“I’d likely be enjoying my dinner over there rather than feeling sorry for myself here.” Bowe took a deep breath and stepped back off the balcony and headed down the corridor. “I guess hiding isn’t going to delay what will happen. Might as well get fed.”
Vitarr followed, clapping Bowe on the back. “That’s the attitude. Tomorrow, we can both step off the Path and leave our troubles behind. At least the heat will stop bothering us.”
“Before or after cremation?” Bowe asked with a grin. “Anyway, I’m stepping off the Path tomorrow; don’t count yourself out so quickly.”
“Ha. I have less chance than you,” Vitarr said. “At least you are skilled at Harmony. The Guardians admire that.”
“You can’t win the who-has-less-chance-on-the-Path game against me. I’ve been earmarked to be bottom of the lists for twelve years.” Bowe kept it out of his voice, but that blasted fear began to creep through his body again. The lists were controlled by the bet-takers and showed the odds of survival for each Green.
“Right now, I’m low on the lists myself. I know everyone expects the mentors to kill you off on the first day.” Vitarr hurried through the last part of his remark, then his voice turned serious. “If they don’t, though, you have the qualities to survive the Green Path. What do I have?”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been protecting me from bullies as far back as I can remember. You’re strong. And you’re older than most—you turned sixteen ages ago, while I’m barely thirteen. You have every chance.” Bowe put as much confidence as he could muster into his voice, but he could see that Vitarr didn’t believe him. His insides twisted at the look of sadness and resignation that shadowed across Vitarr’s features.
Then the shadow was gone and Vitarr grinned. “Hurry up. Whichever of us bites it first, we both deserve a good last meal. Come on, we should hurry. Likely, the rest of the Greens have eaten the best food by now.” He was never one to dwell on negative thoughts.
Bowe could do enough dwelling for both of them. Not that it did any good. Vitarr didn’t have Reyanu’s quickness of thought, or Tlirris’s quickness of body. A few years ago, Vitarr had been bigger than most boys his age, but now most of the others had caught up and made short work of him on the training grounds. His strength and size no longer made up for being slow and clumsy. Bowe needed to survive to help his friend. And for that, Ariastiana seemed to be their only hope right now. Only she seemed colder than ever lately.
It was unusual to eat in the ballroom, but there was no chance of the Greens treating the occasion with any kind of decorum. The raucous commotion could be heard long before they reached the entrance. Bowe felt like he needed to push his way through the wave of noise at the doorway.
Inside, the tables were overflowing with wine and food. None of the boys sat on their chairs. Some stood, some sat on tables. In one corner, five boys were involved in a general melee of shouting, shoving, and pushing. Most of the chairs were overturned. Bowe had expected mayhem, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. Though maybe he should have. Put thirty teenage boys in a room with food and drink, then add the knowledge that it could be their last meal, and mix in an amnesty on bad behavior—if that wasn’t a recipe for anarchy, Bowe didn’t know what was. Though perhaps the Greens should have been showing more restraint. At the head table, Kesirran, the Raine Guardian, and his chief wife, Ariastiana, watched everyone and everything.
As they walked in, Bowe brushed against one of the escay girls bringing out empty plates. His skin crawled. He hated touching the lower classes. He shot a glare at her departing back before following Vitarr.
They found a free place at one of the tables, but had to duck errant flying vegetables from a food fight to reach it. They righted the overturned chairs and sat. Wine from overturned pitchers stained large amounts of the tablecloth. Half-eaten carcasses of chicken and other cuts of meat lay scattered across the tables and the floor. The evening’s dinner was everywhere except on the plates.
Vitarr reached for an upright pitcher and Bowe knocked his hand away. “Eat the food, leave the wine be.” They needed to be clearheaded and ready to grasp at every sliver of hope to have any chance.
“Come on, Bowe, this could be our last night. If now isn’t the time to enjoy ourselves, I don’t know when is.”
“When we have safety survived the Green Path.” Bowe’s voice was firm.
Vitarr growled in the back of his throat as he knifed a leg of pork off the table and onto his plate.
