Chapter 53
He walked the keep’s outer walls and a good part of the fences and boundaries of the estate itself. Laborers rolled up their sleeves and some men wore no shirts at all. Scarves bound their heads to keep the sweat out of their eyes. Even in mid-spring, clouds of gritty dust hung in the air. Where unseasonable heat had men leaning on their tools and wiping their brows, restless energy drove Sherakai.
He walked for hours with no company but a shaft of pain stabbing his skull and the weight of his mistake bowing his shoulders. It had been childish to lay any part of his burden at his family’s feet. They had no experience with such things as a rakeshi or a magical bond. What kind of man was he—what kind of son—to inflict upon anyone the monster he had become? Elinasha was right; he should leave this place.
And go where? Back to the Gates? Someplace, anyplace else, in a desperate bid to break his leash? By the burning sun and all the glittering stars, he wanted to. What was he now? A thing unmade and remade, abominable in the sight of those he loved. Bairith had use for him when no one else did. An awful pet for an awful master.
“Stop it, stop it,” he hissed to himself. “If you’re going to go, try to do it without making the same mess you made when you arrived. What can you do to fix this?”
Nothing, he snorted. First, he’d have to be free of the bond. Then he’d need to figure out a way to get rid of the rakeshi. Both tasks loomed before him, insurmountable as the highest, craggiest peak.
He paced back and forth across the road leading out beneath the gatehouse. Go, and take the trouble he brought with him? Stay, and keep his mouth shut about his problems? Too late for that, he castigated himself. He had no one, not one single person in all the world, with whom to share the burden of the dark secrets he kept. No one to ask for advice. No one to give him strength and encourage him to press on.
He hadn’t told his mother and sister that he’d killed Tameko with his bare hands. And his teeth. Mustn’t leave that out.
He wished he could forget.
Sherakai left the gatehouse and retraced the path around and over the estate. His hard pace devoured miles and still didn’t satisfy his consuming restlessness. Night fell, holding the keep in its embrace. Concealed by that darkness, he could walk the halls of his childhood home without inflicting himself on anyone. In the hush, only the breezes gently stirred the curtains on the open windows, carrying the sound of crickets singing. The temperature hinted at summer soon to come.
Sherakai’s path wound this way and that, up stairs and down. Eventually, he found himself in front of the doors to his father’s study. He regarded the brass inlays of stylized leaves and vines, then set his hand to the latches and pushed them open. They were not locked. He breathed the scent of dust and disuse. It hurt. Crossing to the window to unlatch it, he let the smell out and the breeze in. It shouldn’t stink like a tomb. “It shouldn’t be empty,” he said to the heavy silence, then sighed.
Between a pair of bookshelves hung an intricately carved and painted panel depicting a scene from the myths of the All Father. He’d always liked looking at it. Always seemed to find a new puzzle or secret. Papa claimed when he found them all, he would understand his place in the world. Lips pursed as he fingered the frame, he yearned for the time to discover an answer or two to the path he trod now.
He drifted through the room, touching the things that spoke of his father’s life. The well-used chair by the fireplace, the lifelike carving of the daxar, the dated helm he’d worn into battle, the sculpture of a rearing horse. He stroked the line of its back wistfully, then glanced around the familiar space, recalling Papa’s voice and his ready smile. With a sigh large enough to stave off the threat of tears, he lit the candle on the corner of the desk. By its paltry light, he searched for papers and ledgers of the district’s accounts, but he couldn’t find them. Likely Ginsaka had them; it was his job, after all.
Rummaging through a stack of books, he came across one well-feathered with markers. The Narrow Escapes of a Yazekani Patriot. How many times had Tameko read those stories to him and the others while they sat by the fire at his feet? The central character, a true hero of the Westlands from ages past, led a life of dazzling adventure, wit, and wisdom. Papa had used it to instill in his children lessons he valued.
Suddenly, he couldn’t be here, in this museum of memories. He fled.
