“Is it really that uncommon?” she asked.
“Recently, yes. I don’t suppose you realize what an anomaly you are. Almost all the Valaren have the same potentials from that side that you do. Most of them have the bloodlines to become broadcasters or touch-sensitives. Yet you were the only one who became one.”
Deborah had decided on a full lecture, Shironne decided. She schooled herself to patience. “You think that’s because of Mikael.”
“I think that when he bound you to him, his blood caused every one of your potentials he needed to come alive. He made you his complement, intentionally or not.”
Shironne shifted on the bunk, laying the bandage she’d just folded on her lap. She knew that Deborah had studied both her powers and Mikael’s. She was interested in their origins, while the chaplains were apparently more concerned about their effects and side effects. “Complement?”
“A broadcaster needs a strong sensitive to receive them, so you became a strong sensitive. A dreamer needs a touch-sensitive to walk into their dreams, so that potential manifested as well. I think that perhaps the Pedraisi talent you inherited from your father was an unexpected part of the equation, triggered at the same time anyway.”
The chaplains were prone to consider Mikael Lee a threat, she knew from her initial interview with them. They thought of him as unstoppable, like the wind. “Mikael didn’t do this to me, ma’am,”
“We do know certain stimuli trigger specific responses, dear.”
Deborah was trying to tell her something, to warn her about something, but wanted her to figure it out herself. “You think our accident triggered my powers?”
“We say talents, dear. And yes, that’s one theory.” Deborah paused, mind whirling away into some eddy of doctor-knowledge. “We don’t know exactly which talents are triggered and which just manifest anyway. Your sisters must have inherited the same potentials as you, but you’re the only one who’s developed as you have.”
Shironne didn’t quite know where she meant to go with this. “Because I’m different from them? Well, there are other ways in which I’m different, which have nothing to do with him.”
“You are the shortest of your sisters, dear. Your mother said you haven’t grown much since your eleventh birthday.”
“You think Mikael made me short?” Shironne asked in disbelief. Perrin wasn’t much taller than she was, a trait inherited from their father. Melanna was tall, but for other reasons. “That’s silly. How could he have done that?”
“I have no idea.” Deborah kept her voice noncommittal.
Shironne crossed her arms, annoyed. “Do you think he made me blind as well?”
Deborah sighed. “Shironne . . .”
“It’s not his fault I’m blind,” she said firmly.
“If he hadn’t come across you that day on the fairgrounds, you would probably be as sensitive as Melanna or your mother, no more. I do believe that.”
Shironne could sense her sincerity. And I am reacting like a child. She took a deep breath, thinking of her crystal that lay in the chest back in the barracks room. Then she replaced that with the crystal hiding place she’d created in her mind. She set her offense aside. “And therefore I wouldn’t be blind, you mean.”
Approval floated around her sense of Deborah. “The blindness does seem to be a side effect of your talent. If your talent hadn’t developed into touch-sensitivity, it’s unlikely that you would have gone blind.”
“You can’t be sure of that, though.”
“No. Records indicate that some touch-sensitives lose a sense—either partially or completely—to compensate. I’ve only ever run across a record of blindness once, but there are many mentions of deafness, and of tone-deafness.”
The doctor said it kindly, and Shironne knew she must have a reason for pursuing this uncomfortable discussion. She forced down her anger and drew in a calming breath. Better. “I don’t see what that has to do with this.”
“Growing up, Mikael had a blind friend.”
“A coincidence, ma’am.” But she suddenly understood.
“Possibly, but blindness is something he knows how to deal with. Reason suggests that may be what influenced your mind toward shutting off your sight rather than your hearing.”
Shironne’s cheeks heated, her temper flaring again. “Reason is wrong, then.”
“Even if it’s true, dear, would you change it? Would you rather be normal, and perhaps taller and not blind?”
Deborah had asked her a similar question once before, but she’d recently regained her sight at the cost of her talent, so she knew her answer. “No. I wouldn’t change it, so it doesn’t matter at all why I’m this way, does it?”
