Her head turned a notch, and Bowe managed to catch her gaze. He tried to put a questioning expression on his face—though he likely exhibited more of pleading manner than he would have liked, if the twist in his gut was anything to go by. Ariastiana’s mouth flattened, her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head once. Then she raised her chin and looked away.
The meaning was clear: Bowe would get no help from her. His heart sank. So that was that, his last hope gone. She had promised to intercede for him with Kesirran if he helped her in her scheme against Chalori. He’d feared she’d break her end of the bargain, and now she had. People kept their promises only when it was to their advantage to do so. The ascorim, the maneuvering for power among the ascor, was complex, but that much was simple. What benefit was there in keeping a promise to a boy who’d be dead the next day? Only desperation had driven him to help her.
He sighed. Perhaps Vitarr was right and they should both get roaring drunk and to Helion with the bloody Path and the blasted ascorim.
At that moment, a plate smashed on the floor and movement throughout the room stilled. Tlirris stood on a table, facing Phevan. Everyone turned towards them. Although Tlirris was high on the lists, Bowe didn’t like his chances on the Path. Perhaps Tlirris could make a name for himself as a Wolfling in the Eye, as he was a remarkably skilled fighter. But he was also extremely stupid, and wasn’t good at making friends and allies.
Tlirris was shouting at Phevan. “Of course the escay don’t have it better than us—they couldn’t be happier than the ascor. Look at their lives, look at the rags they wear, look at the hovels they live in! Not needing to face the Green Path doesn’t make up for that.” Tlirris’s face was turning purple and a vein throbbed in his forehead. He slurred his words; he was now clearly drunk. Phevan didn’t look as worried as he should have. He’d taken up the ridiculous argument that peasants had it easier than nobles in Arcandis, that the escay had better lives than the ascor. Not even a madman would think that, and Phevan was both smart and sane, so something was up. Bowe glanced at Reyanu, who had a smug expression on his face.
Tlirris lurched forward, knocking over a pitcher. Wine gushed out and soaked even more of the tablecloth. “How many escay die fighting in the Eye? How many go out on suicide barges? And,” Tlirris said, his eyes gleaming, “if the escay are so happy, then why do they have the Guild?” A dead silence descended.
The gaze of everyone in the room turned as one to the head table. Kesirran and Ariastiana were no longer there. When had they left? And had they heard Tlirris? A door at the back of the ballroom opened and a few boys began to drift out. Tlirris seemed to have just realized what he’d said. Phevan was gone, and suddenly Tlirris was isolated, standing alone on the table. His anger turned to dismay, then he jutted out his chin. “And why shouldn’t I say it? Guild. There, I said it again. Guild, guild, guild.” Those near him started to move away, and the trickle of people out the back door turned into a steady stream. “What are you afraid of? We are ascor—we don’t fear peasants or any organization they might form.” His voice became a despairing plea. “We do not fear the escay. We are ascor.”
Vitarr and Bowe exited the ballroom with the rest. We are not truly ascor yet, merely their sons, Bowe thought. And now you never will be. The Guild was only talked about in dark corners with trusted souls. Everyone knew a story or two of someone who had spoken about the Guild too loudly or too publicly and had disappeared. For that reason, details about it were sketchy. All Bowe knew was that it was an evil organization dedicated to destroying the ascor way of life.
The corridor was crowded with Greens streaming away from the ballroom. Bowe turned to Vitarr. “What do you think—?”
Vitarr raised his hand. “Best not to even mention it.”
Bowe stopped what he’d been about to say. Vitarr was right; there was nothing to gain from talking about what Tlirris had said. He cast his mind back to the earlier scene and remembered the satisfied smile from Reyanu. Was he behind this?
“I promised Chalori I’d say goodbye to her,” Bowe said. “See you later.”
