Rilas struggled to boost herself up on her elbows, stopping to swallow each time her soul rebelled. “NìRau?”
The door had already swept aside—Cèel put out a hand to stop the panel from closing. “Nìa?” His voice once more emerged deep, a sign of his impatience.
“I was returning to you.” Rilas eased back against her cushions. “There was no need for this. No need to humiliate yourself by witnessing my illness. No need to—” She did not say it aloud. Such was ungodly, and as suborn, it was not her place to say it. No need to humiliate me. An Haárin thought. Such was her dismay that the memory of living as one corrupted her mind.
Cèel stood silent. Then he stepped through the entry. “They would have captured you, nìa. Such could not be allowed.” He let go of the panel and it swept closed.
Ansu visited Rilas several times over the course of the next cycle. She oversaw the preparation of her sacraments, escorted her to and from the altar room. When she arrived after mid-afternoon sacrament and asked if Rilas wished a walk in the hospital gardens, she met no argument, for Rilas did not believe herself able to refuse.
They walked in silence for a time. Despite her unease, Rilas allowed herself to enjoy the heat of the Shèráin sun, lost to her for so long. She strained for any noise in an effort to determine her location. Voices and traffic meant the City Center. The rhythmic echoes of mallets against anvils meant Temple, where metallurgist-priests forged the ceremonial blades.
She sniffed the air. Salt tang meant they were near the bay, while faint sulfur and ammonia marked the blessed greenhouses—
“You are so quiet, nìaRauta Rilas.” Ansu looked her very nearly in the eye, as though she conversed with an esteemed friend.
“I am relishing the sun, nìaRauta Ansu.” Rilas bared her teeth, then turned her head so Ansu could not see her face. She studies me. She felt a quickening in her soul. She reports to nìRau Cèel of me.
“I met ní Tsecha Egri only a single time, many seasons ago.” Ansu folded her arms and tucked them inside her overrobe sleeves. “NìRau Cèel had appointed him ambassador to the Commonwealth, and I was to offer instruction to his physician-priest prior to their departure for Earth. He insisted upon attending our discussions, which was most unseemly.” The priest’s shoulders rounded in memory. “He corrected me, several times. I suspect he partook of humanish foods, so much did he know of their effect on idomeni.”
“He was anathema.” Rilas stopped before a chala shrub and bent low to one of the fragrant white blooms. “He lived with humanish, and died on one of their worlds, bereft of the esteem of the gods or of any godly idomeni. His fate was most deserved, and truly.”
“There is talk that the half-humanish will release his soul here. Such is not a thing I care to witness.” Ansu lowered to a bench and smoothed her hands over her sand-hued overrobe. “NìaRauta Sànalàn should officiate at such a ceremony. As Chief Propitiator, she intercedes for all Haárin. Even the godless ones.” She fell into silence, and continued to pass her hand over her overrobe even as the cloth lay smooth as parchment.
Rilas straightened and walked to a flowering tree. Blessed vrel, its flowers as brilliant red as fresh blood. NìaRauta Ansu, you who considers all Vynshàrau yours to care for, why do you spend so much time caring for me? Why do you stay with me, sit with me, talk to me of Tsecha? She bent close to the bloom, taking what pleasure she could in its beauty. Am I your only patient but for nìRau Cèel? Have you no other duties to see to?
“Tell me of your journeys, nìaRauta.” Ansu raised her hands and heightened the pitch of her voice in wonder. “NìRau Cèel has told me that you have traveled to many worlds for him.”
Rilas stepped back from the tree and turned to the female, who sat with her back to her, hands in her lap, her neck fully exposed. Clenched her hand, then let it relax. “Indeed, nìaRauta Ansu, I have traveled.” And she described some of her journeys to the priest, because she had nothing better to do. And because she believed, and truly, that she had no choice.
Alone in her room at night, Rilas thought too much of the Haárin security dominant whose name she did not know.
