Chapter Seven

The Sunlit Palace was not just the residence of the Queen of Lucenequa and her large family. Once a fortified castle, the massive building had gracious rooms for public social events—salons, ballrooms, parlors, and so on. Behind those was a maze of narrow hallways and mundane offices inhabited by clerks, lawyers, accountants, and officials: the center of the business of ruling the kingdom. Fonsca's carriage deposited them at a back entrance, not the grand public gates, and it was through the back hallways Adrio led them.

Evidently familiar with this space, he brought them through the cluttered maze of offices from back to front until they arrived at a grand hall. At the end was a pair of tall, broad doors flanked by liveried servants—an audience chamber. Adrio strode to the doors, nodded to the servant, bearing every year of his noble ancestry around him like a cloak, and the servant did not stop him from walking right through. She did eye Fonsca and Cay, both born commoners, who remained outside the doors. Fonsca gave her some money, and she allowed them to shamelessly listen. She was, after all, doing the same thing.

The furious voice of Queen Vallila III rolled easily out into the hallway: "Be very clear with me, Master Envoy. By what right do you lay hands upon my cousin, Lord Noresposto?"

Hob Fierar's voice was quieter, higher, and less easy to hear. Fonsca, Cay, and the servant all leaned in.

"By a nation's right to protect itself from saboteurs and spies, Your Majesty. I am my Lord Protector's ears and hands in this kingdom. Lord Noresposto is in league with the Uncanny Aviator."

Cay pressed a hand over his eyes as if he could hear more clearly by blocking his vision.

"Leaving aside the question of the Uncanny Aviator," drawled the queen, "your jurisdiction to arrest and question ends at the border. You were granted certain diplomatic privileges when you were invited here, as I'd hoped to return our nations to some semblance of a neighborly relationship. But you have far exceeded those privileges, and you will return my kinsman to his home, unharmed, at once."

"The evidence of his guilt is clear."

"Immaterial. A citizen of Lucenequa, however common or noble, may move freely about this realm without being seized by Muntegrise forces."

Cay had to note Hob Fierar's courage: he did not back down. "Unless, according to section six of the Accords of Podfluvial, the Lucenequan citizen is engaged in activities that would upset the balance of power between our two nations. I believe the development of invisible flying machines more than meets the standard."

There was a long silence. Cay glanced uneasily at Fonsca, wondering if the queen, twenty-nine years old and only on the throne for a year, knew about the Accords of Podfluvial. Then she said, "I believe the balance of power between our nations was quite upset almost seven years ago, when the Grup put to death the descendants of the royal family and erected roadblocks to prevent free commerce. Cease to speak of irrelevancies and address the issue of your illegal seizure of my cousin."

"Ah," said Fierar, his tone now conciliatory. "Perhaps I was mistaken. I believed I acted within my authority. Alas, Lord Noresposto has already been removed and is en route to Muntegri even as we speak. It is too late to recall him. If I have overstepped, I beg forgiveness. It was only a sign of my zeal to protect my nation from a new and terrible threat."

"Forgive me this interruption, Your Majesty." The voice was Adrio's. "May I ask a question of the envoy?"

"Proceed, Lord Lodola."

"Master Fierar, correctly? You believe Ondrei Rege, Lord of Noresposto, is an aeronaut who flies at will over the Elurez Mountains to Muntegri?" Adrio's voice was relaxed and humorous.

"No, Lord Lodola," said Fierar. "He is the aeronaut's accomplice, who aids him and knows who he is."

"And what led you to this amazing conclusion?"

"Two things." Fierar did not seem daunted by Adrio's mockery. "For one, three nights ago, he abruptly left his home and rode forth, without any retinue, in darkness. My agents were surprised by this and followed him. He rode north toward the mountains—"

"On what road?"

"The road to Noresposto, my lord."

"Noresposto is Lord Ondrei's country estate."

"Indeed. He did not go to Noresposto, however. He passed through his seat and continued north, toward the mouth of Lehoia Pass."

"He has another house in the foothills."

