A Promise Broken Read online

  Eiryn focused most of her attention on the girls in front of her because she didn’t want to think about anything. Syla-minnai and Mery-minnai were passing notes to one another. Eiryn couldn’t read what they were writing, but it was at least more fun to guess at that than to hear people answer sums she hadn’t seen and couldn’t do anyway.

  After some time, Orryn-minnaoi started to explain multiplication and Eiryn was utterly lost. Radèn-minnoi’s explanations always made a bit more sense. He always used things to show her which helped. The last time Radèn had tried to explain numbers, he hadn’t written things down for children to copy like Orryn-minnaoi did. He’d stolen a whole bag of raspberries from the kitchens and they’d wound up with their hands all sticky with juice. It was much more fun than what Orryn-minnaoi was doing and at least it felt like she understood that.

  “Why have you called another meeting?” Mystá demanded. “Especially regarding this child.” The voice startled Arèn’s gaze away from the window. Murmurs of similar sentiments were running through the assembled faslaeraoina, but it was Myrtan’s sister who’d voiced them most loudly and who’d requested the chance to speak. “We’ve already decided on what to do.”

  Arèn’s heart had sunk when Myrtan had first asked for the floor, but the dissent in the room made it rise again just a little. If even Myrtan’s closest allies were questioning his judgement in this… Arèn could use that. He would.

  “The majority is not always the vote of Balance, Mystá-minnai,” Anou reminded the room. The old man’s voice was soft, but Arèn could hear the farakaoina underlying it to carry the sound past everyone’s muttering. Myrtan hadn’t even given all of the faslaeraoina a chance to gather. About half their number were out of the city at the moment and probably hadn’t even received any summons. It meant the balance of voting had fallen, slightly, in Myrtan’s favour. “Decisions are always open for appeal when there is due cause. Let Myrtan-minnoi make his case if he wishes.”

  Myrtan rose, saying, “Thank you.” He did not trill for his turn and it seemed, glancing around, that Arèn had not been the only one to pick up on the man’s rudeness. Taking his time, Myrtan looked at each of the gathered faslaeraoina in turn. Arèn kept his face carefully blank, but when Myrtan wasn’t looking at him he glanced at the rest of the faslaeraoina. Even some of Myrtan’s closest and most fervent allies looked uncomfortable and unhappy. Arèn would never expect someone like Zannan, who hated gaodansaoina, to speak up for his half-blooded niece, but the way he almost squirmed when Myrtan looked at him filled Arèn with hope.

  “I have called this meeting to discuss the case of Eiryn Enroi’Arèn, who stands accused of disrupting the Balance. I question the decision made and invoke the right to have it examined again lest Balance be irreparably damaged.

  “Fasaoi around the girl is upset,” Myrtan announced, “and it is slow to restore itself. I propose that the girl is a danger to our society, our very world.”

  Arèn balled his fists within the folds of the black-and-white sash around his waist and grit his teeth. He would not rise to the bait, but oh how he wanted to. He waited for Myrtan to continue, thought they were all waiting for him to continue, but it was Zannan who trilled and rose. “It is always slow to restore itself, Myrtan.”

  Against all protocol and courtesy, Mystá rose and put her arm on her brother’s shoulder. “Janyn-doi was upset for a year when his mother died, Myrtan. Give the girl some time.”

  “We have given her time!” Though his voice wasn’t loud and it was devoid of a farakaoina, the Hall of Balance was quiet enough that Myrtan’s words echoed off the walls all the same.

  Arèn couldn’t help himself. He had to speak. “Two months,” he said, struggling for control over his voice because he could not fall apart just now. “We’ve given her two months. If your son grieved for a year, Eiryn should get at least as long.” He swallowed away the rest of his sentence and shook his head. He would not be baited or goaded any further. Shaking slightly, he forced himself back into his seat and to let someone else take over the discussion.

  “You were there the night Anou-minnoi tested her, Myrtan,” Keilan said, “and saw the results with your own eyes.”

