by Sam Hawke
* * *
“Please take a break, Credola,” the fletcher told my sister when I stuck my head in the door. Kalina looked up from her perch, balanced on the end of a stone bench with a bucket of feathers, down stuck to her hair like a little wonky crown. I smiled at the sight.
She unwound herself and left her half-sorted work with the fletcher and came with me out into the open. “Did you hear about the riot?”
“I heard it,” she said. “Budua was here and she shut the doors and told everyone to stay put. It was frustrating not knowing what was happening but it was probably for the best.”
With the city as tense as a badly strung instrument, allowing onlookers to gawk at a riot would only encourage the violence to spread. “We’re still trying to sort out how it started, but we think some Credolen went into the protected area and started causing trouble. They’re claiming the Darfri cast curses on them and made water spirits rise from the canals to drown their children. Or some such nonsense.” I couldn’t be sure the idea of water spirits was entirely nonsense, not after some of the strangeness witnessed recently, but I was confident there weren’t people conjuring up attacks on children out of spite.
We’d contained this one to a few dozen people, fortunately, thanks to Ectar and Javesto’s quick actions. Ectar was living in the protected sector with the Darfri and foreigners, including Talafan, Doranites, and wetlanders, and had become something of a guard and community leader there. Javesto, too, was proving helpful dealing with the segregated section. Tain’s support of the city Darfri had made a useful ally of him, and we hoped having some openly sympathetic Councilors, one of them the Chancellor, would discourage violence and reassure the people in the sector. They needed to know we were going to change if we got through this. If we couldn’t convince a captive audience under our protection, how could we expect to convince a hostile force who had already been betrayed before?
“What did you need me for?” Kalina asked, once she’d listened to my recounting of the scuffle (some bruises and scrapes, some minor damage to a few buildings, and twenty-eight people feeling sorry for themselves in the jail cells; all in all, much better than it could have been).
“Tain, actually,” I said.
“Has he rethought my idea about the river?” Her pace increased a fraction as she started, with enthusiasm, “If they went at night, they could make it. The rebels have people watching from the wall on the west side, but there’s no lights on the water itself—”
“No,” I stopped her. “You know he won’t send anyone, not after what happened last time.” She deflated, and I hastened on. “He’s planning what to say if he can somehow force the people across the lake to listen. He’s going to have another go with the speaking trumpet—now that they’re closer it’ll be harder for them to ignore him. Only, speech writing isn’t his strength.”
A faint smile passed over her face. “He wants me to write it?”
“Well, to help.” Tain could be a persuasive speaker, but something this important couldn’t be left to instinct. Planned words were never something he’d enjoyed. My sister, on the other hand, had excelled at written argument at school and in her work.
“Of course I’ll help,” she said. “I’ve been jotting down ideas for days, actually. We’re not going to fix what’s happened with a few pretty words, but we need to say enough to convince them that we will listen. That has to be a start, at least.”
“Do you think you could work with Salvea and Hadrea? I’m hoping they’ll have some ideas about ways we could convey trustworthiness, especially to the Darfri. Some gesture that shows we will respect their beliefs.”
Her brown eyes widened at my slipup. “Hadrea?” she asked, mildly.
I tried to keep my face smooth and my voice relaxed. “Yes, apparently I’m no longer so repellent.”
She smiled, the first real smile I’d seen on her in weeks. “Oh, quite,” she said. She didn’t add anything, but I knew immediately it wasn’t going to be possible to keep my relationship, whatever it was, with Hadrea secret from my sister.
As though I’d conjured her with my thoughts, Hadrea slipped out from between two fair lady bushes in front of us. I blinked at the sight of her. Instead of the increasingly raggedy layered skirts and embroidered blouse she had always worn, Hadrea was dressed in Silastian style, in sandals and a one-shouldered white dress gathered with red cording. Only the bright scarf over her hair remained. Arms folded across her ribs, she regarded us with a mix of embarrassment and defiant bravado as we both stared.
“I tried to find catacombs on this side of the lake,” she said, chin high, her gaze fixed somewhere between us. “I slipped. I had no other clothes, so Argo’s sister lent me this thing.”
