by Davis Ashura
They fell into silence, concentrating on the work at hand. Bree’s mien grew increasingly irritated. “Who kept these records?” she complained. “Did he understand even the basics of arithmetic?”
“I’m doubting he knew the basics of anything,” Jaresh said. “Half the time, it looks like he just puts numbers in columns and rows without any regard for what they’re supposed to mean.”
Bree grumbled something under breath. Minutes later, she pushed the ledger away. “I take it back,” she said with a frustrated huff. “I think I’d rather be bored than try to decipher this illegible scribbling.”
“If Amma hadn’t specifically asked me to look into this, I’d be right there with you.”
“We should be trying to find the people who attacked us,” Bree said, staring moodily out the window. “I’d like to have a long discussion with them. One with me slicing off parts of their anatomy.”
Jaresh understood her desire for vengeance, but it was too late for her to exact it. “Rector already took care of the attacker who got away,” he reminded her.
“And let him off too easily,” Bree muttered. “They almost killed us. I’d like to have had a chance to kill them back.”
“It’s better that you didn’t,” Jaresh said. “If you had just killed them out of hand, we would have never discovered that the person who ordered the attack was probably the same Rahail woman from the Blue Heron,” Jaresh said. “Rector’s way was better.” With a start, he realized, he was defending Rector Bryce. It was an improbable occurrence.
“He never learned this Rahail woman’s name, though,” Bree replied.
“He can’t hand everything to us on a plate of gold,” Jaresh answered. He hid a wince. There he went again: defending Rector.
“I suppose not,” Bree said with a defeated exhalation. “Our list of suspects for the murderer still stands at twenty-three, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jaresh admitted.
“There’s no other way to bring the number down?”
“If there is, I haven’t been able to figure it out.”
“Too bad,” Bree said. She returned to staring moodily out the windows. “At least Rector learned about the snowblood. It’s all the opening Nanna needs to trounce House Wrestiva in the Chamber and bring Rukh home,” Bree added.
Something she said sparked an idea. Jaresh quickly followed the line of his thought. “What if we assume the murderer comes from House Wrestiva?” he asked. “We could bring the list of suspects into the single digits if we did.”
“A pretty large assumption, though, don’t you think?” Bree said with an arch of her eyebrows.
“It’s not as large as you might think,” Jaresh said. “Who else would produce snowblood other than the Sil Lor Kum?”
Bree’s expression cleared. “No one,” she said. “And since Rector found the ‘lost’ ingredients for it within House Wrestiva’s records, it stands to reason that someone from that House has to be a member of the Sil Lor Kum.” She grinned, the first time Jaresh could recall her smiling since the attack. “Not bad.”
Jaresh arched his eyebrows. “Your euphemism for sheer genius could use some work, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Bree laughed. “Try this for ‘sheer genius’,” she said. “There’s also another murder we can follow.” He looked at her quizzically. “The murder of Dr. Grasome Verle,” she explained.
Jaresh wanted to smack himself in the head. Of course!
Bree wore a predatory expression. “We’ll have whoever this Tainted bastard is soon enough,” she vowed.
Later, as they spoke of how to proceed with their plans, Nanna intruded on their meeting. His demeanor was as excited as Jaresh could ever recall seeing on him. “We’re gathering in the study,” Nanna said, breaking into a wide grin. “Farn Arnicep has returned to Ashoka.”
Have respect for the authority of others or be prepared to challenge their power.
~The Warrior and the Servant (author unknown)
Farn slouched in one of the chairs facing the hearth in Dar’El’s study and enjoyed the heat of the crackling fire. The room was comfortable, and he exhaled heavily as he relaxed. The tension left him, and his eyes grew heavy, slowly shuttering as he rested, dozing while he waited for the House Council. The call for their presence had already been sent to them, but it would still take some time for all of them to gather. In the meanwhile, Farn enjoyed the sensation of being warm, something he had sorely missed for the past two months.
