by Martha Wells
The archcommander came toward them, stopping only a bare pace away from Khat. He said coldly, "Well. One of Aristai Constans's spies. But Constans isn't here now."
Khat didn't back away, knowing it would be a mistake. He said, "Are you sure about that?" Constans's ability to appear when least expected must be known in the upper levels of the palace; Khat doubted he was the only one to ever experience it.
The man didn't hesitate. "Oh, I'm sure. He's with the Elector now."
"And will we be told why we have been brought here?" Sagai asked, with polite curiosity.
The archcommander turned his head sharply, startled at hearing someone who looked as Sagai did right now speak with an educated accent. He eyed them both uncertainly and drew back a step, saying, "The Elector ordered it himself."
The Elector, Khat thought. That can't be right. Sagai was looking at him for an explanation, and he had none. Before he could suggest that the archcommander was insane, there was a minor commotion in the hall, and the other lictors stepped aside to admit Elen.
She didn't look much the worse for her experience. There were weary shadows under her eyes, but her white mantle and kaftan were pristine, and she wore a painrod at her waist. She looked from Khat to Sagai as she came toward them, her eyes widening at the obvious damage. "Did they do this?" she demanded.
"No, this is from a different fight entirely," Sagai explained.
"Oh." She turned to Khat with an expression of much frustration mixed with concern. "But where were you all this time, and how did you get out of the Doorway? And where is Sevan-denarin?"
The archcommander interrupted before Khat could even begin to answer, demanding, "What are you doing here, Warder?"
Elen faced him as if she was Master Warder. "That's not your concern, Venge," she snapped. "Why did you have these men arrested?"
The lictor looked over at Khat, his eyes hard to read. "The Elector wants to see this one."
Elen said, "That's impossible." It was close to calling Venge a liar, but she didn't appear to care.
"He gave me the orders himself, Warder. The description was exact." Venge kept his temper, but his words were clipped. "And the description of him," he nodded at Sagai, "who was to be questioned on the kris's whereabouts, if we couldn't find him."
"What does this mean, Elen?" Sagai asked, worried. "I thought noncitizens were never admitted to the Elector's presence unless they were with a foreign embassy."
Elen shook her head. "I thought so too, but I suppose it's only custom, and he can see whomever he wants." She turned back to Venge, her eyes narrowed. "What under the great sky does he want to see Khat for?"
With some asperity, Venge said, "I'm not a confidant of his. If I speculated, I would say it had something to do with Aristai Constans."
"Constans?" Elen glared over at Khat. "You'd know about that, then, since he's such a friend of yours."
"He's not an anything of mine. I don't know what's going on," Khat protested. He couldn't quite believe it was happening. Some of his sense of distance from events might be the fever, but most of it was pure shock.
Elen turned on Venge again. "If Sagai was only arrested to be questioned on Khat's whereabouts, and you already have Khat, you can release Sagai now."
Sagai started to protest, and Khat elbowed him in the ribs. Elen was right; if Khat couldn't get out of this, at least Sagai might.
The archcommander wasn't happy, but Sagai's scholarly demeanor, even when he had just been in a fight, was obvious, and Elen seemed to wield more influence here than Khat would have thought possible. Venge forgot protocol so far as to scratch his chin under his veil, and asked grudgingly, "And if the Elector has questions for him as well?" It was the voice of a man willing to be convinced.
"Then release him to me, on my authority," Elen said.
"Very well." Venge motioned the other lictors forward. "But I have to take the kris now."
"Just try not to say very much," Sagai advised Khat in an anxious voice.
"Good-bye," Khat said, getting one look back over his shoulder as the lictors closed in.
Elen followed, somehow managing to edge one of the lictors aside to walk next to Khat. "Don't worry. He isn't a monster."
"You said he was," Khat muttered.
"I did not." Elen glanced self-consciously at Venge. "And I hadn't met him then, had I? I'll see what I can do."
