Shironne sensed Verinne waiting outside her door as the second housemaid brought her tray for dinner. The woman felt nervous about being her jailor. That gave her hope she might be able to talk some sense into the governess tomorrow. Luckily, she’d gotten the curtains drawn without anyone noticing that she’d been out on the balcony—which would have quashed any chance of getting back to work at the colonel’s office tomorrow. So for now she sat docilely on her bed, Mikael’s gloves tucked discreetly under her coverlet.
Once the second housemaid swept out of her room, drawing the door closed behind her, Shironne heard it lock again. Verinne apparently wasn’t taking any chances that she would sneak out in the middle of the night.
She could smell the food from across the room, one of Cook’s vegetable curries. Those were still good when cold. That could wait.
Instead she drew the gloves out from underneath her coverlet. If Verinne had seen them, there was no chance she would have let her keep them.
She ran her fingers over the gloves, picking up the sense that he’d worn them today. He’d touched dirt recently, and horse. The lesser sense of river water came to her. He’d brushed his hands through grasses, something gone to seed. Stone, he’d touched stone.
She doubted Mikael understood how it felt for her to wear someone else’s clothes.
She slid her hand into the right glove. It was too large but warm. It felt almost like touching his skin the day before. He’d given them to her with concern. He’d worried over her while walking here, she knew, having heard him at some distance. It was pleasant to have someone worrying about her.
The left glove fit the same—oversized but friendly. Shironne doubted he had any motivation for giving her the gloves other than concern. Even so, the ghostly feel of his hands on hers was far more warming than she would ever have thought.
• • •
By the time Mikael arrived back at the fortress, dinner service in the mess had ended. He stopped in the kitchens and picked up a small pot of tea instead, carrying it down with him to Deborah’s office.
“Is that your dinner?” she asked, gesturing for him to sit. She cleared some of the books off her desk and set them on the counter behind her. She pulled down a couple of teacups from a high shelf and let Mikael fill them.
“Bad timing tonight,” Mikael said. The tea was jasmine flavored, not one of his favorites.
“You left with Aldassa after the service, didn’t you?” she asked then.
She’d heard that from one of the sentries, Mikael decided. “Do you remember Paal Endiren?”
“Very quiet young man, never sick,” she replied with a faint smile. She rarely got to meet children who weren’t sick. “He’s from Elisabet’s yeargroup.”
Mikael nodded. He described the strange memory of seeing Paal in the dream. She sat back, listening to him with an indecipherable expression on her face.
“Have you told Elisabet?” she asked when he reached the end of his story.
“Not yet. I don’t know how she’ll react. Were they particularly close?” He hoped Deborah would answer that question for him. Not too surprisingly, she didn’t. She merely smiled at his transparent tactic. Just because she sponsored both him and Elisabet, that didn’t mean she shared secrets between them.
“Can you tell me how Elisabet’s parents died?” he asked instead.
“I’ve never been told,” she said. “I wasn’t one of the elders then, so I wasn’t given the information.”
“But you’re her sponsor,” Mikael protested.
“The elders didn’t tell me.”
“Did Elisabet?”
Deborah seemed exasperated. “If she had, I would consider it confidential, Mikael, and I wouldn’t tell you.”
Mikael sipped his tea, pondering her answer. He could ask in his capacity as a member of the Daujom. She might refuse to answer and still be within her rights as an elder. He didn’t want to press the issue, though. He could ill afford to alienate his greatest champion in the fortress.
“Perhaps you should ask her, Mikael,” Deborah suggested gently.
Mikael put down his cup of tea. “I don’t want to bring up something that’ll upset her.”
Deborah leaned back in her chair, shaking her head at him. “You sound just like Kai.”
Mikael recalled Elisabet’s warning that Kai might do something unwise. He repeated it to Deborah, who laughed shortly. He didn’t mention his suspicion that Kai already had done something by removing pages from the files the Daujom turned over to the army. Deborah didn’t need to hear that about her nephew.
“I went to check and see how Miss Anjir is faring,” he said, changing the subject. “The governess has her locked up in her room.”
“Locked up?”
“Something about being corrupted by young men.”
Deborah folded her hands together and gave him one of her unnervingly direct stares. “There might be some validity to her concerns, Mikael.”
He didn’t respond. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t sound defensive.
“You like children, Mikael,” Deborah added. “Because you are a broadcaster, you want them to like you, and they respond in kind, particularly children who are sensitives.”
If Miss Anjir were here, she would be protesting. She wouldn’t like being called a child. But Deborah had chosen that term deliberately.
“Why does the Family separate the children from the adults, Mikael?” Deborah asked.
“Because children are easily influenced,” he replied, the catechized answer.
“I only wanted to remind you, dear, she’s legally a child.”
If she hadn’t been resting the previous day when Miss Anjir arrived at the palace, he would have heard this speech then. “She’s Larossan. Their laws are different.”
As soon as he said that, he knew it sounded defensive.