It had been a long journey from Stronghold and tired didn’t begin to describe how Farn felt. Wrung out and spent with nothing left to give was a better approximation. The last leg of the trip had been especially taxing, with supplies running low and the cold an unrelenting misery. He was lucky to have survived the passage. In fact, he wouldn’t have if not for the provisions provided by Cedar’s family and Farn’s new Talent for Blending. He was grateful for the former, and he had come to accept the latter as simply being a part of who he was now.
He hoped his family would feel the same way. He had yet to see them. Upon entering Ashoka proper, Farn had decided to make his way straight to the House Seat. Duty had weighed heavily on his mind. After all, his family would learn soon enough that he was home, while Rukh’s parents would always be desperate for news of their son. Farn judged that a quick debriefing with the House Council was of more pressing import. Afterward, he could see to his own needs.
Farn cracked open his eyes and looked around the empty room. He was surprised his parents hadn’t been waiting for him at the House Seat, but somehow he must have outrun the rumors of his return. Farn had arrived unannounced and unexpected. He smiled. They’d probably be here in the next few minutes, Amma, Nanna, and his brothers and sisters. He couldn’t wait to see them.
Just then, the door to the study opened, and Farn rose to his feet. Dar’El entered the room, trailed by Satha, Jaresh, and Bree, all of them wearing broad smiles.
“Welcome home,” Satha said, pulling Farn into a warm embrace.
“Farn—” was all Jaresh got out before the two of them were hugging.
It was good to see his cousin again. Despite being a Sentya, Farn had always thought of Jaresh as a brother. His Caste had never been an issue between them. Or if it had, Keemo and Rukh must have convinced him that it shouldn’t be. And they had been right. It didn’t matter. In fact, the most important moments in Farn’s life had always been shared with the other three. Jaresh, Keemo, Rukh, and Farn—the four of them had been inseparable. Farn’s throat caught. Only he and Jaresh were left of their quartet. Keemo was dead and Rukh was exiled, but Farn would never forgot his friends, his brothers, who were gone; Rukh with his moral compass and forgiving soul, and Keemo’s generous spirit and laughing heart. Farn swallowed heavily, holding back the threatening sobs. Now wasn’t the time to break down and blubber like a child.
He wiped away his wet cheeks and moved on to greet Bree. She was as beautiful as he remembered. She had always been reserved in his presence or regal in her cool disregard, but today, even she was teary eyed.
“The rest of the Council should be here eventually,” Dar’El said, “but I thought we could get started without them. We can have a more thorough debriefing tomorrow after you’ve had a chance to see your family and get some rest.”
Farn nodded, grateful he wouldn’t have to wait for the rest of the Council to arrive.
“Cook Heltin has also been informed,” Dar’El continued. “She should have some refreshments prepared in a few minutes.” He guided Farn back to his seat before the fireplace. “In the meantime, rest.”
“I’ve sent word to your family,” Satha said. “I imagine they’ll be here shortly.”
“We should get started then,” Farn said. “Let me tell you about Rukh.”
“How is he doing? Truly?” Dar’El asked, a look of intensity and longing on his face.
Farn considered how to answer. What should he say? Should he explain about Stronghold and how it wasn’t
an easy place for a Pureblood? Or tell them how Rukh had decided to leave the OutCaste city, determined to recover some mythical book from Hammer? His cousin had chosen a risky path, and it might very well lead to his doom. Farn didn’t want to tell Rukh’s family all of that. It would be too painful for them to hear.
But then again, how could he lie? Didn’t Dar’El, Satha, and the rest of Rukh’s family deserve the truth?
“Tell us what happened to our son,” Satha said into the intervening silence, a look of pained loss on her face. “Is he—”.
“No,” Farn interrupted, aghast. “He’s alive. He’s fine. It’s just….” He paused again, thinking again how he should explain Rukh’s situation. He decided to just tell them the truth. When he was done, the room was silent.
“Is Stronghold really so terrible?” Jaresh asked, appearing forlorn.
