A Secret Atlas (31 page)

a torrent of guilt.

She said nothing.

Keles had immediately been of two minds. The first was certain he was being

manipulated. How could someone who had used him so ruthlessly be so vulnerable? He

knew this was just another ploy, another way to get under his skin and make him hurt.

The other part of him just melted. This was the woman he had loved, and he’d been cruel

to her. He’d reduced her to tears, which was bad enough, but he’d done it there, at the

Prince’s Festival, where everyone could see how he had shamed her.

He wanted to reach out and hug her, offer some sort of comfort, but he couldn’t raise his

hands. She looked so small and weak, so hurt by what he had said, that he questioned his

vehemence, his certainty.
Could I have been wrong all along? Maybe she does love me.

The two halves of his mind warred against each other, which left him standing before her

frustrated and impotent. Not doing something was worse than doing the wrong thing, but

how should he act? He could turn his back on her, walking away, but that would have

been even more cold and callous. Yet standing there just increased the awkwardness and

made it so very much worse.

Keles had instead turned toward the wine table and held his cup out to be refilled. He had

intended to offer her some of the wine, but when he turned back, she had already

retreated, cutting swiftly through the crowd, audible sobs accompanying her tears. People

looked from her to him—a few with surprise, but more with anger on their faces. One and

all they seemed to be saying, “She might have had it coming, but did it have to be
now
?”

Jorim had rescued him. His younger brother had approached, gotten a cup of wine, then

pulled him aside. “Are you all right, Keles?”

Keles had drunk, then nodded. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

“She came to forgive me. She told me it wasn’t my fault.”

Jorim laughed heartily and spoke perhaps a bit louder than he might have otherwise.

“
She
forgave
you
? You, the one who prevented her from being clawed into sweetmeats?

She
forgave
you?”

The effect of his brother’s words had been immediate, both in Keles and the surrounding

audience. Gossipmongers immediately repeated his remarks, countering what they’d said

when watching the drama unfold. What had been an emotional encounter shifted into one

more entertainment for the evening.

The change in Keles was one he now reexamined as he stared down into the waters. He’d

steeled himself to accept that what the people in that room felt about him didn’t matter.

He’d done nothing wrong. She’d chosen the confrontation and he’d just dealt with her as

best he could.

Here, too, what he thought of his guardian and what she thought of him likewise didn’t

matter. They both had missions to fulfill, and would do so. Tyressa would keep him safe,

he would complete the survey for the Prince, and that would be that.

That seemed right to him, but after a moment’s reflection he located the flaw in his

thinking. What Tyressa thought of him, and what she thought about how he conducted

himself, were very different. There were things he could learn from her, especially about

being observant. While she might be charged with his safety, he couldn’t cede that

responsibility to her. Not only did he owe it to himself to be observant, but he had to think

ahead to a time when she might not be there to help him.

To this point in your life, Keles, you have been sheltered.
Just because he’d learned to deal with his grandfather didn’t mean he was prepared to deal with the world. There were

going to be folks, like Majiata, who wanted certain things from him—such as his

knowledge or even his death. He needed to be wary of them.

Do any less and you’ll not be worth the lead it would take to cast you.
He smiled.
Any less,
and you’ll not even be worth the dross that spills out of an overfilled mold.

14th day, Month of the Dog, Year of the Dog

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

736th year since the Cataclysm

Jandetokun Inn, Moriande

Nalenyr

Nirati slipped the hood back on her white mourning cloak as she entered the Jandetokun

Inn. Those gathered in the common area on the main floor slowly quieted as they realized

someone in mourning was in their midst. Since she had thrown the cloak back and wore

no tear tracks drawn in black down whitened cheeks, the others became instantly aware

that the person being mourned was not a family member. Their conversations began

again, but at a low murmur that would remain sober until she left.

She found their deference a comfort, for she still remained in shock. The death had been

so brutal—at least, this was the impression she’d had of it from gossip and whispers.

Those of her cousins who talked about it didn’t think it was the sort of thing a young

woman should hear, so she dwelt in ignorance. This left her imagination free to conjure up

all sorts of ideas. While she wanted to suppose that what she made up was worse than

reality, somehow she didn’t think it was.

Nirati also found herself feeling guilty. She might have, once, thought of Majiata as a

friend. Majiata had been younger than she and always a bit aloof. Nirati had tried to like

her when Keles began courting her, but they had never developed a deep friendship.

Nirati’s hopes that they could become as sisters died quickly, and that left her with a

crystal-clear vision of what the woman was doing to her twin.

That Keles had remained ignorant of how horribly she was treating him came as no

surprise to Nirati. Her twin had the tendency to see the best in people, acting as if they

had risen to fulfill the idealized role he’d pictured for them. The reality was often quite

different.

But at least he learned to deal with Majiata.
Their confrontation at the Prince’s celebration had pleased Nirati. It marked a shift in Keles’ attitude. She hoped it would stand him in

good stead in the middle of the wildlands—though she dreaded the inevitable conflict it

would cause when he returned and had to deal with Qiro directly.

Try though she might, she could not project what Keles’ reaction to the news of Majiata’s

death would be. Before he had started to grow, she would have imagined that it would

have hurt him deeply. He would have felt, somehow, it was his fault, and he would try to

make amends. With her death, the Phoesel family might have gotten maps and

concessions that even her wedding to Keles would not have gained them.

