Chapter Eight

"I can't believe he would do it," sobbed Kell. "I can't believe it."

Cay held her tightly, letting her cry onto his shoulder.

He had climbed up to her dormitory room last night. If it was against the rules for him to be here after dusk, it was absolutely forbidden to stay here overnight; but of course, he'd had to come here. Kell's roommate had tactfully taken herself elsewhere, and Cay had sat on her bed and told Kell everything.

In a way, it was like when they were children when he and Kell had shared a room. When small Kell would crawl into bed with him, and he'd tell her stories until she slept.

She'd taken the news calmly. She'd approached the problem of what they were to do next with composure and logic, helping him to see what paths were open to them. Only now, as the small high window grew pale with dawn, did she break down.

"I trusted him. I liked him. I liked having another brother."

"I know. Forgive me. I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. She was red and puffy, her face streaked with tears. "It's not your fault. He betrayed your trust too. I just— How could he?"

Cay shook his head mutely.

"I knew you were having problems."

"Did you?"

"You can't hide anything from me. But I didn't think...I remember how hard he tried to get you to marry him. I know you didn't give in easily. How could it have all changed? Didn't he ever love us at all?"

Of course he did. But Cay didn't say it. He didn't know anymore, and Kell deserved better than comforting lies. They would face the future together, with nothing but truth between them. They belonged to each other, always bonded by love, trust, and a long-standing partnership of defiance against their father. Loyalty to each other, in spite of those who would try to divide them, was the bedrock of both of their lives.

Someone pounded on the door, and they both startled.

"Ugh, I'll bet that's him now," grumbled Kell. She crawled out of bed, kneeing Cay in the kidney. She scooped a robe off the floor and pulled it around her as she padded across the small room. With a sense of dread, Cay wrapped his arms around his knees and stayed in bed as his sister threw open the door.

It was Adrio, of course. Adrio, damp and harried and annoyed. Lirano must have discovered Cay's escape and sent him word. And here he was, come to fetch his prisoner home again. Adrio blinked at Kell's swollen eyes and bare feet and then looked over her shoulder at Cay, wrapped in blankets, sitting up in her bed. His lips tightened with some emotion—anger or frustration.

Adrio was about to speak, and Cay braced for whatever he was about to say. Then Kell slapped Adrio across the face so hard the sound reverberated through the room, and Adrio fell back against the wall, probably more in astonishment than pain.

"I thought you were my family!"

Adrio, pressing a palm to his face, gaped at her.

"How dare you hurt my brother?" she shouted at him. "Did you think we would stand for it?" Kell was furious, her voice thick and harsh with unshed tears. "Who do you think you are?"

Someone down the hall yelled, "Shut the fuck up!"

Kell grabbed Adrio by the front of his shirt and pulled him into the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Kell," said Adrio, "I—"

Cay was interested in what he had to say, but Kell cut him off. "I'm going to the registration office today and resigning my place at the university."

"No!" Adrio appeared genuinely startled. "Kell, you can't leave the university."

"Are you stupid? Do you think you'll keep my brother locked in his room while I go to class and pretend nothing's wrong?"

Adrio glanced at Cay. "You told her?"

Cay just lifted his eyebrows at him.

"Yes, he told me," Kell said acidly. "He told me you're sneaking into Muntegri and freeing Chende, and you think he's a Grup spy, and you tried to lock him up. He told me you stopped loving him, or maybe you never did. Maybe you never loved either of us."

Adrio bristled. "Some of that wasn't his secret to tell, and the rest has nothing to do with you. It's between me and Cay."

"Oh, what do you think is happening? Do you think we're staying?"

Adrio paused. For the first time since Cay's confession yesterday, he seemed genuinely rattled. Cay hadn't been able to get behind Adrio's scornful, cold mask, but Kell had done it.

"We'll be gone by tonight," said Cay.

"Where?" Adrio's eyebrows drew down. "Why?"

"Did you really just ask why?" demanded Kell. She was so angry she was almost crying again, her voice ragged. "Did you not accuse him of murdering Dizut Ingok Maquhi?"

"You know about that?" Adrio lifted a hand, as if he wanted to wipe her tears from her cheeks. She leaned out of his reach. "He did not deny it."

"Neither do I. We both did it. If you don't want him anymore, you don't want me either."

"Kell." Adrio's voice was gentle. "Don't be silly."

"Silly?" She was nearly dancing with fury. "Everything he did, I did it too. If he's earned your disrespect—" her voice broke on the word "—so have I."

"That's not true, Kell," said Adrio, softly.