Another tour around the outside of the keep, with only the guards to nod to, and Sherakai found himself inside again. At the bottom of the stairs, he stared into the darkness. His mother had put him in his old room, unchanged from the day he’d left. He made his way up slowly. Everyone slept, including his distressed mother. He was glad for that, glad she could rest. Sorry that he had caused her such anguish.
He stood in the doorway for a long time, then sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for morning, too troubled to sleep. A collection of dark shapes on the windowsill caught his attention, and he got up to examine them. More memories. The hunting horn he’d won from Fazare in a horse race, half a dozen books from his father’s library, and an old toy sword Tasan had given him when he was a boy. He ran his fingertips over wood worn smooth. He’d used it for everything but swordplay—a hammer, a ball club, an awkward and eventually useless spindle for kite string…
That child was long gone, innocence trampled.
He dropped the toy with a clatter and sat back down. His headache had diminished to a dull throb but refused to surrender. He needed to regain a measure of calm and self-control. The old meditations sometimes helped, so he went through several of those. Master Chimoke—and his father, as well—would be disappointed at his lack of mastery. Then, with the sharpest edges smoothed, he set to packing his bags.
He hadn’t brought much, so it didn’t take long. While he waited for a civilized time of day to visit his mother, he could go over the ledgers. The least he could do was make sure Papa had provided for her and the upkeep of the estate. Broken tiles and collapsed walls might be on a list of needed repairs, or they might mean no coin for the tasks. Calling on Suchedai Ginsaka in the middle of the night would win him no favors.
Instead, he padded back down the stairs to the steward’s office. The locked doors didn’t deter him; he knew where his father kept the keys. He wondered that Ginsaka hadn’t claimed them for himself, and let himself in. The smell of paper, ink, and furniture polish washed over him. The lamp he lit revealed orderly bookshelves and neatly stacked correspondence. He found the ledgers he wanted and patiently worked out the steward’s system. Taking a seat behind the desk, he settled down to read.
Chapter 54
“What are you doing with my books?”
Sherakai lifted his gaze, chin propped in one hand, and blinked eyes gone dry from singular focus. The headache he’d nursed all night dug claws into his temples. He hadn’t realized that he’d left the door open until Suchedai Ginsaka filled the space, pale with righteous indignation. “According to the law, they are actually mine,” he said in a mild tone.
Long ago, casual references to what it meant to be Tanoshi’s heir had only settled on the surface of his understanding. As the hours passed, the reality sank deeper and deeper. The books presented the facts in lines of ink and columns of numbers. He could drown in the sea of responsibility.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Until my brother Imitoru returns, I am Jansu Tanoshi. My father has left papers to that effect, all properly witnessed and sealed. Your signature was on them.”
Ginsaka stared.
Sherakai glanced over the ledger before him, then closed the book and got to his feet. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tear, bend, or smudge anything, and I’ll be sure to put everything away where it belongs.”
“You have no right to invade my office.” The earliness of the hour didn’t keep him from looking well rested. He was as meticulous as ever in a plain brown tunic belted at the waist over traditional loose-fitting pants. Not a hair on his neatly braided head was out of place.
Sherakai tapped his fingers on the book thoughtfully before he picked it up, holding it against his chest. “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to review the books, but I didn’t want to trouble you by rousing you from bed in the middle of the night.” His reading had done nothing to ease his headache. Finances had tightened since Tameko had paid the cost of fielding a small army to attempt Sherakai’s rescue. Tanoshi now trod the edge of bankruptcy. All that coin given up, and for what?
“How good of you.” Ginsaka’s scorn was well-practiced and delicate. “And did this sudden desire emerge out of some dire circumstance that couldn’t wait?”
“Not dire, no.”
“Then—”
“Stop.” Sherakai held up one hand; Ginsaka’s mouth crimped shut. “I have no complaint against your bookkeeping talents or the way you’ve been running Tanoshi. I appreciate what you’ve done.”
“Thank you, you are too kind.” His smile was faint, as if he could spare nothing more generous.
Sherakai put the books back exactly where he’d found them, then leaned against the desk, arms folded. “I noticed that income from the Children is decreased.”
