I listened to them talk as we walked, surprised by the ease with which Hadrea drew my shy sister into conversation and made her laugh. Hadrea pointed to buildings and gardens and even little statues set in walls, peppering Kalina with questions and commentary about the city.
“Why do you wear so little color?” Hadrea asked. “It is all white, white, like you do not know any others.”
Kalina smoothed down her own dress. “I don’t know. All the nicest fabrics are white. I suppose it shows off the other things—your cording, or jewelry. Like colored mosaic tiles on a white building.”
Hadrea plucked at the red cording over her bust. “It is like being a giant parcel, wrapped with string.”
Kalina smiled. “Do you get hot in all your layers?” she asked. “The embroidery is beautiful but your skirts look so heavy.”
“No, it is not hot. The wind, out on the lands, it keeps things cool.” She laughed. “It would be too cool to wear your little dresses and tunics. The men would not enjoy the Maiso without pants.”
As Kalina joined in the laughter, Hadrea pulled the scarf from her hair and ran her fingers over the embroidery. “Our mothers teach us needlework early.” She smiled. “We practice on our ordinary clothes and scarves to perfect our skills—this is not the best I could manage. I could show you my festival clothes, back home!” She passed the scarf to Kalina, who smoothed the bright threads between her hands. “You can have that, if you like it.”
We reached the Manor, and as I opened the door for them, both gave me a half-startled look, as though they’d completely forgotten my presence. Flattering. Evidently Hadrea wasn’t wasting as much of her thoughts on me as I was on her. I’d been captivated by but unable to participate in their conversation about clothing and public bathing and tile glazing, chiefly because everything that came out in her slow, lilting voice seemed to mesmerize me.
We had barely stepped inside when Tain met us, alone.
“Jov,” he said faintly. My breath suddenly thunderous in my ears, I crossed the room, taking in all the signs parading in front of me like a list. Slick skin, when the temperature within the Manor was mild and pleasant. Voice strained, weak. Hands pressed under armpits.
“I thought it was just exhaustion,” he mumbled as I looked him over, numb. “But I’m sorry, Jov, I don’t think it’s that.”
No. My ears hurt, like my brain was swelling inside my skull. Can’t be happening. Not now, not after everything. Kalina gave a strangled cry. When my voice came out, it sounded so cold, so dispassionate, I almost couldn’t believe it was mine.
“When did you start feeling unwell?”
“I’ll send for the physics,” Argo said, voice trembling.
“No,” I snapped, startling the old man. Even Tain looked shocked at my tone.
“If the Chancellor is sick…” Hadrea began.
“No,” I repeated, trying to soften my words. “They don’t know how to help,” I said, part explanation, part plea, meeting Tain’s eyes. “They couldn’t help Etan or Caslav. They can’t help you, if that’s what this is.”
He looked at me, confusion and fear stripping years from his face. Kalina grabbed my arm. “Jov, we have to try.”
Tain shook his head. “He’s right, Lini,” he said. “Argo, An-Hadrea. Please don’t.”
The elderly doorkeep froze by the edge of his desk, staring, as if searching for some sign I was coercing Tain.
“We can’t tell them,” Tain said. He sounded strong, like a leader. Perhaps only I knew him well enough to detect the hint of desperation in his eyes. “We can’t tell them, because if we’ve lost a single leader’s voice, we’ve lost this war. And once they know I’ve been…” He stumbled for words, then shook his head again. “We can’t tell anyone yet.”
“Argo, no one is to come in the Manor. No one. Tell anyone who comes that the Chancellor and I are out inspecting the north wall.” Kalina let go of my arm; her fingers left marks on my skin. “Lini, you and Hadrea take Tain to his rooms. I have to go check something. I’ll be with you soon.” I squeezed Tain’s shoulder and tried to sound comforting instead of stiff.
I left them there and ran.
The Council chambers seemed eerie and cold, even with the sun pouring in through the dome and spilling over the table, where the little model walls and bridges sat abandoned and pitiful. Where the fat pot of dried fruit had sat, there remained only the faintest sticky circle. And where Tain had left the partial fig by his papers, nothing. I used a paper to take a sample of the sticky residue and checked under the table and chairs, inside the model, all over the room, conscious of the futility of it. Frustration tasted bitter as bile in my throat. I knew now, as close to certain as could be, that the poison had been on Tain’s fig. And I had lost the chance to study a trace of that poison to develop an antidote. I thought I might choke on my own anger.
Without even realizing I’d begun, I found myself halfway around a loop of the table, pacing anxious rounds under the sullen and watchful eyes of the Councilors in the paintings above each chair. Unable to look at Pedrag, or Etan or Caslav, I circled, feeling the painted eyes of our diminished Council above me, judging. I tried to shut down the doomsaying part of my brain. You’ve failed. It’s all over, it told me, and despite my best efforts it showed me Tain’s death, how he would look as he got sicker and sicker.
Anxiety rose within me, a choking intruder in my chest, making my ears ring and my lungs and throat contract. In sudden need of air, I stumbled out of the Council chamber and took two steps toward the exit before realizing the stupidity of leaving the Manor and risking observation. Backtracking, I hurried to the glass-walled garden where Kalina had found the dead leksot what felt like years ago. I knelt on the grass there, sucking in breaths of earthy cool air, my quivering hands pressed into the soft layer of decomposing leaves.
As I breathed, the panic subsided. Between my toes, I felt the prickly edge of a feverhead springing from the grass. Left unchecked for weeks without a gardener, the toxic weed had probably spread throughout the entire garden. Even though it was pointless, I tugged at the base until the bulbous roots came out. I pulled out another weed, and another, and scraped the just-rotten leaves from around me, gathering the cold, dead remnants into a moist pile. The repetitive, soothing actions gave me slow comfort.
Eventually, I stretched out, joints cracking. The cool water in the pond stung the raw scrapes on my skin as I cleaned the dirt and sticky plant residue from my hands and fingernails. I felt calm now, dispassionate. I’d learned distrust and calculation at the feet of my Tashi, learned to analyze and to act without emotion. It was that Jovan who left the garden. I had, at best, one night to find an antidote to the poison, or Tain would die. There was no Heir. Our Council was corrupt and dangerous, and our city was on the brink of falling. If I couldn’t save Tain, it spelled the end for Silasta.
Gardening had given me time to breathe. We’d not found a cure last time even with my uncle’s brilliant mind and a dozen physics working alongside me, but a more stubborn, visceral part of me still searched for a solution. With Etan and Caslav we had tried all of the standard antidotes, and that had taken time. Now I knew what wouldn’t work. Where not to focus my attention. And perhaps that—coupled with even greater desperation—gave me a new advantage.