Melissa McShane (19 page)

Alita led them all over the estate, but Zerafine could tell she was avoiding certain places: the path on the right side of the main house, for example. They finished in a salon just off the tiny garden, which was comfortably furnished with a number of thick rugs and some tall, cushioned chairs.

“I hope—” began Alita, but she was interrupted by a door opening behind her—a door,

moreover, that led to a room Zerafine had not been allowed to see.

“Alita, I need you to look at this,” a woman said, then realized Alita was not alone. “Sorry,”

she said. She was a tall, bony woman with surprising dark blonde hair caught up messily in the back. She wore a stained apron and her hands were dusty with a white powder.

“Emissary, my good friend Morica Akennos,” said Alita. Her body was tense. “Morica, this

is
thelis
Zerafine of Dardagne, the emissary from Atenar.” Was Zerafine mistaken, or did she hear Alita place just the slightest emphasis on the last three words? “Morica has been staying with me for a few days.”

“My home is boring,” Morica said. “So much more to do here.” She had trouble meeting

Zerafine’s eyes, but not, Zerafine judged, out of guilt. When Morica added, “I learned something new today,” Zerafine was convinced that Morica was one of those people for whom a passion became an obsession so strong that normal social conventions were beyond them.

“I’d love to see it later,” Alita said. “The emissary will be leaving shortly, and I’ll join you then.” Her intent was so strong that even Morica realized she was being dismissed. The woman went back the way she’d come.

“My apologies. Morica is a...baker and becomes rather...involved in her work. No doubt I’ll have to try one of her new concoctions,” Alita said with a smile, managing to convey

embarrassment and resignation in a shrug. Gerrard could learn a thing or two from her, Zerafine thought fondly, and then became angry all over again at herself.

“Is she a good cook?” she asked.

“Oh, very. She’s just an experimenter, and not all of her experiments go well. May I see you out?”

It was a clear dismissal. Zerafine didn’t fight her. She’d learned...well, she wasn’t sure what she’d learned yet. But she’d pushed her luck as far as it would go.

The journey home proceeded in silence. Zerafine was dying to talk to Gerrard about what

he’d seen. Before, she’d have kept quiet for reasons of secrecy. Now, she just didn’t know what to say to him. They didn’t have to talk about what had come between them. She could be

professional. So could he.

But the minute they stepped inside their house, Gerrard said, “I need pen and paper.” No

awkwardness. No standing around waiting for the other to speak first. She got him writing supplies and watched him spread them out on the table. Quickly, and to her eye accurately, he sketched out the Talarannos estate. “Does this look right to you?” he asked, and she nodded. He then began cross-hatching the map, covering huge sections with black lines, until he seemed satisfied. “The blacked-out sections are the places Alita wouldn’t let us go,” he said.

Zerafine stared. “It’s a pattern,” she said. With only a few exceptions, the black sections defined a circle centered on a part of the main house. “What’s this room?”

“That’s the salon we ended up in.”

“Then the center of the pattern is the room Morica Akennos came out of.”

They looked at each other, grievances for the moment forgotten. “I very much doubt that’s a kitchen,” Gerrard said.

“But what is it?”

Gerrard tapped the paper. “The reason there are no apparitions on the estate?”

“No,” Zerafine said. “Look. It’s simply not possible that Talarannos has been spared. Alita has to be concealing the apparitions. All these blacked-out areas, those have got to be where they keep showing up. That’s why she wouldn’t let us see them. And Morica was working on

something that made Alita very nervous when she thought I might learn what it was—something that happens to be at the center of that pattern. Something is going on there.”

“That’s a big leap. You’re going to have to walk me through it. I’m just a big dumb ox.”

“You are
not
,” she began, putting her hand on his arm, then snatched it away as if the touch burned. They looked at each other, then Gerrard said “I’m sorry” just as Zerafine said “I didn’t mean—”

“I was angry, I said things I didn’t mean, please forgive me,” Gerrard said.

“No, I was rude and insensitive, I’m so sorry,” Zerafine said.

They both fell silent again. It felt like an apology, and yet not. Zerafine was still going to the dinner. She knew he wouldn’t stop thinking she was wrong. But it was enough to break through the wall between them, at least some of the way.

