Demir examined Capric’s tired, earnest expression for several moments to see the truth of things, then opened the door and vomited out his breakfast on the cobbles. He felt a gentle hand on his back while he spat out bile, then wiped his mouth on an offered handkerchief.
A million thoughts flashed through his mind: regrets, plans, recriminations. He might have seen his mother only a few times in the last decade, but she’d always been a reassuring candle burning in a distant window. Now that she’d been snuffed out he cursed himself for not visiting more – and for failing to live up to her expectations for a child prodigy. He searched his pockets for skyglass before remembering that he didn’t have any left. When he next looked up, Capric was holding out a light blue piece for him.
Demir took it gratefully and threaded the hooked end through one of his piercings. His racing heart and mind immediately began to slow, giving him time to take a deep breath and compose himself.
“What happened?” he asked.
“It’s unpleasant,” Capric warned.
“Death always is,” Demir replied, steeling himself.
“She was beaten to death on the steps of the Assembly.”
Demir let out an involuntary sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. Adriana Grappo was a reformer: one of the few Assembly members who dedicated their lives to helping the masses, rather than enriching themselves. Reformers in Ossa had a long and glorious tradition of dying publicly, killed by their peers for pushing societal reforms too strongly.
“Who did it?”
Capric shook his head. “We don’t know yet. There were six masked figures that descended on her quickly, finished the job, and fled in all directions before guards could be called. And before you reply, I know what you’re thinking: she wasn’t killed because of her reforms. Sure, her proposed taxes annoyed the elite, but everyone loved your mother. The Assembly is furious and I will be shocked if they haven’t caught the culprits by the time I return.”
Demir pulled himself out of a spiral of suspicions and tried to focus on the calming hum of the skyglass in his ear. Capric was right. Adriana had always walked a cool line between radical reformer and harmless politician. She always knew when to push and when to back off. “So it wasn’t her fellow Assemblymen?”
“I can’t imagine,” Capric said.
Demir leaned his head against the wall of the carriage. Who did it, then? What enemies had she made in the years that Demir had been gone? “An investigation has been launched?”
“A very serious one.”
“Has Uncle Tadeas been told?”
“I’m not sure. The Assembly is covering up the murder until they have more information. Adriana was very popular with the common people. Announcing her death before they have a solid lead could result in riots.”
Covering up a public murder might sound ridiculous to some people, but the Assembly was very good at that sort of thing. They had a lot of practice. “Smart,” Demir agreed. “Baby Montego should also be informed.”
Capric paled. Most people did when Montego was mentioned. As the cudgeling champion of the world he was one of the few normal people who could command the same sort of fear as a glassdancer. He was also Demir’s best friend and adopted brother. “I have sent word already,” Capric promised, “but last I heard he was on his yacht in the Glass Isles. It might be months before he returns.”
Demir sucked on his teeth loudly, using the calming sorcery of the skyglass to shove aside his personal feelings and tick through the list of things he needed to do now that he was the head of the small Grappo guild-family.
As if anticipating his thoughts, Capric said softly, “I have brought with me an offer from my father.”
Demir lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“He would take the Grappo on as a client guild-family. You’d have the protection of our patronage. We’d pay off any debts Adriana might have had, take care of the hotel, look after your own clients. You won’t even have to return home if you don’t want…” He trailed off, looking as if he might have shown his hand too early.
Demir ignored the impropriety. This was Ossa, after all. Everything was business: even the death of a family member. It was a generous offer. The Vorcien were one of the most powerful guild-families in Ossa. Slipping underneath their protection could benefit Demir greatly. But it would also end the Grappo guild-family, and severely curtail Demir’s freedom. Patronage came with stipulations and responsibilities. He shook his head. “Thank you, no. I need to return home and put Mother’s affairs in order before I even consider anything like that.”
“The offer is there.”
“Tell Father Vorcien that I’m most grateful.”
“Of course. Are you returning to Ossa immediately?”
Demir examined Capric carefully, trying to weigh any hidden meaning in the question. The Grappo might be a tiny guild-family, but Adriana Grappo had been a colossus of Ossan politics. The return of her failed prodigy son might cause havoc in various corners of the capital. Did Capric – or the Vorcien family at large – have a stake in Demir’s possible return? He swallowed a bit of bile and removed the skyglass from his ear, bathing in the return of his anger and uncertainty. It helped him feel human.
“What talk is there of Demir Grappo?” he asked.
Capric looked somehow more uncomfortable than before.
“Am I hated?” Demir pressed.
“Forgotten,” Capric said slowly. “Adriana did a wonderful job of cleaning up after Holikan. It was all but covered up. Demir Grappo and the Lightning Prince are distant memories, and no one talks about Holikan at all.”
Demir chewed on this information. He removed his right glove and rubbed at the silic sigil of the Grappo guild-family. With his mother dead and his uncle abdicating responsibility in favor of a life in the military, Demir was the last full-blood Grappo left. Could a failed politician without progeny of his own possibly hope to keep the line afloat? “That’s about the best I could have hoped for.”
“Really? For a few years there you were the greatest politician in the Empire. You were everything: a guild-family heir, a general, a politician, a glassdancer. All that prestige, all that work … lost.”
“I’m not reentering politics,” Demir told him.
“Then why return at all? Why not become a client to the Vorcien?”
Demir considered this for a few moments before deciding not to answer. He patted Capric’s arm. “Thank you for coming all the way out here to tell me. That is a kindness that I will repay. It’ll take me a couple of days to put my affairs in order. I’ll see you at Mother’s – at my – hotel in a week?”
“Of course.”
Demir stepped out of the carriage and off to one side, ignoring the curious stares from the townsfolk and the open hands of the street children crowding around him. Capric gave him a wave from the carriage window, and then it pulled away and trundled down the street.
He reached into his pocket, searching out a piece of witglass. It was a small hoop, no bigger than the end of his finger, with a hook on one end. The sorcery still had a small effect when clutched in the fingers – not nearly as much as when worn on the ear or held between the teeth, but enough to speed his thoughts. It had, he realized, been a gift from his mother. They’d last spoken three months ago, when she tracked him down in one of the southern provinces and begged him to return to Ossa and restart his career.
If he had done as she asked, would she still be alive? It was a question that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.
So why return at all? Why not take Capric’s offer and become a client to the Vorcien?
A hundred different answers swirled around in his head. His mother’s death changed things, and the responsibilities he’d avoided for nine years were suddenly multiplied tenfold by virtue of inheritance. “Because,” Demir said softly to himself, “she deserved better than to die like that. I wasn’t there to protect her, so I can at least protect her legacy – and destroy the people who did this.”