Vitarr nodded and continued toward the boys’ quarters, and Bowe turned into the hallway that led to the women’s quarters. The harem contained the wives of all the ascor and some of the younger children. Mingled perfume gave the whole place a sickly smell. Several patrolling eunuchs cast him sidelong looks. If he were found in these hallways after today, he’d be lucky to leave lacking only his balls. The only men welcome in the harem were the eunuchs and the ascora’s husbands—the Raine ascor. After tomorrow Bowe would be considered more man than boy. All the silk doorway-coverings were tied up above the openings; they were only closed when the wives received visits from their husbands. Inside the bedrooms, plump ascora reclined on soft couches. Many had escay servants fanning them. Each room teemed with expensive baubles. The greater the ascora’s wealth, the more the room glittered.
Bowe’s pace slowed as he approached Chalori’s doorway. He had been putting off this visit. He couldn’t help but feel that helping Ariastiana against Chalori had been a betrayal of sorts. Even though it was just part of the ascorim and he knew he shouldn’t feel guilty, he couldn’t control his emotions as much as he would have liked. She and Vitarr were the only ones in Raine Mansion who showed him kindness. Perhaps it was natural that he and Chalori had become close when he was younger; she had been childless and he had been an orphan.
Chalori rushed to him and hugged him when she saw him in the doorway. Bowe was too old for motherly hugs and his body tensed up. But as the familiar warmth and smell of Chalori surrounded him, he relaxed against her, embracing her with all his might. His eyes stung and he blinked back tears. Ashamed of himself, he broke away.
He was surprised that she wore a simple white dress similar to something that one of the Greenettes might wear. Everyone on Arcandis wore light-colored clothing due to the heat, of course. The escay wore light grays and browns. Greens and Greenettes and the younger children dressed in plain white. The ascor and ascora used a white base material, elaborated with colorful patterns and trimmings, favoring designs that highlighted the house color—silver, in the case of the Raine family. The ascora always dressed well; he’d never seen any of them wearing something this plain before. Chalori wore no makeup, either.
She bustled away. “You’ll have some tea.” She was a small woman, so there was no hiding the excess weight she’d put on lately. She was still pretty, though, with curly brown hair and lively blue eyes. She’d been one of Kesirran’s favorites. Chalori’s room was smaller than most and just as overpopulated with knickknacks, but with a diverse mix of styles. In one corner, a carved mahogany insect leaned against a golden candlestick patterned with dragons; in another, a bonsai beech tree wilted from lack of water. When he was younger, Bowe had used to love inventing games with the strange objects he’d find in here.
He’d come to say goodbye to Chalori, and now he found he was bidding farewell to his childhood also. A cold chill went through him as he realized he’d get to experience less than a day of adulthood.
Chalori brought over an ornate silver teapot. On a small table nearby stood a metal platform with three candles underneath to warm the tea. As she set the teapot down, her hand shook and the teapot rattled against the platform.
Bowe had to take it from her. “Sit down. Forget about the tea. What’s wrong?” Bowe now noticed her red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be fine; I’m always getting out of the little scrapes I get into. I’m sure the first day of the Path will be no different.” Bowe pulled her down beside him on the couch and clasped her hands in his until they stopped shaking.
She let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. “I can almost believe it. You always were the little rascal. So small, but overflowing with mischievous energy. The amount of times I had to put ointment on the little cuts and bruises you used to get…” She shifted her shoulders, turning more towards him, and ran one hand through his hair
. “And look at you now, so big and handsome.
“Chalori, stop it. What if one of the eunuchs passes by?”
“Don’t be silly.” She rubbed him under the chin causing him to flush. “They know I’m your mother, or as good as.”
Bowe slapped her hand away, feeling another stab of guilt as he remembered Ariastiana. “I’m not a child anymore. Besides, you’ve got me confused with someone else. Or maybe two someones. Reyanu is the handsome one and Vitarr is the big one.” Bowe was not the smallest of the Greens, but he was far from being the biggest.
“My fine, strong boy,” she said, sneaking in another caress of his hair before Bowe could chase her hand away. She hadn’t treated him this much like a child in years. Despite himself, it gave him a warm feeling.
“Now.” She wiped her eyes and composed herself. “I am strong enough,” she muttered under her breath. And then louder. “I have a present for you. Open that box.”