Khat didn't know how she thought she could help. With Sonet Riathen dead, how much influence could a Warder of his household have? The lictors were taking him to yet another set of marble stairs, and Elen stopped, unable to follow further.
Once past the stairs, they led him through a suite of rooms, all high, open, and opulent, and all bare of furniture or anything else practical, as if they existed only for show. There seemed to be no solid walls: stone lattices separated rooms, allowing in daylight and free moving air; mesh screens of copper and bronze served as doors and the pillars were pink marble and porphyry. They passed no other people.
Finally Venge halted in a room that was no more or less beautiful than the others, different in that one wall was only waist-high and looked out over an atrium lush with potted flowers and small trees, with several fountains playing among the greenery. There were a few couches scattered about, draped with silk and gold brocade.
It was also empty except for Aristai Constans, pacing impatiently like a dark specter in the golden room.
Constans came forward, and Khat looked up at him accusingly. "I should have known it was you."
"So am I the bane of your existence?" Constans asked, stopping within arm's reach. The lictors, even archcommander Venge, had cautiously drawn away from the confrontation. Constans didn't look any the worse for his experience either, but then with him it was so difficult to tell anything. "How did you escape from the Doorway?"
"He was a Builder," Khat said, knowing no other way to describe it.
"I see." Constans sounded as if he actually did see. "It may interest you to know that the Miracle is miraculous no longer. It hasn't emitted light since we returned here from the Remnant."
It was a loss and a relief at the same time. The Miracle had been beautiful, but its task was finished. "So it's over," Khat said.
"One would assume."
The room was warm, despite the atrium and the open walls. "Then why am I here?" Khat demanded.
"It doesn't occur to you that it might be out of gratitude?"
Disgusted, Khat turned away, and found himself looking straight at an Ancient mural. It was large, covering the opposite wall, and in beautiful condition, though the subject matter was not as rare as that of the mural in Arad-edelk's care. It was a seascape, showing a rocky promontory that might be the crag where Charisat now rested and a wide sweep of dark foaming water, under a sky of gray churning clouds. A close examination would probably reveal the dynasty. Whoever had had charge of the mounting had resisted the temptation to fill in the missing border pieces with inferior modern work, and the gaps revealed the plain stone of the wall beneath.
Khat didn't realize how long he had stared at it until a firm hand under his chin turned his head back toward Constans, who was watching him narrowly. "I admit, gratitude didn't occur to me either," the Warder said. "You're ill."
Khat jerked away and stepped back. "No." The denial was completely automatic, and Constans did not appear convinced.
The great double doors at the far end of the room began to open, and the Warder turned toward them.
Khat was not entirely sure what happened next. The room, so warmly lit by the sunlight in the adjacent atrium, went strangely dark, and the walls seemed to sway inward. The next thing he knew he was on the floor.
A set of footsteps came near, and someone said, "He looks terrible. What did you do to him?" The voice was an old man's, querulous and annoyed.
"I did nothing." Constans sounded faintly exasperated.
Khat lay sprawled on his back, and such close contact with the cool marble floor revived him a
little. He opened his eyes a slit, hoping it would go unnoticed.
The man standing over him must be the Elector. He was as short as a lower-tier dweller; Khat could tell that from even this perspective. He was fat and his features were worse than the portrait on the coins implied, with not even a trace of the aquiline beauty associated with the Patrician class. His robes were fine gold silk trimmed with heavy bands of gilt embroidery, but he wore less jewelry than his chief stewards. It was then Khat noticed he wore no veil. Well, this was the man's own house, technically, and as the one who made the rules, he could do whatever he wanted.
Then Khat realized the Elector was looking down at him, had seen his eyelids flicker. The Elector snorted and turned away.
Khat sat up cautiously. The pounding in his head was worse, making it hard to think. He didn't have any idea of the correct etiquette, though he had the vague idea that as a noncitizen he was supposed to be on the floor anyway. Several of Venge's lictors had staves and stood within easy reach; he knew if he did anything wrong he would find out immediately.