Deborah touched her cheek lightly, allowing Shironne to feel her own perspective on the matter. “I only want the best for you,” Deborah said with absolute sincerity. “I thought you should know some of the things being speculated by the chaplains, so as not to hear them from someone else.”
That was all for my benefit, not an accusation. Shironne blinked when Deborah pulled her hand away, taking away the reassuring touch of her mind. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And the engineers will have their own perspective on this,” she said. “So they will question you in time as well.”
“Why would they want to know about . . . inheritance, ma’am?”
Deborah drew in an audible breath and held it as she contemplated the question, her mind whirling in a tumble of sharp-edged problems. “Some things I am not allowed to tell you,” she finally said. “That would be going too far.”
Interesting that she can tell me what the chaplains are saying about us, but not the engineers. There were layers upon layers of secrecy in the Fortresses and sometimes secrets needed to be kept secret. As Deborah left her there folding a new batch, Shironne wondered how much of their conversation Mikael could pick up.
Then again, perhaps it was better if he didn’t hear it at all. He had enough to worry about already, without knowing that the chaplains blamed everything in the world on him.
Fortunately, her newest patient arrived then—a carer named Ingrid who seemed ready to give birth at any moment—so Shironne set her mind to that study, leaving her worry about the chaplains and their theories behind.
Chapter 19
* * *
MIKAEL WAS RELIEVED to see Joio Dimani waiting near the front of the restaurant where they usually met. He was glad the writer had agreed to meet him on such short notice.
They took a red-draped table in the restaurant near the back so Mikael could watch the door. They ordered the daily special—a potato curry with onion and cauliflower, served with flatbread—and Mikael waited until the waiter was out of earshot. “So did you get any response from Faralis over the note?”
Dimani held up one hand. “I didn’t talk to him. I . . .” His shoulders slumped. “I was paid not to.”
For Dimani to refuse to follow a lead shocked him. “How much?”
“Enough that my mother can stop taking in laundry.” Dimani looked miserable, the corners of his mouth down. “I know I’ve let you down, Mikael, but . . .”
“It was too much to pass up,” Mikael said. “I do understand.” He’d never asked Dimani what his financial situation was, never questioned whether the man could be bought. That was his own mistake. Even so, he was surprised; Dimani was valiant for the truth.
Dimani shook his head. “I was promised that Faralis would be taken care of, and that this whole issue with the man Jusid was muddying the water, so to speak. And that Faralis’ downfall would be cleaner if Faralis wasn’t forewarned.”
“That makes sense, more or less,” Mikael said. Of course, the issue was a murder, so simply letting it go rankled. But he couldn’t put that yoke on Dimani’s neck. It was his problem.
“I hope this doesn’t end our . . . working relationship,” Dimani said, eyes lifting.
Whoever had paid Dimani had paid him enough to see his mother comfortable, but not enough to take him away from wri
ting for the Seychas Weekly. Dimani wouldn’t have accepted that offer, Mikael guessed, which suggested the benefactor was astute. “Who paid you?”
“I don’t know,” Dimani admitted, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. “I was sent a letter via a messenger who didn’t know the source. The letter said my mother’s rents would be paid for the rest of her life if I let it drop. When I checked with her landlord, her rent had already been paid for the quarter.”
Clever. “Were there other conditions? Like not telling me?”
“No,” Dimani said. “There was a contract that specified that I wouldn’t approach Faralis in exchange for the rent. A contract, for an annuity in her name, Mr. Lee.”
That would lift a huge burden from Dimani’s mind for the rest of her life, too. “Whose name was on the contract?”
Dimani shook his head. “A charitable agency, one that is fairly reputable. It sponsors indigent families.”
The faint sense of worry Mikael sensed coming off Dimani indicated that the man didn’t want to be pressed further. And if the person who’d intercepted Dimani had done all this via a charity, it was likely the charity wouldn’t give up information on that sponsor.