"And I suppose you know all about it? Believe what you want. We did what we did, and we're not sorry, and we don't need you."

"I'm— Wait." Adrio rubbed his eyes with one hand. His cheek glowed bright red from the force of her blow. He turned to Cay. "Do you intend to allow her to bear responsibility for this? She was a child."

"Don't talk to him," snapped Kell, shoving his shoulder. She was over a head shorter than he was and probably no more than half his weight, bristling with defiance. "I was there. I'm old enough to bear the responsibility for my actions."

"And you claim Cay took his thirteen-year-old sister with him when he went up Lehoia Pass to kill Dizut Ingok?"

She laughed in his face, a rough, bitter laugh. "We came through Lehoia Pass to get out of Muntegri, you idiot. The roadblocks were already up when we left Turla. We came through the Pass. Dizut Ingok was our guide."

"What?" Adrio turned to at Cay. "You came south in spring."

Cay didn't meet his eyes.

"Summer," said Kell. "The summer I was thirteen, and Cay was eighteen. How old was Dizut Ingok? Did you ask? Did you ask what happened before he died?"

Adrio huffed softly, as though he had been punched in the chest, and his eyes darkened with horror.

"Oh look," said Cay. "He believes you."

"I believed you when you told me it was spring," snapped Adrio. Then the air left his lungs in a rush, and he seemed to deflate, lowering his head. He slowly slid down the wall and sat with his back to it. His gaze flicked between them: at Cay, huddled in the bed, and at Kell, standing with bare feet and tangled hair.

"He did something?" Adrio's voice was quiet.

Cay shrugged.

"What did he do?" When neither of them answered, he repeated, "Cay, what did Dizut Ingok do?"

"If you cared," said Cay slowly, "you could have asked. I would have told you everything."

"You would not," argued Adrio. "You lied about everything. You lied about matters large and small, dishonoring me and our marriage at every turn."

Cay bristled. "I never dishonored our marriage."

"What do you call lying to your husband?"

"I call it self-preservation. Just yesterday you told me it doesn't matter why I did it. You've judged me. Why question me now?"

"So we're leaving," put in Kell, keeping to the point. "You can claim abandonment and dissolve the marriage after a year. Or you can tell people we died. Whatever you want."

"I don't understand you," Adrio said, running a hand through his hair. "Do you want to go?"

Cay looked away, clenching his teeth.

Kell, stronger than he, said, "Yes. We want to go."

They remained frozen in a triangle for a long moment—Kell, panting with fury; Cay, his face turned away; Adrio, sitting on the floor.

After a long moment, Adrio said, "I found my cloak."

Cay crossed his arms. "I thought about burning the house to the ground. You're lucky I like the servants."

"As you no longer like me?"

"Correct."

Adrio stared at him.

Cay threw his hands in the air. "What? Are you surprised? Have you not been insulting me and taunting me for months? We both know it's over. This marriage." His heart was thumping in his chest, his stomach sour with misery. He crossed his arms over his torso and forced himself to continue. "You don't trust me. You don't like me. We barely speak. You won't even look at my face when we fuck." Kell coughed; Cay grimaced at her. "Sorry. But we tried, and it was too hard. We thought we would be happy together, but we aren't. We obviously married too soon, before we knew each other well enough, and now it's over. I know they'll talk when I'm gone. They'll say I jilted you, but you can survive the scandal. It'll die down. We'll both be happier when I'm gone."

Adrio's voice was quiet as he said, "This isn't what I wanted."

"Isn't it? Then what was the point of the cruel gifts and poems full of spite? What else were you trying to do if not drive me away?"

"To get a reaction," argued Adrio. "To get you to reveal who you really are. I had gotten nothing but falsehoods. I thought I could surprise the truth out of you."

"Oh, the roseapple tree that turns into a hangman's gibbet?" Cay glared at him. "Well, surprise. I'm no good at Starlight Conversation. I had no idea you were accusing me of murder. I thought you were just calling me ugly and unwanted."

"I know." Adrio ran his fingers through his hair. "The only thing I learned was that you loved me and I was breaking your heart."

He sounded regretful. Cay softened for an instant.

Kell did not. "When you came here this morning, what was your plan? To drag him back home and lock him in a cellar?"

Adrio lowered his eyes. Was that true?

"No," said Cay. "I will not permit it. I will not stay and endure your hatred for the rest of my life. I don't know why you think it would be an option, but it isn't. I am leaving. I have already left."

"Cay, please. I—" Adrio squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, his face was set with determination. "I must go," he said. "The weather is clear, but it could turn any time, and if I am to get Ondrei out of Muntegri, I must be on the road today, now. I cannot delay. But Cay... Cay, I would speak further."