Bowe glanced at the head table. Kesirran’s head was bowed, but his eyes darted back and forth. His head held only wisps of white hair, and his skin, yellowed and cracked like ancient parchment, hung loose from his face. Bowe wasn’t going to risk getting drunk in front of the Raine Guardian, and he wouldn’t let Vitarr do so, either. Kesirran was an old, but far from senile. He was a man of enormous power and influence as leader of one of the three remaining ascor families. Well, three if Bowe didn’t include his own family, the Bellangers, which currently contained a precarious total of one member.
Beside him, Ariastiana held her mouth in a disapproving pout and stared over the boys’ heads. She had straight black hair that reached halfway down her back. Her glittering black eyes reminded Bowe of a large beetle he had once seen. They could have been twins—if the beetle’s face had been plastered with heavy white foundation. Ariastiana always held her head steady, not allowing her makeup to crack. Her face was thin and she was one of the least plump of all the wives in the harem. Despite the frown, she must have been delighted to be here. Rumors that she was too old to remain as chief wife had been circulating, and the fact that she now sat beside Kesirran was a public reinforcement of her position.
Bowe glanced up at the window and saw Helion again, and he scowled at it. Every day it increased in size and pushed them closer to the sun. The heat would increase until it became unbearable. The Infernam. Only those who claimed a place in the Refuge, could survive those two weeks.
And that was why impressing Kesirran was so important. Everyone in Arcandis had their own narrowing Path to the Refuge but the Green Path was reserved for the sons of the ascor between the ages of twelve and seventeen. Only six Greens would survive, and one of those would be selected by the Raine Guardian.
Vitarr gave Bowe a nudge and put some slices of pork and a roast potato on his plate. Bowe picked up a fork and ate mechanically, looking around for the important Greens. Reyanu leaned against a wall, surrounded by his friends. He had blond hair, a handsome face, and natural charm. Reyanu was holding a goblet in his hand, but did not appear to be drinking. Now that Bowe looked more closely, most of the boys high on the lists were keeping themselves under control. Except Tlirris—the Raine Greens’ best fighter—who was red-faced. He was angry, too, clearly annoyed at Phevan, who was badgering him. That was unusual. No one messed with Tlirris, and Phevan was a small and clever boy, not one to get into fights.
A nearby pitcher moved and Bowe grabbed Vitarr’s arm to stop him from dragging it closer.
“Come on, give a boy a break. Last meal and all that.” Vitarr gave a lopsided grin.
“Have you noticed that Reyanu and the other important Greens aren’t drinking much? Kesirran watches everything.”
“You mistake me for someone high on the lists.” Vitarr sighed. “Never won an argument with you yet. Fine, have it your way.” He gestured to some food farther up the table. “That appears to be cake—want some?” What Vitarr pointed at was a jumbled lump of pastry and cream that looked like a face had been planted in it. Or a foot.
Bowe looked at the pastry and then back at Vitarr to make sure he was serious, then studied the mess of food that could once have been cake again before rolling his eyes. “I’m good.”
Vitarr muttered under his breath as he scraped some cake off the table and into a plate. Something about how Bowe wouldn’t know how have fun in a courtesan house with a fistful of gold coins.
Bowe continued to chew on the pork. The foo
d tasted of ash, but this might be the last time he’d have a chance to eat so easily. Ariastiana was looking at Reyanu. Her expression was almost the same as earlier, but a slight upward crook of her lips had changed the disapproving smirk into a smug smile. None of Ariastiana’s other sons had survived the Path, and she showed obvious satisfaction at seeing Reyanu, her youngest, ranked highest among the Raine Greens and surrounded by likely Defenders.
Her head turned a notch, and Bowe managed to catch her gaze. He tried to put a questioning expression on his face—though he likely exhibited more of pleading manner than he would have liked, if the twist in his gut was anything to go by. Ariastiana’s mouth flattened, her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head once. Then she raised her chin and looked away.
The meaning was clear: Bowe would get no help from her. His heart sank. So that was that, his last hope gone. She had promised to intercede for him with Kesirran if he helped her in her scheme against Chalori. He’d feared she’d break her end of the bargain, and now she had. People kept their promises only when it was to their advantage to do so. The ascorim, the maneuvering for power among the ascor, was complex, but that much was simple. What benefit was there in keeping a promise to a boy who’d be dead the next day? Only desperation had driven him to help her.