The waiter brought their food then, and the rich scent of the curry distracted Mikael from the topic. He tore his flatbread into pieces and then scooped up some of the curry with a piece. “I didn’t realize your family was in financial danger,” Mikael said after the waiter had left them.
“There’s just me and my mother,” Dimani said, “and she has a game leg. Some days it hurts too much for her to walk, so it’s been difficult for her to keep work.”
All the time he’d been meeting with Dimani, he’d never thought to ask the man about his family. Mikael felt his face flush, nothing to do with the spices in the curry. “I should have asked.”
Dimani chuckled. “You’re a Family boy,” he said as he scooped up more of his curry. “Not much you can do about it.”
Mikael pressed his lips together as he weighed that statement. Unlike most Family, who only had a few Family credit chits to their name at any time, Mikael did have access to money. While his grandfather—Lord Vandriyen—might still be alive, it was Mikael’s grandmother who’d brought rich coffers into that marriage. And unlike Larossan law, Anvarrid law allowed her to dispose of her monies however she wanted.
On her death, she’d left some of it in trust for Mikael, and the rest she’d left to his father Valerion. In turn, Valerion had willed everything he owned to his son. Lord Vandriyen had tried to reel that money back into his purse by means of the courts, but the judge had eventually ruled in Mikael’s favor. Since Mikael rarely touched those funds, they merely accrued interest.
If he’d thought to ask, he could have done something about Dimani’s mother. He so rarely thought about money that it had simply never occurred to him. I need to listen more.
“If you do need help in the future,” he told Dimani, “let me know. We can afford to help.”
Dimani opened his mouth, then closed it. He scooped up another bite of curry. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Lee.”
“Good.” Mikael steered the topic away from money and the strange case of Aman Jusid. Instead he spent the time trying to get a feel of what Joio Dimani wanted out of life beyond financial safety for his mother and first rights to interesting information.
Things a good friend should know.
* * *
After dinner that evening, the commons room was full of gossip. About half the yeargroup had gone to Six Down to see if they could find room on the sparring floors to practice, with a dozen or so left in their commons. Shironne hadn’t worked out all of those who sat near her, but suspected it was the early risers among the yeargroup. Tabita sat to her left, and the trio, along with Theo, sat on a nearby couch facing them, likely a tight squeeze.
Shironne sat with her knees tucked up and listened, relieved that she wasn’t the center of attention for now. Most of the sixteens had runner duty somewhere, the sensitives down in the Fortress, and those who weren’t sensitives serving in the palace above. As Eli served duty in the royal household—a privilege of being the First—he always had the most interesting stories.
They were all amused by Eli’s description of the newly returned Lady Sera. The others didn’t seem to make that connection, that Sera would be Shironne’s cousin. Or if they did, it didn’t matter to them. “She did get Lady Perrin out of her bed, though.” Eli’s tone suggested he was impressed. “Lady Perrin was angry enough to forget she was upset. They bickered at each other until Master Kai made them stop.”
Shironne held in a laugh. Perrin had an obstinate streak. She could see this Sera rubbing her the wrong way. On the whole, it’s a good thing, then.
“But what does she look like?” one of the boys asked. Shironne couldn’t place which one.
“Rather like Master Dahar,” Eli said. “Hard to miss whose daughter she is. Dressed for an appearance before the senate, too.”
“Pretty or not?” the other boy persisted.
“Lady Perrin’s prettier by a long way,” Eli said decidedly.
Shironne decided not to tell Perrin he’d said that. Perrin didn’t need to moon over Eli any more than she already did. Eli’s intended wife, Rebekka, was the First from the seventeens. Everyone in the sixteens knew about their plan to marry once the new year came. Since Rebekka was an adult now and thus not allowed to speak with Eli, how they’d made such plans, Shironne didn’t know.
The attention of the others seemed to shift away, and Shironne realized someone was coming down the main hallway toward the commons: Maria—identifiable by a distinctive contempt, as if the others in her yeargroup were inferior.
“You missed class,” Tabita said without preamble.
