“Glad we agree on that, anyway,” Marcus said. “Care to tell me what you expect they are?”
A bell sounded, dry and clanking, but with a long rolling finish that seemed to cut the night in two: all the moments that had come before it, and all the ones after.
“We may have to learn those lines when we say them,” Cithrin said.
“You mean?”
Cithrin gestured toward the garden gate. “He’s here.”
Geder
Geder’s illness, whatever it was, seemed to be getting worse, or at least no better. He couldn’t sleep at night or wake fully in the day. The business of the empire was as vast as it had ever been, but he couldn’t even bring himself to address it. Letters and reports and requests came in each day, high nobles requested audiences on any number of concerns. Rates of taxation and disputes over land rights and slights of honor. Reports from the searchers he’d sent to Lyoneia and Hallskar, tracking the ancient wonders and threats of the world that he could no longer muster any enthusiasm for. Geder had a basket the size of a bed filled with invitations to one thing and another. The blessing of Maken Estellin’s newborn granddaughter, a garden fantasia by Lady Nestin Caot, a tasting of brandy captured from Nus the year before at a private room of the Great Bear. Everyone seemed to want something of him, and the weight of it bore him down until even the simplest thing felt too much because it was attached to all the rest of it.
The death throes of the enemies of the goddess were growing stronger, which Basrahip told him was a good sign. Inentai and Nus and Suddapal were all in open revolt now, and a Timzinae army was pushing its way north with Jorey and Canl Daskellin doing all they could to hold it back. Written reports said the temple in Nus had been burned to the ground and the priests with it, but that was fine. It was good. Basrahip said it was good. And despite that one terrible haunting moment of confusion that Geder had seen in the huge priest’s eyes, Geder believed him. He heard the man’s voice, and he believed, but he was so tired. And the fog grew in his mind.
His study was warm with the light of sunset. A bird sang outside the window, three rising notes and a pause and the same three again, like a musician practicing a flourish. Geder plucked at the cuff of an embroidered jacket sent from Asterilhold in celebration of his glorious victory over the apostate. It was hard to remember sometimes that he’d done that.
A carafe of cool water sat on the edge of his desk, sweating. When the drops of water it called out of the air dried, a girl from the kitchens would come and replace it with another that Geder also wouldn’t drink from. This was the third of its kind that had come since he’d sat down. It was strange that he felt he’d been working so hard but nothing, so far, had been finished or done.
The knock at the door startled him. A thin-faced Dartinae woman in a servant’s robe bent almost double with her bow. He caught a glimpse of the tops of her breasts as she stood, but they excited neither lust nor shame. Just a kind of weariness.
“Lord Regent,” she said, holding out a silver plate. A slip of butter-pale paper stood folded on it. He almost turned away, but the script was familiar. His father’s. Geder felt a mix of pleasure and anxiety as he plucked it up and unfolded it, but at least he felt something.
I’m at your mansion here in the city, and I need you to come over right away. There’s something we need to discuss. I love you very much.
Geder blinked at the words, his heart beating a little less sluggishly than it had a moment before. It was the profession of love at the end that scared him. Something had happened. Something must have happened.
“Call a carriage,” he told the Dartinae girl. “And tell the guard I need to go. Right away.”
And still right away took the better part of an hour. The sun was gone below the roofs and city wall in the west by the time Geder’s carriage surrounded by his personal guard clattered across the cobblestones of the darkening city. A fog was rising from the depths of the Division and creeping out into the streets that surrounded it, the bridges across the great urban canyon shifting and undulating like the surface of a slow, grey lake. Geder drummed his fingers against his thigh, willing the driver to push the horses faster. Lehrer Palliako wasn’t a man given to appearing in court or sending mysterious messages. What if he’d fallen ill? What if something was wrong that Geder didn’t have the power to fix? He wondered as they arrived at the gate whether he should have brought a cunning man with him, just in case.
As soon as his carriage stopped and before he’d even stepped out of it, the gate slave struck a bell. The clanking sound had a long, clear finish, and before it had faded to silence, Lehrer Palliako was walking out into the street to meet him. He was well enough to walk, then. Maybe it wasn’t his health.
“My good boy,” his father said. “My good, good boy.” There were little tears in his eyes catching the torchlight. “I knew you’d come.”
“Of course I would,” Geder said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
They hugged awkwardly before Lehrer tugged him forward to the dark gate and the garden beyond. “Come along. And leave the guard here. There’s something we need to talk about in private.”
“They can be trusted,” Geder said. “They’re my personal guard. Basrahip talks to them every morning. They’re the most loyal soldiers in the empire.”
“Leave ’em here,” Lehrer said. His voice had taken on a rougher note. This was all very strange, but Geder motioned to the captain of his guard, and the swordsmen took up positions in the street and along the wall. If they weren’t to guard him, they’d guard the house he was in. And it wasn’t as if there were going to be anything dangerous. It was his house. His father.
Once the gate had closed behind them, his father’s pace slowed. Geder walked at his side past a wide spray of moon lilies bobbing in the soft breeze.
“I want you to know,” Lehrer said, “that I’m proud of you. Whatever happens, I’m very, very proud of you.”
“Of course,” Geder said with a tight, nervous laugh. “I mean I’m Lord Regent. Master of the Empire. We’ve almost doubled the size of Antea since I stepped in. Who’d ever have thought that we’d be this important?”
“That’s not why I’m proud of you,” Lehrer said.
“But it’s still quite a thing. You must admit, it’s quite a thing.”
Lehrer didn’t respond. They passed into a little courtyard and through a screen to a drawing room with pale screens that kept the worst of the bugs away. Clara Kalliam sat there on a divan. Her face was so dark and thin, he almost didn’t recognize her at first, but when she rose to her feet, the movement was unmistakable. Are they here to tell me they’re getting married? Geder thought. And then, Would I be Jorey’s brother then?
“Lord Regent,” Clara said, her voice warm and gentle.
“Lady Kalliam?”
Lehrer sat on a silk chair, bent forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “I love you, my good, good boy. I love you, and I need to you listen. Don’t… don’t be afraid.”
“Of course I’m not afraid,” Geder said, though it wasn’t true. “And I’ll always listen to you.”
“Not to me,” Lehrer said.
“Then—” Geder began.
“To us,” a voice said from behind him.
Cithrin bel Sarcour. Cithrin, in a pale dress. Geder heard a low grunting sound like someone had been punched, and realized afterward that it had come from him. In the light of the lanterns, she glowed like the wick of a candle that had just been blown out. Her expression was soft, her hands clasped before her. He had a vague impression of people at her side, but he couldn’t care about them. His heart clattered in his chest like a kettle suddenly at the boil.