Heart of Gold

by Sharon Shinn

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Kit had never tried to teach anyone anything before, not language, not math, not manners. She couldn’t tell if Nolan was a quick study or not. He seemed to be. He seemed genuinely interested in learning. He listened closely to her syllables and her inflections, then parroted back whatever she said.

  “I am,” she taught him. “He is. We are.”

  “I am. He is. We are,” Nolan said gravely.

  Her brain wildly completed the sentences, in both of the languages she knew. I am completely intrigued by him. He is like no blueskin I have ever met. We are strangers, and yet, and yet …

  Why had he come here, burdened with a murderous knowledge, risking his own safety to tell an unfriendly stranger the most explosive secret? She could not imagine Jex doing the same for Ariana Bayless, had the situation been reversed. No, Jex would have been more likely to commission the virus that would destroy the blueskins; he surely would not have tried to save them.

  But that was a terrible thing to believe about the man she loved. Jex would never conceive of such an awful thing.

  But he had been involved in plans that caused the deaths of any number of blueskins. What was the difference here, except in scale?

  A huge difference, of course.

  Enough of a difference—?

  “I see,” she said to Nolan in goldtongue. “You see. He sees. We see.”

  She saw, but she tried not to see. She had been shocked, upon first returning to the city, to learn that Jex had set a bomb in the medical building. “No one was hurt,” he had said impatiently, when she tried to question him, but she could not see that that made a great deal of difference. Someone could have been hurt. Even if he had scouted his location thoroughly (which she knew he had not; Jex could be unbelievably careless)—even if he knew that on most days the building emptied out by nightfall, this one evening could have been different. This one night, someone could have worked late, stayed in his office to write a letter, had a fight with his wife so he did not bother to go home … and that one person could have died in the colorful blast that brought down the whole pile of stone and mortar. It was luck that no one was killed in that first explosion, not intent; and if you could not trust a man’s intent, what could you trust?

  “I know. You know. He knows. We know.”

  Jex was not a good man. She had not judged him by such criteria before; it hadn’t occurred to her. He was brilliant, gifted, charismatic, a man of light and motion. He had allowed her inside his vortex, and she was shocked into new life. She had not questioned his goals and desires. She had even believed in them. But she had not realized he would kill to achieve his ambitions, and once she had realized it, she had continued to love him. What did that say about her? What did she know about her own heart that she was afraid to examine?

  “I want. He wants. You want. We want.”

  He was Jex. She loved him. She desired him with a physical addiction that went beyond thinking, beyond volition. She could not change him. Was she allowed to judge him? If she judged him, and he failed her criteria, must she leave him?

  Of course she could judge him. Of course he had failed. Of course she must leave him.

  “I think. I thought. I have been thinking.”

  She could think of a dozen guldmen who would have done what Jex had done, if they had had the nerve and the skills. More—she could think of twenty, of fifty. But she knew other guldmen who would never condone the terrorist acts Jex had engineered. Jex was a product not only of a violent society, but a reckless personality. He had learned courage and discipline from Chay, but he had also been much indulged; he knew that anything he wanted, he would eventually be able to get. He had not been above much scheming, as a child, to get his way. He was still scheming, but the stakes were so much higher.

  She could not forgive him just because she loved him. She could not forgive him just because she understood him. She could not forgive him just because he was a guldman, and his race had been abused by the indigo, and he had some reason for his anger and his attitudes. There was still no justification for his actions.

  “I hope. I hoped. I have been hoping.”

  But was he any worse than the indigo, when it came to that? What had Ariana Bayless done—conspired to destroy the entire gulden race? Jex’s random slayings seemed insignificant in comparison. Could Kit, after all, judge Jex and abandon him when there was so much greater evil in the world—and in power?

  But how many blueskins would condone Ariana Bayless’s actions? Not Sereva or Granmama, certainly. They would rise up in horror and denounce her, they and all the Higher Hundred. They had no love for the gulden, but they would never endure such inhumanity. For so long, Kit had been used to thinking of the blueskins as violent and the gulden as victimized, but she could see now that it was not always so. The races each had their own crimes and their own criminals, but it was not their skin that made them behave so. It was the individual brain that made the individual choice; it was the heart that outlined its own dictates. She could not just embrace the one race and reject the other. It was going to be more difficult than that.

  “I fall. I fell. I am falling. I have fallen.”

  And then to judge a man on his own merits, you must consider everything about him. What he believed, what he was taught to believe, and whether he examined those teachings with the cold searchlight of adult reason. How he behaved when it was easy, how he behaved when it was hard. When he was cruel. When he was thoughtful. Whom he valued more than himself.

  She could not even catalog all the criteria. She had not even realized how many items were on the list, that she herself had put there, when she was not aware of it. But she knew that the man before her would meet all her requirements, would embody them, would be her standard for the next time she would love.

