Mazes of Power

by Juliette Wade

  “Yes, sir.”

  After cutting the connection, Master Ziara took a moment to look Aloran up and down; he kept still, hoping he didn’t look as un-Imbati as he felt. “I confess, Aloran,” she said. “I didn’t believe I would see you pursue this matter. Yet I’m glad, very glad, to see you here.”

  “My Mistress would wish me to pursue it,” he replied. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

  They walked down the hall together. Master Ziara matched step with him, her strides natural, long and silent. So different from walking with his Lady. Had the unpredictable currents of the nobility dragged him so far from what he knew? The manservant’s vocation was not easy: to brave immersion in the swirling water for the sake of those unable to escape it.

  Headmaster Moruvia received them in his office off the main foyer. His flawless calm lent him a stature far beyond his small size, and his faded lily crest tattoo, framed with white hair, spoke of a lifetime of service. He had brought another man with him: a man marked with the diamond-within-diamond of the Courts, gray-haired and impressively muscled.

  “You’ll forgive me,” said the Headmaster in his restful voice. “This information is the province of Officer Warden Xim as much as it is mine.”

  Catching Master Ziara’s prompting glance, Aloran bowed. “Yes, Headmaster. I have come to bear witness that Garr’s Sorn of the Household of the First Family is guilty of the murder of Grobal Dest of the Eleventh Family, and the attempted murder of Grobal Gowan of the Ninth Family.”

  The Headmaster glanced toward Master Ziara but said nothing.

  “Aloran, sir.” That was the Officer Warden—he had a deceptively gentle voice. “We have long suspected Garr’s Sorn of breaching his vocation. Please elaborate upon your witness.”

  Aloran raised both hands before his chest, one palm facing his listeners, the other turned upward in invocation of Mai the Right. “Sir. I entered Sorn’s room on an errand, and discovered the bolt of a Venorai crossbow there. This bolt was identical to the one photographed in Grobal Garr’s documentation from the Grobal Dest assassination. Furthermore, at the Round of Eight, Garr’s Sorn was absent from his Master’s side at the same moment that I observed a Venorai crossbow upon the Academy roof, aimed at the candidates. I’m sure you are aware of my actions in the matter of Grobal Gowan of the Ninth Family—and of the current health of Grobal Garr.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said the Officer Warden. “Your information is timely. Headmaster, thank you for contacting me.”

  The Headmaster inclined his head. “Aloran, Ziara, you have our gratitude. We request your silence as to the matter of this meeting, which has not occurred.”

  Aloran bowed low. “My heart is as deep as the heavens,” he said. Master Ziara delivered the oath alongside him, with a hint of pride. “No word uttered in confidence will escape it.”

  Afterward, Aloran hesitated inside the iron gates. Here, Xim’s wardens protected Imbati from all but their own kind. The sense of peace and order tempted him to return to the dormitory, to try to find his bunkmate Endredan, or Kiit.

  No.

  This was no longer his place. Instead, he must take something of this place with him: a resolution not to lose sight of his own nature. With that thought, the silence of the night became an embrace of black silk, and he could walk out; when he reached the Maze of the First Family’s suite, it felt like home. He must ask his Lady to release him to his own room tonight. And he’d been neglecting his relations with the rest of the Household—no more.

  It was too late for Household dinner, but his empty stomach grumbled. Aloran walked into the kitchen, where Keeper Premel was preparing something, swiftly plucking ingredients from the cabinets. At the sight of him, Premel stopped working.

  “Aloran, sir! A rescuer you are, returning now.”

  “Rescuer?”

  Premel raised his eyebrows. “You must to the Mistress, sir, she’s in a state. I haven’t seen such since . . .”

  Garr.

  Aloran was out the door and halfway down the Maze hall before he knew it. Now he could hear Tamelera shrieking—the awful sound echoed around his bedroom door and struck deep into his chest. He leapt for the door with the crescent-moon handle, half expecting to find her cornered, Garr miraculously healed and lumbering toward her, Sorn watching with perverted pleasure . . .

