Mazes of Power

by Juliette Wade

  “Master?” his servant murmured.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Kuarmei.” Erex composed himself with an effort. “Tagaret, do you—” He paused for breath. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this information is? I don’t see what we can do with it short of making your brother disappear. One of the four best protected boys in all Varin!”

  “What do you mean, disappear?”

  Erex pressed his index fingers together. “I understand you wanting to protect your mother for her involvement, but you’ll have no hope if you release this information publicly. There’s a reason why Family Councils are so cautious with each choice they make to confirm a child healthy enough to participate in the Society. A revelation like this would have dire consequences, not the least of which would be that your brother would suspect you had betrayed him. This leaves us few options. Attempts on a candidate’s life are extremely risky, even for rivals from whom such acts are expected. I’ll have to . . . well, I’ll think about what to do. In the meantime, I recommend you be very careful.”

  Tagaret clenched his fists. “When will it be time to stop being careful?”

  The Arbiter didn’t answer.

  Tagaret suppressed a snort. “Well, I could hardly be more careful than I am now. Since Aloran was arrested, I haven’t even been able to leave the house.”

  “Ah, Tagaret.” A faint smile came to Erex’s face. “In fact, I’d been thinking of that. Kuarmei, would you give us the papers, please?”

  Tagaret looked up. Erex’s sober-faced female servant arrayed a thick set of papers on the low brass table between them. Official print documents, with fancy axis serifs—Tagaret blinked at them.

  “Service Academy certifications,” Erex said. “These are the current top Service Academy students. I hope you will find one among them possesses the quality you seek.” He laid a thinner paper beside the others. “In fact, you’ll need to write your own inquiry letter, but you may use this one as an example.”

  Tagaret swallowed, gathering up the papers reluctantly. “I haven’t been in role-play session for a while, sir.”

  “Tagaret, you need a manservant, and you need one now. Do you want to remain helpless until the end of Selection?”

  “No, but . . .” He heard the zap of the assassin’s weapon again, then the ping of metal on glass. He felt the dizzy choking, then the stabbing pain in his leg . . . “How can I trust someone new to save my life?”

  “You mean someone besides your mother’s Aloran?”

  Tagaret flushed. The look in the Arbiter’s eyes made him feel like a schoolboy.

  “You realize any manservant would have done the same,” Erex said. “Academy certification means confidence as unshakable as a shinca. You can’t afford to let fondness influence your treatment of servants. Given your brother’s current position, we need you to be as strong as possible, politically.”

  He could hear what Erex was too polite to say: and that won’t happen if you’re seen as soft with Imbati. “You’re right, sir,” he admitted. “But I don’t see how I can be strong politically—not at this point.”

  “Nonsense.” Erex smiled. “In fact, you’re no less strong now than you were at your birthday party. The rules of the game haven’t changed; only the expectations.”

  How right he was. Before Heir Selection began, the Sixth Family would have been thrilled to see him approach Della, and Father was the problem—now, Father would be pleased, while the Sixth Family wanted their alliance only with the Heir himself. Greedy as Plis, they were. But if Erex was right, maybe this would be easier than he thought. Maybe a simple alliance would be counteroffer enough. “Erex,” Tagaret said. “Can you help me speak to the Sixth Family Council?”

  Erex lost his smile. “Sixth Family? Why them?”

  “While I was ill, they offered Nekantor an alliance.”

  “Hm. And I gather the girl is one in whom you have interest?”

  “Yes,” Tagaret admitted.

  “I’d be more sanguine if it weren’t the Sixth Family,” said Erex. “I don’t trust the quality of their blood. And Doross is not a man of whose tastes I approve.”

  “But it’s not just an alliance,” Tagaret explained. “I know this girl. She and I—” He stopped himself. Erex wouldn’t care if they’d listened to The Catacomb together, or if they’d shared a kiss. “Look, I won’t say we’re a perfect Sirin and Eyn, but we’re well matched. I wouldn’t make her miserable for her whole life.”

  Erex folded his gloved hands in his lap and said nothing.