“You look lovely, An-Hadrea,” Kalina said, studiously not looking at me. “I know it must feel odd, but I’m sure we can get your clothes clean quickly if you’d like.”
I stole a glance at the brush of her warm brown hair over the line of her bare shoulder, and suppressed an urge to correct my sister to say there was no spare water for washing clothes.
Hadrea smiled at Kalina, her gaze avoiding me with precision. “Thank you. You may call me Hadrea, if you would like,” she added, glancing at me for the smallest moment.
Kalina, to her credit, carried on as if oblivious. “I’d be honored.”
“I’ll take you both to Tain,” I said, trying to sound casual.
I listened to them talk as we walked, surprised by the ease with which Hadrea drew my shy sister into conversation and made her laugh. Hadrea pointed to buildings and gardens and even little statues set in walls, peppering Kalina with questions and commentary about the city.
“Why do you wear so little color?” Hadrea asked. “It is all white, white, like you do not know any others.”
Kalina smoothed down her own dress. “I don’t know. All the nicest fabrics are white. I suppose it shows off the other things—your cording, or jewelry. Like colored mosaic tiles on a white building.”
Hadrea plucked at the red cording over her bust. “It is like being a giant parcel, wrapped with string.”
Kalina smiled. “Do you get hot in all your layers?” she asked. “The embroidery is beautiful but your skirts look so heavy.”
“No, it is not hot. The wind, out on the lands, it keeps things cool.” She laughed. “It would be too cool to wear your little dresses and tunics. The men would not enjoy the Maiso without pants.”
As Kalina joined in the laughter, Hadrea pulled the scarf from her hair and ran her fingers over the embroidery. “Our mothers teach us needlework early.” She smiled. “We practice on our ordinary clothes and scarves to perfect our skills—this is not the best I could manage. I could show you my festival clothes, back home!” She passed the scarf to Kalina, who smoothed the bright threads between her hands. “You can have that, if you like it.”
We reached the Manor, and as I opened the door for them, both gave me a half-startled look, as though they’d completely forgotten my presence. Flattering. Evidently Hadrea wasn’t wasting as much of her thoughts on me as I was on her. I’d been captivated by but unable to participate in their conversation about clothing and public bathing and tile glazing, chiefly because everything that came out in her slow, lilting voice seemed to mesmerize me.
We had barely stepped inside when Tain met us, alone.
“Jov,” he said faintly. My breath suddenly thunderous in my ears, I crossed the room, taking in all the signs parading in front of me like a list. Slick skin, when the temperature within the Manor was mild and pleasant. Voice strained, weak. Hands pressed under armpits.
“I thought it was just exhaustion,” he mumbled as I looked him over, numb. “But I’m sorry, Jov, I don’t think it’s that.”
No. My ears hurt, like my brain was swelling inside my skull. Can’t be happening. Not now, not after everything. Kalina gave a strangled cry. When my voice came out, it sounded so cold, so dispassionate, I almost couldn’t believe it was mine.
/> “When did you start feeling unwell?”
“I’ll send for the physics,” Argo said, voice trembling.
“No,” I snapped, startling the old man. Even Tain looked shocked at my tone.
“If the Chancellor is sick…” Hadrea began.
“No,” I repeated, trying to soften my words. “They don’t know how to help,” I said, part explanation, part plea, meeting Tain’s eyes. “They couldn’t help Etan or Caslav. They can’t help you, if that’s what this is.”
He looked at me, confusion and fear stripping years from his face. Kalina grabbed my arm. “Jov, we have to try.”
Tain shook his head. “He’s right, Lini,” he said. “Argo, An-Hadrea. Please don’t.”
The elderly doorkeep froze by the edge of his desk, staring, as if searching for some sign I was coercing Tain.
“We can’t tell them,” Tain said. He sounded strong, like a leader. Perhaps only I knew him well enough to detect the hint of desperation in his eyes. “We can’t tell them, because if we’ve lost a single leader’s voice, we’ve lost this war. And once they know I’ve been…” He stumbled for words, then shook his head again. “We can’t tell anyone yet.”