  The corner was empty. But the bed-curtains had been torn down, a pillow flung against the far wall, Garr’s watch tray broken and the watches scattered across the floor—

  “Gnash you, Aloran! Where in Varin’s name have you been?”

  He turned around.

  Tamelera seized the ceramic rabbit from the windowsill and hurled it at his head.

  Aloran flung up his hands as the rabbit hit. Hands stinging, he set it gently on the writing table. Then he fell to his knees and lowered his head to the floor.

  “Lady, please forgive me.”

  “I called you.” She breathed hard, half-sobbing. “I called you, and you weren’t there . . .”

  She’d known where he was. She hadn’t specified a time for his return. She was too smart not to realize that; clearly it didn’t matter. “I was remiss,” he said. “I admit my fault.”

  “You can’t do that! What if—oh, gods—Aloran, what if he lives?”

  “I will not fail you, Lady. I apologize for my absence. I thank Heile and Eyn for your safety.”

  For several ragged breaths, she didn’t respond. “I’m evil,” she moaned softly. “I want him to die. I’m—I’m inhuman.”

  Behind his closed eyes flashed a vision of bandaging her: handling smooth pale skin marred with bruises. His throat ached.

  “Aloran, won’t you speak to me?”

  Nothing he could say was safe. He took a deep breath. “You are human, Lady.” So human . . .

  “I’m cruel—as cruel as Plis the Warrior.”

  “Lady.” He spoke toward the carpet. “When we saw the Master tonight, he was at your mercy, yet you took no inhuman action against him.”

  “You are at my service, and I tried to hit you with a rabbit.”

  “You would have done the same had I been the Master himself.”

  She was silent.

  He searched for her with his ears, but didn’t dare move. Close by, the carpet shifted, and her voice sighed above him.

  “Aloran—I need to tell you . . . I haven’t been very noble tonight.”

  He risked a glance to one side. Caught a glimpse of white.

  Lady, sometimes we can lose sight of our nature. But he dared not say so; the private thought of a manservant was not the province of his mistress.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tamelera. “Please come up.”

  Aloran straightened, just onto his knees. That was her nightgown he’d seen; she was sitting on the floor beside him. On the floor? She didn’t belong at his level, and he almost put his head down again.

  “When you were gone, I got—impatient,” she said suddenly. “I called you, and called you, but you didn’t answer.”

  Why would she tell him what he already knew? And why did she sound like she was confessing to something shameful? He refused to look her in the face, but even her neck was blushing.

  “Yes, Lady. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve never been alone. Not like this. There was always someone—if not my Eyli, then Garr.”

  “I shouldn’t have insisted upon my errand.”

  “It’s not that. When you didn’t answer I—I handled it badly. Aloran, I missed you, and I—” She broke off, and took a deep breath. “I looked into your room. I know I shouldn’t have. I’m really sorry . . .”

  His mind whirled. Her hand had pushed aside his curtain, touched the handle of his Maze door—her eyes, accustomed to the light, had looked into the dimness . . . because she missed him? His chest flushed thick and warm. He began a breath p
attern, but the air wasn’t cold enough. At last he forced his voice to function. “It is my Lady’s privilege.”

  She pulled back. “My privilege?”

  He didn’t trust himself to answer.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded.

  He stared down at his knees.

  “I didn’t tell you that so I could force you into pretending it was normal! I told you because you’re my manservant, and I should have no secrets from you. I wasn’t even hoping you’d forgive me. How can you have no comment at all? Even Dorya would stand up to me, if just to say what rules I must follow while in servants’ territory! Have you returned in body, but left yourself behind somewhere?”

  Breath choked him. “I serve you, Lady,” he mumbled. Imbati, love where you serve: it cut two ways. His love must needs be service, but service without love was false—and now he had failed miserably in both.

  “Oh, dear gods—I’ve hurt and insulted you, trespassed where I must not, and now I ask too much,” Lady Tamelera said. “I don’t deserve you, Aloran. You are excused. Good night.”

