“What’s going on?”
Two Imbati emerged from Xeref’s office, carrying something. It looked like a stretcher.
Wait, those were Xeref’s feet!
“Xeref!” she cried. “Gods, what happened?”
She half-hopped, half-ran to his side, fell to her knees and grasped his hand. Pressed her lips to it, but he didn’t respond.
“Please excuse us, Lady, we must get him to the Medical Center as quickly as possible.”
“Oh! Yes…” She released Xeref’s hand and scooted backward. The black-clad stretcher-bearers moved so fast that he was out the door in half a breath.
Selemei sat, panting. At last she reached up, found her Grivi’s hand, and tried to stand. Her left foot caught on the hem of her gown, but he caught her when she stumbled, freed the fabric, and helped her the rest of the way up.
Arriving on her feet, she found Xeref’s Ustin standing directly in front of her.
“Mistress,” Ustin said. “I was attending the Master’s preparations in his office. He summoned the First Houseman to send you a message, because he was concerned you would not be ready in time. Then he stood up and collapsed.”
“In my witness,” the First Houseman agreed.
“Heile have mercy,” Selemei whispered. “Let him reach the Medical Center in time. Elinda forbear.” She cast her eyes toward the front door, now shut; the sitting room, now empty of the Household emergency team. You would almost think nothing had happened.
And how could it have? If she stayed in this moment, unbreathing, unthinking, nothing would have happened.
Her body corrected her, of course; she gasped and shook herself. “I should go to him.”
“Mistress.”
The Imbati was still in front of her. She frowned. “What, Ustin?”
“The Master had no opportunity to record his vote for today’s Cabinet meeting.”
No opportunity to record his vote. She heard the sounds; missing emotional register, they resolved only slowly into meaning. Did that mean… their proposal might fail?
“It has to pass,” she murmured.
“With your permission, Mistress, I can escort you to the Cabinet room.”
She started to understand it. “So I can tell them. And then go to the Medical Center.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“All right, then, let’s go.”
The hallway was walkable. She had to take a brief stop on the spiral staircase to the second floor, Ustin above her, Grivi behind. She gripped tight to the cold iron rail, pressed her right hand against the central stone column, and started up again. Ustin murmured to her as she emerged into the hall.
“You understand, Mistress, that because he didn’t record his vote, I could not deliver it.”
She nodded. “That’s why I’m doing it.”
Ustin hesitated a second, her lips pressed together, but then she resumed course into the central section of the Residence. Selemei kept walking. Grivi’s arm beneath hers was muscular and solid.
Since the Heir’s suite faced the front of the Residence, she’d always known the Cabinet chamber was down the hall toward the back of the building, but she hadn’t realized it was on the left side. The bronze door was engraved with the repeating insignia of the Grobal. There should have been people here, standing in the hall—cabinet members. Shouldn’t there?
“Where are they?” Selemei asked.
“I believe they have gone in, Mistress,” Ustin replied. “Please be aware, Grivi and I are not permitted into the room during the meeting. You are the only one who can represent the First Family.”
“Mistress,” Grivi objected, in a low growl.
“I’ll only be a moment, Grivi.”
She let herself through the door.
All talk in the windowless room stopped immediately. So many eyes, staring at her, and all of them belonged to men. The men sitting around the big brass table. The men in the heavy portraits staring down from the walls. She recognized the man at the head of the table—that had to be the Eminence Indal, because he had a noble nose, and wore the white and gold drape of office around his shoulders. Next to him, golden-skinned and curly-haired, sat the Heir Herin—everyone agreed how handsome the Heir was. The others were strangers… no, here was one more she knew. Fedron, her cousin in the First Family.
Fedron stood up. “Lady Selemei, what are you doing here?”
Her voice felt tiny, as if she spoke across a crevasse. “I’m representing the First Family. Xeref—” The ground beneath her shuddered; or it could have been her legs. She found a chair to hold onto. “Xeref collapsed. They took him to the Medical Center.”
“What?” cried Fedron. “When?”
She blinked at him. “Now. I came directly.”
Everyone started talking at once. Several of the men leapt up from their chairs; some of them seemed angry at each other. She quickly lost sight of the Eminence and the Heir behind a clump of worried cabinet members. The portraits still stared down from the walls, but Xeref meant nothing to them. Only Cousin Fedron appeared to remember she was here.
“I’m so sorry, Cousin, you must be distraught.”
“I don’t have time for that. I need to be here for the vote,” she explained.
Fedron cast a sideways glance, maybe looking for one of the other men. “We can’t possibly vote now, under the circumstances. Perhaps when Xeref returns.”
“We can’t?”
“Are you unattended?”
She shook her head. “No, of course not. They’re waiting outside for us to vote. We should really vote.”
“Cousin, we can’t vote today,” Fedron said, with exaggerated patience. “The Eminence and several of the members have already left.”
“They have?” She looked around. It did seem emptier than a moment ago. The Eminence really was gone. That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
None of this was how it was supposed to happen. But now she had somewhere she needed to be. The Medical Center. Selemei took a deep breath and smoothed down her gray skirts. Cautiously, she turned back toward the engraved door and made her way through it.
In the hall, a few cabinet members were talking and arguing. Imbati Grivi and Imbati Ustin stood waiting for her. They looked all wrong—not calm at all. Grivi’s tattoo was furrowed, and he cast a gaze of anger at Ustin, whose face twitched in a battle to conceal some strong emotion. Ustin managed to master herself, but then cast a glance down the hall.
“Mistress—”
Grivi stepped between them. “Ustin, that’s enough!”
Startled by his ferocity, Selemei sought after the target of Ustin’s furtive glance. Someone was hurrying up the corridor toward them.
“Brinx?”
Her son’s handsome face was nearly unrecognizable—his eyes red, and his mouth twisted. “I can’t believe you, Mother!” he shouted. “Why didn’t you come find me, to tell me?! How could you come here at a time like this?”
Time shrank to a pinpoint. If he spoke again, she didn’t hear it. Why hadn’t she recognized the signs? Hadn’t she noticed how cold Xeref’s hand felt against her lips? Why had she never wondered why Ustin accompanied her here instead of staying with her master? Why had she not realized only disaster could make Imbati show emotion?
Now all the stones crashed together, and the bottom dropped out of the world.
This was obviously the funeral of an important man. The Voice of Elinda wore full priestly regalia, dark blue robes and a heavy silver moon-disc around her neck. She sang the service in a contralto of liquid grief. The Eminence Indal and the Heir were here, and every member of the cabinet, and nearly half the Pelismara Society, too, all crowded into the chapel on the Residence’s second floor.
Selemei couldn’t feel it. Her eyes and throat hurt, but no tears came.
All she could do was hold Aven’s hand, and curl an arm around Corrim, who clung to her, muffling his sobs in her stomach. Pelli’s Verrid had decided to take her for a walk when she started squirming; Brinx sat on the far side of his sister Enzyel and her Eighth Family partner because he wasn’t speaking to anyone. Selemei leaned her head down against Corrim’s curls, reversing the room in the corner of her eye.