She had watched death before, both that which she brought on and that brought on by others. Killed before with her hands, many others besides the idiot humanish, felt bodies shudder and go limp as they released their hold on their souls and became waste to burn or bury. But she never thought of those others. Never saw their faces in dreams. Never heard their voices in her head when all about had gone quiet.
Yet now she continued to think too much of the Haárin security dominant whose name she did not know. Recalled that last godless look of his, directly in her eyes. Saw his lips move, and pondered the words he had spoken. English. Of all languages, why an ungodly humanish one?
It had taken her some time to work out that which he had said. She had resorted to writing out the sounds phonetically, matching them with the few humanish words she knew until she identified the language.
Realized that he had spoken English to her because he did not want ná Bolan and her suborn to understand.
She looked down at the paper she held, scrap parchment recovered from a trash pile and now covered with her script.
Hee. Whel. Keel. U.
Hewel keelu.
He well kill—
And then, as though an illumin had activated, she understood, and wrote those final words.
He. Will. Kill. You.
Even now Rilas wondered if she had misheard him, if he had said something else. If he had even spoken at all, and the soma had addled her memories.
But at night, in the silence, she heard him, his words as clear as if he spoke to her in the hospital garden.
He will kill you.
She had not thought of those words until her second night in the hospital. The library contained nothing of interest, no newssheets or transmissions. The Haárin ship bearing Tsecha’s reliquary would arrive the next day, but at the hospital no one knew of anything. Rilas’s questions to suborns met with disclaimers and denials, and Ansu claimed no interest. Thus was she left to imagine the carved wooden box, the bound scroll it contained, the godless spirit that called it as home.
Then, later, as she lay in her strange bed and pondered the darkness, she imagined other things. Tugged at the edges of her bed cover, suddenly chill despite the blessed warmth.
He will kill you.
“The Kièrshia had asked for the Guernsey Station Haárin to stop me.” Thus had she begged for help from her dominant, who in turn had gone for aid to his dominant. To Cèel.
But ná Bolan Thea joined me soon after departure from Elyas Station. Which meant that the female had been sent by nìRau Cèel to follow her to Elyas, that she had watched for her return to the station, and bought billet on the appropriate ship.
Rilas lay still. “NìRau Cèel had placed spies, as he always has.” Her dominant, who had taught her to question as no suborn ever had. Who had taught her the worth of untruths, of speaking one thing and planning another. Who had taught her the value of suspicion.
He did not ask what happened at Guernsey. He did ask of the humanish death. He did not ask what I had done to draw the interest of the Elyan Haárin. He had not asked her to explain anything.
Words of his returned to her. Words he had spoken long ago, when she asked him of another of his suborns who had not returned home after completing a task. Do I ask this blade why it cuts? No. I use it, and I set it aside when I no longer need it.
And Rilas lay in the quiet dark and pondered her suspicions and knew. That the Haárin whose name she did not know had known who she was and who had sent her. That he had known that which she had done. And that he had known also what awaited the blade after it had performed its owner’s bidding, a knowledge that had come to the blade much too late.
He will kill you.
She lay in the darkness, and imagined.
CHAPTER 25
“Let’s run through this one more time.” Niall pinched the br
idge of his nose. “Meva walks down the aisle first, ahead of the reliquary.” He sat across a breakroom table from Jani, untouched vend alcove coffee at his elbow. “But you won’t walk with her?”
“I told you before, I have no standing with Rauta Shèràa Temple.” Jani had plucked a lemon from the fruit bowl and started to peel it, piling the bits of rind on the table in front of her. “Meva and I have been messaging back and forth about this for the last two weeks—where were you?”
“Studying station plans. Working out routes. Ensuring you don’t get killed anywhere between the docks and the embassy. Minor details.” Niall rubbed bleary eyes. “So you’re just going to let Meva leapfrog you? Tsecha considered you his suborn, not her. She has no business escorting his reliquary.”
“The more important issue is Tsecha’s status. He merits every honor possible, and he won’t receive them if I’m seen anywhere near that procession. Besides, it would reflect badly on Feyó, and she needs all the boost she can get right now.”