"He did not go to Wind House. Rather, he left the road and took shelter in a noisome mountain shed, which once perhaps had sheltered goats or sheep. There he was observed by my people in a secret meeting. Such was his stealth, we were unable to ascertain the identity of his associates, who fled. We did take him, however. He refused to supply a reason for his movements."

There was silence. Cay tried and failed to imagine Ondrei in a goat shed.

The queen put in, "How came you to be spying upon Lord Noresposto, sir?"

"We have known Lord Noresposto was involved in the plot for some time," said Fierar. "These documents were found upon his person earlier this year. They are, I think you will agree, quite damning."

Then came the sound of rustling papers. Cay, overcome with horror, nearly fell down.

"These... these were found on Ondrei's person?" Adrio's voice had gone soft with astonishment. "How? And when, and by whom?"

"These few pages are copies," said Fierar. "Part of a much larger sheaf of documents. The original is in the hands of the lord chancellor's university in Turla. As you can see, these pages contain illustrations of smoke-balloons and calculations for how to make them fly. The other pages were covered with mathematical formulae, which are being deciphered." His voice dripped satisfaction. "If Lucenequa is developing this military technology, then Muntegri must regard your proffered peace negotiations as a farce, and my masters must and shall know of it."

More shuffling of papers. Cay leaned against the wall to hold himself upright.

"Your Majesty," said Adrio eventually, his voice oddly strained. "This cannot be true. I have known Lord Noresposto since childhood, and I will vow he has never looked at a mathematical formula in his life."

"I agree he is not the author of the papers," put in Fierar, "nor the originator of their ideas. But these were indeed found upon him by one of my agents here in Valette. It follows that he knows their author. It is in the interest of Muntegri, and of peace itself, to question him further."

"Question him?"

"Respectfully," said Fierar. "We have great respect for Lucenequa's nobles."

The queen spoke. "Enough. The question is not whatever nonsense is in these papers or what private business took my cousin to his bai. The question is whether I will imprison and hang you for your extraordinary and illegal actions."

"Your Majesty, diplomatic imm—"

"Silence. You will remain free for the moment, but only because you have work before you. You will send to Muntegri. My cousin is to be returned to me at once. As well, send my words to your lord chancellor. We regard the taking of our kin from our lands as a gross offense, a violation of our borders, and an assault upon the very peace you claim to safeguard. My cousin Lord Noresposto will be returned to us, and if he is harmed in any way, Muntegri will answer for it. You have one week."

Cay kept his eyes trained on the window as Fonsca's carriage carried them back to the house. His knees had turned to water, his breath was coming shallow, and his stomach sloshed with acid.

"Vallila may growl, but she has no teeth," Fonsca was saying. "Lucenequa cannot fling her armies up the Muntegri Road in winter. Ondrei won't be released until he's wrung dry, no matter what the envoy does."

"I know," said Adrio.

Cay closed his eyes.

"Cay's gone all green," said Fonsca. "What's the matter with him?"

"He is very fond of Ondrei."

Cay's heart ached at the gentleness in Adrio's tone even though it was probably a show for Fonsca's benefit.

He must be brave now. He must bring to an end all secrecy and throw himself on Adrio's mercy. For Ondrei's sake, he must find the courage to tell Adrio everything.

The carriage pulled up outside Adrio's house, and the servant opened the door. Cay began to alight, then glanced back at Adrio, who was not moving.

"I'm going along to Fonsca," he said. "We must discuss this. I don't know when I'll be home."

"No, my lord," said Cay, speaking for the first time, "I must have a word."

"Later."

"Now." He met Adrio's eyes as steadily as he could.

Fonsca's eyebrows went up. Adrio, clearly eager to be away, hesitated.

"This can't wait," said Fonsca.

"Nor can I," said Cay. "My lord. You must hear me."

Something in Cay's face or tone seemed to move him. "I'll be over later," Adrio said to Fonsca, and came with Cay into the house.

"Send the servants out and come to my rooms," said Cay, and ran up the stairs to his suite.

He took off his shoes and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire.

