Sometime during the night Falston turned to her and was himself again, distinct from the group, hints of his blue coat showing like smudges under all the dust. “We need to talk.”
“Been wondering when you’d say as much,” she said.
They stood as one and, the previous events of the night seeming of trifling importance now, headed to Latia’s house. Ripka hoped the woman had strong wine waiting.
Chapter Forty-One
There were a lot of things Detan could have done in the day after he let the firemount roar. The household staff tiptoed around him, and he didn’t see a hair of either Thratia or Aella. Or Ranalae, and his dear old auntie. That one visit, it seemed, was all he was going to get. He was on his own, which he knew, but it was real frustrating waking up with a pounding headache and knowing people were counting on you to get them out of one right tangled mess.
The reason he had that headache, he decided to shove aside. To dwell too long on that particular nightmare might just set off a whole fresh horror. Aella had given him an injection, returning some of his control, but he didn’t trust himself to light a candle with his power now. Not while he could still hear the rescue efforts going on outside.
He could have run. Could have weaseled his way up the towers of the palace and gotten himself onto the Happy Birthday Virra! and broken for the inland, or the sea. He could almost convince himself that fleeing was the best possible route, that what Pelkaia had said was true: the best thing he could do for this world was to run, to find some barren, sel-less place, destroy his flier, and stay there.
If Callia hadn’t dipped that needle into his vein, he might have believed her. Might have tried just that. But he could see it, now. That infinitesimal world beyond the ken of unaltered eyes. Sel wasn’t something that one could run from, not on this world, anyway. It was in his blood and his air and his bones, and even if he fled clear to the other side of the world, he suspected he’d find it there, too.
Running just prolonged the inevitable. He paced the length of his room, juggling options, when a solid knock on the door made him damn near jump out of his skin. He cleared his throat to get his dignity back, and said in the most authoritative voice he could muster, “Enter.”
A parlour maid he didn’t recognize let herself in, and offered up to him a thick package wrapped in coarse linen. “Master Gatai said I should bring this to you, straightaway.”
“My thanks.” He took the bundle from her, tucked it under his arm to the sound of rustling cloth and paper. She bobbed her head and made a dash for the door, then paused halfway out with her hand still on the knob, a little worried wrinkle dimpling her chin.
His stomach sank as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, eyes a little wide with worry. “My Lord?” she asked.
He forced himself to smile, knowing what was coming. She’d ask about the eruption. She must know his secret, probably the whole city did. Thratia certainly wasn’t trying to hide his deviation. Would she be so bold as to claim the destruction he’d wrought in his name?
Despite the stew of fear in his head, his voice was cool, calm. “Yes?”
“Nice to have you back, you don’t mind my saying.”
She flashed him a grin and darted out the door in a rustle of skirts. Detan nearly burst into a fit of anxious laughter. Gatai had said the servants were with him. There must be outliers, of course, people bought over to Ranalae or Thratia or who just plain didn’t like him. But, skies above, to have any support at all was a balm.
He made quick work of the package and found two servants’ black uniforms with a folded note tucked inside. Gatai’s precise handwriting greeted him.
My Lord Honding,
Your guests await you in the eastern wing, and have a lovely view of the oncoming monsoon winds. Recent events require my attention, but I trust you will handle all things with care.
Your Servant,
Gatai
A lot could be hidden behind servants’ black, or so his auntie had said, and Detan grinned as he thumbed the fine material. While all eyes were off him, it was time to make a few social calls.
Chapter Forty-Two
Latia welcomed the watch-captain of Hond Steading into her home with little more shock than a slight widening of eyes and what was, perhaps, a rather heavy pour of wine into her own glass. Honey was less pleased with the situation.
“He tried to arrest you,” she protested from the divan Latia had propped her up in with heaps of pillows, and teas that, no doubt, made her tongue looser than usual.
“Won’t make that mistake again,” Falston said with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. He kept on looking at Honey like he knew her, which was, as far as Ripka could reckon, not a good thing. She’d never pressed Honey on what had landed her on the Remnant, but she could damn well guess, and if the captain had any prior knowledge of her exploits his friendliness might well fade in a hurry.
“What happened tonight,” she said to draw his attention to her, “may be only the first demonstration.”
That got his attention. His head whipped around like the wind, eyes narrowed. “Demonstration? Is that what you call tonight’s horrors?”
“Me? No. But you bet your ass Thratia Ganal does.” She wasn’t sure, of course, but Detan had been the source of that explosion – and there was just no way she could allow herself to believe he’d done it of his own free will. Someone pushed him to it, and Thratia had both the means and the access. Whatever power struggle was going on in the Honding palace, Thratia had just made the breadth of her arsenal very, very clear to her opponents. Ranalae was probably wetting herself with excitement at that little display.
“And why in the hell would she want to wound and scare the ever-loving shit out of the very people she claims she wants to rule with a benevolent hand?”
Ripka’s smile was tight and sad. “Never said it was a demonstration for the people, Captain.”
He knocked back a heavy swallow and squinted at her. “Cut to the point, lass.”
“This marriage of hers to Detan. It isn’t what you think it is. Isn’t what the whole city thinks it is.”
Tibal cleared his throat roughly and she cut him a look to shut him up. They needed the watchers on their side if they were going to protect the people from whatever struggles were going on in that palace, and if she had to expose Detan’s deviation, then so be it. Wouldn’t be much longer he could keep that information under wraps, anyway, no matter what he did. Either Thratia’d let the cat out of the cave, or he would do something rather dumb, and rather public.
“That accident, three years back? The one he lost his sel-sense in?”
Falston nodded. “Whole city knows that story, lass. Dame sent him to Valathea to see if he could recover his sense, but he left there and went rambling, causing trouble for the empire. Truth be told, the city is fond of their heir. Not a lot of love here for the empire, you understand. What with us being independent and all. We get the shit end of their trade taxes.”
Ripka found her lips had grown heavy. She took a long swallow, closed her eyes, and breathed out real easy. There was no going back from this. But then, they were already in the shit up to their eyeballs.