Cay said nothing.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we were too hasty. But I did, always, want to know you. I still do. Wait until I get back, at least."

Cay kept his head down, his eyes averted. Kell crossed her arms.

Adrio added, "I'm sorry. I must go, and I wish—I hope you will still be here when I get back. Or, if you must go, please send me your direction when you find a new place, and I will find you. Please, Cay. We must talk."

"Must we?"

"We haven't. And yes, we must. I would hear you, whatever you want to tell me. At least we can understand each other."

I begged you to talk to me. Cay was on the verge of tears, again. How much would he cry over this man?

"He doesn't owe you an explanation," said Kell, and at the same time, Cay said, "All right."

Kell shot him a scornful glare, her jaw mulish. Cay said to her, "You have exams. You should finish your semester, at least. Complete the courses you're taking now. It's only two weeks."

"I'll be back within two weeks." Adrio jumped to his feet. "Cay, I will be back. I can't—I won't let this go without understanding. Please."

"All right," Cay said tiredly. "But no matter what, I'm leaving at the end of Kell's term."

Adrio pulled Cay's wedding ring out of his pocket. He offered it to Cay, who closed his fists and shook his head. Tight-lipped, Adrio pocketed the ring, then bowed to them both.

"Kell, I will see you again too."

"Lucky you."

He sighed, turned, and was gone.

"Ugh, it's the crack of dawn. I'm going to sleep." Kell flopped onto Isa's bed. After a moment, she said, "You don't have to say yes to him every time. Especially not now."

"I know. It's the only answer I've ever had for him, though."

"It would do him good to hear no every once in a while."

"I know."

Cay went home.

He was fuzzy-headed as he walked across the city from the University District to Rossoulia. Hungover, not from drink but from too much emotion in too short a time. He still wasn't sure if he'd made the right decision.

"You don't have to," Kell had said. "We can be gone tonight."

But she should stay in school. And Adrio had said he wanted to talk. He hadn't wanted to talk in so long. How could Cay walk away from his marriage without at least one last conversation? How could he leave without knowing what happened to Ondrei?

The villa's red door was opened by Lirano, who made a low, prolonged obeisance at the sight of him.

"Please don't be troubled," Cay said, to the top of Lirano's head. "The offense was Lord Adrio's, not yours. He put you in a difficult position."

"Thank you, my lord." Lirano was still bowing. "Are you— Will you and he—"

"Is he gone?"

"Yes, he took Sparrow and rode out early this morning."

"Not the coach?"

"No, sir, he rode."

"Well, we must wait for him to return before we discover what is to become of us," sighed Cay. He removed his cloak and held it out to Lirano, which served to jolt the servant out of his confusion; he took Cay's cloak and folded it over his arm.

"I see, my lord. Thank you. Do you need anything, my lord?"

"I'm starving."

Lirano looked relieved to be given a useful task. "We were not expecting you back, but we have bread and ham and preserved apricots. I'll bring you a plate."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Lirano hesitated, and added, "I'm glad you are here, my lord."

Cay smiled at him tiredly. It was temporary, his stay here at Rossoulia. They might talk, he and Adrio, but his life here was over. He and Kell would start over somewhere else. They'd done it before.

But it was nice that the servants still liked him.

After food and a long sleep, he woke in the gray hours of the morning and could not sleep again.

Adrio would be on his way north. Somewhere—probably at Wind House—he would stop and stable Sparrow and take a sturdy stripe-legged Chende horse up one of the steep mountain paths to Lehoia Pass, where the Maquhi Clan of the Chende awaited him. Did he go alone? Or did he have a Maquhi clansman guide to help him through the maze of canyons and trails? Perhaps he took a crew of brave fellows with him, men and women who loved adventure, when he went to free the Chende from their Muntegrise camps.

For the first time, Cay had time to imagine Adrio as the Uncanny Aviator. He smiled, closing his eyes and pressing his face into his pillow.

Of course it was Adrio. Of course. A brave man, an idealistic man, a man who loved adventure novels. A man born to money who wanted to earn it. A man reckless enough, confident enough, to risk capture, torture, and execution by the Grup. That man might ride straight up to the gates of a Turla prison camp, masquerading as a wealthy Muntegrise, and hire five or ten Chende servants. And he might bring them back to their clansmen in the mountains or, if they had none, down into the green and fertile lands of Lucenequa.