Now, however, his reaction remained unpredictable. It was possible he could revert to his

old ways and become overly kind to her family, but Nirati doubted that. Likewise she didn’t

think he would laugh at the news or hoist a glass in favor of her killer. She didn’t think he

would swear vengeance on the thing that had done this either—Jorim would have, but not

Keles. But, however he chose to deal with it, she resolved to be there to help him.

She put her twin out of her mind as she mounted the steps to the rental rooms above the

inn’s main floor. Though she had not been there before, she knew unerringly which room

she was bound for. Others might have put this down to her family’s skill with cartography,

but it was less complicated. Her informant had been very specific in his instructions, as

well as in relating that the resident did not want to be disturbed.

Topping the steps, she turned left and moved toward the front of the building. She

knocked gently on the middle door and waited. She heard nothing, so she knocked again,

more loudly. When that brought no response, she hammered her fist on the door, then

spoke in a very clear voice. “It is Nirati Anturasi. I am not leaving until I speak to you, and I’ll beat on this door until my fist is bloody.”

That brought some noise from within. Beneath the edge of the door light flashed,

indicating the heavy curtains had been drawn back. The agonized gasp that accompanied

the light suggested the person within had enjoyed too much drink and too little sleep.

“The door is open.”

Nirati slipped the latch, but hesitated in the doorway. While light flooded in through the

window, the room still had the sour scent of nightsweats and bodies long unwashed. She

would have expected things to be more disorderly, but aside from tall boots lying flopped

over in the middle of the floor, gloves scattered to two corners, and an ale bucket tipped

on its side near the bed, things looked relatively neat.

They contrasted sharply with Junel Aerynnor. He sat on the side of the bed, his shoulders

slumped, wearing a stained linen nightshirt and two days’ growth of beard. His hair

needed taming and his sunken eyes were rimmed with black and tinged with red. His skin

looked white enough that had he leaned over and retched into the bucket, she would not

have been surprised. In fact, she almost righted it and slid it to him. She closed the door

and moved to the chair by the small table beneath the window.

“I had no desire to intrude on your grief, Count Aerynnor, but you have no one else here

that I know of.”

He glanced at her, his lips pressed in a grim line. “The Phoesel family has no desire to see

me. I was the one to bring them the bad tidings. When her father asked me to tell him

what I had seen, I had no idea he wanted me to lie. In the north, perfect candor would

have been expected.”

Nirati seated herself without waiting for an invitation. “I heard of their reaction. The

constabulary asked you to identify her instead of the family?”

He rubbed his right hand over his eyes. “It sounds so official that way. One of the

constables who had attended her punishment recognized her. As he was going to her

home he chanced across me. I agreed to accompany him, but now I wish I never had.”

Junel’s hand fell from his eyes and he stared past Nirati. “There are things men are not

meant to see.”

Nirati nodded as a shiver ran up her spine. “What can I do for you, my lord? If you want to

tell me . . .”

He snorted. “That offer from anyone else would be an invitation to gossip. Not you, Nirati.

You’d tell no one.”

“So tell me.”

Junel shook his head. “No, you’d have it locked inside the way I do. That’s not a burden

anyone should have to bear.”

She slipped the clasp on her cloak and allowed it to drape back over the chair. “I think, my

lord, you will find me stronger than you imagine. If it is such a burden for you now, imagine

the relief at having it shared. I will bear it, and not blame you.”

He half smiled. “I know you Anturasi are more hardy than the Phoesels, but even so . . .”

“I think you are feeling guilty for not having prevented this tragedy. It was not your fault.”

“How can you say that?”

“I know you. You once saved her from Viruk talons. You would have done that again.”

“Is that who they say did it? A Viruk.
The
Viruk?” Junel’s eyes tightened. “It was enough of a mess that he could have.”

Nirati nodded. The hottest gossip in Moriande suggested that the Viruk Rekarafi had slain

Majiata to cleanse some blot from his honor. The authorities had asked for him to be

produced for examination, but the ambassador said her consort had long since quit the

city. She even submitted to a search of the embassy, but the constables could not find

him.

Some wags even went so far as to suggest that after killing the girl he had set out in

pursuit of Keles. Nirati shivered. She’d seen the scars on his back and had no doubt that

Rekarafi would rend Keles limb from limb if he found him.
Perhaps the Prince’s deception

will give Keles enough time to get where the Viruk cannot find him.

She blinked and refocused on Junel. “The Viruk is the leading candidate, but plenty of

other rumors abound. One even suggests one of my brothers did it.”

“Keles or Jorim?”

“Keles. They say his heading upriver was a trick, and that he could have ridden hard to

join the ship after he did the deed.” Nirati shook her head. “Now, tell me. What

happened?”

Junel sighed and his shoulders slumped further. “It was all quite a muddle. I was living

with the Phoesel family, but I knew that Majiata and I were a poor match. Her father was

still upset about her having embarrassed the family and lost your brother. I was a poor

second choice, and while Majiata’s father was polite, he was not silent in sharing that

opinion. Still, I was better than nothing.

“I had expressed my reservations about our union to Majiata and said I planned to leave

her home. Three days ago, when I awoke, I found a note in her hand slipped beneath my

door. She begged me to do nothing rash and to meet her in the city after dark, away from

her family. She asked me to burn the note, which I did.”

He frowned. “I knew I should not have agreed to meet her, but something in that note

touched me. She’d always been immature and selfish, but there was something different

in that missive. I resolved to meet her and left the house early so her family would suspect

nothing. I went to meet her at the appointed time but got delayed. I arrived perhaps a

quarter hour late, but really thought nothing of it.”