  Tagaret bit back a desperate urge to shake him. “Sir, you and Lady Keir have something special, don’t you?” he asked. “You protect each other.”

  Erex spoke softly. “In fact, we do.”

  “And you know what my mother’s life is like. I can’t let that happen to Della. Can you imagine spending your entire life in partnership with the wrong person?”

  A muscle clenched in the Arbiter’s jaw. “You must not belittle your mother and father’s partnership,” he said coldly. “Be grateful, for you are their gift to the Race.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tagaret gulped. He’d never seen Erex angry. Even with Nekantor, Erex was more patient than anyone he knew—why was he angry?

  “You can’t expect to be treated like a child anymore, Tagaret. Our duties to the Grobal Trust, and to the continuity of the Race, have nothing to do with our personal desires. I learned this, and so will you. These are the responsibilities of our exalted station.”

  And you think that’s good enough? Tagaret wanted to shout, but he didn’t dare look Erex in the eye. He was still staring at the papers on his knees, mortified, when the doors from the sitting room burst open. Nekantor was there, flushed and ecstatic, with Benél holding the back of his neck.

  “Witnesses!” Nekantor hissed, and Benél whipped his hand away at once. “Tagaret, what in Varin’s name are you doing, bringing him back here?”

  “Hello, Nek,” Tagaret replied coolly. “I’ll invite Erex in if I like. Seems as if you’ve invited Benél.”

  Arbiter Erex stood up and brushed off the front of his jacket. “Young Nekantor,” he said. “Didn’t you hear about Sangar of the Eighth Family? One might wonder whether you truly care for the future of the Grobal Race. Be careful.”

  Nekantor growled. “Be careful yourself, Erex.”

  “Nekantor, what a way to speak to the Arbiter of the First Family Council!”

  Mercy, was that Mother? Tagaret whirled around. Mother took a single step past the threshold of her room, with Aloran behind her back as close as a shadow. Suddenly, everything felt better. If the others hadn’t been watching, he would have run into her arms.

  “Arbiter Erex, I’m sorry,” Mother said. “Please don’t mind Nekantor. It’s so kind of you to pay us a visit.”

  Erex bowed. “Lady Tamelera, what a pleasure to see you. In fact, I was just on my way out.”

  “I’ll take you to the door, sir,” said Tagaret quickly.

  Nekantor snorted. He left with Benél and stalked off toward his room, with Arissen Karyas a few feet behind them.

  “Tagaret?” Mother called. “Could you come speak to me afterward?”

  “I’d love to.” Thank Heile she wasn’t shutting him out anymore. Tagaret bade Erex goodbye as briefly as courtesy permitted, dropped the papers on his desk, then ran back to Mother’s room. She let him in, but she didn’t embrace him. He heard the door click; Aloran had locked them in.

  Everything was not all right.

  “Mother, what happened?”

  Mother took his hand in hers and led him over to the lounge chairs. There was something tentative in the way she moved. “Love, I need to ask you something.”

  He sat down in the chair beside her. “Anything.”

  Mother inhaled to speak, then seemed to change her mind. “Aloran?”

  “Yes,
Lady?”

  “Could you . . . go stand by the window?”

  “Yes, Lady.” Aloran stood facing the view outside, taut and still in his black silk.

  What was that about? “Mother,” Tagaret whispered, leaning toward her. “Did he do something?”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Tagaret, no. I just—” She lowered her voice. “This is embarrassing, darling, and I didn’t know who to ask but you.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I want Aloran to sleep in this room.”

  “You—what? Why?”

  Mother blushed. “Oh, holy Sirin, it’s not—well, Serjer made him up a daybed last night, after Garr . . . But today . . . today isn’t the same kind of emergency, and I’m afraid he won’t do it. But I really need him to. I mean, I need him to be here.”

  Tagaret stared at her. The way she blushed—it made the world shift uncertainly. Would she ask him to see Aloran differently now, as she had Eyli? He shook his head. “Mother . . . what are you saying?”

