by Sharon Shinn
Leah had been too preoccupied with watching where she put her feet to lift her gaze and stare out at the water. “What about it?”
“There’s hardly a ship in port. Because of the Berringey blockade.”
FOURTEEN
The days following the discovery of Sarona’s body were so somber that Corene sometimes felt the whole enormous palace was sinking into the ground, weighted by grief and uneasiness. Preparations for the big celebration continued, as it was barely three ninedays away, but everyone felt bad about planning a party alongside a funeral. The formal evening dinners were sparsely attended, with Filomara skipping about half of them and various other family members choosing to take their meals elsewhere on random days.
“This is almost as bad as the time Aravani died,” Jiramondi said one afternoon as he tutored Corene in her Malinquese lessons. “I mean, I was only ten, but I remember how oppressive it was. No one wanted to evince the slightest joy in anything, no matter how trivial, for fear of offending Filomara. It felt like no one spoke above a whisper for a whole quintile.”
“I’ve been trying to figure out who’s genuinely sad and who’s horrified because it’s such a dreadful thing to happen and who’s just pretending,” Corene said.
One corner of Jiramondi’s mouth curled up sardonically. “That’s my very practical Welchin girl speaking,” he said.
Corene shrugged. “I didn’t know her, so I can hardly be in mourning. But I find it interesting to watch everyone else.”
“And what have you determined?”
“Greggorio is really sorry she’s dead. He genuinely liked her.”
“Probably too much for my aunt’s comfort, but I agree.”
“Filomara—found her problematic when she was alive, but even more problematic now that she’s dead.”
Jiramondi looked slightly amused. “Again, I’d say you’re right. Who else?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “You didn’t care for her much. And Garameno despised her.”
Jiramondi hesitated a moment, and then nodded ruefully. “She was a difficult and unlikable girl. I don’t know if you’ve ever come across someone who’s been blessed with every gift, and who doesn’t show a scrap of gratitude about it. Sarona just assumed that she deserved to be beautiful, to be wealthy, to be well-connected. She didn’t care that other people have struggles—if she noticed them at all, it was to look at them with scorn. She didn’t have an ounce of compassion or empathy.”
“Of course I’ve known people like that,” Corene said. “I was like that, at least when I was younger—and until I faced a few disasters of my own.” She thought about it a moment. “I might still be more like that than I’d want to admit.”
Jiramondi sat back in his chair and regarded her with a half-smile. “Now that surprises me,” he said.
She smiled back. “That I’d realize it about myself? Or admit it?”
“That you’d think it’s true. You’re much more aware of other people than Sarona ever was.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I never liked people that much. And they never liked me.”
Jiramondi rested his chin on his fist and continued to regard her. “But they don’t repulse you because they’re different. Sarona was often repulsed.”
“Who’s different? Different in what way?”
He smiled. “And that’s what I mean.”
“Because Garameno is in a wheelchair, for instance?”
“Exactly. He’s not—” Jiramondi searched for a word. “A whole man. Which, to someone like Sarona, made him abhorrent. But you don’t notice the wheelchair.”
“Of course I notice it,” Corene said. “I just don’t care. What interests me about Garameno is how clever he is. And how close he is to Filomara. And how very well-informed he is about everything that happens in Malinqua. Those are the things that define Garameno, as far as I’m concerned.”
“And you aren’t repulsed by me,” he said.
“By—?”
He spoke a Malinquese phrase that she didn’t recognize. When she looked puzzled, he offered the definition in a slow, deliberate voice. “A man who has sex with other men.”
“Oh, that. That’s not what I find interesting about you,” she said. “What intrigues me is how smoothly you maintain good relations with everyone in the palace. Few people actually dislike you. Most people trust you. But they don’t notice how skillfully you’re managing these relationships. Your brand of charm is so subtle they don’t realize how you’re actually using it.”
Jiramondi blinked at her. “What a very different way of looking at my existence, to be sure. Mostly I imagine that I’m frantically waving banners and organizing conversations to distract people from thinking about the things in my life they consider repulsive.”
Now she was the one to lean forward and study him. “Here’s what I don’t understand,” she said. “How does anyone know these ‘repulsive things’ about you? It’s not like you go around the palace kissing footmen or staring longingly at handsome young boys. At least not that I’ve ever noticed.”
He nodded. “I try to be circumspect. But I was discovered once—in a most unambiguous situation—and the circumstances were widely reported. I was too proud to lie and claim I’d been taken advantage of.”
“Who discovered you?”
“Lorian. Who, as you know, cannot keep a secret from my aunt, though I begged him.” He shrugged. “He’s never liked me much, so I think he was glad for the chance to try and ruin my life.”
“Why doesn’t he like you?”
“He’s always hated my father. Hated all of Filomara’s brothers, actually, except Morli. So he’s never liked Garameno, either, which has always been a comfort to me.”
She grinned, but said, “So Lorian found you and told Filomara. What did she say? The empress has a lot of faults, but this doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that would bother her.”