He sighed. Perhaps Vitarr was right and they should both get roaring drunk and to Helion with the bloody Path and the blasted ascorim.
At that moment, a plate smashed on the floor and movement throughout the room stilled. Tlirris stood on a table, facing Phevan. Everyone turned towards them. Although Tlirris was high on the lists, Bowe didn’t like his chances on the Path. Perhaps Tlirris could make a name for himself as a Wolfling in the Eye, as he was a remarkably skilled fighter. But he was also extremely stupid, and wasn’t good at making friends and allies.
Tlirris was shouting at Phevan. “Of course the escay don’t have it better than us—they couldn’t be happier than the ascor. Look at their lives, look at the rags they wear, look at the hovels they live in! Not needing to face the Green Path doesn’t make up for that.” Tlirris’s face was turning purple and a vein throbbed in his forehead. He slurred his words; he was now clearly drunk. Phevan didn’t look as worried as he should have. He’d taken up the ridiculous argument that peasants had it easier than nobles in Arcandis, that the escay had better lives than the ascor. Not even a madman would think that, and Phevan was both smart and sane, so something was up. Bowe glanced at Reyanu, who had a smug expression on his face.
Tlirris lurched forward, knocking over a pitcher. Wine gushed out and soaked even more of the tablecloth. “How many escay die fighting in the Eye? How many go out on suicide barges? And,” Tlirris said, his eyes gleaming, “if the escay are so happy, then why do they have the Guild?” A dead silence descended.
The gaze of everyone in the room turned as one to the head table. Kesirran and Ariastiana were no longer there. When had they left? And had they heard Tlirris? A door at the back of the ballroom opened and a few boys began to drift out. Tlirris seemed to have just realized what he’d said. Phevan was gone, and suddenly Tlirris was isolated, standing alone on the table. His anger turned to dismay, then he jutted out his chin. “And why shouldn’t I say it? Guild. There, I said it again. Guild, guild, guild.” Those near him started to move away, and the trickle of people out the back door turned into a steady stream. “What are you afraid of? We are ascor—we don’t fear peasants or any organization they might form.” His voice became a despairing plea. “We do not fear the escay. We are ascor.”
Vitarr and Bowe exited the ballroom with the rest. We are not truly ascor yet, merely their sons, Bowe thought. And now you never will be. The Guild was only talked about in dark corners with trusted souls. Everyone knew a story or two of someone who had spoken about the Guild too loudly or too publicly and had disappeared. For that reason, details about it were sketchy. All Bowe knew was that it was an evil organization dedicated to destroying the ascor way of life.
The corridor was crowded with Greens streaming away from the ballroom. Bowe turned to Vitarr. “What do you think—?”
Vitarr raised his hand. “Best not to even mention it.”
Bowe stopped what he’d been about to say. Vitarr was right; there was nothing to gain from talking about what Tlirris had said. He cast his mind back to the earlier scene and remembered the satisfied smile from Reyanu. Was he behind this?
“I promised Chalori I’d say goodbye to her,” Bowe said. “See you later.”
Vitarr nodded and continued toward the boys’ quarters, and Bowe turned into the hallway that led to the women’s quarters. The harem contained the wives of all the ascor and some of the younger children. Mingled perfume gave the whole place a sickly smell. Several patrolling eunuchs cast him sidelong looks. If he were found in these hallways after today, he’d be lucky to leave lacking only his balls. The only men welcome in the harem were the eunuchs and the ascora’s husbands—the Raine ascor. After tomorrow Bowe would be considered more man than boy. All the silk doorway-coverings were tied up above the openings; they were only closed when the wives received visits from their husbands. Inside the bedrooms, plump ascora reclined on soft couches. Many had escay servants fanning them. Each room teemed with expensive baubles. The greater the ascora’s wealth, the more the room glittered.