  Half-blind, he got to his feet. Managed to bow, to push aside the curtain, to open the door and close it again. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands, blood racing too hot and too fast. He tried to feel again the solitary stillness, the comforting embrace of black silk.

  He felt only disgrace.

  Through the service speaker, his Lady began to cry softly. She did not call his name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Reputations

  It was time to stop being careful. Time to find his courage.

  He’d been lucky to escape that arrangement with the Tenth Family, but tomorrow, either Nekantor would become Heir, or Innis would, and take precious Della for his partner. It must not be allowed to happen—and besides, if he had to watch Nek pace that same path around the suite all morning, he might just punch him in the face.

  Tagaret grabbed his coat and headed toward the front door.

  Erex would help. The Arbiter was clever; by now he’d have come up with some idea. Maybe they could take their concerns to Lady Selemei—or better yet, to the Eminence himself. With Erex by his side, he’d be taken far more seriously than he would alone.

  Outside, the hall was crowded with people celebrating the end of the Selection danger, everyone overjoyed no longer to be trapped indoors. Gangs were forming again—a knot of Nek’s boys appeared just to have discovered Benél arriving at the base of the spiral stairway. Frustration glittered in Benél’s eye, but he joined them laughing.

  Tagaret turned his face away as he drew nearer. Maybe they wouldn’t notice him.

  “. . . ment for Erex,” said Losli’s voice. “Who do you think it’ll be?”

  Tagaret stopped. Losli was Seventh Family—why would he mention Erex? He braced himself and turned to face the group.

  “Hey, Benél, Losli, guys.”

  Benél narrowed his eyes. “Tagaret.”

  “So, Losli, what’s that you were saying about Erex?”

  Losli smirked.

  Benél snorted. “First Family or not, he got what he deserved.”

  Tagaret frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The gang laughed. Jiss spat, “The disgusting Lower-lover.”

  “Stop it!” Tagaret shouted, but the gang only laughed harder. Varin’s teeth, if only he had Reyn and Gowan and Fernar with him—oh, holy Elinda, Fernar—

  “Go see for yourself what’s happened,” Benél said.

  Gnash them all. Tagaret pushed past into the spiral stairway and panted up to the third floor. At the far western end of the hall, a gawking crowd had gathered outside Erex’s door. Somewhere inside, a child was wailing. The door was open, and out swayed a piece of furniture, wrapped in blankets. Tagaret hurried closer, and glimpsing the straining bearers, stopped in shock.

  Melumalai were moving the furniture out of Erex’s suite?

  He pushed into the crowd, trying to find Erex. No one tried stop him—they didn’t seem keen to get any closer to the Melumalai. As he neared the door, Lady Keir emerged with tears streaking her face, her young son and wailing daughter clinging to her arms. A Lady who wore her hair in tight pale curls rushed to them out of the crowd and enfolded all three in her arms.

  Tagaret’s stomach tried to drop out of his feet. Was Erex dead? Oh, Elinda forbear! It couldn’t be Kinders fever, could it? Everyone said the epidemic had been contained. But Erex also had that heart condition.

  What if Erex was lying in a bed like Father’s, his small form lost beneath a gown of green silk?

  “Lady Keir!” he called, but she’d already moved away in the company of the pale-haired Lady. She’d never hear him now, not with her wailing child between them. And why should she speak to him anyway, when her children needed her?

  There was no way he was going back to ask Benél. Vicious rumors weren’t worth much.

  “Excuse me, young sir,” said an Imbati voice. An unfamiliar Household woman had approached him.

  “Yes, Imbati?”

  The Imbati bowed. “I am First Housewoman to Lady Selemei of the First Family. She requests your presence, if you will follow me.”

  “Of course,” Tagaret said. With Erex missing, this was just the luck he needed. He followed the First Housewoman downstairs. She let him into a suite near the entrance to the Central Section.

  Lady Selemei’s voice called from behind purple curtains. “Did you find him?”

  “Yes, Mistress.” The Imbati smiled faintly and pulled the curtains back.

