, or that he preferred that. He removed his overcoat and handed it to the man by the door, leaving him in a dark blue tunic worn with lighter blue trousers having only a slight line of embroidery around his cuffs. His hair was neatly cut in much the same style as Mikael’s, and he wore neither a beard nor a mustache.

  Mikael guessed he was at least half Anvarrid, tall and lean. His hair had a reddish tint, a rather unusual trait, but that didn’t limit his forbearer’s possible bloodlines. That red—originally picked up from the Six Families—appeared now in several Anvarrid Houses. His dark eyes, though, had to come from a Larossan ancestor.

  Mikael didn’t know exactly who the man was, but he knew who the man’s daughter was.

  “Have you figured me out yet?” the man asked as he sat on the chair set directly across from Mikael.

  “I believe I know a young relative of yours.” Mikael couldn’t sense anything from the man, either making him emotionless, or very skilled at hiding his emotions.

  “Very diplomatically said.” His lips drew up in a cold smile that didn’t travel to his eyes. “We both have some interest in the Anjir family and their safety, then, Mr. Lee.”

  Mikael didn’t know how much this man knew, what Messine had told his contact about him. He settled for nodding. It was also interesting that he’d tracked Mikael down here to this tavern. Either this stranger had been waiting for Mikael to emerge from the Fortress, or he’d made a singularly lucky guess, or he simply had excellent sources of information.

  “Do you know why we’re both here?” The man asked.

  I’m here because I had a dream about my father and I needed a drink. “No. You’re not going to have me killed, though,” he said, “or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

  “You’re here to listen to me,” the man told him.

  Mikael held up one hand. “Who are you?”

  “Esil Gasanen.”

  Ah. Mikael knew that name. Gasanen was . . . there wasn’t precisely a term for it, was there? He loaned people money at exorbitant rates, and unpleasant things happened to those who didn’t repay. At the same time, he was known for being discreet. He didn’t expose those who borrowed money from him, Mikael had heard. Not until they tried to escape him. Gasanen wasn’t quite a blackmailer, not quite a criminal, not quite a killer. Not from what Mikael knew. But if the man was discreet about money, he was likely just as discreet about any criminal activity his clients might engage in. “What did you want to tell me, then?”

  “Your investigation is unnecessary,” the man said.

  “I’m trying to determine who attempted to sell a young woman into slavery.” Mikael needed to tread carefully with this man, but he still wanted to see what he could turn up.

  “It was Faralis. Leave it alone and I’ll see that you get all the evidence you need.”

  Gasanen said that without a sliver of doubt reflecting through his mind, so Mikael didn’t bother to question him. He leaned closer. “I was not following this to learn who killed the man. I need to know who was trying to buy Shironne Anjir.”

  The man gazed at him, hard eyes unmoved by Mikael’s urgency. “That can only be determined by questioning Faralis and his closer associates. Yet doing so opens the House of Valaren to exposure on certain fronts. I can promise that when I go through Faralis’ paperwork, I will keep an eye open for that information, but I strongly suggest the man not be questioned by the police.”

  “What are you suggesting, then?”

  “There are three courses this can take. Continue your investigation and I will hand the evidence on Faralis over to the police. Drop it, and I will hand the evidence on Faralis over to the Daujom when I am done with it.”

  He hadn’t promised to hand over Faralis, had he? So those options likely ended up with Faralis dead in the river. Not that Mikael would mind, but there were laws about people who did things like that. “Or?”

  “Or compromise. Work with me on this. We share information, we break Faralis down together, and I will hand over the name of the man who killed Jusid. You get the answers you want and the Daujom can limit who sees information on the Anjir family.”

  This was about more than protecting Melanna. Whatever had happened between this man and Savelle Anjir, he was trying to protect her as well. That was the only reason he could have for making such an offer. Either that, or he needed the Daujom’s resources, and that was unlikely for someone as well connected as he must be.

  And it meant working with someone who was almost a criminal. Would that come back to haunt him in the future? “I should discuss this with my superior.”

  “I would suggest going to someone other than Daharion,” Gasanen said in a dry voice. Amusement touched the air around him. “The king’s brother is known for his unpredictable temper.”

  “He is my direct superior,” Mikael said.

  Gasanen leaned back, eyes narrowing. “I understand that.”

  That meant he knew there were other options than Dahar, an interesting development. They worked hard to con
vince the Larossan world around them that the Daujom was no more than a handful of men sitting in a chilly office somewhere.