Deborah held up her hand to stop him from speaking. “That doesn’t change the law as it applies to you, dear. You need to be careful in your handling of the girl.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am. I’ve noticed she is very susceptible. Kai can get her biting at him in less than a minute.”
“My point exactly.”
“I wouldn’t hurt her, ma’am.”
“You know how they tease you about little girls falling for you, Mikael? The joke wouldn’t be so effective if you’d not given it reinforcement from time to time.”
“Kai keeps that joke alive.” Mikael glanced at the scar crossing his left palm. When he’d been only a seventeen, he’d come out with two others in his yeargroup to participate in the melee at the summer fair. He was thrown against one of the arena walls by a much larger opponent. That hadn’t been what ended that day for him, though. A little girl of eight or nine had been gazing at him from over the low railing, lost her balance, and tumbled over the railing into the arena itself. He’d apparently caught the child and handed her back up to a worried female relative, but the field judges had called him dead as a result of the contact. As he’d had a concussion, he remembered very little of the incident himself.
The story had grown and changed in the telling over the years, recited whenever someone wanted to needle him. There had been instances of spectators injured by the fighters in the past, but never before had a fighter been “killed” by a spectator, much less a child. At the time, it had been laughable. By now the humor had worn thin.
“Be careful what you do, Mikael,” Deborah said firmly. “From the elders’ point of view, you are dealing with a child, whether or not she thinks she is. Or you do. Keep that in mind.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, and left as quickly as possible. Deborah rarely lectured him, but when she did he felt guilty for days.
Mikael made his way to Three Down, searching out the hall where Elisabet’s yeargroup lived. He found the proper hall
way, confirmed when he located their common room, crowded with far too much furniture. About a dozen of the twenty-fives sat there talking and drinking tea, which they seemed willing enough to share. Mikael didn’t know if any of them had known Iselin. None were in uniform, so they didn’t wear the white ribbon of mourning, but they did seem subdued.
Since this was Daujom business, he didn’t stop at the guideline but walked on toward the common area. He spotted Tova, Elisabet’s Second, among the women. Tova sat on a floral-patterned couch, bare feet up on one of the tables and a cup of tea cradled in her hand. She must not have duty scheduled tonight. Her damp hair was unbraided, drying in wheat-colored waves over her shoulders. Mikael worked his way over to her and asked, “Whose furniture did you steal?”
She shook her head ruefully. “Practical joke, Mr. Lee. The thirties acquired a new sofa and gave us one of their old. Now everyone else in this end of the fortress is spontaneously donating old furniture to us. We’ve decided we rather like it.”
Practical jokes ran rampant among the yeargroups. As long as no one got hurt, the elders didn’t interfere. “It’s an interesting effect. I suppose Elisabet is ignoring it.”
“She’s above such pettiness, Mr. Lee,” Tova told him in a lofty tone. “In truth, it’s annoying her terribly, but she’s too stubborn to say anything, so it continues. Did you need to talk to her?”
He’d never been down this hall before, so the inference must have come naturally. “Is she down here?”
“Working on schedules in her quarters. I’ll go get her for you,” Tova offered. She wended her way out of the common room, clambering over a much-patched couch and a chair to do so.
Elisabet returned with her a moment later, appearing to know why he’d come. She edged through the room and sat down at a table in one corner, gesturing for Mikael to join her. He followed, very aware of the watchful eyes of the remainder of her yeargroup.
Out of uniform, Elisabet looked no less stiff than every other time he saw her. She wore an old uniform shirt and trousers, with an unbuttoned vest worn atop that to ward off the chill of Three Down. Her face retained its cool distance.
“Interesting furniture arrangement,” he began.
Elisabet frowned. “What do you need, Mr. Lee?”
“I spent the better part of the day with David Aldassa,” Mikael began. “As a result, I need to ask you a few questions.”
“What did David say?”
“We talked about Paal Endiren,” Mikael told her.
A disturbed look crossed her face. “Why?”
“Because I saw him in a dream. I think he’s involved in the murders somehow.”
Elisabet didn’t shift or move, but Mikael thought he’d surprised her.
“Did he know Iselin?”
“No.”
“Were you and Paal particularly close?”
“We were friends,” she answered without ambiguity.
Friends only, Mikael divined from the ease of her answer. “Did he know how your parents died?”
Her eyes lost focus, suddenly turning within. “Yes.”
One of the men from the yeargroup came closer, a sensitive whose name Mikael couldn’t recall. He’d upset her, even if she didn’t show it outwardly. “I’m not trying to worry you, but I need to know. Were your parents killed in the massacres?”
She raised a hand to keep the man at a distance, not wanting them overheard, Mikael suspected. Her yeargroup doesn’t know. Paal must have been the exception.
“Yes,” she said in a flat, emotionless voice.
“I had to ask because one of the pages of the report filed by the Andersens is missing: it lists the very first victims. Do you have any idea how that could have happened?”
She said nothing, her face blank.
He asked a more direct question. “Did you see Kai remove any of the pages from the files?”
“No,” she said quickly.
