Beside him, Ariastiana held her mouth in a disapproving pout and stared over the boys’ heads. She had straight black hair that reached halfway down her back. Her glittering black eyes reminded Bowe of a large beetle he had once seen. They could have been twins—if the beetle’s face had been plastered with heavy white foundation. Ariastiana always held her head steady, not allowing her makeup to crack. Her face was thin and she was one of the least plump of all the wives in the harem. Despite the frown, she must have been delighted to be here. Rumors that she was too old to remain as chief wife had been circulating, and the fact that she now sat beside Kesirran was a public reinforcement of her position.
Bowe glanced up at the window and saw Helion again, and he scowled at it. Every day it increased in size and pushed them closer to the sun. The heat would increase until it became unbearable. The Infernam. Only those who claimed a place in the Refuge, could survive those two weeks.
And that was why impressing Kesirran was so important. Everyone in Arcandis had their own narrowing Path to the Refuge but the Green Path was reserved for the sons of the ascor between the ages of twelve and seventeen. Only six Greens would survive, and one of those would be selected by the Raine Guardian.
Vitarr gave Bowe a nudge and put some slices of pork and a roast potato on his plate. Bowe picked up a fork and ate mechanically, looking around for the important Greens. Reyanu leaned against a wall, surrounded by his friends. He had blond hair, a handsome face, and natural charm. Reyanu was holding a goblet in his hand, but did not appear to be drinking. Now that Bowe looked more closely, most of the boys high on the lists were keeping themselves under control. Except Tlirris—the Raine Greens’ best fighter—who was red-faced. He was angry, too, clearly annoyed at Phevan, who was badgering him. That was unusual. No one messed with Tlirris, and Phevan was a small and clever boy, not one to get into fights.
A nearby pitcher moved and Bowe grabbed Vitarr’s arm to stop him from dragging it closer.
“Come on, give a boy a break. Last meal and all that.” Vitarr gave a lopsided grin.
“Have you noticed that Reyanu and the other important Greens aren’t drinking much? Kesirran watches everything.”
“You mistake me for someone high on the lists.” Vitarr sighed. “Never won an argument with you yet. Fine, have it your way.” He gestured to some food farther up the table. “That appears to be cake—want some?” What Vitarr pointed at was a jumbled lump of pastry and cream that looked like a face had been planted in it. Or a foot.
Bowe looked at the pastry and then back at Vitarr to make sure he was serious, then studied the mess of food that could once have been cake again before rolling his eyes. “I’m good.”
Vitarr muttered under his breath as he scraped some cake off the table and into a plate. Something about how Bowe wouldn’t know how have fun in a courtesan house with a fistful of gold coins.
Bowe continued to chew on the pork. The food tasted of ash, but this might be the last time he’d have a chance to eat so easily. Ariastiana was looking at Reyanu. Her expression was almost the same as earlier, but a slight upward crook of her lips had changed the disapproving smirk into a smug smile. None of Ariastiana’s other sons had survived the Path, and she showed obvious satisfaction at seeing Reyanu, her youngest, ranked highest among the Raine Greens and surrounded by likely Defenders.
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 t
he 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 h
er 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.
The Narrowing Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 1) Page 2