He had cried so many tears, but now his eyes were dry and hot. His shame and guilt, and his terrible, terrible fear, curdled like a bad meal in his stomach.

I must be brave now.

At last Adrio came in, still wearing his traveling cloak. "I've told the staff to remain in their quarters for an hour, except for Cook. There's bread in the oven, and she refuses to leave it. But we will not be interrupted."

"Thank you."

Adrio pulled the laces at this throat and tossed his cloak to the bed, where it slithered heavily to the floor. He leaned his hip on Cay's work table and folded his arms. "Now, be quick. What's this about?"

Cay popped his knuckles, one after the other. "I hardly know where to start."

"You shouldn't do that to your hands."

"I know." He clenched his fists and put them on his lap. He forced the words out of his mouth. "I met the envoy from Muntegri at the Harvest Ball. He tried to recruit me into gathering information for the Grup. I ignored him."

Adrio inhaled a deep breath, and then slowly let it out. "Go on."

"The next day he came here."

"You gave him tea."

"I did. Yes. And he blackmailed me. He demanded I give him information about you." His mouth was so dry his voice sounded creaky. "He seemed convinced you were involved in military planning. He wanted me to get military secrets out of you and give them to him. He said if I didn't do this, he would—"

Pop, pop, pop. He cracked all ten knuckles. Finally, he said, "He told me he would tell you, and everyone, some things about me. These things would damage you in society if they were known."

Adrio stared at him for a long moment. Cay did not look at his face, frightened of the contempt he would almost certainly see there. Finally, Adrio said, "I see. And how did you reply?"

"I made up a tale about a hero who rescued Chende in smoke-balloons."

Cay dared to glance up at Adrio, who was running a hand over his mouth and jaw. "You made up the Uncanny Aviator story on the spot?"

"It was not so big a story then," he said. "But Ondrei had made a joke at the ball, and Kell had said something about smoke-balloons at breakfast that morning—do you remember?"

"Yes."

Cay tucked his hands under his thighs, sitting on them, and went on, "I babbled a lot of nonsense. It was stupid. It was nothing. I just wanted him to go away. But soon, everyone was talking about it, and it got bigger—you embroidered the story yourself. So did everyone. And Fierar, I don't think he actually cares about the Chende refugees, but he sees the smoke-balloons as a military threat and demanded more information."

Adrio studied him for a moment. "You could have told me you were being threatened."

Cay bowed his head. "I wanted to. But you— I lost my nerve."

"Did you not trust me? Upon my honor, it is my duty to protect my husband, regardless of how things stand between us."

"I know." Cay's voice was small. "It's not that I didn't trust you. But you dislike me so much, and I couldn't bear it."

"So instead of speaking to me, you became Hob Fierar's agent."

"No." He jerked his head up to earnestly meet Adrio's eyes. "I lied. Since the story about the Uncanny Aviator had distracted him so successfully, I decided I would give him more lies. Anything to keep him at bay, to keep his eyes from you and whatever you were doing. So..." Cay squeezed his eyes shut, took a steadying breath, straightened his shoulders, and went on. "I made those papers. I made the drawings and copied mathematical formulae from books. I disguised my handwriting." He smiled a little. "They were good, Adrio! I almost thought, if you could see them, you'd be proud of how good they were."

"You thought I'd be proud?" His voice dripped scorn.

Cay ducked his head. No. Clearly the idea Adrio would ever be proud of his efforts was a foolish one.

Adrio went on coolly, "And how did the envoy conclude these plans belonged to Ondrei?"

There was the splinter, festering at the heart of the matter. Trying to keep his voice steady, he admitted, "I told him so."

A long pause. Then: "Ondrei. The man who has ever been your true friend. Who has defended you to me a hundred times. You falsely accused Ondrei—"

"I thought he would be safe!" he cried. "I thought Ondrei could not be involved in any clandestine activity, so it would do no harm if Fierar's spies watched him! And he is the queen's cousin, so even if they did suspect him of something, they wouldn't dare touch him!"

Adrio's expression was one of disgust. "I know you mock the concept of honor, but I cannot believe you would be capable of such baseness."