There were other people in the room, some Patricians, others who must be servants, despite the richness of their dress. All were veiled, but their eyes studied him with varying degrees of disgust, curiosity, amusement. Don't worry about them, Khat thought grimly. Worry about yourself. Constans had settled on the low wall that bordered the atrium, and looked as if he was preparing to watch some entertainment. It didn't matter what Constans did; Khat knew better than to count on help from that quarter. The Elector had taken a seat on the nearest couch. His sharp old eyes weren't on Khat, who was glad of the respite, but on one of the Patricians.
As if continuing an interrupted conversation, the Patrician said, "I am much displeased with the account of the Heir's death."
Khat recognized the voice. He had last heard it shouting at Constans, in the Citadel. It was the Patrician whom Venge had accompanied. The man spread his hands, as if being eminently reasonable.
"The only word we have for it is that of Aristai Constans, and considering that he was always her enemy..."
"We also have the word of the new Master Warder." The Elector seemed to be more interested in the set of his rings than the topic of conversation. But now he looked up at the Patrician again, his eyes deceptively sleepy. "She was also present. Surely you do not dispute her account?"
The Patrician hesitated, calculating. "Not if my Honored Lord accepts it."
They are talking about Elen, Khat thought, trying to take it in. No wonder Venge let Sagai go when she asked it. He supposed he should find this reassuring. He found himself blaming her for not mentioning it downstairs, though that was idiotic; she hadn't had time.
"Oh, and I do accept it," the Elector assured the Patrician, with an ingenuousness so lightly tinged with sarcasm it might be only imaginary. "You'll forgive me if I send you away, won't you, Adviser? I would so much rather ask my questions in private."
The Patrician bowed, and the room cleared except for Constans, the Elector, and one or two of the silent servants.
"That man is tiresome," Constans said, when the doors had closed. "I can't think why you won't let me kill him."
The Elector frowned at him. "He's obvious. He distracts the others. You know that as well as I do; stop making an exhibit of yourself." He examined his rings again, though there was nothing sleepy about his eyes now, deceptive or otherwise. "What we really brought you here to ask, of course, is what became of the Ancient Sevan-denarin? Is he here, in the city?"
Khat realized with a start that this last had been addressed to him. Without thinking, he said, "He died."
"Truly?" The Elector leaned forward. "How?"
Khat tried to answer and found himself coughing helplessly. The Elector lifted a hand, and a servant was suddenly at Khat's side, offering a cup of water. After that, he managed to go on. "He was only here for a few moments, out on the Waste. He died, and the body turned to dust."
The Elector twisted around to consult Constans, who was watching pensively. "It only makes sense," the Warder said. "He was over a thousand years old."
"I see. A great pity," the Elector said slowly, sitting back on the couch. "He could have told us ... everything."
"Everything might have been too much to know," Constans pointed out dryly. "All at one time, at any rate."
The Elector was eyeing Khat again. "The embassy from the kris-men Enclave asked about any kris living in Charisat. They were very anxious to find someone in particular. It wouldn't have been you, by any chance?"
Khat wasn't far gone enough to admit that. Blank and innocent, he said, "I don't think so."
The Elector looked to Constans again. He must do it by habit, Khat realized. With Constans's skill at soul-reading, he would be able to tell when people were telling the truth. Most people, anyway. It must disconcert the Patricians no end.
Smiling, Constans said, "Oh, I doubt they were searching for him. There must be other kris in the city. So many people come and go every day."
Well, thank you very much, finally, Khat thought, careful to let none of it show on his face. Gratitude, my ass.
Whether the Elector really believed Constans or simply accepted his judgment on the matter was impossible to guess. He said, "Yes, of course," and gestured at one of the servants. "Tell the lictors he's to be released."