  Because she didn’t count this time. He had risked his life to save the gulden, but he had made it clear he had a distaste for the race. He could be kind to them, but he could not love them. And she had been brought up in their houses, consorting with their sons. That was not something he would be able to overlook. She would not expect him to. But he had taught her that the ideal man existed, and she had not even known she had been searching.

  “I understand. I understood.”

  Oh, if only it were true.

  * * *

  * * *

  A guard came for her in the afternoon. She had not allowed herself to hope for this favor, but of course it had crossed her mind that Chay might send for her. She had chosen, from the pile of clothing he had provided, the prettiest blouse and the most flattering skirt. She had taken some care with her hair, brushed color on her eyelids. Just in case.

  Nolan had come to his feet when the guard entered, and he watched her with shadowed eyes. “Will he send you back here, do you think?” he asked, and she had no way of knowing if that was something the blueskin would welcome or despise.

  “I imagine so,” she said coolly. “He’s made it pretty clear that he is not treating me like a daughter this time. He may just want to question me further. This may not be a good sign at all.”

  “Well, I hope it means he has forgiven you,” he said.

  Not I hope it means he will listen to me. Not I hope it means I am safe. Just a hope that her own life would be eased. Did this man ever think of himself at all?

  “Anything you want me to tell him?” she asked casually.

  Nolan shrugged. “I have told him what I came here for. You could ask him if he has anything I could read to pass the time. Otherwise, I can’t think of anything.”

  Again, amazing. She shook her head slightly. “I’m sure I’ll be back later,” she said, and left.

  The guard did not hold her by the arm; that was promising. Kit followed him through the bright corridors, trying to compose her thoughts. This might mean a rapprochement. It might mean an interrogation. She had n
o choice. She would follow Chay’s lead.

  The guard took her to Chay’s hoechter, a sybaritically well-appointed room near the main living quarters. That was a positive sign, and an even better one was when he left her there unattended. A small table was set for a light afternoon snack, and there were only two places laid.

  Chay entered a few moments later. As always, she was momentarily overwhelmed by his bulk and radiance. He filled any room like a small sun that had tumbled in, throwing off heat and light. He was speaking to someone behind him, but no one followed him through the door, and when it shut behind him, they were alone together.

  “Kit,” he said, and crossed the room to hug her. She closed her eyes and leaned into that embrace. It was like falling into safe sleep, coming to rest after long and troubled passage. They had been at odds six months and more, and she had not been sure he would ever forgive her. She was not sure he had forgiven her now. She rested against him until his arms loosened, and then she pulled away.

  “Chay Zanlan,” she said formally, speaking in goldtongue. “How can I help you?”

  He gestured at the table. “Sit for a while and talk to me. I’m famished. I haven’t eaten since dawn. How about you? Have they been feeding you well?”

  “Very well, thank you. And thank you for the clothes.”

  “They look very nice on you.”

  She permitted herself a smile. “The lady Rell must have selected them for me.”

  He laughed out loud. “Well, she did. But I was busy. And has Nolan Adelpho seen fit to don gulden attire?”

  “Yes, and he seemed most grateful for the gift.”

  “An unusual man.”

  “Very.”

  She would not say more without a cue; she did not know why she was here. Chay had cut himself bread and meat and was eating heartily, but Kit had no appetite. She poured herself a little tea and sipped it.

  “It has been a long time since we have talked, you and I,” the guldman said presently, when the edge of his hunger had been blunted.

  “I saw you a few weeks ago, when you were in the city,” she reminded him.

  He waved a hand. “A few words exchanged in the street. Merely greetings. It is a long time since we have talked as friend to friend. And that last time, we were not pleased with each other.”

  “You were not pleased with me,” she said tranquilly. “I am always happy to be in your company.”

  He smiled slightly at the mannered compliment. “And yet I do not believe you followed the advice I gave you at the time,” he said. “Which was to avoid the company of my son.”

  “No,” she said. “I did not.”

  “I cannot change my mind on that, you know,” he said in a serious voice. “There is much I have been able to do that runs counter to traditional gulden thinking, but I could not countenance a marriage between my son and an indigo woman. It would not be acceptable to any of the clan leaders—and it is not acceptable to me.”

  Kit took a deep breath. “I do not desire to marry your son,” she said. “And I am willing to renounce all ties to him except those caused by the affection I feel for you.”

  Chay’s gray eyes narrowed; he watched her with a close attention. “Then I must suppose it is true,” he said quietly at last. “That my son was responsible for the explosions in the Centrifuge.”

  “As far as I know,” Kit said, “they have not yet determined the cause of those explosions.”

  “They have now,” Chay said. “Two bombs. A third one was supposed to go off but somehow it malfunctioned. They found the whole of it in the rubble.”

  “That is terrible news indeed,” she said. “But how can you think they will look to Jex? He is still in an indigo prison.”

  “Do not be coy with me, Kit,” he said, switching to the more forceful indigo language. “Jex has friends, and many of them are in the city. They all would carry out any request he cared to make. If he asked them to, they would destroy the world.”

  “He swore to me that he did not plan any bombing for that day. And Jex does not lie.”