“No, it didn’t seem to change her opinion of me one way or the other—but others were in the room when he made his report. The prefect, for instance. You might notice that Harlo is not one of the people I’ve managed to charm. He considers my—weakness—to be so monstrous that he can barely stand to look at me when we’re in the same room.”
She’d witnessed that prejudice for herself. “Well, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with such reactions from some of the royal court,” she said. “But for people like Melissande and me, it doesn’t matter.”
“Melissande told me that in Coziquela, the word they use to describe men like me is sublime. I don’t know the word in Welchin.”
“There isn’t one.”
“Because such a thing is unmentionable?”
“Because nobody cares. You think I’m being very tolerant and good-hearted, but I never knew anyone who thought twice about such a thing. Maybe if I’d been raised differently I’d be shocked, but it’s kind of hard to get worked up about it now.”
Jiramondi laughed out loud, the sound so unexpected and so welcome after these last dreary days that Corene laughed right along with him. “You’re right—I’ve given you too much credit,” he said. “You’re probably as shallow and small-minded as the next girl, you just had a better upbringing.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I was raised by a woman who noticed and cataloged everyone’s deficits,” Corene said cynically. “Not because they revolted her, but because she might need to exploit them at some point in the future. My father makes it a habit to know every man’s weak spot, too, but he’s usually not planning to use it against the other man. He just wants to know when and how that person might fail him.”
“That must have been a delightful household.”
“They didn’t live together. And there were plenty of other influences at court that helped shape me, for good or for ill. But I don’t think I became a nice person—well, as nice as I actually am, which is
n’t as nice as I should be—until I started spending time with my sister and my stepmother. And I learned that you don’t have to scheme and you don’t have to outsmart people and you don’t have to be better than everyone else all the time. You just have to be you, even if you aren’t perfect.”
“Now there’s a lesson Sarona never learned,” Jiramondi said. “She only liked perfect people.”
“Do you think she actually cared about Greggorio? Or did she just think he was the most likely heir to Filomara’s throne?”
“I think it was all the same thing to her. He’s always been the most likely heir because, of the three of us, he’s the closest to perfect—the reasons she liked him are the reasons Filomara still favors him. Did she actually love him? I don’t know. But I don’t think it would have pained her soul to marry him. As it would have pained her to marry Garameno or me.”
“Even if you’d been named the heir?”
“Maybe even more so then,” he mused. “Because the bitterness of our—drawbacks—would have poisoned the sweetness of her life.”
“Well, you’ve convinced me,” Corene said. “I’m glad she’s dead.”
• • •
But gladness was in short supply throughout the rest of the palace. At Filomara’s request, Liramelli and Greggorio traveled with the body to the estate Sarona’s parents owned some fifty miles from Palminera to attend the funeral as the empress’s representatives. Corene could not imagine how strained conversation must have been during that long, uncomfortable ride. She could only be glad she hadn’t been in the carriage.
Like Corene, Alette was a stranger to Malinqua and had never been friends with Sarona, so she could hardly be weighed down by grief over the other woman’s death. In fact, during the next nineday, Alette showed as much animation as Corene had ever seen. She loved the yellow shawl Corene and Melissande had brought her from the Great Market, and she started wearing it every day. She showed up for every meal, she occasionally joined the other women for strolls through the garden, and she attended the impromptu evening sessions Corene had started hosting in her room just to chase away the gloom of the dinner conversation.
It was an odd group, Corene had to admit—bubbly Melissande, exotic Alette, matter-of-fact Steff, and watchful Foley. And herself. She wasn’t sure she could think of a single adjective she’d want for her own description.
They spent much of their time playing penta, of course. Alette had proved a surprisingly quick study, winning the first few hands so decisively that they couldn’t help but accuse her of cheating. She had shown her rare smile and said, “It is very similar to a game we have in Dhonsho. My sisters and I played it often.”
“And did you always win?” Steff inquired, raking up the cards and shuffling them again.
“Of course not. My sisters were all very good at the game.”
“You’ll have to teach us Dhonshon games when we get tired of penta,” Corene said.
“Tired of penta? But is such a thing possible?” Melissande demanded. Of all of them, she was least engaged by the card game. But, of course, she couldn’t bear to be excluded from any social gathering, so she endured it.
Steff dealt the cards and they all studied their hands. “That fellow was here again to see the empress,” he said idly.
“We have no idea who you’re talking about,” Corene said. “What fellow?”
“Renalto. The one who runs some biological lab—you met him, Corene. The one who tested my blood.”
Melissande feigned alarm. “Tell us quickly! Are they testing you again? Have they decided you are an imposter after all?”
He grinned. “No—well, not that I know of, at any rate. Apparently people at his facility studied Sarona’s body before it was sent home, and he was here to tell Filomara what they’d determined about how she died.”
He fell silent, studying his cards again, seeming unaware of the fact that the rest of them were staring at him.
“Well?” Corene demanded. “What did they determine?”