  “Oh, I’m saying this badly.” Mother leaned so close that her lips brushed his ear. “Tagaret, your father attacked me last night. I don’t feel safe anymore.”

  Tagaret gasped and his stomach lurched. What had he been thinking, even to consider . . . what he’d been considering? Let holy Plis take Father’s head—let Varin gnash him into smoldering bits! “Y—you should keep Aloran beside you, then,” he stammered, half-choking. “Of course, you should; that’s what he’s for.”

  Mother took a shuddering breath. “You’re right, love. You are.”

  “If it’s not part of his assigned duties, then change them. There are plenty of ladies who require night attention. Pay him more, if necessary. I’m surprised you haven’t already arranged it.”

  She sighed. “It’s just—I’ve been—embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?” Her eyes went wide, so he lowered his voice again. “Look—Aloran was with you day and night while I had the fever. He even went with us to the surface! How can this be more difficult?”

  “I know, I know, it makes no sense. I’m sorry.” She stroked his arm. Her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes guilty. “Love, could you stay while I speak to him? It would be so much easier . . .”

  “No problem.” What could possibly embarrass her about this was beyond him. Your father attacked me was plenty of reason. Heile’s mercy, it was enough to make him sick.

  “Aloran, could you come here, please?” Mother said.

  “Yes, Lady.” Aloran returned swiftly from the window. He got on his knees and lowered his dark head until it touched the floor at her feet.

  Mother flashed over a grateful glance; Tagaret forced himself to smile.

  “Aloran, I will be adding to your duties,” Mother said. “I’d like you to stay on night duty, for the next . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure how long. I hope you will find this change satisfactory. I am happy to pay you extra for the additional hours, as specified in your contract.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Lady.” Aloran sounded relieved. “I would give my life for your safety.”

  Mother smiled. But whether it was the way she unconsciously rubbed her upper arm, or the emotion that had colored Aloran’s response, Tagaret could no longer doubt she needed him constantly.

  When he left them, he went straight to his room, to the certification documents which lay on his desk. He copied Erex’s model inquiry onto new paper, inserting information where necessary.

  It felt mechanical.

  He couldn’t help remembering Aloran’s arm supporting him when he was too weak to sit. He needed trust, not anonymous papers. Even in role-play it could take weeks to get past an Academy student’s fear for a glimpse of the Imbati’s real personality.

  Which meant if he wanted protection for the rest of the Selection, he’d have to ask . . . Father.

  Instantly he was on his feet, panting, fists clenched. How could he ask Father? How could he even look at him?

  No—there was one other bodyguard in the house. He’d better do this before he thought too hard.

  Tagaret marched to the end of the hall, where Arissen Karyas stood at attention beside Nekantor’s door.

  He knocked.

  There was no answer. Karyas raised her eyebrows at him.

  Oh, Trigis and Bes, Benél had followed Nek down here, hadn’t he? Well, there was no help for it. He knocked again, harder. Waited.

  His brother might be too busy to notice. Or, just taking a while to get presentable. That was a better thought; Nek always took time to get presentable.

  He knocked again. Waited.

  Finally, Nekantor opened the door. He wasn’t wearing his coat. Neither was he fidgeting. “Tagaret? What do you want?”

  “You owe me,” Tagaret said. He refused to look past his brother into the room, glancing instead at Arissen Karyas. “I need you to help me contact the Sixth Family.”

  Nekantor laughed. “Look, Benél,” he said. “Tagaret’s come to play politics.”

  Benél appeared, stroking Nekantor’s neck. “Starting to care about the game, is he?”

  “Not really. This is about his girl.”

  Tagaret refused to choke. He was not—was not—going to let Nekantor get to him. “Well?” he said. “Are you interested in the Sixth Family’s vote or not?”

  * * *

  —

  The Sixth Family Council invited them to meet at Della’s house. Tagaret hid his hope, yet he had to imagine that Enwin had influenced the invitation. At last, he’d be able to do something.

  In the Conveyor’s Hall, Nek boarded a skimmer inspected by Arissen Karyas. A second skimmer was in the care of a man as lithe as a cave-cat, who wore plain clothes and a neck scarf in Arissen red. Tagaret approached him cautiously.

