It was just dinner. Gerrard was being totally unreasonable. Yes, Dakariou was a spy. Yes, his motives only coincided with theirs—hers—for the moment, but she was certain he meant her no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact. But a niggling worm of doubt crept into her reflections. She’d only just the other day felt fear, and misery, at the idea that Gerrard might leave her. And here she was, developing a relationship with someone that Gerrard considered a threat. Zerafine tried to justify it to herself—they would leave when this was all over, she’d leave Dakariou behind and think of him only as a pleasant interlude. No reason for Gerrard to worry. How did you feel when you imagined him in your position? Zerafine put the pillow over her face. He wasn’t the only one being unreasonable.
Zerafine tossed the pillow aside and went to the door. She could admit she’d been wrong—but would she agree to cancel dinner with Dakariou for the sake of peace? She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, then smiled when she heard Gerrard’s door open. He was coming to her.
But his footsteps went on down the hall, and shortly she heard the front door open and close. Zerafine felt her anger rise again. So, he was so angry with her he couldn’t even stay in the same house? Her face heated as she realized she had been about to give in when she was certain she was right. Fine, she thought, unconsciously echoing Gerrard’s words. Fine. Let him be angry. I’m not letting that influence my actions.
By dinnertime, Gerrard still hadn’t returned, but a letter arrived with the Talarannos mark on the seal. Dakariou had been quicker even than she’d hoped. Alita Talarannos sent her regards and asked Zerafine of Dardagne to join her for a midmorning meal at her estate. Zerafine crushed the fine paper in her hand, feeling excitement despite her heavy heart. This could be the key to the mystery. What did one wear to a midmorning meal at one of the most wealthy estates in Portena? The red robe that went everywhere, naturally.
She and Nacalia were in the middle of dinner when Gerrard returned. They sized each other up, warily. “Would you like something to eat?” Zerafine asked, breaking the silence.
“I ate at a street vendor’s half an hour ago,” he replied. Zerafine felt her face heat again. He couldn’t even bring himself to share a simple meal with her.
“Where did you go?” she asked, more to have something to say than out of any real interest.
“Just around. The gymnasium. Got lost a couple of times.”
“You could have taken Nacalia.”
“I wanted to be alone.”
Silence fell again. Nacalia looked from one of them to the other. “Why are you fighting?” she asked.
Gerrard’s mouth set in a grim line. Zerafine said, “We’re having a disagreement.” Gerrard snorted. Zerafine turned on him. “Well, what would you call it?” she asked, feeling dangerously close to losing her temper again.
“An argument,” he said, “in which you won’t admit I’m right.”
Fighting words. “That’s because you aren’t. You’re being unreasonable.”
“I’m supposed to keep you safe. You’re making that impossible.”
“You want to keep me safe by never letting me go anywhere alone?”
“You think you’d have been safe alone today when those men wanted to beat you senseless?”
“I’m not talking about wandering the streets of Portena. I’m talking about dinner with someone who, you have to admit, has never tried to hurt me.”
“Hasn’t tried to hurt you yet.”
“Will you stop being so suspicious?”
“Will you stop being so pigheaded?”
Nacalia climbed down from her chair, crying, and ran to her room.
“Wonderful, Gerrard. You’ve made a small child cry. I’m so impressed.”
Gerrard’s eyes blazed. “I’m not the one who started yelling first,” he snarled. “You think you’re entitled to lose your temper because no one’s willing to stand up to a thelis of Atenas. It’s past time you learned you can’t bully people and get away with it.”
“And who’s going to teach me that lesson? You?”
Gerrard’s jaw was once again set like granite. “No,” he said. “I think you’re too proud to learn that from anyone. I’m going to bed.”
Zerafine stared after him, shocked, as he turned his back on her. She was so angry, and so hurt, that she wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She went to her own room, and shut the door, deliberately not slamming it, then disrobed and crawled into bed. She wasn’t sleepy, but she didn’t think she could face any more of this awful day. She realized she was crying after all.
Chapter Sixteen
The ubiquitous sedan chair arrived at ten the next morning. They’d eaten their breakfast in silence, the three of them, Gerrard and Zerafine unable to meet one another’s eyes. Zerafine had spent a restless night replaying every word, every gesture of their arguments, and concluded that they had both been idiots. Unreasonable or not, Gerrard was simply trying to do his job. But she couldn’t figure out a way to tell him that, because every time she came close, she remembered the last things he’d flung at her. Bully. Proud. It made her furious and embarrassed and hurt all at once, and she wanted to hit back at him with words she hadn’t thought of at the time. A tiny part of her, the rational, unwounded part, pointed out that it was just as well, that there were some words that couldn’t be taken back.
The doors set into the high walls of the Talarannos estate loomed high over the heads of her bearers, at least four feet taller even than Gerrard. “Do you know what to expect?” he murmured to her through the gauzy curtains, and she shivered at the neutral sound of his voice.
“Watch the servants,” she told him. “They may have secrets to guard, but they probably won’t be as good at it as Alita.”
“Understood. Try not to eat any poisoned food.” Zerafine smiled at that, then remembered she was still angry at him. If he was trying to make things normal between them, she wasn’t ready for that.