What a romantic, dangerous, stupid, beautiful thing to do. And it was so simple. Why had no one figured it out sooner? But of course, most people didn't care about the Chende, thought Cay bitterly. Hob Fierar didn't care. He was obsessed with the idea of the smoke-balloons, and how they might fly armies over the mountains. The queen wanted Lucenequa to be a tolerant society for the Chende, but she cared far less about them than about her kidnapped kinsman. For Lucenequans, the Chende were but tragic victims in someone else's romantic story—the Aviator's.

Adrio cared. Adrio had decided to do something about it—to spend his money, to risk his life and liberty.

Cay did not have that kind of daring. His goals had always been smaller: Kell's safety and his own. It was not indifference on his part but a kind of fatalism. What difference could he make? If Adrio had such doubts, he didn't let them keep him from acting. Cay wondered if the difference between them lay in the circumstances of their lives. Or was it simpler? Perhaps some arrangement of the stars or whim of the gods had granted Adrio a courageous spirit, and Cay with a timid one.

Why would a courageous man allow his mind to be poisoned against his husband? Adrio had once begged Cay to marry him. He'd claimed he didn't care about the scandal or the gossip; he had loved Cay and wanted him in his life, and Cay had loved him too much to refuse.

Why had Adrio allowed Gizon Ingok to taint his love?

Did it matter why? He'd have his entire life to wonder.

Cay rolled over restlessly, staring at the cloudy sky through his window. He and Kell would go south, perhaps. Harodj was a port city where the ships from the Isles came every spring, bringing blown glass and metal and peppery wines. There was a university in Harodj. They probably wouldn't be able to afford for Kell to attend, but who knew? They could both find work. They could put Valette behind them.

After it was clear he wouldn't sleep again, Cay got out of bed and pulled on his robe. The lockpicks were in its pocket. He went up the stairs into Adrio's suite and Adrio's little office. It was morning; the servants were about, making breakfast, cleaning. He would probably not be interrupted, but if he were, what of it? There seemed no longer any need for stealth. He knew the truth, Adrio knew he knew, and the marriage was over. He no longer had to hide what he was doing.

He dropped to his knees in front of the locked cabinet. He'd knelt here several times with his lockpicks, sweating over the godsdamned padlock, with absolutely no luck. He took a deep breath, let it out, and inserted a pick.

Perhaps it was because it didn't really matter, or because he had decided if the lock couldn't be picked he would smash open the cabinet and damn the consequences, but after a few moments, the tip of his pick caught onto a ward. He held his breath and applied pressure. There was a snick, and the lock popped open.

"Oh!"

He opened the cabinet and pulled out a fat leather-bound ledger.

He found a meticulous journal of Adrio's activities as the Uncanny Aviator, written in his familiar, untidy handwriting. He'd been incredibly busy. Here were the names of all the Chende he had rescued, including tribal affiliations. Expenses: food, travel, bribes to buy the silence and cooperation of various Muntegrise. Names of those who had stayed in the mountains and those who had come to Lucenequa. As Cay had suspected, both Lord Ondrei and Fonsca Calareto were involved, providing money and goods, but it was Adrio alone who went up to Muntegri and brought the refugees out.

Wonderingly, Cay read how Adrio had found places for many refugees in his bai of Lodola and arranged apprenticeships for the youths as servants or stable hands or clerks. He'd even bought farms for some of the families. He paid for tutors and was planning to sponsor one young man at the university. He seemed fond of these people, keeping track of their progress and noting their successes.

A whole section was devoted to gifts given to the Maquhi Clan, the Chende who lived in Lehoia Pass. He had dealt with Krutiv Ingok Maquhi, the eldest daughter of Chief Gizon Ingok. To them, the adventurers had supplied in abundance things to ease life in the high passes: preserved food, salt, spices, tuns of wine, bales of wool and linen and leather, charcoal, alfalfa hay and corn for the animals. Medicines, books, knives. By these means, Adrio had undoubtedly made the Maquhi one of the most prosperous of the mountain Chende clans. Ondrei, whose holding of Noresposto was just south of the mountains, was the most frequent liaison with Krutiv, arranging supplies to be stored in a certain inconspicuous shed until the Maquhi brought their ponies down the Lehoia Pass to collect them.

It was clear from these pages Adrio admired the Chende, though his admiration was sometimes tinged with confusion or disapproval. Most of all, Adrio was curious about them, eager to learn about their traditions and customs, which he recounted in detail:

The Chende Clans who live in the mountains are reputed to be fierce and wild, prone to unreasoning savagery. The Chende I spoke to from Lucenequa fear the mountain clans and are hesitant to travel through the Pass, in spite of my assurances.

