“You are not,” she began, putting her hand on his arm, then snatched it away as if the touch burned. They looked at each other, then Gerrard said “I’m sorry” just as Zerafine said “I didn’t mean—”
“I was angry, I said things I didn’t mean, please forgive me,” Gerrard said.
“No, I was rude and insensitive, I’m so sorry,” Zerafine said.
They both fell silent again. It felt like an apology, and yet not. Zerafine was still going to the dinner. She knew he wouldn’t stop thinking she was wrong. But it was enough to break through the wall between them, at least some of the way.
“You are not a big dumb ox. I know it’s a leap, but it feels right. It makes all the pieces make sense.” She began ticking things off on her fingers. “Something happens, or somebody does something, on the Talarannos estate to cause the apparitions. I’m certain of that one. It fits with the timing and with Alita closing her estate off. Speaking of which, what did you notice about the servants?”
“That there weren’t any. I mean, any visible. I saw a lot of movement behind windows; we were being watched.”
“So Alita’s people are all in on it, or at least bound to silence.”
“Loyalty or fear,” Gerrard said. “Either works well for keeping a secret.”
“True. Where was I?” She looked at her index finger. “Right. Talarannos causes the apparitions. Two,” her middle finger, “the apparitions spread through the city. Want to bet if we mapped everything out, we’d see the same ripple effect?”
“Please don’t tell me we’re going to do that.”
“Don’t have to. I’d still bet on it. Three,” ring finger, “Genedirou figures out a way to get rid of the apparitions. The people on the hills, not willing to sacrifice their comfort, have him do so. But Genedirou is a show-off and his banishments draw attention. Alita has to come up with a story that includes detesting Genedirou—”
“That part I’m sure is real.”
“Agreed. She comes up with a story that keeps him away either because she doesn’t want anyone to figure out that Talarannos is the source of the apparitions, or to hide whatever Morica’s doing that’s probably also related to the apparitions.”
Gerrard rubbed his beard again. “But if it all started with Talarannos, how do you explain the unnatural coincidence that all five of the ruling families are overrun with apparitions? Assuming Gordou follows the pattern.”
Zerafine opened her mouth, then closed it again. “That I don’t know. We know all the apparitions are connected, so could Alita have set off a chain reaction? Remember, we also had four spots in the lower city that were similarly overrun, so it’s not just the estates. But then what do all nine places have in common that they’d be the ones affected? And it still doesn’t answer the question of what event, what action, would be able to disrupt the city’s spirit on this level. The only thing we can be sure of is that Castinidou and the heads of Vidannos and Akennos don’t have any idea what’s going on, because if they knew what Alita knows, they’d have been keeping the same secret.”
Gerrard nodded. “So where does this leave us?”
“Stuck, again, unless we can get back into Talarannos and poke around the off-limits areas, or that secret room.” Zerafine sighed. “Or we could approach Castinidou and see if there’s a pattern to the apparitions at his place.” Her stomach rumbled. “I’m ready for a meal,” she said.
“You just ate an hour ago,” Gerrard objected.
“A few nibbles, maybe. Barely enough to sustain me. You, you’d starve on a diet like that.” Zerafine took a deep breath. “And after that, I want to go shopping.”
“For what?”
Zerafine paused before answering. “A new dress,” she said.
Gerrard seemed to turn to stone. She could see him turning over objections in his head. “All right,” he finally said, but the quality of his silence after that defied her to speak to him further.
Chapter Seventeen
With Nacalia an enthusiastic helper and Gerrard a stone statue in the corner, Zerafine chose a black knee-length tunic over black pants: classic, but beautiful. Zerafine admired herself in the shop mirror while wondering what her motivations were. If Dakariou showed interest in more than just conversation, would she take him up on it? It had been a very long time since she’d slept with anyone. Despite what she’d said to Gerrard, she was aware that she didn’t know Dakariou very well, and that kind of intimacy was, well, intimate. But he was handsome, and he made her feel desirable in a way it turned out she’d missed. But—her thoughts went around and around in this vein all the way home.