  “But Jex knows how to carefully select his words. He is only as honest as it suits him to be.”

  “A fine opinion to have of your own son.”

  “I have loved him even longer than you have,” Chay said, and his voice sounded tired. “And I know him far better. Tell me truly, Kitrini Solvano. Do you believe he caused those bombs to be set that killed all those blueskins in the Centrifuge?”

  She was silent a long time. She had never heard Chay ask his wife’s opinion, or his daughters’; she had never heard any gulden man consult with a woman on any important topic. She was different—because of her blue face, because of her father, because Chay loved her—but she was still a woman. He must be powerfully uncertain and disturbed to ask her such a question, and to wait with such strained intensity for her reply.

  “I do believe it,” she said quietly. “And it has broken my heart.”

  Chay nodded slowly and turned his hands palm outward, as if absorbing the poison of her words through the porous membrane of his skin. She did not know how he would react to this lethal dosage, the second one he had been administered in a few weeks. She did not know which one might kill him the quickest.

  “Will they execute him, do you think?” he asked next.

  “It’s possible, though I think it’s more likely they will keep him imprisoned, as long as Ariana Bayless believes she can still use him to bargain with you.”

  Chay smiled thinly. “It is my guess,” he said coolly, “that she does not expect to have to bargain with me for very much longer.”

  Kit digested that a moment in silence. “So your physicians have completed their tests.”

  Chay nodded. “And I am well and truly infected with the virus.”

  She felt a stab of fear plunge from her stomach up through her throat. “Can it be treated? Arrested?”

  “They aren’t sure.”

  The air was unbreathable; the sunlight had failed. “You mean—they think you are—it’s possible you could be dying?”

  Chay nodded again. “They are experimenting with the prescriptions your friend brought. I am already on a regime of drugs. But we might not have caught the disease in time. It will be a week or more before we know.”

  “But Chay,” she said, and could not find any words to complete the sentence.

  He gave her a faint smile. “I know,” he said gently. “And there is worse news.”

  “How is that possible?” she breathed.

  “For Nolan Adelpho was right. The infection is highly contagious, and many of those I have spoken to in the past weeks have begun to develop its symptoms also.”

  Now her body was alive with panic; her veins jumped with adrenaline. “And those they have spoken to—and those—?”

  “Yes. It is a chain without an end, and its links spread in all directions. There is some hope that the drugs your friend brought us will arrest the disease in its early stages. We cannot know yet. And there is also a slim chance of good news.”

  “What news?” she whispered.

  “Among the papers he brought us was the formula for a vaccine. A preventative pill. My doctors are preparing quantities of that even now to duplicate and distribute throughout the nation. If we can inoculate everyone against this disease, we will have thwarted Ariana Bayless’s main ambition.”

  “But if you die,” she said, still in that whisper, “the world may as well come to an end.”

  “Not true,” he said briskly. “I can think of five men I would trust to take my place. I have no fears for Geldricht, but I have some concerns for my family. With me dead and Jex in prison, my nephew Girt would become head of the Zanlan clan, and he is not always the wise patriarch I would wish.”

  Kit thought of the family slaughtered in the Lost City a few weeks ago. “He is not a t
houghtful man,” she said. “And he is steeped in the oldest and most violent of Geldricht traditions.”

  “And he is even now in the city, doing the bidding of my son,” Chay added. “Which means his own life may be forfeit before long. In which case care for my family will fall into other hands.”

  He was so calm, as he had been yesterday when Nolan had told him the dread news. He had always been a man able to meet trouble with an unmoved demeanor, but Kit marveled at his control now. Catastrophes beset him from every side; it was hard to choose the most wretched circumstance.

  “What will you do?” she asked, because she could not help it, because she herself could see no way out of the mess. Any of the messes.

  “I will wait,” he said, “for the pronouncement of the doctors.”

  “And then? How will you confront Ariana Bayless, how will you revenge yourself upon her?”

  “The survival of the gulden nation would be revenge enough, I think,” he said. “But I will consider my other options.”

  She stared at him, struck by an unexpected insight. “You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you?” she asked. “About the virus. About its creation. You’re just going to say—you got sick in the city. You aren’t going to say how.”

  “To spread that information,” he said seriously, “would be to light a match to tinder that will burn to ashes. There would be no way I could stop the clans from arming and storming into the city for murder. There would be a civil war that would destroy all of us. Not a gulden man or woman would be left standing. I have spent my life avoiding that. I have yielded land that I could have defended. I have suffered insults that no one has overheard. I have preached concession when every man around me wanted aggression. And why? Because Geldricht would lose that battle. We have technology that the indigo do not have, and we could make bloody inroads on their people and their land. But they have the numbers, and they have the geography, and they have the land. They cannot be starved out—they cannot be attacked on any front but one, and that one can be guarded till the world ends—and there are twice as many of them as there are of us. Civil war would annihilate the Geldricht nation as surely as this disease could. And my entire goal, my entire life, has been the survival of the race.