Hands Like Secrets, page 22
“Why?”
Yan speaks so quietly that I almost don’t hear him. The bewildered expression in his dark eyes is almost worse than his earlier anger.
“I mean, there was talk. You were undedicated for so long.”
I look away, laughing bitterly.
“Here we go. Only now does he suspect collusion.”
“No.” His voice grows stronger. “I have never questioned where your heart lay. Never.”
I bite my lip.
“So what, in the name of everything we’ve ever believed in, would make you betray that?” He lifts his hands.
Nothing for it.
“He knows how to end the war.”
“Oh, by the silver god.” He scoffs weakly, leaning against the wall again.
The condescending tone sends a spike of doubt through me. Phrases I’ve heard all my life echo in my head. Crimson Cowls are evil. Crimson Cowls are liars, and killers, and...I lift my chin.
No.
That scroll and the gray majahel who penned it were real. Rafel’s plan is real.
But how can I make Yan believe me? Yan, whose brother was murdered by Cowls, who has no reason on this godforsaken world to believe anything a Cowl might say?
“They’re not demons, you know,” I begin. “He could have killed me that night in the tower and anytime afterward. But he didn’t, because he wants something no one else in this stupid society seems to care about. Peace!”
Now that they’ve started, the words keep spilling out.
“Is that so hard to imagine? Yes, I believe him. He’s been more honest with me than any of our professors ever were!”
Yan takes my bruised wrist and holds it between us. “This is honesty?”
My jaw clenches.
“Is he why you’ve started lying and rule-breaking? Is this ‘grand purpose’ why you let him do this to you?” He leans closer and, to my shock, presses his face against my wrist. “I would never hurt you.”
That line of reasoning throws me. His cheek is very warm and a little scratchy.
“That’s...you’re changing the subject.” My voice shakes.
“Like shayol I am.” His tone sharpens. “He’s found your weakness, and he’s using it against you for some plot of his own. Do you think it will stop with a bruise?” His dark eyes grow flinty. “Do you have any idea how many of our soldiers, our Anjahel, that demon has killed?”
My heart twists; because I don’t know, because I’ve seen Rafel commit murder with my own eyes, because Yan has a point.
“You don’t even know him,” I protest, looking away.
“Oh, and you do? You met him, what, a half-moon ago? While he was trying to murder our Priestess?” He drops my hand. “Saeli, listen to yourself. If he did mean to use you against Aschera, do you really think he’d admit it?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can’t shut out the sense of Yan’s words.
How would I know if Rafel had some other scheme going on? Sure, he’s never lied to me, as far as I know, but he’s not exactly forthcoming about plans he doesn’t want me involved in. Like my dedication problem.
I remember that tidbit of information Kaeben let slip, about Rafel trying to recruit other cells before coming to Aschera, and realize I have no idea why he originally came here in the first place.
What he meant to do after he’d killed our Priestess.
Yan grips my shoulders.
“I know you don’t like to think badly of anyone, but what you’re doing is dangerous. He’s using you, and believe me, he’ll take you and the whole damned city down with him when he’s ready. That’s what Cowls do.”
I bristle.
“You’ve never even seen a Cowl, Yan. All you know about them are the lies our professors have told us.”
“They killed my brother!” he snaps, his voice cracking, and looks pointedly down at my wrist. “And I know what I see.”
I wrench myself out of his grip.
“Well, I have seen them! And I know they’re as sick of this war as we are because guess what? They are people just like us.” I take a breath and make myself look him in the eye. “The war is wrong, and he needs my help to end it. He has a plan.”
Yan scoffs. “That’s a tale I’d love to hear.”
Indignation ignites in me, and I am tempted to lay out the whole scheme then and there, just to prove I’m not insane. But fear makes me bite my tongue. Rafel will kill me if I reveal our conversation in the Sari to anyone.
And, I remember with a chill, Iuril or Isasar would kill us both, if it got back to them.
“I...can’t talk about it,” I admit.
