I blinked. Talk had moved on and I had lost it.
“… would help if you could arrange access for me,” Tain was saying, his dark gaze fixed on the Scribe-Guilder.
Budua tightened her spidery lips and shrugged. “Of course, Honored Chancellor,” she said. “However, the city has never been under siege, so I can’t imagine why a previous Council would have had any useful discussions.”
“We didn’t start out as a peaceful people,” Tain reminded her. “Our ancestors were warriors, and they built this city expecting resistance. I can’t imagine everyone took kindly to us settling here and securing the best trade route in the continent. There must have been extensive conversations about defense from the Council in our early history.”
Budua lifted her shoulders again.
“In any case, I wish to review them,” Tain said, and this time he used his best Chancellor voice.
“As you will, Honored Chancellor,” Budua said. “I will arrange for you to be shown the archives when it is convenient.” She glanced at Marjeta, and when she moved one hand from the tabletop it left a tiny smear of sweat behind. I wondered what was in those records to cause her nervousness, and my earlier confidence about Budua and Marjeta’s involvement evaporated.
Tain checked the position of the sun through the dome roof. “It’s time we were back to our tasks,” he said. “Thank you all.”
Budua and Marjeta hurried out first. Varina and Lazar trailed after, both looking absent. Eliska, Marco, and Pedrag conversed as they left, each Guilder clasping a sheet of notes. Nara pushed through them all, elbows flared like a rude patron seeking the front row at the theater. Bradomir walked close by Tain, his ringed hands flashing expressively. Javesto stepped after Tain, reaching toward the Chancellor’s shoulder, his breath held as if steeling himself. But he dropped the hand before it reached Tain, and instead left, his head bent.
* * *
Jovan and the other Councilors spent the better part of the day in their own sectors, sorting out tasks and allocating responsibilities within their own little structures. I’d only had short moments with my brother and Tain after the Council meeting to share the list of names.
“Someone poisoned the leksot for a reason,” I said. “Lord Ectar had no reason to do it; it only increases suspicion over him. So either someone is working with a member of your household or administrative staff, or someone on this list is the poisoner.”
“I agree,” Jov said. “I suspect the poisoner saw the leksot on the Chancellor and took the opportunity to cover their tracks. It either looks like an innocent accident or a convenient visiting noble is blamed. Much easier than dealing with the aftermath of a poisoning.”
“So you’re saying someone on my own Council killed my uncle? And is working with the army out there?”
“There were a few administrative staff at the Manor that afternoon, too. Accountants, a scribe, the librarian. They weren’t at the lunch, but they could be working with one of Lazar’s staff, or could have been paid by someone to poison the leksot. But, yes, I think you shouldn’t trust your Council.”
Tain looked unconvinced. “I know this is your family’s job, but maybe you’re overthinking this. What on earth would a Councilor have to gain from a rebellion? The Credolen have already probably lost family members out on the estates. This isn’t just a power scramble within the city. People are going to get killed, on both sides. Have already been.”
It was true that the idea of, say, Bradomir working with ordinary workers and farmers to overthrow a system from which he benefited lavishly was absurd. And though Tain detested the man, he had been a strong ally of Caslav’s for decades. “The Families have all got trade relationships with other countries,” Jov said, as if in answer to my thought. “Who’s to say that hasn’t developed into some more sinister alliance? Or someone could have been blackmailed; we all have family and property in the other cities and on the estates that could have been used as leverage.”
Tain rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I love you both, you know that. And I know you’re looking out for my best interests. But listen, Lini, Jov, I’ve got to defend the city. I can’t be dredging through my advisers or trying to solve a mystery here. We’re all stuck in the city together and it’s in all our interests to get out of this siege alive, so can I just concentrate on that?”
“Forgive me, Tain, but no,” Jovan said firmly. “Sieges have been lost because of internal traitors.” He gestured to the book in my hand. “The Talafan lost a northern border city sixty years ago because someone inside poisoned the wells.”
Tain shifted about uncomfortably on the cushion. “Then I’m leaving that part of it to you, all right? I trust you two, I won’t trust anyone else completely, but I have to be able to run the defenses without second-guessing everything I’m told.”
I wanted to argue. Tain always thought the best of people; it was a great strength and an equally great weakness. I recognized the stress in his expression and Jov must have, too; unspoken, we dropped the subject. But I worried for him.
* * *
The afternoon light turned golden, splashing over the white azikta stone buildings like gilt paint, and the warm glow made my eyelids heavy. There had been no further attacks. All day we had waited uneasily for any sign that the army would strike again, but perhaps they needed time to build weaponry. I’d alternated between further research of sieges and performing odd jobs in the Oromani sector. I couldn’t operate machinery or transport heavy goods, but I could help coordinate people and send messages easily enough. When I mentioned to my brother that I might try training with the archery groups Marco was assembling, he gave me a blistering lecture about triggering a relapse. I blanked out, the picture of meekness, all the while thinking how to time my attendance to avoid my overprotective brother. Archery, after all, required strength, but not the same kind of sustained energy as other martial areas.
Late in the afternoon, I sought out the Theater-Guilder, Credola Varina, finding her at the expansive Leka family apartments she shared with her cousin Bradomir. A younger family member let me in and directed me to a sitting room where Varina talked with a young Order Guard, marking items off a list. She glanced up with narrowed eyes. Like a smooth, elegant reptile, she wore the deepening lines of her advancing age with grace.
“I’ve sent a whole group to act as the Chancellor’s runners, if you’ve come to remind me,” she said, brusque. “But that’s the last lot—Marco’s given me enough to do with my little population here as it is.”
I addressed the Order Guard, keeping my tone polite. “May I have a moment with the Theater-Guilder?”
“Of course, Credola,” he said, but he waited upon Varina’s sharp nod before he left. I settled myself down at the table.
“This isn’t about runners,” I said. “I’m trying to get some information.”
Varina stiffened. “About what, dear?” She pretended to consult the list in her hands. Up close, she looked peaky; her eyes and nose were red, as if she’d been crying, and her face looked thinner than usual.
“The day the Chancellor died,” I said. She looked up, eyes widening. I’d surprised her—whatever she had worried about me asking, it wasn’t this. “You were at the Manor.…”