“No, you’d never involve yourself with someone for trivial reasons.” His voice was quiet and he looked searchingly at her face. “I’d advise against this dandy, pretty as he is.”
“Why?” She lifted her chin. Guard protocols forbid superior officers from becoming involved with someone under their command. They both knew this, just as they both knew she’d never involve herself with Lornis, so why were they talking about it?
Jan seemed to be carefully considering his next words. “If Peri is hurt by this, I’ll make sure he understands that you’re to blame.”
He was doing it again: jumping around and twisting the argument, keeping her off-balance with vague threats. And why did he always pick a time when she was exhausted? “Peri’s life needn’t change unless you change it. You were never so concerned about our son before this.”
The lineal matriarch was the keystone in the nurture and development of Tyrran children. She arranged for tutors and trainers, as well as spending time herself each day teaching the children the ethics, traditions, and history of the lineage. Half-brothers, half-sisters, and cousins, whether true, removed, or distant, sat together at their lessons because the lineage meant everything. The original parentage of children wasn’t as relevant as the lineal name that sustained them, sheltered them, clothed them, and paid for their schooling. In Tyrra, the word “bastard” had no sting, unless the hurled insult was “nameless bastard.” Then there might be a fight.
“I’ve realized how much the boy means to me. Do you think he’ll ever forgive you?”
“Why is this my fault? It’s about you and Netta.”
The memories of confronting him about Netta were still raw and painful. At the time, he tried to act as if he was revealing everything on his own volition, ignoring the fact that she’d discovered everything in a public and demeaning manner.
“I need to get this off my chest so I can start fresh,” he had said, when confronted. “What I’ve done shouldn’t impact us.”
“How can this not have any impact?” It sounded like they were talking about other people: another Draius, another Jan, living far away in a distant land.
“It can’t, because I haven’t allowed it. Besides, it’s over. I’ve had the good faith to end it and now we can start again. Fresh.”
Yes, he might be ready to start over, but Draius wasn’t. She’d contacted Netta regarding the affair and learned more than she expected—if Netta told the truth. According to her, she ended their relationship, even though she had comfort clauses in her marriage contract.
And if Netta hadn’t ended it, would Jan still be her lover? This was the question Draius desperately wanted answered. Even though the betrayal was blunted by previous infidelities, this affair had been different. Learning where Jan’s true feelings lay, however, was no small task when he was a master of deception.
“What if I asked the captain to transfer Netta? Send her to Betarr Kain for four years?” she asked suddenly.
His mask slipped. For a second, she saw something in his eyes, something she’d seen only once through the crack of a door. Netta had been honest. Under Jan’s façade, deep and buried in his soul, he had feelings for that woman. She saw, again, the flash of passion and tenderness he’d never shown toward her.
He laughed, his mask of invulnerability perfect again. “You wouldn’t do that. You’re devoted to objectivity, to keeping your emotions from affecting your work for the Guard. Remember, I know you well.”
True, her threat was empty. And now, her life was empty. She retreated into Darkness, all hope gone. She could never go back to the time when she felt secure. When she thought she was loved. That innocence and trust could never be regained. She stepped away from him while he waited for her to reply.
“I could forgive another dalliance, but I’ll never forgive or forget your feelings for Netta—no, don’t deny it. Consider this when you make your case to Lady Anja: the Stars will fall into Darkness before I ever let you into my bed again, regardless of where our contract stands.”
Her tirade took all her breath, and now her chest heaved in silent sobs. He stayed quiet while she turned and left.
Why was she always the one who walked away? Because Jan never walked away from something, or someone, he thought belonged to him.
•••
The next morning, the sun was barely licking the white peaks of the Cen Cerinas and turning them to rosy flames when she went downstairs. Nin had started breakfast, inferred by smells and sounds from the kitchen. Maricie, Anja’s maid, barely old enough to be out of afternoon lessons by Tyrran standards, was laying the breakfast service out in the morning room.