“Ah-hah.” Niall took a packet of crackers from a dispenser and peeled it open. “Feyó and Meva did see your interview-that-wasn’t. I wondered what the reaction to that would be.”
It was good, and truly, priest-in-training, that you were not present when ná Feyó read your words. “It didn’t go over well.” Jani pried out a section of the fruit and popped it into her mouth. Felician lemon, green as emerald and sour enough to bring tears to a hybrid eye. “Meva had to explain repeatedly that questioning didn’t equal accusation. She said Feyó accepted her reasoning, eventually. But given all the tensions, we felt that shunting me to one side during the official ceremonies was the best option.” Another wedge. A cough to add to the tears. “It seemed the best way to make up for John’s and Yevgeny’s delay in telling Feyó that it was assassination. You can’t allow her to lose face within the worldskein if you expect her support for Outer Circle secession.”
“Your circumspection is commendable.” Niall took a cracker from the packet, but instead of eating it, he broke it into bits, then laid the bits out on the tabletop and moved them around like game pieces. “It’s also out of character, which worries me no end.”
Jani ignored him, hunting through the spice dispenser until she found the pepper. “After Tsecha’s soul is released, Meva technically becomes the propitiator and can walk behind the reliquary when it’s transported to its final interment in the Temple catacombs.” She sprinkled pepper on the lime and took a taste, savoring the added bite. “I would like to see that, but there’s no way they’d let me down there.”
“Who gets the honor of letting the old bird out of his cage?”
“It’s all Meva.” Jani pulled off another lemon section. Sprinkled pepper. Chewed. Swallowed. Wiped her eyes. “It’s the least awkward solution. Temple feels that the honor of a former Chief Propitiator will thus be maintained, and Tsecha’s soul will be able to proceed to the First Star without further impedance.”
“If they wanted to maintain honor, they shouldn’t have kicked Tsecha out of the club in the first place.” Niall continued to rearrange cracker pieces. “I’m not just arguing for the sake of arguing. In a reasonable world, you would walk in front of his reliquary. You would officiate at the release of his soul.”
“In a reasonable world, he’d still be alive.” Jani returned the pepper to its slot and hunted for a new taste. Ginger? Onion salt? “Meva told me that Feyó told her that she still hears his voice.” A sprinkle of ginger on another section of lemon. More tears. “I need to let it be. It’s not the fight I want to fight now.”
“You do understand that hearing you preach caution makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up?” Niall swept cracker remains into the tableside trash receptacle, then freed a ’stick. “Know what I think? I think you’re laying low. You don’t want to attract undue attention while you hunt for Nahin Sela.” He blew a smoke ring, then watched it until it dissipated. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. But we’ve looked. For three weeks we looked for any sign, any hint, any trace of evidence. Then we messaged ahead to embassy security and had them look.”
“They were most thorough, I’m sure.” Jani flicked a piece of lemon peel into the trash receptacle to join Niall’s crackers.
“The request came from Roshi. Damned right they were thorough.” Niall took of sip of his coffee and grimaced. “Take it from this old Victorian—if Cèel has one-tenth the brains I think he has, Nahin Sela will never be found. She died when her ship tried to punch through Samvasta, or she’s sleeping the big sleep at the bottom of Rauta Shèràa harbor. If Cèel felt merciful—excuse me whilst I laugh—she’s at some idomeni version of a resort doing whatever the hell it is that idomeni do for fun. But wherever she is, we can’t get her, because there is a very powerful and ruthless male whose status as Oligarch depends on her continued absence.” He stood and walked to the sink, cup in hand. “Galling as it is to admit, I think the bastard won this round.” He poured the coffee down the drain, let the water run. “You ready?”