"I had to get them from someone, and it couldn't be you! I couldn't say I just found them on the street! And if he hadn't gone haring off to a goat shed on the Noresposto Road in the middle of the night, it would have worked." Cay stood and began to pace, gesturing wildly as he spoke. "How could I have predicted such a wild start? How could I have imagined Fierar would dare to lay hands on him on Lucenequan soil, no matter what he did? Anyway, Fierar was so excited he left and went back to Muntegri, and I hoped the snows would keep him there all winter, and I'd have a bit of time to think. But then he came back. And Ondrei... I don't know. I thought he was untouchable. I'm sorry." He took a long gulp of air and turned to face his husband. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Adrio. I would never knowingly do anything to hurt Ondrei. Or you. It was just—it was meant to be a distraction. You have to believe me."

Adrio's face was expressionless. After a long, painful moment, he said, "I'm not sure I have to believe anything of the kind."

Cay stared at him, mute.

Adrio glared at him, thinking, forbidding in his anger, and Cay realized he was cracking his knuckles again. He forced himself to stop.

Finally, Adrio said, "I assume the tale you didn't want the envoy to tell concerned the murder of Dizut Ingok?"

It was the last thing he expected Adrio to say. The name Dizut Ingok in Adrio's voice. The perfectly accurate Chende pronunciation sounded so strange in Adrio's Lucenequan accent.

"Where did you hear about Dizut Ingok?"

"Do you deny it?"

Cay stared at him, but he wasn't seeing his husband.

He was seeing—

A man with a locked cabinet. A man who was involved in some sort of secret work with his friends. A man who left for weeks and came back sunburned or muddy. A man who loved adventure stories. A man who had once bought a wagon full of caged ducks so they could swim.

A man who knew about the murder of Dizut Ingok.

"You're the Uncanny Aviator," said Cay.

Adrio's face was like stone, his eyebrows perfectly even. His lack of reaction cemented Cay's certainty.

"It's you. You and Fonsca and Ondrei." Dizzy, almost, from the force of his realization, he ran his hands through his hair. "There's nothing uncanny about how you free the Chende, of course—you probably pretend to be Muntegrise and buy them, a few at a time. You do my accent well enough. And you've made some kind of pact or treaty with the Maquhi Clan to bring them through the Lehoia Pass over the mountains. You just walk the refugees past the roadblock through the Pass, guided by the Maquhi Chende. Probably some of the refugees want to stay in the mountains, but the ones who don't, the ones who aren't used to mountain life or who belong to clans in blood-feud with the Maquhi, those you bring here to Lucenequa. One of them works in our kitchen. What did you offer to the Maquhi Clan for passage?"

Adrio sank into a chair.

"Cay," he breathed. "How do you know all this?"

"I didn't. I just figured it out. It's true, isn't it?"

"How do you know?" shouted Adrio.

Cay flinched. "N-no one knows about Dizut Ingok," he stammered. "Except me, and the Grup, and the Maquhi Clan. And you didn't hear it from me or the Grup, so you must have heard it from the Maquhi. Why would you be in contact with them? You've no business with them. Unless you're going through the mountains. You can't go through Lehoia Pass without paying the Maquhi Clan. No one can, not even Chende of other clans. But you have the money to pay them. So you're the one bringing the refugees to Lucenequa."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Cay's mind clicked over the new information: Adrio. The Chende. And Adrio had known about Dizut for months and had never said anything.

"You always claimed Kell was the smart one," Adrio said quietly.

Bitterness made him snap, "Sorry to disappoint, Husband. Is the old man still the chief? Gizon Ingok?" Adrio didn't reply, and Cay barreled on, too angry to remain silent. "This is what happened to us, isn't it? Months ago, Gizon spun you a tale of his golden heroic grandson Dizut, and of the vicious brat who murdered him—"

"Betrayed him to the Grup," interrupted Adrio. "Who hanged him for the ravens to eat, for his family to find rotting in the sun. The old man wept, telling me."

"How heartwarming," said Cay, not bothering to hide his revulsion.