Maricie’s family had come from Sareen looking for employment, which Tyrra had in abundance. Sareenians flowed into the sister cities from Illus, Paduellus, and especially Forenllas, seeping into holes and cracks left in Tyrran society after the Fevers. Sareenians provided eager and cheap labor for the many vacant jobs.
“Good morning, Mistress,” Maricie said as she breezed around the table placing china. “Breakfast will be a few minutes, but tea is ready. Oh, that’ll be the news.” She bustled out toward the front door as they heard the belled cart go by.
Draius poured herself a cup of tea. She stood in open double doors to enjoy the view of the back garden. Anja’s garden glowed in the morning when the sun hit the back wall and the dew picked up the light. Spring had arrived and bulb flowers were beginning to bloom, while vines and perennials peeked up through the soil. She could almost convince herself that last night’s argument with Jan had never happened.
Peri’s footsteps banged down the stairs and came to a stop in the hall. “What’s wrong, Maricie?” she heard him ask. “Here, I’ll take the papers. Are you well?”
Maricie’s answer was unintelligible, but she heard the maid go up the stairs with unsteady footsteps.
Peri laid the Horn & Herald on the sideboard as he walked through the morning room. “Maricie’s taken ill. I’ll go tell Cook.” He vanished again, but his footfalls danced in the kitchen while Nin admonished him to stay away from her food.
“Without Maricie, Nin will need help at the market.” Anja stood in the doorway.
“Peri can go before his lessons. He’s finished his assignments,” Draius said. Peri was big enough to carry sacks and be a set of helping hands, which was all Nin needed.
“Good, because I wanted to have Cerin turn over the vegetable beds today—what’s this in the paper?” Anja had picked up the H&H and was staring at the front page.
“We uncovered another gruesome murder yesterday.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Anja laid the paper down in front of Draius.
The top headline on the flier read “GROYGA THREATENS TO RECALL AMBASSADOR.” Below that article was the Tellina murder. Apparently the murder of a Sareenian shipper wasn’t big enough news by itself, so the headline read: “OFFICER MERAN-VIISI DRAIUS IN CHARGE OF INVESTIGATING MAGICAL MURDERS! IS THIS A PROMOTION TO PERILOUS DUTY?”
Draius was annoyed on several counts. First, she’d changed her lineal name to Serasa-Kolme when she married Jan. Matriarchs of both lineages had approved the change, and duly changed their records. Andreas was trying to give his article more appeal by throwing the King’s lineage in the headline. Second, Tellina’s full name was only mentioned once. Third, the article made much ado about connections to the Reggis murder and the “magical” signs left in locked rooms. While the suppositions were silly, the details were correct. Andreas must have gotten information from someone inside the City Guard.
She read the entire article carefully and realized that instead of following up on the “perilous duty” in the headline, the article insinuated she was incompetent! Andreas used his words carefully, but the implications were clear. Draius tossed the paper back on the table and told herself not to take it personally.
“Are you in some sort of danger?” Anja watched her steadily.
She carefully phrased her answer. “Jan and I have job
s where we encounter more danger than the ordinary citizen would face. However, what I’m doing this erin is no more dangerous than what I was doing last erin. You have no cause to worry for Peri’s sake.”
“I could be worried for your sake,” Anja said.
There was the Serasa-Kolme inscrutability again: Anja’s words might be a rebuke, a caution, or an expression of concern, but there was no clue from her face.
“Well, don’t worry about me,” Draius said. “I’m not taking the traditional path for a woman, but I’m good at what I do. I’m not in any danger.”
“But you could be so much more. With your memory and your mind for facts and figures, I could use you within the Serasa-Kolme. You could start managing the smaller construction projects, which would bring in more money than that small salary you earn—”
Peri came back in, chattering about his plans for the day. Anja stopped, but her face said that they would be speaking about this again.
“Perinon, will you help Nin at the market this morning?” Anja asked Peri as he settled on his chair.