He looked up, surprised. “Oh, I don’t know. She sent me from the room.”
Corene made a growling noise in the back of her throat. “You are the most useless man.”
Steff shrugged and laid down the low cards in the suits of fish and skulls. Everyone else showed their own low cards, and Melissande took the bid.
Foley spoke up while they played the first round. “If training yard gossip is correct, these scientists decided that Sarona took her own life,” he said. “They found a knife near the body and evidence that the arteries in her throat were cut. Jaggedly and badly, which made them think the wounds were self-inflicted.”
Melissande shuddered delicately. “I could not do such a thing. I could not abide the pain.”
Corene carefully did not look at Alette, who had already proven she was willing to take her own life. But the Dhonsho girl didn’t seem to mind suicide as a topic. “There are drugs that they say will kill you quickly and easily,” she said. “But the people I’ve seen who died that way didn’t look peaceful to me. Bleeding to death isn’t so bad. You grow tired and then you sleep. It doesn’t hurt as much as you might think.” She played a card. “It’s living that is sometimes too painful to endure.”
Corene leaned over to briefly lay her hand on Alette’s forearm. “I wish you hadn’t lived a life that made that true.”
Alette gave her one long, serious look. “Thank you,” she said.
Steff tapped a card against the table, frowning. “That’s not right,” he said.
“What’s not right? Your card? Alette’s life?” Corene demanded. “You’re always so obscure.”
He put the chosen card back and played another one. “Sarona couldn’t have killed herself.”
“There is no possible way you could know that,” Corene answered.
But Foley was nodding. “I thought the same thing.”
“But why?” Melissande exclaimed. “What evidence could you have?”
Steff glanced at Foley. “There wasn’t enough blood.”
“Exactly,” Foley said.
“I admit I did not stand there gazing at the body for hours, but I saw plenty of blood,” Melissande declared.
“She was wearing a white jacket. She was covered with a white blanket,” Steff said. “If she’d cut her own throat, the blood would have soaked everything. I’ve slaughtered enough livestock on the farm to know how that goes. There was blood on the jacket, but the blanket was almost clean. She was killed someplace else, then taken down the tunnel.”
Foley was nodding. “Most likely she was killed in the palace. If you live here and you end up with a body on your hands, you don’t have too many places to dispose of it. Since we know from experience how hard it is to leave the grounds without being seen.”
“But then that means—that means—” Melissande could not seem to get the words out.
“She was murdered,” Corene said flatly.
Steff nodded. “The more I thought about it after we found the body, the more convinced I was.”
“But who killed her?” Melissande said.
“Well, that’s the question, of course,” Steff replied.
“I don’t think it was Greggorio,” Corene said. “Though he would be the obvious suspect.”
“He is too kindhearted,” Melissande agreed.
“He’s too weak,” Alette said sternly. When they all gaped at her, she nodded emphatically. “It takes a great deal of nerve and conviction to kill someone. I do not believe Greggorio is that strong.”
“I suppose in a way that’s a compliment,” Corene said doubtfully.
“In a way,” Alette said, equally doubtful.
“And I don’t think Filomara killed her,” Corene said.
“Not with her own hands, no, but could she have ordered such a thing done?” Melissande asked. “I d
o not think she is too weak to flinch at murder.”
Alette was nodding, but Foley shook his head. “She didn’t do it,” he said. “The body would never have been found if the empress was responsible. She’s the one person who could have gotten a corpse off the premises—aided by the guards, not stopped by them.”
“A most excellent point!” Melissande approved. “So we have now eliminated two suspects.”
“Though I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Filomara wanted her dead,” Corene said.
Melissande nodded. “Yes, because she disliked Sarona’s relationship with Greggorio,” she said. “I do think Greggorio is the key here. He might not be the killer, but someone at the palace didn’t like how close he was to Sarona. He paid attention to her—so now she’s dead.”
Alette played an unexpected trump and elicited groans from everyone else at the table. Her voice was placid when she said, “If that’s the case, then the next person to be murdered will be me.”
Shock created space for a brief, airless silence, and then they all spoke at once. Corene was the one who managed to talk the loudest. “What do you mean?” she demanded.
Alette laid down a high horseshoe, and everyone numbly followed suit, still staring at her. “Greggorio has been very kind to me,” she explained. “Until these last few days, he was the only one at the palace I thought might be a friend. It was not a—what is the word you use?—a boy-and-girl thing between us.”
“Not romantic,” Melissande murmured.
“Exactly. Merely, he saw I was unhappy and asked how he could help.”
“He carried messages for you,” Corene guessed. “That’s how you got news from home that Filomara hadn’t read.”
“Yes.”
“That was kind,” Melissande agreed. “But I myself did not realize there was any kind of special bond between you, so perhaps it is not widely known.”
“You’re not jealously trying to win yourself a crown,” Foley reminded her.
Her smile was blinding. “But I am!”
Corene frowned at Foley. “You’re saying that Jiramondi and Garameno are the most likely murder suspects.”