"You've kept this secret from the day we met," Adrio growled, "and Gizon Ingok exposed it. You arrived in Valette in spring, with the first wave of refugees, before the roadblocks went up. And then that summer, you went back north, up to Lehoia Pass, to do your bloody work. Do you deny it?"

Cay clenched his fists. His stomach was in knots as he hugged his body and labored for breath.

"Explain it to me." Adrio was in a fury, his face flushed. "Explain how Gizon Ingok, chief of the Maquhi Clan, knows your name? How do you know his? How did you know where to go in the Lehoia's maze of canyons? How did you know you would find the Maquhi Clan there? Who gave you your information? How could you have done it unless it was a trap planned and orchestrated by the Grup?"

"So," said Cay, ignoring the questioning. "This is what happened. Gizon told you all this, and you believed him, and you never asked me. You believed him, so you kicked me out of your bed, and froze me out of your life, and broke my heart—" He gulped for breath. "And you never asked me if it was true."

"Is it?" shouted Adrio.

"Yes!"

Adrio snarled at him. "You led a troop of the Grup guards right up the Lehoia Pass to where Dizut Ingok was camped—the grandson and heir to the clan's chief. That boy's blood is on your hands."

"‘Boy'?" Cay laughed.

"Are you going to claim he wasn't? How much were you paid for your act of cowardly treachery and murder? Or would you have me believe you were being blackmailed then, too?"

"Why should I claim anything?" Cay looked him straight in the eye, fury lending him courage. "You've had months to ask me these questions. Any time this past summer and autumn, you might have asked me. Instead, you eagerly believed the worst, based on nothing but the ramblings of an old man."

For a moment, doubt and anguish flickered in Adrio's eyes. "By the same token, you might have told me, but whenever I asked about your past, or your passage from Muntegri, or the Chende, or anything, I was met with lies. I never asked you because I knew you would not answer."

"That's—"

He broke off when Adrio abruptly closed the distance between them and grabbed Cay by the shoulders. "True. It's true. You've lied to me, distracted me, evaded my questions, pretended a false good nature to cover your real self. Your public face shows honor, your private life reveals your lack of it. And it has dishonored me and made my public face a lie as well."

They stood nose to nose. Then Adrio released him with a shove, and, astonished, Cay staggered back a few paces.

Adrio had never struck him. He'd never, ever suspected Adrio might. "Do that again," he snarled, panting with rage, "and regret it."

"And now I see the real you," Adrio said. "A dog will show its teeth."

"Then don't kick it, Husband."

Adrio visibly pulled himself together, running a hand over his face. Cay watched him warily.

"This is all beside the point. None of it matters."

It was the most upsetting thing Adrio had said yet.

"None of this matters?"

"No." Adrio firmed his jaw. "A good man is dead—did you know the Maquhi Clan has declared a blood-feud against you?"

"Oh, indeed?"

"And Ondrei is in a Grup prison, at your hands, and it doesn't matter why."

Cay bit his lip. Ah, but that last was true. How cruelly Adrio wielded the truth.

"You must cause no further damage," Adrio went on. "You know far too much, and you cannot speak to anyone of any of it." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to Turla to try to rescue Ondrei—whatever's left of him. I must discuss it with Fonsca. And your friend Hob Fierar cannot know."

Adrio strode to the wall and pulled the bell cord. "I don't know what to do with you, and I don't have time to figure it out. You must stay put and keep your mouth shut until I get back. I'll see to you then."

"See to me?" demanded Cay. "What do you mean?"

Adrio didn't answer. A tap at the door and Lirano stood there, slightly flushed from what must have been a dead run from the servants' quarters.

"My lords?"

"I have important instructions for you," said Adrio. "Tonight I'll be at Fonsca's. Tomorrow, I will probably be leaving for a trip of about a week, perhaps two. I need you to prepare my horse and pack my things, the usual."

"Yes, my lord."

"Lord Cay is not to leave this house until I get back."

Cay straightened. "What?"

"No—he is not to leave his rooms."

Lirano's eyes anxiously darted between them. "My lord. What should we do if... if Lord Cay wishes to leave his rooms?"