A shadow crossed Ginsaka’s eyes. “Your father is not here to give the horses the attention they require.”
“I did not ask for your excuses. I will discuss it with the stable master and we will lay out a plan of action.” Ginsaka opened his mouth. Sherakai ignored it. “You have a decision to make, Ginsaka.” No title, no respectful “sir” tacked on to earn his goodwill. “As much as you may disapprove, I am the Tanoshi heir. If you continue here, you do so in my service.”
Saints alone knew how he would oversee the district from Chiro—or the Twixt—especially if he were never allowed to return. He had to do something, never mind the way everyone but his mother reacted to him. He had no doubt at all that Elinasha and the others loathed him and resented him for leaving them to their own devices. It had given him pause, though, to realize none of the keep’s staff had treated him as if he were the jansu. Not one. Ginsaka’s doing, or the women? He’d had to think; had he seen hesitation in anyone? Uncertainty about how he ought to be treated? Too wrapped up in his own problems, he’d paid scant attention.
“I beg your pardon?” Ginsaka said again, blinking in uncharacteristic astonishment.
Whatever the root of the man’s disparaging attitude, Ginsaka had nothing on Lord Chiro. “Whether or not you respect me, you will respect my position. You will respect Tanoshi. If you cannot do that, Tanoshi and her people will suffer, and my father’s legacy will be lost. I believe you loved him too much to let that happen.”
Ginsaka held Sherakai’s gaze for a long time then let out a controlled breath. “You are right, of course. I will do my best, sir.”
His brow twitched. He hadn’t expected the ‘sir.’ “Thank you. That is all I ask.”
“Is there any other way I may be of help?”
“Tell me how many years I have been gone.”
“Surely you know the answer to that.”
“Indulge me.”
Ginsaka’s inclination of his head did not hide an expression of impatience. “Three years last autumn.”
It felt like so much longer… What a gift those Twixt seasons were, he thought, mocking. “Is there no news of Imitoru at all?”
“You know very well that if he had been returned to us, his banner would fly from our ramparts.”
Sherakai remained silent. He wished he could stay at Tanoshi just to watch Ginsaka wriggle with discomfort as he tried to adjust to being answerable to his least favorite of Tameko’s sons.
The suchedai cleared his throat. “We’ve heard nothing at all of him. I think the lack of knowledge has been harder on your lady mother than your, erm—the unfortunate misunderstanding about your circumstances.”
“I am grateful to you for your care of her.”
“I could do nothing less. If there is anything else?” Clearly, the man had business to attend to.
“Not immediately.” Straightening from his lean, he headed for the door, striving to emulate his father’s easy decisiveness.
Ginsaka bowed slightly, respectfully. “I am at your service.”
Unwilling to further strain their relationship, Sherakai let him have the last word. He had enough of a headache already. The idea of searching out the keep’s healer put a bad taste in his mouth, or maybe he just needed breakfast. He’d eaten nothing since the day before. He found it amusing that he had to go in search of food. For years, whether at home or at the Gates, he’d had food put in front of him when it was time for a meal, and he could eat it or go hungry. Or get a beating.
His appearance in the kitchen brought work nearby to a stuttering halt. Waves of heat carried the aroma of fresh-baked bread and sizzling ham. Steam from a huge pot over the fire made everything hazy. Pots and bowls banged. Some oblivious soul sang.
“My lord? Sir…” Sherakai did not recognize the broad-shouldered, red-cheeked man who approached, wiping his hands on his apron. Tattoos covered his arms from the wrist and disappeared beneath rolled-up sleeves. Confusion barely masked his irritation. The nobility didn’t come to the kitchens, and neither did their guests unless they were lost. “Can I help you?”
The sudden anonymity was oddly refreshing. “I’m sorry to bother you, I realize it’s early. If you could point me toward some bread and cheese…”
From a work table nearby, one of the cook’s helpers cleared her throat to get the man’s attention. Sherakai glanced at her, then gave a polite nod. She looked familiar. What was her name? Omone? Onema?