Khat could have fainted again, this time from relief. It had been a very strange experience, taken in all, but not too frightening.
But before the servant had taken two steps to the door, Constans said, "He is ill, however. If he receives no care he will be dead in three days."
"Really?" The Elector frowned. If he noticed the look of pure hatred Khat was turning in Constans's direction he gave no sign of it. "Send him to the palace physicians first, then."
A servant brought Venge and the other lictors, and Khat was hauled away. Elen was waiting for him at the stairs down to the seventh level. "I told you it would be all right," she said.
"You're Master Warder?" Khat asked her, trying not to make it sound like an accusation.
"Yes." She seemed none too pleased with it. "Constans arranged it. I could kill him. I'm sure it's some sort of trick. What did he say to you?"
"He said I could leave," Khat told her, thinking it was worth a try.
"He said you would see the palace physicians," Venge corrected inexorably.
The physicians were not pleased. They thought he should recover completely from the fever before leaving the palace. The rooms the lictors took him to were on the seventh level, where the marble halls were under constant guard and the large windows that looked out on such a gorgeous view could not be climbed out of, even if Khat had felt up to the challenge. The place might be filled with air and light, but it was just as much a prison as the stinking chambers under the High Trade Authority. His only choice was to submit.
The physicians were too curious for Khat's peace of mind, and the servants were either frightened or disdainful. The first thing they did was take his clothes away, and they were disappointed to discover that he wasn't really that filthy, only from what the past couple of days had done. The robes they gave him in return were silk, but he was in no mood to appreciate it. Most of that first day passed in a dreamlike haze, but by morning he felt well enough to leave. The trouble was in convincing someone to seriously consider the idea.
The physicians said his recovery was not yet complete, and the long day stretched on. Khat's only amusement was that two of the servants were foreigners from the Ilacre Cities, and under the delusion that he couldn't understand their dialect of Menian; listening to what they assumed were private conversations lightened the heavy hours considerably.
The food, of course, was wonderful, and Khat had never been to a place where there was such a lack of concern over where the next dipper of water was coming from. Even in the Academia, where the Elector paid for it, everyone knew water cost coins. Here they didn't seem aware of it at all.
It was, as he told El
en when she came to see him that afternoon, quite the nicest prison he had ever been in.
"It isn't a prison," she argued.
"They won't let me leave," he told her, stretched out on one of the soft cushioned couches. Being treated as a curiosity was better than being treated as garbage, but it weighed just as heavily on the nerves. The Elector could change his mind about releasing him, the lictors could decide to have some fun, a Patrician who equated kris with pirates could walk into the room and shoot him, anything could happen. Elen was the only one he could look to for real help, and it rankled to be dependent on her.
"It's for your own good," she said.
"That's the worst kind of prison."
Elen was there often in the next few days, probably more often than she should have been. Ostensibly it was to keep him company, but she also needed to talk, and at the moment he was all she had. She was finding her abrupt transition to Master Warder a fascinating but sometimes daunting experience. She had better luck dealing with the Elector than Riathen ever had, a fact she couldn't seem to account for. The simple reason that she was both more personable and more open to considering alternatives than her predecessor was something she would come to realize eventually, Khat supposed. That she wasn't playing power games with the Heirs or obsessively committed to furthering the influence of Warders no matter what the consequences probably helped as well.
She had arcane power, which she had always wanted, and she had temporal power, which she had been trained from birth to wield. She had also lost the man who had been a father to her for most of her life, and not only lost him but lost her faith in him. Every memory of Riathen concerned the Warder training that had been her whole world, and every one of those memories was tinged with the knowledge that he had subtly held her back, had manipulated her own fears to control her.
The Warders in her household treated her with cautious courtesy, not understanding her new power and perhaps distrusting her sudden elevation. Gandin Riat was the only one who was genuinely glad for her, but he had seen what the Inhabitant was capable of firsthand, and was the only one who had any real understanding of what had happened.