That evening, she dressed, put her hair up, and almost as an afterthought put on her gold earrings, giving her head a little toss so they’d jingle. Gerrard was in the sitting room, reading a scroll. “I thought you didn’t like to read,” she said.
He rustled the scroll at her. “Laxtian,” he said. “Epic Kionnaran poetry. There’s a stall around the corner—I should say, now there’s a stall around the corner, Nacalia says it wasn’t there two days ago—that sells books from all over the known world. I haven’t read this since I was a boy—figured I’d see how well it holds up.”
They watched one another in silence, Zerafine uncomfortable, Gerrard uncommunicative. “Nacalia hired the chair,” Zerafine said. “I’ll be back later.”
Gerrard’s jaw was set in that hard line, but he shrugged. “If you have to do this, at least stay inside the chair. Don’t let anyone see you. Even without the robe, you could be recognized.”
“Gerrard, this doesn’t—it’s not like I’m leaving you,” Zerafine began, but he gave her a puzzled look. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” he said.
“Good, because—good,” she said. “Please don’t worry about me.”
“Worrying about you is my privilege,” he said, and went back to his scroll.
She left the house to find Nacalia waiting in the courtyard. “Are you coming back?” she asked in a small voice.
“Of course I’m coming back!” Zerafine exclaimed. “You keep Gerrard company and I’ll see you soon.” It’s just dinner, she thought; why is everyone overreacting? But even she knew it was about more than dinner.
Dakariou’s home was in one of the nicer neighborhoods at the base of Akennos hill; it was nicer even than Berenica’s compound. It was an older, two-story building with an atrium rather than a courtyard, and Dakariou met her there.
“You’re simply beautiful this evening,” Dakariou said. “It’s really a pity you have to wear the robes almost all the time. You deserve to be noticed for who you are.”
“A thelis of Atenas is who I am,” Zerafine told him, mock-seriously. “But I appreciate the compliment.” She accepted his offer of a seat next to the fountain. The atrium was designed to look like a natural forest glade, and the fountain was a waterfall that emerged from a false rock wall at one side of the room. The water rippled and bubbled over rocks carefully placed to produce a pleasing sound. The air was cool and smelled of fresh water and green things.
“I hope your visit to the Talarannos estate was everything you hoped for?” asked Dakariou. He sat close to her, intimate but not intrusive.
“It was, but I thought we weren’t going to talk politics tonight?” Zerafine teased him.
Dakariou laughed. “My pardon, madama. I’m afraid with me it’s a hard habit to break.”
“I’ve noticed that about you. How did you come to be such a political animal?”
“Well.” Dakariou sat a little more upright. “That’s a long story, but then I believe we have plenty of time.” His eyes captured hers in silent inquiry; she had no idea what he saw in hers. “I wasn’t from the wealthiest family, but my parents made every effort to see that my schooling was the very best. Even so, there’s always a divide between the haves and the have-lesses, and everyone knows where it is. Here, allow me.” A servant had entered the atrium bearing a tray with two tall glasses. Dakariou took both and offered one to
her; it was a delicate sparkling wine that tickled her nose. “I had two choices: I could fight a battle every day of my life, or I could keep my head down and be someone’s toady. I decided to take a third road. Information. Anything you wanted to know, any test you needed to pass, anyone you wanted to blackmail, I was the one to go to. And since that meant that I had everything I needed to blackmail others, I was given a certain amount of respect. I parlayed that into an entrée into politics via the son of someone who, while not on the Council, was close to those who were. And then I made myself indispensable again. Ten years later, and here I am as Castinidou’s left hand, the one the right hand doesn’t know about.”
“That sounds very...cynical.”
“Politics is cynical. They called me the Weasel, back at school.” Zerafine choked on her wine. “Are you all right?”
“Just swallowed the wrong way, that’s all.” Gerrard would love hearing that. Assuming he was ever willing to speak to her again.