  Gasanen rose, eyes staying on Mikael. “And when you are ready to ask that one question you truly want answered, come to me. I think I know what that question is, and I can put my hand on the evidence you need.”

  Mikael watched the man walk out of the kitchen, wishing he knew what that question was.

  He had far more than one question muddling around in his mind.

  Chapter 24

  * * *

  SHIRONNE MET WITH Elisabet that afternoon as scheduled. At their last meeting Elisabet had evidently decided she could load a pistol, so today she informed Shironne that she would be firing it.

  “We use lead balls in the firing rooms,” Elisabet explained. “They flatten when they hit the wall. Steel would ricochet.”

  Shironne stole the meaning of that word, which she discovered Mikael knew from personal experience. He’d tried it once as a boy and had lived through a terrifying half-second as the bullet sped around the shooting room, one side to the other.

  She stood precisely as Elisabet bid her. The older woman shaped Shironne’s hands to the pistol, holding them between her own bare palms. Nothing passed through Elisabet’s mind save the lesson itself, a frightening intensity. Mikael thought of Elisabet as a hunter, always focused on one thing, willing to wait. Shironne resisted the urge to steal deeper into the woman’s mind to see how valid Mikael’s assessment was.

  “Pull back the hammer,” Elisabet ordered.

  Shironne complied.

  “Pull the trigger.”

  The pistol seemed to become a live thing in her hand, jerking free with a deafening bang. Shironne cried out, holding her hands wide. She heard the pistol hit the floor. Her hands were covered in burned powder, an unexpectedly jarring experience. Faint traces of it had spattered across her face. She wanted to wipe her hands on her uniform, but that would mean carrying around the powder on her person all day. No, it had surely sprayed onto her uniform, too.

  She could smell it, the strange smell that she remembered from the day Mikael had shot two men by the riverside. She sniffed at her hands, touching one finger to the burnt powder on the other hand. Gunshot residue—she knew it well enough from her work with the army. But it was different in the first few seconds as it burned out.

  “I’ve felt this on corpses before,” she told Elisabet, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Only I didn’t know what it was like brand new.”

  Elisabet’s mind reflected vague bemusement. “What do you mean?”

  “From the gun, the burnt powder on my hands.” Now that she’d identified it, she began to want it off her skin, the chemical feel bothering her. Shironne dug out her handkerchief and began wiping her hands, removing at least a little of the residue.

  “Pick it up and try again,” Elisabet instructed. “This time, don’t drop the gun.”

  So much for cleaning my hands. She would simply have to put up with it. Shironne tapped her foot about, hunting for the escaped weapon.

  “To your left.”

  Shironne followed the hint and found the gun. She picked it up and proceeded to reload it. “It’s warm,” she told Elisabet.

  “Yes.”

  Elisabet redirected her hands again, and Shironne gritted her teeth before firing the pistol. It leapt, but she kept it in her grasp this time, another layer of powder coating her hand. Elisabet kept her at it, Shironne firing the gun until her hand ached and her ears throbbed. She wasn’t even aiming at anything, making this seem like a ridiculous waste of time.

  At the end of their hour together, Elisabet moved about the long room picking up bits of lead. “Kai says you were in Mr. Lee’s room last night.”

  “I only went there to quiet him,” Shironne offered. “Nothing untoward happened.”

  “Don’t explain.” Elisabet never wasted words. “There’s talk. Be more careful of his reputation.”

  Of his reputation. Shironne sighed. “I will. I know it was stupid.”

  “You’re a child, and new here. No one expects you to remember all the rules. What is expected of him is different.”

  “He was asleep. He wasn’t even aware I was there.”

  “Can that be proven?”

  Shironne sensed her uneasiness. “I understand.”

  “Make certain you do.” Elisabet said evenly, no anger in her voice. “Mr. Lee is an adult, and an outsider. His motives are more likely to be doubted than yours.”

  A warning from Elisabet, for Mikael’s sake. Elisabet did care. I wish I could tell Mikael.

  * * *

  Mikael didn’t stop into the office of the Daujom when he got back to the palace, mostly because he didn’t want to get caught up helping Sera with her work. Not yet, anyway. Instead he went to the door of the second office and knocked.

  Like before, Liva let him in and somehow relayed a message to Anna that he’d arrived. He’d sat in the reception area only a minute or two before that small birdlike woman in servants’ garb came down the hallway to escort him back to her office. “What brings you here today, Mikael?”