Peri ducked his head. He hated the use of his full name, and Draius gave Anja a warning glance as she laid her arm across her son’s small shoulders.
“It’ll get you out of helping Cerin dig the beds,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’d jump at this chance to escape, if I were you.”
A small smile started on Peri’s face. He nodded. Draius knew he’d have more fun at the market than helping Cerin in the garden; sometimes jugglers, or even the Phrenii, could be at the market in the mornings.
Peri finished his breakfast and was away from the table quicker than Draius would have liked, because he left her alone with Lady Anja. She tried to concentrate on her breakfast, afraid that Anja would renew their previous conversation.
“I’ve received a complaint from the Pettaja-Viisi,” Anja said, breaking the silence first. “Apparently your behavior at the Royal Library yesterday wasn’t well received.”
Draius continued to chew on the bacon that Nin had sliced and cooked perfectly; it was thick and crunchy, with just enough fat. There was nothing she could say in her defense, and she was only surprised by the speed with which the complaint had arrived. How did the matriarchs exchange information so quickly?
“If you’re serious about this non-traditional path you’ve chosen, then you must learn to be more politic, especially when dealing with men.” Anja poured herself more tea and put a small amount of sugar into the cup. She stirred carefully before continuing, and the chink of the spoon on the china sounded clear and cold. “Handling men’s passions requires both shrewdness and tact: talents you should develop.”
Draius sighed and wiped the grease off her lips, remembering to dab with the napkin. She kept her gaze on the young matriarch’s face. “If a formal apology is necessary, Lady, then I will make one. But I will only apologize for my manner, not my actions.”
“Who said anything about an apology? I trust your judgment enough to believe your manner was warranted.”
Draius blinked, then looked down at her plate in confusion.
“But I give you fair warning.” Anja’s tone became severe. “Lately, you’ve been the topic of our discussions far too often. This is understandable, given the unconventional way your father raised you, but you should try to avoid matriarchal attention in the future.”
Draius gulped. It was one thing for Jan to say she’d marked herself as a “troublemaker,” but quite another for a matriarch to advise her to keep her head down and stay out of trouble. The latter was far more serious.
After excusing herself from the table, she spent some time reading in the garden. Before she left for work, she quietly climbed up the back stairs to the third story to check on Maricie. As she suspected, the maid was not in her room.
•••
“I can’t stand it anymore, the grunting and panting. Surely I’ve suffered enough!” Onni faced her mother and her hands moved in emphatic jerks.
“Have you been taking the powder I gave you in your drink before bedtime?” Aracia was attempting a soothing tone; instead, it felt like cool steel running against one’s skin.
“Of course, but the Phrenii say it can’t help. They say it’s—”
“They say it’s only superstition. But the powder can be relaxing, if nothing more. Too bad the Phrenii can’t heal women’s infertility, like they can supposedly do for men. I fear this is the price we pay as women.” Contrary to her words, the matriarch was unemotional, as immovable as stone.
Onni stared at her mother. “You think that’s the price we pay? No, our price is to be handled, night after night, with no end in sight. How long must I do this?”
“Your contract is a valuable connection to the northern Viljella-Viisi. We can’t afford to dissolve it.”
“There won’t be any child. It’s been six years, and I’ve tried and tried. All for you and the Meran-Viisi. I can’t—”
“Then take a lover,” Aracia interrupted Onni before she could whip her emotions into full gallop again. Mother and daughter faced each other, their profiles identical.
“It’s quite the fashion, and I made sure you have the appropriate clauses,” Aracia continued. “You’ve seen the records. You know how we record parentage, unvarnished and accurate. It doesn’t matter as long as you choose the father carefully.”
Perinon stood in the doorway to the library, unnoticed by the women. His secretary had been standing behind him, but no longer, having fled back to his office at the sound of the women’s raised voices. He wondered if he should have followed as he cautiously cleared his throat.
Both women turned toward him. Onni flushed scarlet.