“Anyway, that’s my sad story. Politician born and bred.” Dakariou looked up as the servant approached again. “Shall we go in to dinner?”
Over the first course, snails in butter and roasted asparagus, Dakariou said, “And you, madama? How did you come to such an, may I say, unlikely career?”
“I believe we know each other well enough that you can dispense with the ‘madama,’ Dakariou.”
“Very well. Zerafine.” His voice caressed her name and she felt a blush beginning. Perhaps his intentions were a little more obvious than she’d believed. “How does one become a thelis of Atenas?”
“The first requirement is to be born on the god’s day. The last day of the year.” She patted butter from her lips. She’d never had snails before and found that she liked them.
“So everyone born on that day is destined to become theloi?”
“No, but no one not born on that day can do so. Though many of those who don’t choose ordination still become lay acolytes, or serve in the holy city. It’s considered an unlucky birth date, so one might as well embrace it.”
“And you, specifically?”
“I can’t remember ever wanting to do anything else.” A different servant cleared her empty plate and brought pork medallions in a dark wine sauce. A third servant topped off her wine glass. “I saw the theloi in their red robes, coming through town, and I said—that’s what I want. So when I was twelve I left my family behind in Dardagne, my parents and my brother and sister, and went to the holy city of Atenar for training.”
“I can’t imagine knowing my path so certainly. When I was a boy I wanted to be a wrestler.” He laughed, and Zerafine joined him. “But I changed my mind after starting school.”
“We go to school as well, in Atenar,” Zerafine said. “Reading, composition, mathematics, natural philosophy. And consolation.”
“I’ve never understood why they call it that.”
Zerafine organized her thoughts. “Ghosts seem frightening because they’re so violent, so unpredictable,” she said. “But they’re just terrified, angry, lonely creatures that are fragments of who they were in life. We show them who they used to be and tell them that it’s all right to be afraid, but that they can leave it behind. It’s like comforting a child, often.”
Dakariou shuddered. “You are far, far braver than I.”
Zerafine smiled. “I’m not brave. I’m just not afraid. You can’t fear, in front of them, or you lose control. Theloi have died from fear.”
“I still honor you for it.” He saluted her with his glass, and she returned the salute. Again, while his face was merry, even mocking, his eyes were disturbingly serious.
After dinner, they took their glasses into the sitting room. Dakariou either had excellent taste or a very good interior decorator. The room was comfortable, not very large, but managed to seem cozy rather than cramped. Zerafine waved away the offer of more wine. She felt she would need all her faculties to keep up with her host.
“Tell me what it’s like, traveling all the time,” Dakariou asked. He sat on a couch perpendicular to hers, again close enough to be intimate without making her feel uncomfortable. “I’ve never been out of Portena.”
“It’s not very exciting. You sleep in a lot of bad roadside inns and eat local cuisine, which usually translates to ‘food you wouldn’t eat unless you were desperate.’” Zerafine smiled. Did snails qualify? “On the other hand, you meet a lot of different people and see a lot of different cities. We go back to Atenar around once or twice a year, usually for High Holy Week—what you’d call the Last of the Old Year—and it’s good to see friends again. You know, the kind of friends you like, but not well enough to spend a lot of time with.”
Dakariou grinned at that. “I can think of some people I know who’d fit that category.” He set his glass down on the floor. “And that sentare of yours, you’ve been partners how long?”
“Six years,” Zerafine said. She felt uncomfortable discussing Gerrard with this man. “You can request a certain partner, or they pair you up and see how it goes—I had a couple of other partners for a month or two before I met Gerrard.”
“He’s with you all the time, I’ve noticed.” Dakariou was disturbingly, heartpoundingly close.
“That’s his job.” Was he moving closer?
“I’m glad he’s not here tonight,” he whispered, and kissed her.
Reflexively, she kissed him back. His lips were warm and soft and oh, so experienced. She kissed him again, but something was wrong. Something—
Oh no.
Sweet goddess of light. I’m in love with Gerrard.
I am the stupidest person ever to walk the known earth.