Jani didn’t have to ask what he referred to. Ready to enter Rauta Shèràa Station again? See the city from the shuttle windows? Walk out of the shuttleport and feel the heat and smell the flowers and the bay? Ready to stare your past in the face and remember? “I found images of Rauta Shèràa in the library. Started slow, and worked my way up. I got to revisit all my old haunts. The old bazaar. The walkways along the river. Amazing how little has changed. I bet I could still trace my old route from the humanish enclave to the Academy and not get lost.” She wrapped the lemon remains in a dispo napkin and tossed the wad into the tableside receptacle to join the ghosts of Niall’s crackers. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. You?”
“Glad I’ve had enough to keep me busy is all I can say.” Niall leaned against the counter. His face had grown greyer since they’d departed Guernsey, his cheeks more sunken. His uniforms hung. Over the last three weeks, he had smoked too much, eaten and slept too little. But he hadn’t taken a drink since the night of the Capria bombing, a struggle that had left its mark in the form of haunted eyes and a shortened temper.
“So.” He drew up straight. “We disembark after Meva and the reliquary, after we give the crowd that’s come to greet Tsecha’s wooden box a chance to clear out. Shuttle to the surface, where skimmers await. On to the embassy enclave, where we hook up with everyone else. You’re wearing your shooter vest?”
Jani tugged down the front of her grey wrapshirt, revealing the silvery lacework beneath.
Niall nodded. “Embassy security’s providing the bulk of the ground coverage. They have a decent relationship with the Station Haárin, if not the bornsect Council. They seem to know their collective ass from a hole in the ground.”
“Praise, indeed.” Jani tried to draw a smile, and managed, a little. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” Niall reached into his pocket. “I want you to plug this in.” He pulled out a small metal flat that looked like a smaller version of his nicstick case. “It’s an ear bug.” He flipped up the top and shook out a small, milky disc. “We’ll be able to remain in touch at all times. You’ll also be able to hear all the chatter, know what’s going on.”
“I’ve seen these before.” Jani took the bug from Niall, then walked to the sink. “Got anything to plug up the other ear?” She activated the tap and wet the disc, then massaged it between her fingers until it softened and expanded.
Niall drew a jittered breath. “Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“Cèel isn’t interested in killing me.” Jani inserted the bug into her right ear, shivering as she felt it expand and fill the canal. A momentary muffling of sound, then a return to clarity. “He excised his particular thorn.”
“Proof, gel.” Niall motioned toward the door. “Can’t take him down without proof.” He waited for Jani to draw alongside, and they walked into the corridor just as the approach klaxon sounded.
“One hour to go. I’ll walk you to your cabin, then go on to t
he bridge.” Niall’s step slowed. “‘And so we return to that place of war. To that place that summoned our blood.’ To damned Shèrá.”
“I’ve been waiting for a quotation.” Jani fought to keep her voice light, even as her chest tightened. “They’ve been thin upon the ground of late.”
“Listen to you.” Niall smiled. “Henry the Fifth. One of my favorites. Especially the part where he rallied his men before the Battle of Agincourt. They were outnumbered, exhausted, that morning of St. Crispan’s Day.” His expression turned grave. “‘In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility. But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger. Stiffen the sinews. Summon up the blood.’” He looked at Jani, beautiful eyes dark with the memories of what they’d seen twenty years before. “‘Once more into the breach, dear friend. Once more.’”
Jani took one last turn around her spacious sitting room as she waited for the Madelaine to dock. This leg of the journey had passed more easily than she feared. Only the odd mealtime had proved a challenge, between John’s and Anais’s determination to ignore her existence and Lucien’s refusal to follow their example. This time around, Val had interceded in the matter of cabin assignments, snagging her a two-bedroom suite complete with working thermostat, as well as an office. The ability to access secure networks and Cabinet-class libraries and archives had allowed her to pass the time in productive seclusion. She had searched the records of shipping companies and research facilities in areas of the Commonwealth with a history of idomeni infiltration. The Outer Circle. The Jewelers’ Loop. Hunted through manifests and invoices and directories, on the lookout for the materials that might have been used to manufacture the weaponized prionic, and for scientists who might have constructed it.
Endgame Page 27