  “Arissen?” he asked. “What’s your name?”

  “Don’t ask,” said Nekantor.

  The catlike Arissen smiled a little. “I’m a friend of Karyas, sir. Just helping out for your safety.”

  Tagaret glanced at Nek, who was smirking. “Well. Thank you, then.”

  “Sir.”

  They drove out. When they turned into the mercantile circumference where Aloran had saved him from the disguised assassin, atmospheric lamps faded on the cavern roof, and street lights rose to replace them. Beyond that, Tagaret couldn’t recognize the streets—neither the radius nor the smaller circumference where Enwin’s house stood. But he recognized the entry door and, of course, the foyer with its servants in black-and-green livery.

  Little more than silence issued from the inner rooms now, but he remembered music. The golden room with the yojosmei; Kartunnen Ryanin shaking his hand; Vant, the well-spoken apprentice who played The Catacomb as passionately as his master; Della’s Heile-touched sister; faint music merging into a kiss that Sirin himself would have envied.

  He frowned. That had been after the Accession Ball, yet Della had escaped the fever? It had to be Heile’s own miracle . . .

  Footsteps were approaching.

  Four men with manservants emerged warily from the inner rooms. Tagaret sought vainly for recognition in Enwin’s gaze. The four Imbati appeared to be sizing up the danger posed by Karyas. Karyas’ catlike friend had stayed outside, ostensibly to guard the skimmers against sabotage—but more likely because he was ‘just helping out’ and didn’t want to be seen.

  “Greetings to you,” said the dour man who had entered first. “Do you bring business, young Nekantor of the First Family? Where’s Speaker Garr?”

  Nekantor straightened his cuffs and ignored the question. “Thank you for finding time for us, Doross. I imagine the Sixth Family would still prefer to emerge from this Selection with its influence expanded.”

  Doross’ mouth quirked to one side—not precisely a smile. “Oh, we will. In partnership to the Heir himself.”
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br />   Nekantor nodded. “Innis, yes, I know your plan. But what if I win? Then where will your gamble have left you?”

  “You’re certainly ambitious,” Doross drawled.

  Enwin flinched.

  Tagaret bit his lip. Why wouldn’t Enwin look at him? Hadn’t he asked them for a counteroffer?

  “Naturally, I have the same ambitions as any candidate,” Nekantor said. “But the first ambition here was yours. Do you still have interest in a cabinet seat? At the expense of, say, the Fifth Family? Or are you too intimate with them these days?”

  Doross grunted.

  Nek put on a reasonable tone. “I know I behaved badly when you made your first offer. It was a beginner’s mistake—but the fact is, my brother is better suited to partnership than I. In the ultimate test of Kinders fever, he’s proven the strength of his blood. And he’s a good ten times more handsome than old Innis.”

  The bargaining made Tagaret’s skin crawl. A-girl-for-a-vote felt like a purchase—wasn’t this supposed to be an alliance? “Sirs,” he said, “I don’t intend to be merely a partnership placement. In an alliance between us, Lady Della would bring the Sixth Family’s interests before the First Family’s eye.”

  Nekantor lashed him with a look of fury.

  Nek could glare if he liked. Someone else was listening: Enwin looked up at last, meeting his eyes with a cautious nod. If this offer could convince Doross and the Council, then it was worth a glare, or even three.

  “Are you serious?” asked Doross. “That’s your offer?”

  “Perfectly serious, sir.”

  Doross snorted. “I’m not convinced, boys. If you could keep your word, that would be one thing.”

  Tagaret took a breath to object, but Nekantor spoke first.

  “How do you know we won’t?”

  “Doross,” said Enwin suddenly. “Young Tagaret has reached his Age of Choice. He is not known for falsehood.”

  Doross waved him off. “Easy enough to make offers. Harder to keep them. They obviously don’t understand the kind of pressures that grown men come under.”

  “Sir,” Tagaret objected grimly. “I believe I understand pressures.”