"You will restrain him."

Cay ground his teeth. "Adrio, don't do this."

Adrio took in Lirano's horrified expression and seemed to judge whether his servants would be willing to lay hands on Cay. "If the staff are reluctant, hire guards. It's just until I get back."

"Very well, my lord."

"Adrio," Cay said again.

Adrio turned to him, visibly impatient to leave.

"Do not try to lock me up, my lord. There will be no repair. There will be nothing left to reconcile."

Again, Cay thought doubt and pain darkened Adrio's eyes. But then, his husband hardened his features and said, "I cannot afford anyone to know what you know. Not while they hold Ondrei."

"I won't—"

"You already have." He glanced at Lirano. "Lock this door and station someone outside. I'll be back in the morning to get my bags."

He walked out.

"Adrio!" shouted Cay.

But he was gone. Lirano bowed with apology in his eyes and left as well, closing the door to Cay's suite behind him. He heard the key click in the lock.

Cay stared at the door, stunned.

It was over.

Imprisoned in his home. The way Bekh Clan was imprisoned—oh, that comparison was absurd; this house was no labor camp. These rooms were made of luxury. He was afforded every comfort. And yet. His husband—Adrio—had ordered that he be imprisoned.

He had held on to hope for months, but there was nothing now. Nothing to be recovered, except possibly his dignity—and he had little enough dignity left.

He spun in place and imagined destroying every piece of furniture in this room. Shattering the mirror, shredding the tapestries, breaking the furniture and tearing up the rugs. And then setting the wreckage alight.

He didn't. He contented himself with finding his best shears and taking them savagely to Adrio's discarded travel-cloak. After he sliced and ripped it to pieces, he swept the scraps of wool and leather into a pile, put away his scissors, pressed his hands to his eye sockets until stars swam in his vision, and forced himself to think.

There was no real hurry. No need to flee into the night, for his husband would not care and would hardly turn over every stone to find him. So he had time to gather his wits.

He found a bag and packed it with his plainest clothes. He scooped all his jewelry and valuables into a small purse, leaving behind anything with Lodola or Santauro insignia. The earrings, the gold chains, they could be sold. He'd need cash.

When a tap came on the door, he dropped the satchel behind the bed. It was an apologetic Lirano with a meal on a tray. Pumpkin and mushroom soup, with bread and wine. Cay did not try to push past Lirano out the door or beg Lirano to let him go. To do either of those things would force Lirano to try to stop him. Instead, Cay thanked him politely and told him he was tired and would go early to bed.

He ate. He'd grown accustomed to excellent food here at Rossoulia, and who knew when he'd get another such meal? Then he pulled his clothes and belongings out of their cupboards, sorting out those things that might be light and useful. Good shoes, yes. Books, no.

As he worked, he thought of the Maquhi Clan—"Did you know Maquhi Clan has declared a blood-feud against you?"—and shivered. It wasn't a surprise, just a grim reminder of the horrors of Lehoia Pass and the thing he'd done. He'd known consequences would follow. He hadn't thought those consequences could reach into his marriage, but he should have.

Adrio condemned him for it. He didn't care why he'd done it. Cay had been right not to tell him. That realization hurt so much he paused in his packing, swaying slightly, a hand pressed to his chest.

All this time, he'd been right.

After sundown, when it was full dark and the servants would all be either in the kitchens or their quarters, Cay blew out his lamp and banked the fire. He pulled off his wedding ring and placed it on the center of his table, where a servant would be sure to see it. No need to leave a note; the wedding ring would be enough.

Finally, barefoot and with his bag slung across his back, he stepped out onto his windowsill and climbed down to the alley below. There, he paused to put his boots on.

Mandru crouched on the edge of the rooftop of Rossoulia, looking down at him silently, half-tail twitching.

Would any of the servants feed the cat once he was gone? Or let him in out of the rain?

Mandru wouldn't miss him. Mandru survived. He didn't need anyone.

Cay bowed to the cat in farewell, turned on his heel, and left his home and his marriage, intending never to return.