Kai could have done it when she was off duty, or when her attention lapsed, but that rarely happened. When he asked if she’d taken any pages, she responded easily with another no.
“Has Kai talked to you about anything in the files?”
“No,” she answered again.
She didn’t have to turn Kai in and was relieved about it, Mikael decided. It didn’t show on her face, but he saw it in the way she sat. Her shoulders had relaxed. He felt sure, as he never had before, that she cared for Kai—even if she never let Kai near her.
“Will you tell me what you and Kai argued about yesterday before he went down to the cold rooms?” He didn’t have cause to ask but hoped she might answer anyway.
It took a while for her to decide. “He wanted Peder,” she finally said, “not me. I told you.”
Kai had asked her to give way to her Second, not because Peder could do a better job but because Kai didn’t want Elisabet exposed to any part of their investigation.
“He means well, Elisabet.”
She frowned, staring at a point in front of her on the table. The others in the common room had drifted away, deciding Mikael posed no threat.
Mikael glanced about, taking advantage of the relative privacy. “Are you ever going to reconsider? About Kai, I mean?”
They shared the same sponsor, which technically made them foster brother and sister. That made his question almost forgivable.
She blinked, likely taken aback by the personal nature of the question, then shook her head.
“I don’t understand why you keep him at a distance.”
“He is the king’s heir,” Elisabet said.
Mikael sat back and stared at her, wondering why she thought she wouldn’t do for a king’s consort. Nearly half of the kings during the Anvarrid rule had chosen their consorts from the Six Families. It had even been fashionable to have a Family consort at one time, one of the reasons that sensitives now showed up in many Anvarrid Houses. His own mother had been a guard.
“I would be a poor choice for him,” Elisabet volunteered, surprising him. “Once he’s confirmed, my contract will be annulled. He’ll choose someone better suited.”
The primary guard contract between Kai and Elisabet was, in essence, a marriage contract—only a few words differed. “I don’t think Kai wants to choose another, Elisabet. He wants to keep you.”
A line appeared between her brows. “I would not survive the attention.”
Mikael considered survive an odd word to use. “I doubt there’s much you can’t handle.”
“He wouldn’t survive it.” She stood, her face closed off now, as if she’d reached the end of her words and her willingness. Recognizing that their conversation had ended, Mikael thanked her and left the common room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Eli sat with Mikael against the wall on the sparring floor, cooling off. “Lucasedrion’s treaty between the Anvarrid and the Family specifies that all unclaimed children of mixed Anvarrid birth should be raised by the Family,” he lectured. “Such children are to be turned over to the Family between the time of birth and the age of eight years. The only exception occurs when the elders take in a child already trained to a level commensurate with his or her peers.”
Eli, as Mikael expected, knew everything about adoption law. Eli’s father was the Lucas Family’s head legal counsel, a position that Eli aspired to hold one day himself.
Mikael decided he should find a dictionary and check the word commensurate, but he didn’t intend to tell Eli that. “I spoke to one of Colonel Cerradine’s people yesterday. They said Elisabet was adopted into the Family when she was twelve.”
“Yes, sir, but she qualified under that exception. Also, she was born Lucas, which I expect further disposed them to take her in.”
“Did you know that? About her age?” Mikael asked. He hadn’t known, but he was an outsider here.
Eli gave
him a strange look. “Of course I knew, sir. She’s a First.”
Meaning that the Firsts know the other Firsts. The girl Eli intended to marry after the yearchange was the First of the seventeens, but he didn’t know how familiar Eli was with those years ahead of him. “Do you ever talk to her?”
“Master Elisabet? Hardly, sir. She’s one of the highest all-time scorers on her exams and field tests. She made perfect scores on everything but history and hand-to-hand.”
“You keep records like that here?” Mikael asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.
“Your people don’t, sir?”
Mikael pictured a dark room somewhere in the lower levels with the elders gathered, analyzing scores, like a betting den before one of the melees. “The Lees are different from the Lucases, Eli. We put less stock in . . . the objective.”
Eli’s nostrils flared. Mikael suspected he’d offended the younger man. Still, he didn’t think a point system was the best method for choosing a leader.
“Were you not the top in your yeargroup, sir?”
“Hand-to-hand? Yes. There were other things at which I wasn’t. My job was to keep my yeargroup working together, Eli. The elders chose me because they thought I could do that.”
“I would think that with your father being the Vandriyen heir, you would have been the natural choice.”
Mikael shook his head, wondering for the first time how many people thought he’d gotten his standing in his yeargroup because his father was Lord Vandriyen’s heir. Then again, Eli’s father, Master Elias, came from an Anvarrid House as well. “Is that why you were chosen?” Mikael asked.
For a split second, Eli appeared to consider that possibility. Then he said, “I’m sorry, sir. I realize that was an offensive supposition to have made.”
Or at least to have voiced, Mikael thought dryly. “I think the elders may have considered that a liability in my case,” Mikael said. “My father periodically talked of removing me from the Family.” He attempted to steer the conversation back around to what he wanted to know. “Who would have trained Elisabet, then, do you think?”
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