“Of course, you can’t!” Yan throws his arms up. “Because it’s a krait nest of lies. You’re an Anjahel, for god’s sake! When are you going to wise up and stop acting like a stupid—”
I pale, and his mouth clicks shut. But the damage is done. It’s as if he’d punched me.
“Gray,” I finish in a frosty voice. “A stupid gray. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”
“Look, I.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Don’t.” My hands drift to my scalp as a brittle laugh escapes me. “I get it. You’re trying to be my friend, but when it comes to actual ethics that have actual consequences, I’m just a gray. A stupid, naïve gray, who can’t be trusted to know right from wrong. A potential Cowl!” I add, throwing Rafel’s description of Jori Hall at him.
Yan reaches out like he’d pull my hands away from my head. I jerk away in a haze of tears. That one careless comment has awoken nine years of frustration, and it all comes spewing out.
“Do you know what it’s like to sit in class every day, knowing everyone thinks they’re superior because they wear the Silver, and I don’t? What it feels like when every Anjahel in a room gets up and leaves just because I walk in?” I thrust a finger into Yan’s face. “Have you noticed that the city we both grew up in is falling apart at the seams because everyone is too obsessed with killing Cowls to care? I’m sick of the superiority, and the entitlement, and the prejudice.”
Yan’s expression grows more and more puzzled as I rant. I finally cut off to rake hands through my hair.
“What are you talking about? You earned your Mantle and your Anjahel cord,” he protests at last. “You’ve already proved all the kark-talkers at school wrong. Is that what this Cowl mess is really about?”
I drop my hands as speech deserts me. The magnitude of misunderstanding is hopeless; he just can’t see it. He earned his Mantle too early, too easily, and has worn it for too long for my thoughts to even begin to make sense to him.
Silver Mantles, like Yan, will never understand what it’s like to be a gray, to never be trusted, to never fit in. Opening his eyes is hopeless, just like trying to talk to my professors about the war tax is hopeless, or asking questions about Cowls is hopeless.
They simply cannot comprehend my concern.
And I can no longer tolerate their lack of it.
I turn my back on him and the tanathe-soaked den.
“Saeli, wait!”
I hear his heavy footsteps at my heels and break into a trot.
I cross the foyer; hand clutched around the sorarc inside my purse, and dodge through a pair of open doors. Waves of music and laughter and color assault my senses; this is the ballroom I walked through with Fien earlier.
Now a lively quartet plays in the corner, and a dozen couples whirl on the raised floor with many more gathered around the edges, clapping. I plunge amongst them, hands pressed over my ears despite knowing how ridiculous I probably look. The colors and noise all blur together. I angrily wipe my face; I cannot allow myself to cry here, where someone might stop me to ask what’s wrong.
I nearly sob in relief, though, when I finally duck into a small, deserted passageway. Glancing back, I see Yan’s dark head appear over the heads of the crowd to scan the ballroom. I scrub my face again and scoot further into the shadowed arch, which opens into a large dining room.
A massive cinnus wood table takes up most of the space, with at least twenty matching chairs. The cost of the wood alone could probably feed that cab driver from earlier and her family, for several moons.
I want to scoff again at the ridiculous opulence of this place.
My fingers are in my hair; I can barely breathe around the lump in my throat. All I hear is Yan’s angry words, asking when I’m going to stop acting like a gray. I see Fien in that room upstairs again, signaling at me to stop embarrassing them in front of their friends with my weird little habits.
Why did I ever think there was a place for me in their world?
It’s just as well I’m not wearing my Mantle tonight. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to drape it over my shoulders again.
I breathe, and since there’s no one here, I give into the urge to comb fingers through my hair, front to back, until I’m somewhat calm again.
A buffet is laid out on the table; the scent of food draws me to it.
I take a spicemeat roll and a slice of sweetbread, for a distraction, for something concrete to focus on, but also because I’d eaten little since lunch. I couldn’t count on anything else until I got back to campus, and the sandwiches from earlier hadn’t been very filling.