“You are not a big dumb ox. I know it’s a leap, but it feels right. It makes all the pieces make sense.” She began ticking things off on her fingers. “Something happens, or somebody does something, on the Talarannos estate to cause the apparitions. I’m certain of that one. It fits with the timing and with Alita closing her estate off. Speaking of which, what did you notice about the servants?”

“That there weren’t any. I mean, any visible. I saw a lot of movement behind windows; we

were being watched.”

“So Alita’s people are all in on it, or at least bound to silence.”

“Loyalty or fear,” Gerrard said. “Either works well for keeping a secret.”

“True. Where was I?” She looked at her index finger. “Right. Talarannos causes the

apparitions. Two,” her middle finger, “the apparitions spread through the city. Want to bet if we mapped everything out, we’d see the same ripple effect?”

“Please don’t tell me we’re going to do that.”

“Don’t have to. I’d still bet on it. Three,” ring finger, “Genedirou figures out a way to get rid of the apparitions. The people on the hills, not willing to sacrifice their comfort, have him do so.

But Genedirou is a show-off and his banishments draw attention. Alita has to come up with a story that includes detesting Genedirou—”

“That part I’m sure is real.”

“Agreed. She comes up with a story that keeps him away either because she doesn’t want

anyone to figure out that Talarannos is the source of the apparitions, or to hide whatever Morica’s doing that’s probably also related to the apparitions.”

Gerrard rubbed his beard again. “But if it all started with Talarannos, how do you explain the unnatural coincidence that all five of the ruling families are overrun with apparitions?

Assuming Gordou follows the pattern.”

Zerafine opened her mouth, then closed it again. “That I don’t know. We know all the

apparitions are connected, so could Alita have set off a chain reaction? Remember, we also had four spots in the lower city that were similarly overrun, so it’s not just the estates. But then what do all nine places have in common that they’d be the ones affected? And it still doesn’t answer the question of what event, what action, would be able to disrupt the city’s spirit on this level.

The only thing we can be sure of is that Castinidou and the heads of Vidannos and Akennos don’t have any idea what’s going on, because if they knew what Alita knows, they’d have been keeping the same secret.”

Gerrard nodded. “So where does this leave us?”

“Stuck, again, unless we can get back into Talarannos and poke around the off-limits areas, or that secret room.” Zerafine sighed. “Or we could approach Castinidou and see if there’s a pattern to the apparitions at his place.” Her stomach rumbled. “I’m ready for a meal,” she said.

“You just ate an hour ago,” Gerrard objected.

“A few nibbles, maybe. Barely enough to sustain me. You, you’d starve on a diet like that.”

Zerafine took a deep breath. “And after that, I want to go shopping.”

“For what?”

Zerafine paused before answering. “A new dress,” she said.

Gerrard seemed to turn to stone. She could see him turning over objections in his head. “All right,” he finally said, but the quality of his silence after that defied her to speak to him further.

With Nacalia an enthusiastic helper and Gerrard a stone statue in the corner, Zerafine chose a black knee-length tunic over black pants: classic, but beautiful. Zerafine admired herself in the shop mirror while wondering what her motivations were. If Dakariou showed interest in more than just conversation, would she take him up on it? It had been a very long time since she’d slept with anyone. Despite what she’d said to Gerrard, she was aware that she
didn’t
know Dakariou very well, and that kind of intimacy was, well,
intimate
. But he was handsome, and he made her feel desirable in a way it turned out she’d missed.
But
—her thoughts went around and around in this vein all the way home.

That evening, she dressed, put her hair up, and almost as an afterthought put on her gold earrings, giving her head a little toss so they’d jingle. Gerrard was in the sitting room, reading a scroll. “I thought you didn’t like to read,” she said.

He rustled the scroll at her. “
Laxtian
,” he said. “Epic Kionnaran poetry. There’s a stall around the corner—I should say,
now
there’s a stall around the corner, Nacalia says it wasn’t there two days ago—that sells books from all over the known world. I haven’t read this since I was a boy—figured I’d see how well it holds up.”