  She opened her office door and went inside. He closed the door once they were both in. “Gasanen,” he said. “I met him today.”

  “Ah.” Anna sank into her chair. A flash of something like remorse surrounded her, too quickly suppressed for Mikael to be sure. “What was he trying to sell you?”

  So she knows who he is. Mikael launched into as close a reproduction of the conversation as he could manage, knowing the exact wording could be important. When he reached the end, that vague hint about Gasanen knowing what Mikael most wanted to know, Mikael still didn’t know what that something was.

  “Since he’s seeking your cooperation on the issue of Faralis, I would expect it to be something wildly different,” Anna observed. “Perhaps your father’s death. After all, wasn’t that what your dream last night was about?”

  Mikael sighed. “I apologize if I troubled any of your people, ma’am.”

  Anna just shook her head. “Not the issue. You don’t control your dreams. They control you.”

  They control me. He couldn’t argue that point. His dreams of death were the reason the Lee elders sent him to Lucas Province, the reason he’d started solving crimes and ended up with the Daujom. They were the reason he’d met Shironne. That didn’t mean he wanted them. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You should cultivate this acquaintance with Gasanen,” she said. “He has sources of information that we don’t. That could be helpful in the future. But he was correct about not involving Dahar in this. If Dahar figures out the link between Gasanen and the Anjir household, he might leap to some wrong-headed conclusions.”

  Mikael wasn’t sure what the connection between Gasanen and Madam Anjir was—or rather, how it had come about in the first place—but was trying to keep that from influencing how he thought about either of them.

  A knock came at the door. When Anna called for the visitor to come in, the door opened, revealing Master Elias. The legal counsel seemed displeased at finding Mikael there ahead of him. “Anna, I thought we had a meeting.”

  “We do, Elias,” she said. “Mr. Lee was about to leave. I suggest you accept that offer, young man.”

  “Thank you, Madam Lucas,” he said with a half bow. He paused at the door, though. “Could I take up a moment of your time, sir?”

  Master Elias reluctantly agreed, his square jaw tight. The face he turned to Mikael looked older somehow. Strained. “How can I help you?”

  “Elder Deborah mentioned to me that my father was here once. She thought he had been sparring with you.”

  “I knew him,” Master Elias said.

  That was a surprise. “Did he come to see you often?”

  “He didn’t come to see me, precisely.” Master Elias paused, lips pressed tight, his emotions held tight as well. “He came here to court my sister.”

  “What?” Mikael couldn’t he
lp the startled exclamation. He reigned in his surprise. “Excuse me, sir. He must have been very young.”

  Elias frowned and ran a hand through his steel gray hair. “I believe him to have been about twenty-three or twenty-four at the time.”

  Then I would have been three or four. Mikael’s stomach felt leaden.

  “I counseled her against it,” Elias said in a gentle tone. “Under Anvarrid law, Valerion wasn’t married to your mother, but by Family law he was.”

  That much was true. “I didn’t know.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Elias added, “I feel certain your grandfather urged the second marriage on him. And your mother was there with him, so it wasn’t a secret he kept from her.”

  Of all things, Mikael hadn’t wanted to hear that. He didn’t want to know that his father had been actively seeking a second wife, as if his own Family wife didn’t matter. “I have never understood my parents, sir.”

  “Most people never do, which is perhaps a good thing. In hindsight, it might have been better for my sister if she’d accepted him. Your father was a good-natured man. Despite already having a wife, he would have treated my sister more kindly than Hedraya ever did.”

  Mikael licked his lips. “I suppose I’m not surprised my grandfather urged him to marry.”

  “Lord Vandriyen would expect the heir of Lee Province to make an advantageous marriage. You and I are both examples of what happens when one doesn’t.”

  They actually had something in common. “True, sir.”

  Elias folded his hands. “He was charming. Everyone liked him. As I said, perhaps he would have been better for her. Is that all?”

  “Yes, sir,” he responded, then turned back to bow to Anna. “Madam, thank you again.”

  Anna seemed unconcerned by the information that had just changed hands in her office, and that told Mikael she had known all along about his father’s aborted courtship.

  * * *

  Deborah wasn’t surprised when Mikael showed up in the infirmary that afternoon. He always checked in with her the day after one of his death dreams. In this case she’d examined him in the morning and hadn’t found any sign of the bruising that usually accompanied one of those experiences. Shironne had reached him before the dream’s conclusion, her interference staving off any physical damage.