Farn shrugged. “It’s not an easy question to answer,” he said. “You have to remember: Stronghold was created by the fifty-five survivors of Hammer’s Fall. They fled into the Wildness, deep into the Privations where they should have perished. Instead, they somehow eluded death and founded a home for themselves, one that eventually grew to a city of over forty thousand. There is a greatness to what the OutCastes have achieved. It should be honored, even though the means—the mingling of the Castes—might be considered sinful.”
“You admire them,” Dar’El said sounding surprised.
“I do, but they admire themselves even more,” Farn said with a grimace. “The OutCastes are very prideful of what they’ve accomplished and dismissive of everyone else’s achievements. They consider themselves a more civilized, ethical people, while the rest of us—Purebloods is the insult they have for us—are culturally degenerate and possibly inferior by birth as well. They aren’t shy about saying so, and it’s this hypocrisy that makes them so insufferable even as I admire their accomplishments.” He shook his head in bemused disgust. “It’s strange how their attitude toward us is an exact mirror image of our own toward them.”
“Pride in one’s raiment begets an impoverished soul,” Dar’El said, quoting a line from The Word and Deed.
“They don’t find that book to be of much use,” Farn said. “The Word and the Deed I mean. For them, it’s essentially meaningless. Their moral compass is derived from an older text.”
“The Book of All Souls,” Bree said.
Farn turned to her in confusion. “How did you know?”
“Jessira,” she said. “She lived with us for a number of months. We talked.”
“And you’re certain she’s going to marry this Disbar Merdant? Even though she doesn’t love him?” Satha asked.
“As far as I can tell, yes,” Farn said. “She’s a woman of her word.”
“Good,” Dar’El said, appearing pleased. “Then there will be one less tie binding Rukh to Stronghold.”
“Why is it good?” Jaresh asked with a scowl. “You know what Rukh gave up for Jessira. What he feels for her. How will he ever be happy if he continually sees the woman he loves married to someone else?”
Bree rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder about you,” she said. “Remember what Nanna intends.”
Jaresh gaped at her wearing a look of mortification. “Never mind what I just said,” he muttered. “I’m an idiot.”
Farn perked up. There were undercurrents to the conversation he didn’t fully fathom, but the implications seemed obvious. Dar’El had a plan to bring Rukh home. “Do you have the votes in the Chamber?” Farn asked, hazarding a guess.
Dar’El turned to him. “How did you know?”
“Law and precedent was always a hobby for him,” Jaresh explained, still sounding disgusted with himself.
“I told Rukh what I thought you might try,” Farn said. “He wasn’t hopeful.”
Dar’El smiled. “He should have been. Hopeful, I mean. The Chamber is in flux right now, but the trends are moving in our direction.”
“I wish I could reach across time and space and shake some sense into that boy of ours,” Satha said. “He is such a—” She paused, her head tilted. A commotion arose from outside the study, growing steadily louder and closer. Satha smiled. “I think your family is here.”
Dar’El stood. “The Council will convene at mid-morning. We’ll debrief you then,” he said. “In the meantime, enjoy your family.”
Farn nodded just as the door to the study was thrown open and his family embraced him with glad shouts of welcome.
Dar’El listened closely as Farn once again explained his impressions of Stronghold and her people.
“Rukh said I shouldn’t let anyone know I can Blend,” Farn began. “Is that still the case?”
“Yes,” Sophy answered. “Only the people in this room know what you can do.”
“And Rector Bryce?” Dar’El added.
“He won’t speak up,” Mira vowed.
“You’re sure of this?” Sophy asked. “He wasn’t loyal to this House in the past.”
“I’m certain he’ll keep quiet,” Mira replied.
“You had better be.”
“I can only tell you what I think is the likeliest scenario,” Mira said, sounding annoyed. “I don’t think I’m misinterpreting him, but if you still have doubts, then you should interview him yourself.”
Dar’El sat back, hiding his shock. For the past month, Mira had started standing up for herself, especially in front of her amma. It was good to see. Thus far, Sophy didn’t seem to know how to respond, but she’d have to learn. If she persisted in disrespecting Mira, it would eventually lead to a poisoning of their relationship.