They watched one another in silence, Zerafine uncomfortable, Gerrard uncommunicative.

“Nacalia hired the chair,” Zerafine said. “I’ll be back later.”

Gerrard’s jaw was set in that hard line, but he shrugged. “If you have to do this, at least stay inside the chair. Don’t let anyone see you. Even without the robe, you could be recognized.”

“Gerrard, this doesn’t—it’s not like I’m leaving you,” Zerafine began, but he gave her a

puzzled look. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” he said.

“Good, because—good,” she said. “Please don’t worry about me.”

“Worrying about you is my privilege,” he said, and went back to his scroll.

She left the house to find Nacalia waiting in the courtyard. “Are you coming back?” she

asked in a small voice.

“Of course I’m coming back!” Zerafine exclaimed. “You keep Gerrard company and I’ll see

you soon.”
It’s just dinner,
she thought;
why is everyone overreacting?
But even she knew it was about more than dinner.

Dakariou’s home was in one of the nicer neighborhoods at the base of Akennos hill; it was nicer even than Berenica’s compound. It was an older, two-story building with an atrium rather than a courtyard, and Dakariou met her there.

“You’re simply beautiful this evening,” Dakariou said. “It’s really a pity you have to wear the robes almost all the time. You deserve to be noticed for who you are.”

“A
thelis
of Atenas is who I am,” Zerafine told him, mock-seriously. “But I appreciate the compliment.” She accepted his offer of a seat next to the fountain. The atrium was designed to look like a natural forest glade, and the fountain was a waterfall that emerged from a false rock wall at one side of the room. The water rippled and bubbled over rocks carefully placed to produce a pleasing sound. The air was cool and smelled of fresh water and green things.

“I hope your visit to the Talarannos estate was everything you hoped for?” asked Dakariou.

He sat close to her, intimate but not intrusive.

“It was, but I thought we weren’t going to talk politics tonight?” Zerafine teased him.

Dakariou laughed. “My pardon, madama. I’m afraid with me it’s a hard habit to break.”

“I’ve noticed that about you. How did you come to be such a political animal?”

“Well.” Dakariou sat a little more upright. “That’s a long story, but then I believe we have plenty of time.” His eyes captured hers in silent inquiry; she had no idea what he saw in hers. “I wasn’t from the wealthiest family, but my parents made every effort to see that my schooling was the very best. Even so, there’s always a divide between the haves and the have-lesses, and everyone knows where it is. Here, allow me.” A servant had entered the atrium bearing a tray with two tall glasses. Dakariou took both and offered one to her; it was a delicate sparkling wine that tickled her nose. “I had two choices: I could fight a battle every day of my life, or I could keep my head down and be someone’s toady. I decided to take a third road. Information.

Anything you wanted to know, any test you needed to pass, anyone you wanted to blackmail, I was the one to go to. And since that meant that I had everything I needed to blackmail others, I was given a certain amount of respect. I parlayed that into an entrée into politics via the son of someone who, while not on the Council, was close to those who were. And then I made myself indispensable again. Ten years later, and here I am as Castinidou’s left hand, the one the right hand doesn’t know about.”

“That sounds very...cynical.”

“Politics is cynical. They called me the Weasel, back at school.” Zerafine choked on her

wine. “Are you all right?”

“Just swallowed the wrong way, that’s all.” Gerrard would love hearing that. Assuming he

was ever willing to speak to her again.

“Anyway, that’s my sad story. Politician born and bred.” Dakariou looked up as the servant approached again. “Shall we go in to dinner?”

Over the first course, snails in butter and roasted asparagus, Dakariou said, “And you,

madama? How did you come to such an, may I say,
unlikely
career?”

“I believe we know each other well enough that you can dispense with the ‘madama,’

Dakariou.”

“Very well.
Zerafine
.” His voice caressed her name and she felt a blush beginning. Perhaps his intentions were a little more obvious than she’d believed. “How does one become a
thelis
of Atenas?”

“The first requirement is to be born on the god’s day. The last day of the year.” She patted butter from her lips. She’d never had snails before and found that she liked them.

“So everyone born on that day is destined to become
theloi
?”