I cross through several more rooms, devouring my hasty meal, before I spot what I’d hoped to find: a guest room with a patio leading outside. With a sigh of relief, I slide open the etched glass door and breathe in the cool night air.
Floral scents from the outer gardens assault my nose; sunrose and moonlily, passionflower and peony, gauslip and spiceroot; a heady bouquet. It’s chillier now that the sun is down. I wish I had Fien’s shawl, but I don’t dare go back through the house with Yan on the hunt for me.
Luckily, at that moment, an older servant bustles past with some towels. I catch her arm and explain my predicament; she pats my hand with a compassionate smile and disappears. I lean against the door, rubbing my arms, listening to the muted orchestra through the walls for what feels like an eternity.
A different servant finally appears with the shawl, and I pull it around myself gratefully.
My sandals crunch through wet grass as I cross the back lawn, heading for the sweet blossom hedges that create a winding maze across the rolling grass. Wrought iron bird feeders hang from poles at regular intervals. Heedless of the damp, I find a hedge and squat down amongst the velvety leaves, arms folded around myself.
I’m calmer now; the urge to cry has shrunk to something manageable. Yan probably won’t find me out here, but I hope I don’t have to cower in a bush for the rest of the night.
Maybe I should just go back to campus. But then I’d have to make up some lie to explain to Fien why I ditched, and I’d still have to face Yan during Anjahel training in the morning. Plus, what if Rafel tries to contact me, only to discover I’ve taken myself out of easy reach?
Yan knows about Rafel.
I pluck a leaf from the hedge and tear it into pieces as the full implications of our fight crash down on me.
What am I going to do?
Chapter 26
I’ve screwed up again.
Why did I have to draw rashas in front of Yan? He’d have never figured it out if I hadn’t blown up like that!
The thought of telling Rafel about tonight makes my throat tighten in dread. What would he do to me? Shayol, what would he do to Yan?
That doesn’t bear thinking about.
But if nobody else discovers what I can do, maybe Rafel won’t do anything rash. Yan knows what will befall me if he tells the echelon.
Maybe he cares enough to keep our fight to himself.
I groan aloud. I hate relying on Yan’s feelings to protect me when I’ve abused them so cruelly, even though I never meant to. Plus, Yan might decide that turning me in on a treason charge is safer than leaving me in the hands of a Cowl assassin. He’s not exactly the most rational person when it comes to Cowls...or me.
The main back door to the house creaks open. I risk a peek through the leaves. The same servant who’d given me my shawl leads Yan out onto the porch, and points in my general direction.
“Kark,” I mutter, though it’s irrational to blame the man. The other servant clearly hadn’t adequately communicated the situation to her coworker, and he was just doing his job.
Yan comes down the porch stairs, calling my name.
At this rate, the whole blasted party will know he’s looking for me.
I creep along the garden path, keeping my body hunched behind the hedges and trying not to rustle them. I know I’ll have to face him eventually, but right now I have too much to think about. I pick my way across several peony beds to the far side of the garden maze, taking shelter behind a tall evergreen bush.
After a while, Yan’s voice stops. I hope that means he’s given up and gone back inside.
“Saeli?” an unfamiliar voice says from the shadows.
I yelp and spin around.
A man emerges from the hedges. Leaves cover his commoner clothing, like he’d been mucking amongst the sweet blossoms as I had. I don’t recognize him. Another servant, a gardener, maybe?
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” May as well be polite. “How do you know my name?”
“I hear that boy call.”
The man steps closer, and I suppress a shudder.
He is unshaven, with patchy scruff and a scraggly mustache, and his skin bears an oily sheen of sweat. Lank, greasy hair that looks like it’s never been washed hangs over his ears. The small gray eyes are misaligned, the left iris resting just shy of center, giving his gaze an unfocused cast.
I literally have to look twice to be sure his face isn’t a mask.
His gaze wanders over me in a manner that makes me want to cover up, go home, and take a hot shower. But he doesn’t make any threatening moves.