  “There was no Imbalance,” Zannan added, and confirmed that nothing in this meeting was going to go the way Arèn had expected it would. True, Zannan sounded like he’d rather swallow a live hedgehog than admit to having been wrong, but that hardly mattered when he’d all but done just that.

  “Those of us who see the child often have not noticed anything amiss,” Orryn added. “We would have brought it up sooner if we had.”

  “Unless fasaoi is upset around all of you because of her!”

  Even Mystá startled enough to draw away from her brother. He’d underlaid the whole sentence with a farakaoina to carry it far louder than his voice would naturally support. If Arèn had thought he’d known what stunned silence sounded like before, he would have had to revise his impression.

  When Mystá whispered her brother’s name, the Hall exploded into loud muttering and even shouting as all the faslaeraoina tried to be heard at once. None remained seated or calm. Arèn himself sought refuge in the blue light streaming in through the window. Outside he could see the city, its life and its people. Most of them would be gaodansaoina like Eiryn’s father had been. Arèn had never taken his niece out of the palace before and he knew Amaru never had either. If Myrtan got his wish, he never would.

  Don’t be stupid, Arèn told himself. The faslaeraoina had already decided in his niece’s favour once. They wouldn’t change their minds just because Myrtan hated gaodansaoina and it seemed even people like Zannan had a line they would not cross. Arèn sighed. He’d never understand how someone could hate a group of people that much. It was true that gaodansaoina had not built Lir, but they’d provided food and resources. Some of them had, anyway. It was true that they could not use fasaoi and their music and song grated on kerisaoina ears and common sense. But Arèn struggled to grasp how that would lead to the hatred Myrtan seemed to bear them.

  When Keilan came to stand beside him, Arèn didn’t startle only because he’d heard footsteps approaching when there was a lull in the shouting behind him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Arèn shook his head, then nodded. “I don’t know. I should help Anou restore order.”

  “Let them shout themselves hoarse a little while longer. It’ll do them good. They haven’t had a good argument in years.”

  Arèn laughed at that, albeit bitterly, because it was true. The faslaeraoina never argued. He’d never experienced anything like this, though his grandfather had had great stories about the debate that took place when three gaodansaoina had applied for an open position. Feraenou-minnoi had been one of the librarians then and he’d been pelted with requests for documents to prove both arguments. In the end, only one of the gaodansaoina was accepted because three would present too big a change at once and her voice was deemed acceptable enough to merely grate their ears rather than make them expect the room to be set alight by accident. The woman had died of old age, his grandfather said, a few years before Arèn and his sister had been born. Apparently she’d been quite formidable, but no other gaodansaoina had come forth to apply since. Not that Arèn could remember, at least.

  Sighing, he turned to face the gathered faslaeraoina. “I’d best intervene.” He didn’t want to. He was slightly, mildly, disappointed to see that no one had come to blows and thus ensured that the whole meeting was called off. Arèn raised his voice, using the same farakaoina as Anou had used to make it carry.

  “People, please! I know Imbalance is a topic fraught with danger and our own feelings and opinions on the matter serve to make it even more so, but surely we can hold a civil discussion about the matter.” He hated himself for what he had to say next. “Let Myrtan-minnoi make his case.” Even though he’d discourteously interrupted Myrtan himself. Even though he wanted nothing more than for all of this to be over.

  As the gathe
red faslaeraoina slowly fell quiet and returned to their seats, so did Arèn. He did not sit, however. Neither did Myrtan. That was all right. He could manage that.

  “Thank you,” the other kerisoi answered through gritted teeth. “I only wish the case investigated again.”

  “I see. Why?” Arèn wasn’t certain why Anou let him do this. He didn’t know why the old man wouldn’t take back control of the meeting. Everyone around him looked subdued. Even Mystá looked worn and tired. Fasaoi, even Lemny looked like she’d rather be anywhere but here and she thrived in arguments like no person Arèn had ever known.

  “Because I believe the investigation was biased and we can afford no doubts.”