The man ignored her in favor of moving past Sherakai, plucking at his sleeve to guide him to a spot out of the way. “If you’ll wait here a moment.”
“Of course.” Like the related-by-marriage cousin no one quite knew how to treat.
“Sir?” The woman tapped on the man’s arm to get his attention.
The cook shrugged her off. “Not now, Onura.” He marched to the other end of the kitchen to prepare a plate, slapping a square of cheese and a heel of bread on it. Onura darted horrified looks between him and Sherakai.
He lifted one shoulder in an amused shrug.
“Here you are, sir.” The cook returned and held out the sparse meal. “Breakfast will be in the dining hall in an hour.”
“Yes, thank you.” Tanoshi’s rinds beat the arena’s slop by miles. The shatter of crockery and a wordless bellow behind him made one side of his mouth twitch.
At the bottom of the servant’s stair, he balanced the plate on the newel post to slice the cheese. He reflected that carrying a knife whilst indoors—and not in the Twixt arena—was a novel experience. Still musing, he licked it clean (how his sisters would shriek at that!), sheathed it, and started up, eating as he went. A chunk of bread bulged his cheek when he turned a corner and came face to face with Elinasha.
With that ability peculiar to older sisters, she took in his face, his plate, and the direction he’d just come from in one sharp glance. “What are you doing?” Stress and grief lent a waspish tone to her voice.
He licked his fingers. “Eating.”
“In the hall. Are you a guardsman, forgetting your manners the instant you’re out of uniform?”
Older sister or not, he was not intimidated. While she might wield an emotional sword, he simply would not engage. He chewed the lump and swallowed. “I didn’t expect to see you up and about this early.”
“And that makes what difference?”
All that impatience. All that hurt… “None at all, I was just making conversation. Good morning.”
One dark brow lifted.
“I’m glad you’re awake. How is Mama doing?”
“She’s sleeping.”
He nodded acceptance, having expected nothing less. “Do you have anything for a headache?”
The brow lowered and both eyes narrowed. “You’d like me to give you one? I can do that.” She used to say such things in his other life, half teasing, completely exasperated
with whatever antics he’d been up to.
“Thank you, I’m sure you’d do an admirable job, but I have one already. I was hoping for something to relieve it.”
Her mouth quivered as she glanced away, shaking her head. Had that been the hint of a smile? A surrender to his attempt to tease? Gods knew he was sorely out of practice. Her rigid shoulders relaxed slightly. “You are dreadful.”
“Yes.” He could not deny it. She had only the slightest inkling how dreadful, and already her opinion was crystal clear.
“What, no argument?”
He shook his head and stepped aside to let her pass.
“No apology?”
For what, being a monster? Eating in the corridor? It didn’t matter; he could give her that. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, refusing to lower either his head or his gaze.
Pain and then sorrow flitted across her features, swiftly followed by wariness and anger in equal measures. Her eyes closed against the strain. She was prettier than he remembered from before the attacks but thinner. Like all the siblings but Kanya and himself, she had brown hair with thick waves. She’d pulled the front into a twist behind her head, letting the rest cascade down her back. In the sun, it would gleam prettily with streaks of gold.
Even as he lifted a hand to touch her shoulder, she turned back to him. “Is it true?” she asked softly. Again.
He drew back. “That I am dreadful? Yes.”
“I’m not joking, Kai.”
“Neither am I.”
She had to look up at him, where once she’d been taller than he. A sleepy voice murmured from a room further down the hall, the words indistinguishable. The household was beginning to wake. Elinasha sighed and walked away. “Come with me, I’ll get you a tincture for your headache.”
Chapter 55
It was a strange thing to lie in bed until the sun was well risen and have no one come to order him about. Surreal to realize that his schedule didn’t include another day of blood and waste. Tomorrow, maybe, but today he could watch the light move across the ceiling, dragging a fringe of shadow from the cedar outside his window. Children’s voices in the corridor had awakened him earlier. Disconcerted him, until he remembered where he was and who they were. There were no children at Nemura-o pera Sinohe. At least, none he had ever seen. For their sake, he was glad.
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