“Argo, no one is to come in the Manor. No one. Tell anyone who comes that the Chancellor and I are out inspecting the north wall.” Kalina let go of my arm; her fingers left marks on my skin. “Lini, you and Hadrea take Tain to his rooms. I have to go check something. I’ll be with you soon.” I squeezed Tain’s shoulder and tried to sound comforting instead of stiff.
I left them there and ran.
The Council chambers seemed eerie and cold, even with the sun pouring in through the dome and spilling over the table, where the little model walls and bridges sat abandoned and pitiful. Where the fat pot of dried fruit had sat, there remained only the faintest sticky circle. And where Tain had left the partial fig by his papers, nothing. I used a paper to take a sample of the sticky residue and checked under the table and chairs, inside the model, all over the room, conscious of the futility of it. Frustration tasted bitter as bile in my throat. I knew now, as close to certain as could be, that the poison had been on Tain’s fig. And I had lost the chance to study a trace of that poison to develop an antidote. I thought I might choke on my own anger.
Without even realizing I’d begun, I found myself halfway around a loop of the table, pacing anxious rounds under the sullen and watchful eyes of the Councilors in the paintings above each chair. Unable to look at Pedrag, or Etan or Caslav, I circled, feeling the painted eyes of our diminished Council above me, judging. I tried to shut down the doomsaying part of my brain. You’ve failed. It’s all over, it told me, and despite my best efforts it showed me Tain’s death, how he would look as he got sicker and sicker.
Anxiety rose within me, a choking intruder in my chest, making my ears ring and my lungs and throat contract. In sudden need of air, I stumbled out of the Council chamber and took two steps toward the exit before realizing the stupidity of leaving the Manor and risking observation. Backtracking, I hurried to the glass-walled garden where Kalina had found the dead leksot what felt like years ago. I knelt on the grass there, sucking in breaths of earthy cool air, my quivering hands pressed into the soft layer of decomposing leaves.
As I breathed, the panic subsided. Between my toes, I felt the prickly edge of a feverhead springing from the grass. Left unchecked for weeks without a gardener, the toxic weed had probably spread throughout the entire garden. Even though it was pointless, I tugged at the base until the bulbous roots came out. I pulled out another weed, and another, and scraped the just-rotten leaves from around me, gathering the cold, dead remnants into a moist pile. The repetitive, soothing actions gave me slow comfort.
Eventually, I stretched out, joints cracking. The cool water in the pond stung the raw scrapes on my skin as I cleaned the dirt and sticky plant residue from my hands and fingernails. I felt calm now, dispassionate. I’d learned distrust and calculation at the feet of my Tashi, learned to analyze and to act without emotion. It was that Jovan who left the garden. I had, at best, one night to find an antidote to the poison, or Tain would die. There was no Heir. Our Council was corrupt and dangerous, and our city was on the brink of falling. If I couldn’t save Tain, it spelled the end for Silasta.
Gardening had given me time to breathe. We’d not found a cure last time even with my uncle’s brilliant mind and a dozen physics working alongside me, but a more stubborn, visceral part of me still searched for a solution. With Etan and Caslav we had tried all of the standard antidotes, and that had taken time. Now I knew what wouldn’t work. Where not to focus my attention. And perhaps that—coupled with even greater desperation—gave me a new advantage.
The front section of Tain’s rooms was empty but voices came from his bedroom, and Kalina came out of the doorway, her face streaked and blotchy. She threw herself at me, body quivering with sobs, and I held her for a moment, trying to think of comforting words. Of course, there were none. My tongue felt like a dry block of cheese as I patted her shoulders awkwardly.
“It’s like with Etan,” she mumbled into my chest. “He’s being brave, Jov, but it’s just the same.”
I took her hand and led her back into Tain’s room.
He sat up in bed, and for a moment another image transposed itself: my uncle, looking at me from his bed with much the same pallor and demeanor. A wan smile with swollen lips, skin slick with sweat. “Is there any point in me being in bed?”