She’d stiffened after the second kiss, and Dakariou pulled away and searched her face. “I’ve made a mistake,” he said, a questioning note in his voice.
“No, I have,” she said. “Dakariou, I am so sorry. I’ve led you on.”
He pulled back a little, puzzled. “Zerafine, I don’t want anything from you. I find you beautiful and desirable and I’d like to share your bed for a night or, if you’re willing, more. But I know you’ll be moving on eventually, and I don’t expect this to go any further than that. I hope I didn’t make you feel otherwise.”
She shook her head ruefully, laughing even as her world rearranged herself so fast it was dizzying. “That’s what I thought, too,” she told him. “But it wouldn’t be fair to either of us for me to sleep with you when I’m in love with someone else.”
Dakariou looked at her for a moment, puzzled, then threw back his head and laughed. “It’s that ox of a sentare of yours, isn’t it?” he said. “I should have known better than to bring him up. The more fool me.”
“Dakariou, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I swear to you, I only just realized—”
“Don’t apologize. I’m not going to tell you I’m not disappointed. But I should have realized the two of you were too close, in love or no, for me to fit myself into a space between.” He laughed again, this time at himself. “You won’t despise me for wishing things were otherwise?”
“Of course not,” Zerafine said. “I just wish I’d realized sooner.”
“Don’t hate me for wishing you hadn’t realized at all.” He took her hand and kissed it. “What are you going to do?”
Zerafine closed her eyes. “Nothing,” she said. “He doesn’t feel the same. If I told him, it would embarrass him so much, and how could we work together with that hanging over our heads?” She looked at Dakariou. “I don’t know,” she said.
“You could give him a little credit for being able to handle the blow,” he said.
Zerafine shook her head. “You know how I said I was fearless? That’s only with ghosts. I am a coward when it comes to my own life.”
Dakariou stood, went to the dining room door, and spoke to a servant there. When he returned, he said, “I’ve asked them to summon a chair for you. This is just a guess, but I think you won’t be staying the night.”
“Dakariou, you ar
e a wonderful man.”
“Don’t give me too much credit. I’ll be crying in my cups come morning.” But there was a twinkle in his eye that Zerafine was certain meant he wasn’t taking his rejection too hard. She felt a moment’s relief that was soon supplanted by a giant, looming dread of facing Gerrard again.
They chatted pleasantly on neutral topics until the chair came. To Zerafine, it seemed to take forever. When it finally arrived, and Dakariou had helped her into it, he said, “Can I see you tomorrow? Politically, not personally, I mean. I do want to hear what happened today at Alita’s.”
“Come by in the morning.”
“I will.” He kissed her hand again. “And, Zerafine? Don’t let fear rule you.” He smiled at her and closed the curtains around her. There was a jolt, and the bearers started down the long road back to home. And Gerrard.
Chapter Eighteen
Alone at last, Zerafine’s thoughts and emotions crowded in until there was barely room left in the chair for her. In love with Gerrard. Her sentare. Her best friend. In hindsight, it was obvious—the way she felt safe with him, the long conversations that ended with both of them in tears from laughter, how they’d been able to spend six years together without getting sick of one another. Even now, even when they were fighting, he was still the person she wanted to see first in the morning and the last person she said good night to. Worrying about him leaving her—that wasn’t fear, it was jealousy. And now that she allowed herself to, she thought of his height and the breadth of his shoulders and the way he shrugged and his wry smile, and realized how much she desired him, too.
Dakariou was both right and wrong. Gerrard had never looked at her as anything other than a companion, and her telling him that she felt otherwise wasn’t going to change that. But she couldn’t just keep silent and pretend nothing had changed. He knew her too well for that. She could either tell him, or let him find out himself, and the latter option was just cowardly.
The jolt of the chair being set down startled her. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that the trip had seemed to take no time at all. She swung her legs around to get out, and was startled to see long arms reach through the curtains and grab her roughly by the wrists. Hard hands yanked her out of the chair and threw her to the rough ground.
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