Bowe’s pace slowed as he approached Chalori’s doorway. He had been putting off this visit. He couldn’t help but feel that helping Ariastiana against Chalori had been a betrayal of sorts. Even though it was just part of the ascorim and he knew he shouldn’t feel guilty, he couldn’t control his emotions as much as he would have liked. She and Vitarr were the only ones in Raine Mansion who showed him kindness. Perhaps it was natural that he and Chalori had become close when he was younger; she had been childless and he had been an orphan.
Chalori rushed to him and hugged him when she saw him in the doorway. Bowe was too old for motherly hugs and his body tensed up. But as the familiar warmth and smell of Chalori surrounded him, he relaxed against her, embracing her with all his might. His eyes stung and he blinked back tears. Ashamed of himself, he broke away.
He was surprised that she wore a simple white dress similar to something that one of the Greenettes might wear. Everyone on Arcandis wore light-colored clothing due to the heat, of course. The escay wore light grays and browns. Greens and Greenettes and the younger children dressed in plain white. The ascor and ascora used a white base material, elaborated with colorful patterns and trimmings, favoring designs that highlighted the house color—silver, in the case of the Raine family. The ascora always dressed well; he’d never seen any of them wearing something this plain before. Chalori wore no makeup, either.
She bustled away. “You’ll have some tea.” She was a small woman, so there was no hiding the excess weight she’d put on lately. She was still pretty, though, with curly brown hair and lively blue eyes. She’d been one of Kesirran’s favorites. Chalori’s room was smaller than most and just as overpopulated with knickknacks, but with a diverse mix of styles. In one corner, a carved mahogany insect leaned against a golden candlestick patterned with dragons; in another, a bonsai beech tree wilted from lack of water. When he was younger, Bowe had used to love inventing games with the strange objects he’d find in here.
He’d come to say goodbye to Chalori, and now he found he was bidding farewell to his childhood also. A cold chill went through him as he realized he’d get to experience less than a day of adulthood.
Chalori brought over an ornate silver teapot. On a small table nearby stood a metal platform with three candles underneath to warm the tea. As she set the teapot down, her hand shook and the teapot rattled against the platform.
Bowe had to take it from her. “Sit down. Forget about the tea. What’s wrong?” Bowe now noticed her red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be fine; I’m always getting out of the little scrapes I get into. I’m sure the first day of the Path will be no different.” Bowe pul
led her down beside him on the couch and clasped her hands in his until they stopped shaking.
She let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. “I can almost believe it. You always were the little rascal. So small, but overflowing with mischievous energy. The amount of times I had to put ointment on the little cuts and bruises you used to get...” She shifted her shoulders, turning more towards him, and ran one hand through his hair. “And look at you now, so big and handsome.
“Chalori, stop it. What if one of the eunuchs passes by?”
“Don’t be silly.” She rubbed him under the chin causing him to flush. “They know I’m your mother, or as good as.”
Bowe slapped her hand away, feeling another stab of guilt as he remembered Ariastiana. “I’m not a child anymore. Besides, you’ve got me confused with someone else. Or maybe two someones. Reyanu is the handsome one and Vitarr is the big one.” Bowe was not the smallest of the Greens, but he was far from being the biggest.
“My fine, strong boy,” she said, sneaking in another caress of his hair before Bowe could chase her hand away. She hadn’t treated him this much like a child in years. Despite himself, it gave him a warm feeling.
“Now.” She wiped her eyes and composed herself. “I am strong enough,” she muttered under her breath. And then louder. “I have a present for you. Open that box.”
Beside the teapot was a small wooden box that Bowe hadn’t noticed before. Bands of interlocking leaves were carved around the edges of the box. “No need for presents,” he said.
Chalori tried to open the box herself, but her hands were shaking so much that Bowe had to help her. Inside were two curious-looking gold rings. Both had single spikes on the outside surface, pointing away from the center of the ring. At her request, Bowe held his hand out, palm-up and put the ring on his middle finger with the spike facing upward. She put on its twin.
“I see by your face that you don’t know what these are. They are called Paradise Givers. Inside is a little chamber containing a black liquid called Paradise’s Kiss—a fast-acting and painless poison.”
[Narrowing Path 00] - The Cruel Path Page 7