The ambient in the commons shifted, the yeargroup members around Tabita less at ease now. Some wanted to side with Maria, others with Tabita, and still others seemed tired of the whole situation, as if they had better things to do with their time to worry over the drama of Maria’s rebelliousness. Shironne had only been among them a few days, and she already felt that way. Why is she doing this?
Eli remained silent, but Shironne felt his irritation sweeping around him like a dull red cloak.
“I’ve heard so much about those treaties, I could recite them in my sleep,” Maria said disdainfully. She was still standing, Shironne could tell from her voice’s location.
“Master Elias wasn’t pleased,” Tabita said.
“Father’s hardly ever pleased with me anymore, is he?” Maria didn’t mean that as a question.
“Then try harder to make him happy,” Tabita said smoothly. “You’re going out of your way to stab at him, Maria.”
A short laugh. “I don’t do anything for Father’s sake.”
Tabita bristled, making Shironne’s teeth ache. “Maria, if this continues, we’ll have to report you.”
“Well, perhaps I’ll be gone by then,” Maria said.
Shironne felt the other girl’s certainty. She truly believed she could leave the Fortress. She stood only a few feet away, but still far out of reach of her touch. Shironne suspected Maria would never come any closer.
“Don’t even try,” Maria said, her voice aimed directly at Shironne.
I must have let that idea show on my face. She needed to do a better job of hiding her intentions, like Family children were trained to do. The other girl walked on toward the barracks room without bothering to address anyone else.
Eli’s irritation flashed out again like a sudden flare of light, then dimmed in Shironne’s senses. “I have an appointment on the sparring floor,” he said, the sound of fabric moving as he rose.
Shironne heard his footsteps as he strode away.
“Did you get anything from her?” Tabita whispered to Shironne.
“Nothing, save that she thinks she does have somewhere else to go,” Shironne admitted.
“For all I know, she might. She’s doing her best to anger her family.” Ta
bita sighed. “Perhaps I can talk Gabriel into sitting on her while you question her.”
Shironne chuckled. If she wasn’t mistaken, Tabita meant that literally. “Gabriel would think it a big joke.”
“Don’t let Gabriel fool you,” Tabita said in the dry tone she reserved just for Gabriel. “He’ll do it if Eli tells him to.”
“Are you going to report her to the sponsors?” Shironne suspected that Tabita wanted to report Maria’s defiance, but Eli kept putting her off.
“Eli wants to try talking to her again,” Tabita answered, verifying Shironne’s supposition.
With Maria gone off down to the barracks room, the others turned back to the gossip of Above, but the conversation had lost its fun.
* * *
Mikael watched Eli rub his bad knee, surprised he’d not said anything. They’d been working on lunges that evening, always tough on the knees. “How long has it been that swollen, Eli?”
“Only a day or so, sir.” Eli glared down at the offending joint, his braids hiding his face momentarily. He’d injured the knee long ago in a fall, and he claimed it always picked the worst times to trouble him.
Mikael suspected Eli had just worn it out while on runner duty, chasing Lady Sera. All those stairs. It was more than just the knee, though. Unfortunately, Eli wasn’t interested in sharing whatever was bothering him, so Mikael couldn’t help. “You should have them take you off runner duty for a while to rest it.”
Eli shook his head. Then, in an obvious attempt to move the topic away from his bad knee and worse mood, Eli asked, “So . . . who are you planning to marry?”
Mikael blinked hurriedly, aware that he’d probably blared surprise all over this part of the sparring floor. What did he know? “Um . . . what?”
“Lady Sera said you were going to marry someone else,” Eli reminded him. “Other than her. So who?”
Yes, Sera did say that. That girl was proving to be unfortunate all the way around. “Uh . . . I can’t discuss it, Eli.”
Eli cast an expectant gaze at him, his eyebrows high.
“I can’t,” Mikael repeated. “I think we’ll shorten the practice session tonight, Eli. We can make it up later in the week.”
In Dreaming Bound Page 17