  Ice. Arèn was ice. “You are calling my niece sifanou, Myrtan?” he asked and, damn courtesy and rules, enough was enough. If Myrtan wanted to persist, Arèn would force the words out of the shadows of discourse and make Myrtan speak plain. The tension in the room coiled around him like a snake, squeezing the air from his lungs. Arèn could hear the way the entire gathering held their breath as one in that moment before Myrtan answered.

  “Yes.” Arèn’s world reeled. “I am.”

  His surprise wasn’t that of incredulity, not at the answer. Arèn simply hadn’t expected the kerisoi to admit it so readily, so plainly. He was ice, all ice, and let the silence run its course. He had nothing to say and nothing to add, anyway. All he had were his thoughts. In his peripheral vision, Arèn could see Anou rise and he turned to face the old man. Myrtan and the other faslaeraoina turned with him. “We thank you for your concern, Myrtan-minnoi. I may remind you that you yourself picked half of the observers and specifically requested that I should be the one to test her.”

  It surprised Arèn that Myrtan did not accuse anyone of falsifying the results as well, and it hurt to think that the thought surprised him. They were supposed to be better than that. Myrtan was shaking his head. “We cannot be sure. And we cannot take the risk.”

  “If she were sifanou we would have noticed something by now, Myrtan.” That was Zannan, of all people. “I don’t like half-breeds any more than you do, but we would have noticed. I propose we let her grieve and watch her for at least half a year longer.”

  Then Mystá added, softly, “Myr, she’s just a little girl.” Arèn didn’t think it was for anyone else to hear, but it was too quiet for the words to do anything but carry. Her brother didn’t answer. Not for a few minutes and then he only grunted once and stalked back to his seat. Mystá followed him, nodding at Arèn in passing. He inclined his head in thanks. He’d tried to heed Keilan’s advice the few times he’d run into Mystá. Perhaps it’d worked? Arèn had never grasped romance, and he’d never cared much for it either.

  “Well,” Anou said. “That’s settled then. We’ll revisit the matter in half a year and sooner if anything changes.” As Myrtan and several others rose, Anou sang for attention. “I was not done.” He waited until everyone was seated again. “I would like to remind you all once again that you selected me to conduct the test. We all agreed that, though fasaoi was upset around the girl, it was not her doing. I took the liberty of restoring it when I tucked her in that night.”

  “What?” Arèn gasped. Opposite him, Myrtan spluttered the same. “You did what without telling me?”/p>

  Anou repeated the words, hands open towards the gathered faslaeraoina. “Six months should be more than enough time for the changes to heal and settle.”

  “You should have told me!”

  “He should have told all of us!” Myrtan snapped back.

  “I am telling you now,” Anou said. His voice was still calm, unsteady with age but little more than that, as he looked at Arèn. “Arèn, I’ve known you since you were a child. If I’d told you, you would have tried to stop me.” Then the old man looked at Myrtan. “You I’ve known even longer. If I’d told you, you would have wanted the girl condemned then and there. I am telling you both now so that perhaps you can settle this matter outside these meetings unless there is provable cause to bring it here.”

  There was silence as Anou sat back down. Arèn walked stiffly back to his seat to keep people from seeing how much he was shaking. He said nothing, certain that his voice would be quivering like a frightened girl’s if he did. Would he have stopped Anou from helping his niece? He’d like to believe not. Myrtan, instead of returning to his seat, stalked to the great doors without a word. As the man traversed the hall, the stomp of his boots and the rustle of his robes filling the room, Mystá looked from her brother to Anou a couple of times. Then she whispered something that Arèn couldn’t make out and hurried after her brother.

  After the great doors had swung shut again, Anou said, “I believe that is all for the day. If anyone has any doubts about Eiryn Enroi’Arèn, please let me know immediately.”

  No one said anything and so Anou ended the meeting. It felt rather anti-climactic to Arèn. He followed Keilan out of the Hall of Balance, not quite certain where they were going or why they were going there. He just followed Keilan.

  Neither of them spoke until they reached a small room filled with the scent of flowers and mulch. It was a humid room with a glass roof that Arèn only visited with Keilan because she loved it. He hated the oppressive heat and the scent of rotting plants underneath the sweetness. It cloyed too, if he was truly honest with himself. Keilan loved how green the room was and how many flowers would bloom there throughout the year. She sat down on one of the benches in the middle and patted the space beside her.