“Sire,” Onni murmured, bowing her head. After he acknowledged her, she rushed past him to get out of the library.
Perinon sympathized with his cousin, thrust into duties she never wanted, but he said nothing as she left. He and Onni had never spoken to each other about their particular responsibilities to the Meran-Viisi.
Aracia waited, an immovable pillar in the middle of the room. He held up the matriarch’s latest recommendation, penned on vellum stamped at the top with the Meran-Viisi crest.
“You suggest I appoint Muusa to my Council? He hasn’t any experience—” Having no more polite words, Perinon chose bluntness and raised his voice. “He’s an idiot, a hedonistic buffoon of the worst kind. It pains me to call him cousin. What’s wrong with Runos, my first choice?”
“I spoke with Runos,” Aracia said. “She wishes to continue with her business interests, and leave politics to men.”
“Must we hold to tradition so blindly? ‘Men have no mind for business and women don’t dabble in politics,’ at least, until they want something.” He made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. They both knew how much matriarchal counsel drove Tyrran political affairs.
“Muusa is only temporary, until a replacement for Reggis is elected.” Aracia’s tone sounded just like it had when she attempted to placate her daughter.
“By the Horn, Lady, this is not matchmaking!” Perinon emphasized her matriarchal title. “We’re talking about an appointment to the King’s Council.”
“Yes, we are. Muusa needs experience, as you’ve seen, if he’s ever to rise in politics. He’s still young, pliable, and eager to please, which you can turn to your advantage. If I’m not clear enough, Sire, then I suggest you read that book by the Sareenian.”
Aracia turned, her skirts swishing in the silence as she walked over to the bell cord and pulled it. Faint jangling tones sounded down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. “Would you like mid-morning tea?”
Perinon tried to determine whether he’d been insulted, and failed. Sometimes she could be as obscure as the Phrenii. Despite the widespread adult belief that the creatures were both soulless and heartless, Perinon sometimes felt intense emotion from them through the bond made by the broken Kaskea. In contrast, he’d never felt a whisper of emotion from Aracia. As the only person in Tyrra wh
o could actually perceive the emotions of others—when the Phrenii were near—he knew the true heartless beings in Tyrra were the matriarchs. Was it the training, or Tyrran society, that beat all compassion and empathy out of them?
“I’ll appoint Muusa to the temporary position,” he said. “But if he gives me cause to regret this, I’ll hold you responsible.”
“And morning tea?” She turned toward the steward who was warily entering the room. She was calm and collected, as if their raised voices couldn’t carry outside the library and down the marble halls.
“No, thank you.” Perinon tried to set aside his resentment at being manipulated, as he watched Aracia’s smug smile. He didn’t want to be distracted from the work he had to do this morning. Next on the enormous pile on his desk was a report from Draius. He turned on his heel and left the library, wondering when he would see that same calculating look on Onni’s face.
•••
Lornis’s face lit with a radiant smile when she walked into her office, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Draius smiled back, now uncomfortably aware of his beauty. Inwardly, she cursed Jan, wondering if she’d ever again be able to look at Lornis objectively.
“I see you got some sleep last night,” Lornis said.
“Some,” she allowed. She’d finished the coroner’s report this morning, taking advantage of the quiet garden.
“Seen the news?” Lornis tossed an H&H onto her desk.
“Yes, and I want some words with Andreas.”
“I hope to see that. It should be entertaining.”
She glanced up to see if he was being facetious, catching his gaze. He lounged in a chair beside her desk, where he’d laid out some records. He’d brought in another chair and had his feet up on it. His hair was bound in a silver clasp and his finely chiseled face radiated intensity. She looked away, breaking eye contact.
“You look comfortable.” Her tone was dry. “Did Ponteva and Miina find out anything interesting yesterday?”
Lornis motioned at the stacks beside him. “We’re collecting backgrounds and interviewing forty people, men and women, who have some reason to be upset with the councilman’s recent exploits—mostly sexual.”
A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1) Page 10