The bearers set her chair down in the center of a small courtyard. It was paved with enormous granite stones polished smooth from years of use, and surrounded on three sides by smooth-sided stone buildings with tall, blank faces in which only slits of windows could be seen. It was an ancient style of building, and Zerafine wondered how old the estate was.
Alita emerged from the center building, her hands out in greeting. “Emissary,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for coming. I’m honored that you thought my home worthy of a visit.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Zerafine took her greeting at face value. They’d both be taking the other’s measure; just as well to pretend this was an actual social call.
Alita led the way around through a small gate near the left-hand building. Zerafine could see a much larger, much more well-trodden way along the right. The path they took was nearly overgrown with untrimmed trees and grasping shrubs. So, there’s something you don’t want me to see there. She wished she could find an excuse for Gerrard to wander around. But no, he trailed her closely, his hair getting caught in the branches even when he ducked.
Untraveled or not, the path led to a tiny, beautifully groomed garden in which it seemed everything had been designed at two-thirds scale. Trees in pots were sculpted into exquisite shapes; tiny flowers blossomed on all sides, their sweet scent delicately perfuming the air. The table and chairs were the only full-sized objects present.
Alita indicated they should sit. “I’m afraid I didn’t provide for your servant,” she said. Zerafine guessed that Alita really did believe Gerrard was a servant, which showed that she hadn’t done much research on her guest, which further implied that Alita still didn’t take her seriously. Very well. She could use that.
“Don’t worry about him, I often expect him to stand around waiting for me. I’m sure his life is quite boring,” she said, and instantly cursed herself. Would Gerrard have heard that as a subtle dig at him, another volley in their ongoing war? “Thank you for inviting me,” she added. She didn’t have time to worry ab
out Gerrard now.
“Not at all,” said Alita. “I so enjoy showing my home to others. I’m quite proud of the work I’ve done on it. Antiques are all very well, but I prefer modern comforts, don’t you?”
“I know I’m grateful for indoor plumbing,” Zerafine said, and they both laughed, probably the only genuine sound either of them would produce during this visit.
A man emerged from the rear of the house, carrying a folding table which he set up beside them. A small woman brought a tray, which she placed on the table, and from which she poured cups of coffee tiny enough to seem made to suit the theme of the garden. “You’ve had coffee before?” Alita asked. “A delicacy from the south. It hasn’t been widely adopted yet in Portena, but I like it.” Her tone of voice indicated that she did not expect her uncouth guest to be familiar with upper-class delicacies.
“Oh, yes, and I like it very much,” Zerafine said, tuning her voice to match Alita’s. “I became accustomed to it while traveling through the southern city-states. It’s quite popular in Kavarro and Cazorno.” She enjoyed seeing the twitch of Alita’s lips as she registered that her patrician drink wasn’t so exclusive after all.
The woman servant laid plates in front of them. A basket of various breads and a plate of cheeses appeared next, and then the woman brought out a basket of fruit, melons and grapes and a sweet berry Zerafine wasn’t familiar with. The next few minutes were occupied with the ladies helping themselves to the choicest morsels. “I hope you don’t mind the informality, but I didn’t think it was necessary to stand on ceremony with you,” Alita said, but her hesitation in picking up fruit told Zerafine that this was a woman accustomed to having her food put on her plate for her. Perhaps she needed assistance chewing as well.
Zerafine spread soft cheese on a slice of nutty bread and took a bite. “I must admit that my visit is not entirely a personal one,” she said when she’d finished chewing. She’d briefly considered talking with her mouth full, just to cement Alita’s belief that the emissary was completely without class, but decided that would have been too much. “I’ve been curious about your estate ever since I spoke with Genedirou. He told me he’s never performed a banishment here. I find that astonishing, don’t you? You must feel so fortunate.” She hoped Alita would believe she’d been drunk enough at the party to forget that Alita had told her specifically how much she hated having Genedirou on her estate when he came to do banishments.
“I do,” said Alita. “I don’t know how to explain it, except that Sintha, praise Her, must once again be watching over our family.” Good, she was willing to pretend that conversation had never happened. Or she really had forgotten it.
“I don’t suppose you have any ideas as to what makes your estate special?”
Alita shrugged. “Who can tell the ways of the gods?” she said. “I don’t want to sound immodest, but we are a very devout family.”
“It’s especially interesting,” said Zerafine, “when you consider just how many your fellow councilors have had. Castinidou tells me he’s had forty-four apparitions on his estate alone. And yet he seems so devout. I understand he paid for the new temple to Sintha. It’s quite lovely.”
Alita’s smile was strained. “You’re right, it would be improper to accuse others of inattention to their worship. But then, I suppose I ought to be asking you. Aren’t you the one who’s been tasked with learning the reason behind these apparitions? Perhaps if you could tell us what they are, we’d know the reason and logic behind their appearances.”
Touché. Zerafine drained her cup to give herself time to come up with a response. “I’m coming closer to understanding every day. In fact, the other reason for my interest in coming here is to look over your estate to see if it has any unusual features that might account for its freedom from apparitions.” She might as well come right out with it.