  With a sigh, Arèn sat. Keilan had picked the bench that offered them the most shade, courtesy of the large, green leaves overhead. Perhaps he should ask her to take Eiryn here one day. They sat in silence until he asked, “What just happened?”

  Keilan had stretched out beside him, tilting her head backwards into the sunshine, but now she straightened and looked at him. “Myrtan proved we should never have accepted him as faslaeroi,” she said and went back to her basking. Her hand patted along his leg until it found his knee. “And whatever you’ve been doing to Mystá seems to be working. That won’t be putting Myrtan in a good mood.”

  He hadn’t been doing anything to Mystá. Capturing Keilan’s hand with his own, Arèn sighed again, more deeply this time. “I suppose not. Why now, though?”

  “I think he wants to divert Orryn-minnaoi’s attention from his son.”

  “Why?” Arèn had little enough to do with any of the children. Eiryn lived with him and he saw Radèn from time to time, but that was as much experience as he had. “I know nothing of children,” he muttered then realised that Keilan had been speaking to him at the same time. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I said he pushes the boy too much.”

  “How do you know?”

  Keilan opened one eye to look at him. She tilted her head forward a little and stared, one-eyed, at him until she threw her head backwards again, kicked her feet into the air and laughed. “Oh, Arèn. Think.” She repositioned herself so that she was sitting straight and was facing him. “He’s an archivist. I work with him from time to time. His son likes helping us arrange the books in alphabetical order.”

  “I see,” he said when she didn’t say anything more. “How does that mean he pushes the boy too hard?” He didn’t want to ask, but he needed to know and the sooner the better.

  “It’s just a feeling.” She shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the boy sing a farakaoina before.” Arèn frowned, but before he could ask, Keilan continued. “I know that’s not strange. The boy hasn’t come into his power yet, but the other children I’ve spent time with jump at any chance to practice. I’ve never heard him before.”

  “I see.” Keilan looked so miserable, Arèn thought she could only look worse if she’d outright accused the boy of being sifanou. He didn’t have the heart to press, but he made a note to look into the matter discreetly. “I have to finish my financial reports,” he said, and added, “I’m expecting an update on my young thief. They should have finished th
e work we’d assigned them by now.” He had no idea if that was true, but the excuse was plausible enough that Keilan waved him away with her foot. “Will I see you later tonight?”

  “Yes. Shoo. I want to soak in some more heat before I have to work with Myrtan for the rest of the day. I’m supposed to help him with some old documents about the creation of the Enkeina.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  Keilan snorted and Arèn left quickly before she had a chance to talk him into listening to how much she hated dealing with old and brittle documents. He’d planned to deal with his own stack of papers, but as he was walking he grew increasingly uneasy for no reason he could name. People avoided him as he walked, which did not help his mood in the least.

  As Arèn rounded another corner on the way to his own chambers, he bumped into someone. It took him a moment to register that he needed to look down to see who it was. Radèn was squatting on the floor reaching for the papers that had spilled from his hands. Arèn knelt down to help. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” He was about to ask if Radèn knew where Eiryn was when the boy looked up. He’d got another black eye, blooming in stark contrast to his pale skin.

  “I need to study for history,” Radèn muttered, his fingers fiddling with the loose sheets of paper. “I’m late.”

  Late for what, Arèn wondered. “I am sure your teacher will be kind enough to spare you for an hour at most. I’d like to talk to you.” He should probably have done that a long time ago.

  “Sure.” Radèn did not look happy, but he followed Arèn down the corridors to Amaru’s old chambers. If his voice had been low enough Arèn would just have sung a farakaiona to keep people from overhearing, but he couldn’t. No one had needed Amaru’s old chambers yet, so they were still in his custody. It was the one place where he could be sure they would not be overheard, and if he wanted to press the boy for information regarding two potential cases of Imbalance he needed that privacy.