“You not be afraid.” He bobs a tiny bow. “If Saeli, I have sent for you.”
Even his voice has a whiny quality that sets my teeth on edge, not to mention his Ilun, which is so awful it’s almost incomprehensible. Where did Valene’s parents find this guy? I fight an urge to run back to the house, telling myself that would be rude.
I’m being ridiculous. He’s just a foreign-born gardener in dire need of a bath, not a threat. Yan probably asked the staff to be on the lookout for me.
“I’m sorry, sir.” I hold up my hands. “But I’d rather be left alone for now. You can tell Yan I’ll go back up to the house when—”
I trail off, frowning when he starts to chuckle.
That’s when I feel it. The warm pressure on the seventh node that Donnevan had taught us to sense; the same pressure Yan had felt from me outside that den.
Rashas qi. My neck prickles.
“Who are you?” I demand in a sharper voice.
He grins.
“A Cowl, then.”
“Good.” He looks me over again and nods. “This does not frighten. You are little voor of Rafel.”
He must be in Rafel’s cell. Strands, they do come from all over.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss, looking around. Thankfully, this corner of the maze is still deserted. “Didn’t Rafel warn you that this place is crawling with Aschamon professors?”
The greasy man grimaces. “He sends me to fetch.”
My heart skips —finally! —but logic quickly reasserts itself.
“Why wouldn’t he just contact me by sorarc? I thought that was the whole point of my having one.”
I’m not about to walk off with an unknown Cowl just because he drops Rafel’s name in conversation.
The Cowl shrugs. “I don’t know. I do as told.”
He turns and walks away, ducking a bird feeder and weaving amongst the sweet blossom hedges toward the front lawn.
By the silver god. If he gets caught here, knowing about me, we’re both dead.
I glance around again and hurry to catch up. My purse bumps against my leg as I go. I start to open it but hesitate. If this unwashed fellow has been sent to fetch me...and really, why else would he be here? How else would he have known me?
Maybe this is another one of Rafel’s exercises in trust.
Maybe I’m still too worked up from my fight with Yan to think clearly.
As I catch up, the man mutters to himself in Zhav, consonants and vowels all tangled up in each other. His mouth shuts with an audible click when he notices me.
“What is going on?” I demand. “Why didn’t he send Mauri or Kaeben, or someone I’ve at least seen before?”
“You know Rafel at all; you know he does not explain.” There is a bitter edge to this Cowl’s voice that I can identify with all too well. “He expect his people do as asked.”
I mean, that is how Rafel operates. I purse my lips. Maybe he got hung up with that Grisen person, and this fellow is the only one he could spare.
We reach the edge of the hedge maze. The house stands on a low slope, with the back lawn rising higher than the front. From our vantage point, the property sweeps down to the street below, broken only by a few willowy sedge trees and qi lanterns.
“This far enough,” the man declares.
An errant breeze catches the Cowl’s greasy hair, and he absently flicks it back just enough to expose his left ear. I freeze. My heart leaps into my throat.
Instead of a ring, that ear bears a marn-sized notch.
No, rings. Three rings, three missing rings.
Oh, I am damned lucky Kaeben chose to tell that particular story tonight.
Grisen turns his misaligned gaze back to me and holds out a sweaty hand. I choke back my fear and fight to keep my expression neutral. He mustn’t know I’ve recognized him.
“You know, I really should contact Rafel first.” I take a careful step back. “Before I leave. Just to check in. I mean, that’s why he gave me a sorarc in the first place.”
A few more steps, and I can make a break for it.
He narrows his eyes as I take another step back. “You deaf? You come with me.”
“Like shayol I will!”
I dance away from his sudden lunge and sprint for the house. He snarls and darts after me.
Another night, I might have gained the porch, but the dress I’m wearing is not made for running. I hike it up and do my best, but he quickly gains on me. I’ve crossed maybe half the distance between the hedge maze and the house when he catches my arm, slings me to the ground, and pins me.