“I’d be happy to show you around,” Alita said. “Now, if you’re finished.”
They rose from the table, and Alita gestured toward a gate obscured by vines and bushes. “Let me show you the grounds first,” she said.
Beyond the gate lay the bulk of the estate, the modern parts, as Alita had said. Buildings lay scattered along deep terraces cut into the side of the hill, some of them almost overhanging the cliff side of Talarannos hill. The view from the top was magnificent; the city lay spread beneath them like a crazy quilt of silk and wool. From here, Zerafine could see the gilded dome of Kalindi’s temple, the marble and tile of the vast library, the bowl of the amphitheater. “Amazing,” she breathed, sincere for the second time since she’d arrived.
“We like it, anyway,” said Alita, a smug pleasure in her voice. “I’d rather not disturb the family in their homes, but we can walk through the garden.”
The houses seemed locked and still—at ten-thirty in the morning? Zerafine noted their locations and wondered where everyone was. Alita came to a stop in front of one of the buildings near the cliff edge. “This one’s empty, if you’d like to see an example of the construction,” she said. “I’m really quite proud of the workmanship, so I enjoy showing it off.”
First they couldn’t enter any of the houses, and now here was one conveniently empty? Zerafine stepped into a broad sitting room, the couches scattered throughout instead of grouped. At the far end of the room was a wall of very expensive glass panes, through which the same view of the city could be seen. Zerafine obediently oohed and aahed over the bedrooms, the kitchen, the ultra-modern commode and bathing room, the private garden. With any luck Gerrard was making more of this than she was.
Alita led them all over the estate, but Zerafine could tell she was avoiding certain places: the path on the right side of the main house, for example. They finished in a salon just off the tiny garden, which was comfortably furnished with a number of thick rugs and some tall, cushioned chairs.
“I hope—” began Alita, but she was interrupted by a door opening behind her—a door, moreover, that led to a room Zerafine had not been allowed to see.
“Alita, I need you to look at this,” a woman said, then realized Alita was not alone. “Sorry,” she said. She was a tall, bony woman with surprising dark blonde hair caught up messily in the back. She wore a stained apron and her hands were dusty with a white powder.
“Emissary, my good friend Morica Akennos,” said Alita. Her body was tense. “Morica, this is thelis Zerafine of Dardagne, the emissary from Atenar.” Was Zerafine mistaken, or did she hear Alita place just the slightest emphasis on the last three words? “Morica has been staying with me for a few days.”
“My home is boring,” Morica said. “So much more to do here.” She had trouble meeting Zerafine’s eyes, but not, Zerafine judged, out of guilt. When Morica added, “I learned something new today,” Zerafine was convinced that Morica was one of those people for whom a passion became an obsession so strong that normal social conventions were beyond them.
“I’d love to see it later,” Alita said. “The emissary will be leaving shortly, and I’ll join you then.” Her intent was so strong that even Morica realized she was being dismissed. The woman went back the way she’d come.
“My apologies. Morica is a...baker and becomes rather...involved in her work. No doubt I’ll have to try one of her new concoctions,” Alita said with a smile, managing to convey embarrassment and resignation in a shrug. Gerrard could learn a thing or two from her, Zerafine thought fondly, and then became angry all over again at herself.
“Is she a good cook?” she asked.
“Oh, very. She’s just an experimenter, and not all of her experiments go well. May I see you out?”
It was a clear dismissal. Zerafine didn’t fight her. She’d learned...well, she wasn’t sure what she’d learned yet. But she’d pushed her luck as far as it would go.
The journey home proceeded in silence. Zerafine was dying to talk to Gerrard about what he’d seen. Before, she’d have kept quiet for reasons of secrecy. Now, she just didn’t know what to say to him. They didn’t have to talk
about what had come between them. She could be professional. So could he.
But the minute they stepped inside their house, Gerrard said, “I need pen and paper.” No awkwardness. No standing around waiting for the other to speak first. She got him writing supplies and watched him spread them out on the table. Quickly, and to her eye accurately, he sketched out the Talarannos estate. “Does this look right to you?” he asked, and she nodded. He then began cross-hatching the map, covering huge sections with black lines, until he seemed satisfied. “The blacked-out sections are the places Alita wouldn’t let us go,” he said.
Zerafine stared. “It’s a pattern,” she said. With only a few exceptions, the black sections defined a circle centered on a part of the main house. “What’s this room?”
“That’s the salon we ended up in.”
“Then the center of the pattern is the room Morica Akennos came out of.”
They looked at each other, grievances for the moment forgotten. “I very much doubt that’s a kitchen,” Gerrard said.
“But what is it?”
Gerrard tapped the paper. “The reason there are no apparitions on the estate?”
“No,” Zerafine said. “Look. It’s simply not possible that Talarannos has been spared. Alita has to be concealing the apparitions. All these blacked-out areas, those have got to be where they keep showing up. That’s why she wouldn’t let us see them. And Morica was working on something that made Alita very nervous when she thought I might learn what it was—something that happens to be at the center of that pattern. Something is going on there.”
“That’s a big leap. You’re going to have to walk me through it. I’m just a big dumb ox.”
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