Beside the teapot was a small wooden box that Bowe hadn’t noticed before. Bands of interlocking leaves were carved around the edges of the box. “No need for presents,” he said.
Chalori tried to open the box herself, but her hands were shaking so much that Bowe had to help her. Inside were two curious-looking gold rings. Both had single spikes on the outside surface, pointing away from the center of the ring. At her request, Bowe held his hand out, palm-up and put the ring on his middle finger with the spike facing upward. She put on its twin.
“I see by your face that you don’t know what these are. They are called Paradise Givers. Inside is a little chamber containing a black liquid called Paradise’s Kiss—a fast-acting and painless poison.”
Bowe dropped the box and jumped up. “This is a sick joke.”
Chalori looked at her palm in wonder. “Look—my hand is no longer shaking.” The spike protruded from the ring like a viper’s fang. “Many of your old family, the Bellangers, would have worn these just before they killed themselves. You were just a baby then.” Chalori smiled. “I thought this would be hard, but now that the time has arrived, it just seems…natural. A goodbye kiss.”
Bowe hand jerked as he remembered that he was wearing the other ring. He carefully removed it, placed on the table, exhaled, and took a long step back. “I know how my family died. I don’t know what you are doing.”
“I am feeling strong. Now you have to be, too, my son. You know what’s going to happen tomorrow. The mentors always kill one Green the first day. Kesirran said twelve years ago when he rescued you that you’d die on your the first day as a Green. You’ve known this your whole life. I know you’re a fighter. But this is the easiest way.”
“You want to kill me?” Bowe, for once, couldn’t get his brain to work.
“No, silly. A suicide pact.”
“Why would you want to kill yourself?”
“I’m not making it to the Refuge this year. Kesirran hasn’t visited me in months.”
Bowe went still with shock. Had he caused this? “That doesn’t mean you don’t get to go to the Refuge.”
“The ascora have their own Path. Once their husband stops visiting them, they aren’t brought to the Refuge when the Infernam comes. I’ve gotten too fat and too ugly and too old. I see no point in waiting for the inevitable while the heat increases day by day.”
Bowe’s mouth dropped open. Was this because of him? Ariastiana had maneuvered things so that Chalori and Kesirran didn’t run into each other. She knew it was more likely that Kesirran would forget Chalori if he didn’t see her. And Bowe had been one of those who had watched and warned for Ariastiana. He hadn’t known that this would be the result; he’d thought it just meant a loss of status. Bowe felt hollow inside. What had he done? All for the ghost of a promise.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Chalori said. “It’s not so bad. We go can go out together. It’s honorable to form pacts like this when the end is approaching. It’s what the Bellangers did. It’s so much easier with someone you love. We embrace, our fingers grip each other’s necks, and the spikes on the rings breach the skin with a gentle pinprick. We are saying we love each other and we are giving each other the gift of paradise. We all have to leave the Path sometime, and there is no better way to go. Mother and son together.”
“I’m not your son.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Bowe wanted to take them back. Sadness flashed across Chalori’s face. Then she moved. Bowe dived at her and grabbed her arm, trying to stop her. He wasn’t quick enough. She slapped her hand against her neck. Her eyes widened in shock for a moment, and then she smiled.
Bowe buried his face into her shoulder, wrapping his hands around her neck and weeping. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re the only mother I ever wanted,” he sobbed.
Chalori’s fingers twirled through his hair. “I know you didn’t, my darling. My beautiful, strong son. I know you didn’t.”
Bowe held her tightly to him, crying. After a time, Chalori’s fingers stopped moving. He became aware of her heartbeat. He moved his head to hear it more clearly. After a time, it faltered, and then stopped beating. Bowe just lay there, feeling the heat leach from her body until, much later, a eunuch helped him to his feet and escorted him back to his own quarters.
Chapter 2
50 Days Left
The sun beat down with molten heat. Bowe stood alone in the one corner of the square that didn’t have any shade. Sweat flooded down his face; if the mentors didn’t hurry up, they’d only have a desiccated corpse to kill. At the other three corners of Drywell Square, the rest of the Greens squashed together against the walls, hugging the shade. Everyone knew to protect themselves from the sun, especially approaching the Infernam, yet all the Greens had been sent out here without any hats.
