“Is it?”
Nazirah feels like Solomon has caught her in a lie she didn’t know she was telling. Her voice is strained. “Yes.”
Solomon is quiet, contemplating his next words. “Miss Nation,” he says, “forgive me for overstepping my boundaries, but do you know why Mr. Morgen joined us?”
Nazirah squirms uncomfortably in her seat. She doesn’t think Solomon would tell a soul she spied on Adamek’s memories. But she doesn’t exactly want to admit to it, either. “I know some stuff,” she says finally. “I know it’s because Victoria died, although he has no idea I know that.”
Solomon gazes outside. “Yes,” he agrees, “such a tragedy. The Chancellor was never known for fidelity. In fact, he is quite renowned for his female … appreciation. But when Gabirel discovered his own wife having an affair, he went insane. He shot her in her bathtub, several months back, and has been covering up her death ever since. The rest of the country believes Victoria is bedridden because of illness. Mr. Morgen found her dead and swore his allegiance to us from that moment on. He longs to avenge his mother. I am sure the irony of your situation is not lost on him.”
“How do you know all of this?”
Solomon smirks mischievously. “Mostly, I would suspect, the same way you know it yourself,” he says. “I have seen it.” Nazirah blushes into her empty glass. “Mr. Morgen allowed me to view his memories many months ago, when he first asked me to initiate the amnesty negotiations with your brother. He has incredible patience. The negotiations took me several weeks to successfully execute.”
“Right after my parents –”
“Yes.”
“But why cover up Victoria’s death at all?” she asks. “Why not blame it on her health?”
Solomon taps his fez. “Try to think like the Chancellor, Miss Nation. A dead Victoria Morgen will be memorialized, celebrated, and glorified. It can only lead to questions, inconsistencies in the story, which Gabirel desperately wants to avoid. Especially when dealing with the threat of insurgence. A sick Victoria Morgen, however, simply fades from the public eye. She will become a distant memory, long forgotten and rarely discussed.”
“So that’s it, then?” she asks. “That’s the whole story? Morgen wants to avenge his mother, so he joins forces against his father?”
“I would think there is a bit more to it than that,” Solomon says. “But that is the general idea, I suppose.”
“Solomon,” Nazirah questions, “do you think he feels guilty about anything he’s done? That he genuinely rejects the Medi beliefs? Or is it all just to get at Gabirel?”
“I tend to think the best of people,” Solomon replies, “often to my own detriment. But if his views did not shift, I would wonder why Mr. Morgen would go through all of this trouble, all of this effort? It is, however, a question only he can answer fully. And maybe you will learn something unexpected, if you can gather the courage to ask.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” she snaps.
“I did not say you were.”
“But you think I’m afraid?”
“It is easy to hate,” Solomon says. “It is much harder to understand. I think you might be fearful of what he has to say and what that might mean for you.”
“Why did you ask me here, exactly?” she huffs.
“Just for some tea,” Solomon says kindly, “the pleasure of your company, and to offer you some hard-learned advice, if you are gracious enough to accept it.”
Nazirah nods slowly.
“Forgiveness usually precedes trust,” he tells her. “But in your case, I think it is the other way around.”
It makes sense. Nazirah guesses she trusts Adamek in some capacity, believes he’s working towards the success of the rebellion. But she most certainly does not forgive him. “Okay,” she says. “So?”
“So,” Solomon responds patiently, “since every situation is unique, why are you concerned about feeling what you think is right … what you think is the appropriate norm?”
“I don’t understand.”
Solomon rises from his seat, patting her gently on the hand. “Just feel, Miss Nation. That is all I am saying. Open yourself up to emotion, whatever it may be. Allow yourself to experience something besides hate. You may be surprised by what you let in.”
Nazirah contemplates Solomon’s words. She turns around, looking for him, but he is already gone.
#
The next two weeks pass like the calm before the storm. The campaign cannot leave the Deathlands until after the rebels receive the full support of the Red Lords. The Red Lords will not endorse the rebels until after their overlord battles Adamek. Aldrik ignores Adamek, angry that he agreed to fight the Khan without seeking approval. Nazirah avoids them both. Everything is at a standstill.
Each afternoon, Nazirah takes tea with Solomon in the conservatory. Unlike that first day, Solomon doesn’t raise sensitive issues or offer advice. He instead tells Nazirah all about his life, his family history, and his work in the prison. And Nazirah loves to listen, completely fascinated by his magical world.
The rest of the time, Nazirah reads on her balcony. Or she sits there, overlooking the courtyard garden, lost in thought. Or she watches Adamek. And every day, without fail, he completely infuriates her.
Adamek doesn’t spend his time preparing for the fight, training, or working on his strategy … no. Instead, he sleeps. Or he sits in the courtyard and reads. The night before the battle, Nazirah cannot take it anymore. She is on her balcony, as usual, watching the sunset and feeling increasingly on edge. Her nerves are fried, fired. She spots Adamek lying beside the fountain, relaxing lazily, and something inside her snaps.
Nazirah storms out of her room and down into the courtyard. Disregarding the tranquility of the cascading water and the perfume from the flowers, she marches up to Adamek. He is stretched out on the fountain’s edge, in baggy gray shorts and a light blue shirt … reading again. He clearly hears her but doesn’t look up. A voice in the back of Nazirah’s mind demands to know what she is doing, screams at her to let him die. Why does she even care?
She ignores it.
Adamek casually turns a page. “If you’re going to continue wheezing at me like an asthmatic grandmother, could you at least move a few inches? You’re blocking my light.”
Nazirah grabs the book, chucks it into the fountain. The water is very shallow, so it unfortunately doesn’t sink. But it does land with a satisfying splat.
Adamek sits up and faces her. “Was that really necessary?” he asks. “Do you always throw a fit when someone doesn’t give you their undivided attention?”
“Are you serious right now?” she rants. “I’m trying to be helpful!”
“And destroying my stuff is helping me how?”
Nazirah plants her hands on her hips. “You should be training for tomorrow, not reading for pleasure! Who knows how many teeth the Khan has added to his necklace, in the last two weeks alone?”
Adamek’s eyes flash, green with malice. “And I’m supposed to believe the princess finally descends from her tower, trampling everything underfoot, because she cares about my wellbeing?”
Nazirah takes a menacing step forward. “I already told you, I don’t care! You know I came because you’re still useful to us!”
“We have the Eridian fishermen,” Adamek says evenly. “Cayus refused us because of my actions. The Red West will align with us, whether I win or not. Your brother has complete access to my funds in the event of my demise. Slome is a native of Zima, perfectly capable of handling them on his own. He can figure out Osen easily enough. You don’t need me.”
“You’re ‘Renatus,’ Morgen,” Nazirah scoffs. “You’re the love of my life, remember? Of course we need you! What game are you playing?”
“What game are you playing, Nation?” he asks. “I know you want me dead.”
Nazirah opens her mouth, shuts it.
“What, not so chatty now?” he mocks. “Worried that I’m onto you? That I know this whole situation makes you feel like the coward you know you are?”
“I’m not a coward!”