  Lady Selemei’s sitting room was of tasteful design, with topaz-toned furniture upon a rug of Grobal green. In one corner, the bronze bust of an imposing man stood on a marble pedestal, with a mourning scarf draped across its shoulders. That must be her late partner Xeref, the former master of Ustin. The Lady came forward with one arm outstretched toward him, Ustin following behind her. “Tagaret, thank Heile we reached you.”

  His stomach dropped. “What happened?” he asked. “I couldn’t find Erex—”

  “The Family Council fired Erex last night,” she said grimly.

  “Fired him! He’s not dead?”

  She winced. “He might wish he were. He was fired for fraternization with a Lower—a man.”

  Tagaret gaped.

  “Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought it of him—and since the Council meeting, he’s disappeared.” She shook her head. “In any case, we’ll soon have a new Arbiter promoted out of the Family Council, and a spot open for a new Councilman. This is a time of opportunity.”

  He hardly heard her. Erex . . . it was impossible. Unfaithful to Lady Keir, with a man? A Lower? But what about his ease with her, how he said they protected each other—had it all been a lie?

  Dazed, he found his way to a chair and sat down in it.

  Lady Selemei sat on the sofa near him, leaned her cane against the sofa arm, and gazed at him intently. “Do you catch my meaning?”

  He blinked. “Meaning?”

  “We can get you into politics,” Selemei said. “The First Family has suffered losses in this Selection in a way I’ve never seen. First you catching Kinders fever—then your father’s heart—now Erex. But that means new blood. I’d like to take you as my cabinet assistant, Tagaret, and get you into the system. The Heir selects the Speaker of the Cabinet, so if your brother wins the Selection, we could see Fedron take that position. That means an open cabinet seat, and an opportunity for you—either to become the youngest cabinet member in living memory, or to take a position on the Family Council when one of them moves up—”

  “Wait,” Tagaret said. “I don’t want that. Nekantor can’t win.”

  Lady Selemei raised her eyebrows. “I was ready to follow your suggestion when we had other options, but if Innis of the Fifth Family wins, it could set the First Family back by a decade.”
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  “If Nekantor wins, it will be worse. Selemei, he’s defective.”

  From the look on her face, he might as well have slapped her.

  “Compulsive obsessions,” he explained quickly, so she couldn’t doubt his seriousness. “Paranoia. And he’s completely merciless.”

  Lady Selemei rose to her feet incredulously. “You never heard him say that,” she cried. “Oaths!”

  Imbati Ustin knelt with a practiced twitch of her skirts and lowered her forehead to the floor. The First Housewoman adopted the same position. “My heart is as deep as the heavens,” they intoned in unison. “No word uttered in confidence will escape it.”

  Tagaret stared at them. “But, Cousin Selemei—”

  Lady Selemei put both hands on the arms of his chair and leaned into his face. “I’m going to assume you’re wrong, Tagaret. Don’t you see what that would mean?”

  He recoiled deeper into the chair. “Mean?”

  “What happened to Erex would happen to your family!” Selemei flung up her hands, grabbed her cane, and started pacing. “Your mother’s reputation would be ruined, and you would be removed from your home in the Residence.” She turned back with a fierce look on her face. “Not only that—everyone thinks I’ve been supporting Nekantor! I would lose my cabinet seat. Everything I’ve achieved in the last five years would be erased!”

  Tagaret gulped. Instead of Lady Keir crying over losing her home, it would be Mother? “We can’t support Nekantor, though,” he whispered.

  “This is difficult.” Lady Selemei clasped her hands tight together. “I won’t be happy supporting Innis; he won’t have anything but the Fifth Family’s interests at heart, and he’s too canny. It’s dangerous to give him the Heir’s power of appointment at a time when positions are coming open—that’s a lot of influence.”

  “And he’ll take Della,” Tagaret said. His heart pounded in desperation, but what good was courage in a game he could never win? No wonder Della had told him not to play. “I hate politics,” he said. “Don’t ask me to work for you, Cousin. I don’t want to get trapped in this game.”