I took his pulse. “You’ll be exhausted soon enough.” For the first time I noticed Hadrea in the corner. His pulse, given Tain knew what was coming, was faster than a normal resting rate, but, unlike Etan, his own nerves might be speeding his heart. I glanced at her and a stab of worry pierced my calm. Now she’d see me in the same way everyone did, eventually. Bound by my compulsions, unable to react like a normal person. Cold. I realized then the depths of my longing for her to see me differently.
But there was no time for that worry. I counted backward in my head. Tain had eaten the fig reasonably early this morning. It was late afternoon now. His symptoms had progressed at roughly half the pace that Etan’s had. Maybe less. Did that mean he had ingested less poison than his uncle, or simply had better resistance to it? Caslav had sickened slower than Etan, also, despite likely having a greater dose.
“How many figs did you eat? Was it just the one?”
His jaw tightened with guilt. “Not even a whole one.”
Almost certainly a smaller dose than Caslav, then. I tried to suppress the flare of optimism—if we have more time, if the dose was less, perhaps it won’t be lethal—no point relying on that.
“Are you sure it was the fig?” Tain asked. “You ate one, too, remember. And Eliska. And Marco.” I heard the plea in his words. How much we both wished he had not chosen this morning to rebel against our traditional roles.
I nodded. “I made your broth after the riot. Unless you ate something else today, it was the fig. And the jar is gone from the Council room.” I hadn’t been poisoned, but had chosen a fig at random from the jar. How had the poisoner known which one Tain would take? I looked up at my sister. “Kalina, can you find Eliska and Marco? Don’t warn them, just let me know if either looks ill. We all ate from that jar.” If our enemy had poisoned a selection of the fruit, chances were Tain wouldn’t have been the only one to take a poisoned fig. If somehow they had been able to poison the actual fruit Tain had taken, then only those two people had been in the room with him at the time. Though a chill spread through me at the thought, I set it aside. Finding the poisoner had ceased to be my first priority. Now that the worst had happened, saving Tain’s life was what mattered.
We needed to find something to counteract whatever was in his system. Last time we had gone through every book, every page of Etan’s notes on remedies, and had come up empty. But there was one area my training had neglected, and my ignorance on the subject had already had consequences. I glanced over at Hadrea. “I need you to do some
thing for me, too,” I said. “I need you to find me a Doranite man called Batbayer.”
Salgar (red death)
DESCRIPTION: Naturally occurring mineral, reddish, soft and crumbly; often coexists with gold, orote, and opal. Often used in dye-making, cosmetics, illustrations, and other artworks.
SYMPTOMS: Tightness in the throat, vomiting of a brown mucous character mixed with blood, fainting, excessive thirst, abdominal pain, shivering, stools dark and offensive, pulse weak and rapid, great nervous prostration, and delirium.
PROOFING CUES: Strong metallic taste difficult to disguise in food, sharp smell.
18
Kalina
I lit the last of the wall lamps and returned to my seat by the bed. On Jov’s request I had observed that Marco and Eliska both remained in apparent good health; it hurt knowing one of those most trusted Councilors was likely the poisoner. Hadrea had left in search of the drug seller Batbayer, who, she guessed, might be hiding in the protected quarter, while my brother intended to pressure Baina and all of his other contacts. His desperate, unrealistic hope was that something used in the production of new recreational drugs, ones he had not heard of, would be the source of the poison. As I rested my head against the back of the chair, watching Tain through half-lidded eyes sore from tears, no part of me felt Jovan’s optimism.
At first Tain and I had pretended together. He’d made jokes. I’d read from my notes about the Darfri, as if he might still have a chance to deliver the speech I’d planned. But brave as he might be, Tain couldn’t stop the fear showing through in the end. Eventually, instead of jokes he spoke of his frustrations, the things he felt now he would never do. I had listened and held his hand, as he admitted his stupidity and rashness in taking food against Jovan’s wishes. How he had been wrong in whom he trusted. How he wished he had done so many things differently: respected his responsibilities as my family had, learned sooner about the city and the estates and especially the Darfri. Listened to his uncle.