Drywell Square looked bigger today, cleared out of the escay who were usually there selling their wares. Now it held only the Greens, with marshals guarding the entrances. The Greens were separated into their families. The Bellanger corner held only Bowe. Opposite him were Reyanu, Vitarr, and the rest of the Raines. The Lessard and Grenier Greens stationed themselves in the other two corners. Without its usual marketplace bustle, Drywell Square didn’t seem interesting or impressive. Dust rolled along pockmarked paving stones. In the center of the square, a dry fountain was surrounded by a circular, knee-high wall. Two- and one-story houses, cracks running through their red walls, backed onto the square.
This was where the Path always began. Every six years, another batch of Greens were filed into this square, divided into their families and left to wait for words of wisdom from the mentors. Though if Bowe thought the marshals would let him leave, he’d forgo the mentor’s advice. He wouldn’t mind missing the famed tradition of the first day of the Path: the killing of one of the Greens.
Bowe glanced across at the corner occupied by the Greniers—the warrior family. Was it his imagination, or were many of those boys half again the size of everyone else? In the exact corner was the biggest boy of the lot. He had long hair, a flat nose, and prominent arm muscles. His body language, and that of those around him, announced him as a leader among the Greniers, though he had adopted a permanent scowl rather than Reyanu’s easy smile.
Bowe turned his attention to final corner, only to find one of the Lessard boys walking toward him. The boy whistled tunelessly. A marshal moved as if to stop him, but thought better of it. The whistling Green had spiky brown hair, a high forehead, and small features—and he wasn’t much bigger or older than Bowe. He was the kind of boy Bowe might expect to be mercilessly bullied, not the kind to brush past marshals with careless arrogance. His footsteps echoed hollowly against the paving stones, and the other Greens watched him approach Bowe.
“My name is Zidel,” he said when he reached Bowe. “And you are Bowe Bellanger, the only one here whose name everyone knows.”
“What do you want?” Bowe glared. The boy wanted to use him in some way and Bowe wasn’t in the mood. At least they weren’t speaking loudly enough for anyone else to hear.<
br />
Zidel laughed. “Would you believe I’m just bored?”
“No. You want something from me. I’m not interested in whatever ascorim game you want to play.”
“I expected more from you.” Zidel shook his head sadly. “If you aim to master the ascorim, you shouldn’t take it lightly. You should play it with every breath, with every gesture, with every word. The ascorim requires an artist’s touch and a dancer’s grace.”
“I don’t aim to master it. I’m about to die. What does the ascorim matter to me now?”
“When you’re about to die is when it matters the most.” Zidel bent down and picked up a pinch of dust from the ground. “We are nothing but grains of dirt picked up and let loose.” He released the dust into the wind. “Some particles fall immediately, others fly high then drift to the ground. They all fall eventually—no one cares where. But some, while they are in the air, will dance in the wind and soar higher than all the rest. For me, that is the dance of the ascorim. If I knew that I was to die soon, I would soar for those minutes I had left.”
“That’s beautiful,” Bowe said. “All my life I wanted to be a speck of dust, but only now do I truly feel like one.” The boy was talking utter nonsense. The ascorim was the scheming for power among the ascor. Important but not mystical like Zidel made it out.
Zidel smiled. “Feel free to interpret my words as literally as you wish. I am disappointed. I came over here because I heard you might be someone who could play, and perhaps even master, the ascorim. It seems I was misinformed.”
“Whom did you hear that from?” Bowe’s one attempt at scheming had led to Chalori’s—no, he didn’t want to think about that.
“Everyone is watched and evaluated before the Path. How do you think the lists are formed? I try to learn as much as I can about my fellow Greens. Let me see, who else is there from Raine mansion? Reyanu, of course, is the most important. Tlirris was a threat, but has plummeted down the lists since…” He trailed off. “You were there.”
What Tomorrow May Bring Page 209