“I wish Rukh had taken his own advice,” Farn said.
“So do we all,” Satha replied.
“Where does the Chamber stand?” Dar’El asked, changing the subject and looking to Durmer for an answer. Habit made him look for Garnet as well, but his old friend wasn’t present. He had resigned from the House Council several weeks ago. Garnet had said it was so he could spend more time with his grandchildren, but Dar’El suspected he’d stepped down for some other reason. More likely, Garnet had been forced to confront the awful truth of what was happening to him, how his mind was slowly slipping away. Dar’El couldn’t begin to imagine how terrifying such a realization must have been. The situation left Dar’El saddened and depressed.
“We have commitments from a majority of the Houses to vote in our favor,” Durmer said, “but we need more. We need sixty percent to overturn Rukh’s original verdict.”
Jaresh rapped his knuckles on the table. “What if we let the Chamber know that Jessira is engaged to someone else? What if the other ‘Els learn that she and Rukh were never a couple?”
Satha nodded. “It’s a good idea. Their relationship was a large part of the original reasoning behind Rukh’s banishment.”
“Should we let the Chamber know about House Wrestiva’s likely involvement in the production of snowblood?” Bree asked.
Dar’El shook his head. “Much as I would enjoy doing so, we can’t. There simply isn’t enough proof. What we have is circumstantial. Plus, if we did, our enemies would know where our investigation stands. We can’t do that since we still don’t know who they are.” He steepled his fingers. “No. When we go after them, we will go after all of them. We’ll burn them out, root and branch.” Dar’El looked to Farn. “None of this information is to leave this room.”
Farn nodded. “As long as whatever we do brings Rukh home,” he said. “No one has said it, but I feel like I abandoned him.”
“No one has said it because it isn’t true,” Sophy said.
“And if the vote in the Chamber goes our way, you will have a grave decision to make,” Satha said. “Only you know Stronghold’s location. Will you help lead a Trial to open trade with the OutCastes and bring Rukh home?”
Farn didn’t even need to think about the question. “Absolutely.”
The permanent signs of spring’s thaw were evident as winter’s grip—never firm to begin with—started
to relax. There might be a few remaining weeks of cool weather, but in general, Ashoka’s warm days were coming and would soon prevail. Nature knew. Pale, green shoots thrust up through the ground and ready to blossom as the buds on studded tree limbs made ready to unfurl their nascent leaves. And rising through the air were the trilling songs of returned blue jays and robins. Even the sun seemed brighter. As a result, House Shektan’s Seat hummed with activity as landscapers and gardeners prepared the grounds.
Bree looked at the activity from the sunroom. The windows were open, and sunshine flooded inside as a warm, steady breeze stirred the tied off curtains and her hair. She breathed in the rich scent of turned earth, loving the heady aroma of loam. It smelled like the promise of new life to be born. Bree smiled. She had always loved the scent of turned earth. It must have been her mother’s doing. Amma must have passed on her love of growing things to her daughter.
Bree took another deep breath, grateful as well that her injury no longer pained her. Unconsciously, she rubbed at the scar on her abdomen. It had been six weeks since the attack in the alley, and though the wound no longer caused her discomfort, the memories of that fateful day still lingered. She could have died. The thought filled her less with fear than fury. She was especially angry with her foolish shortsightedness. She should have never been caught in such a compromising situation. Only Jaresh’s sword and skill had saved her, and she vowed that she would never again be caught so helpless.
Like all Kumma women, Bree had been taught to fight and educated in the use of her Talents, but she had never given the martial skills the proper attention and devotion they deserved. In her mind, the training had been a bothersome distraction. Why did she need to learn to grapple with someone or learn to use a sword? When would either skill ever prove useful? She had always figured they never would be, and no one had been able to convince her otherwise. Amma had certainly tried; warning Bree about her lax attitude. About how it was her duty to sharpen her fighting Talents as well as her mind, but Bree hadn’t listened. She’d been stupid in her ignorant arrogance, and it had nearly cost her everything.