Is the Wind the Chende god, or just a common Chende figure of speech?

I believe they use kites as signals—visible in the sky, even from other mountain passes. How much information might be conveyed with a kite?

Adrio was particularly fascinated by the blood-feud:

It is a Chende rite of vengeance, ever portrayed as the summit of barbarity. But I have learned the custom is one of great solemnity, never invok'd for any capricious or trivial offence, and is clad in adamant rules of what the Chende call "honor."

Upon some profound violation of the law—murder, rape, assault upon a defenceless person, for example—the wronged person's clan publiquely demands justice. For this, they use words of debt, payment, c.; but these are unmoneyed people, and for them, payment must be made in blood. The clan of the accused may at once make amends, usually by whipping, or maiming, or executing the perpetrator.

Only in the rare event no satisfactory payment is made will a feud between the clans be called; and then the offended clan may wreak vengeance upon the offending.

And when the debt is paid (how do they conclude this?), peace is restored, with no enmity on either side. This is a great point of Chende honor. A clan may not call a blood-feud to avenge the payment of another blood-debt. The Chende know well this would perpetrate an unending cycle of violence and retribution. Continuing enmity after just payment of a debt is seen to be false and dishonest, a marque of weakness or even insanity.

It seems obvious to me the ritual of the blood-debt might readily be turned to base purposes. Yet I am reminded of something C said about duelling. Honor prevents abuse of the duel—I suppose one must trust that Chende honor prevents abuse of the blood-debt.

C would call me na?ve. But C has little respect for the Chende, or for honor. I know how well honor guides my hand, so I must suppose Chende honor also guides theirs, though I little recognize it.

I wonder what recourse they have when the rules are broken?

"Huh," said Cay aloud.

Here was a version of Adrio that he'd lost sight of: a thoughtful man, a man who was willing to see the best in people and things, even if it were contrary to his upbringing and training. Perhaps a little too in love with honor, but not a fool.

Cay turned a page and skimmed through several more pages full of details of Adrio's operation. Then, tucked into the back of the ledger, he found several folded pages that appeared to have been torn out of a different notebook. Curiously, he unfolded these. Adrio had written About Cay across the top.

He took a deep breath, released it, and tucked the torn pages into his pocket. He returned the ledger to its place and relocked the cabinet. Then he rose stiffly up off the floor and headed back to his room.

He needed to gather his courage if he was going to read About Cay.

Over the next fourteen days, Kell remained at the university, studying for her exams, and Cay haunted Rossoulia like an anxious ghost. Desperate for occupation, he used his lockpicks to open and close every lock in the house.

The weather stayed clear, and the passes through the mountains remained open. The way was clear for Adrio and Ondrei and any pursuers who might stop them. If Cay did not keep busy, he would collapse with anxiety. Were they safe? Had they been killed, betrayed, or captured? It was all too easy to imagine scenarios of danger and violence for them both. So he tried to read, he tried to draw, he tried to sew, and he picked locks.

He quickly got the knack of the single-ward locks, which secured drawers, cabinets, and lockboxes. A little concentration helped him master the more complicated ones. Once he found the knack of it, he had little trouble—it was, as promised, easy-peasy. Every lock, from his own jewelry box to the cook's pantry to the gardener's shed, eventually yielded to his patient touch. He was aware of servants following him discreetly from room to room about the house, watching him test door after door. His only failure was the front door, not because the lock was too complicated for him, but because the bolt was so heavy it threatened to bend his homemade lockpicks rather than shift.

The Chende servant woman, Osan, even brought him her battered keepsake box, which he unlocked and returned without opening.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Mistress." He hesitated. "When you were in Muntegri, in the prison, did you know anyone from the Bekh?"

She didn't speak, her eyes dark and cautious, not meeting his own.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry or bring up painful memories. But when I was a boy, I knew an old woman named Urgeg Viki Bekh and her clan. I hoped for news of them."

Hesitantly, her voice low, she said, "There were many Bekh in the camps. But no old women. No old people, my lord. The camps are for people who can work."

"No. I see. And a younger man, Bahen Op Bekh?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord."

"Ah. Thank you."

"How did you know them, lord?"

He smiled, pocketing his lockpicks. "It's a long story."

He now knew, more or less, what Adrio was doing during his "business trips," and it was almost impossible to think of anything else. Where had he gone? Did he know where Ondrei was being held? How? Did he have informants? Did he have spies? Did his familiarity with spies and secret deeds make it easier for him to believe Cay himself was an informer? Had Ondrei been tortured? Had Adrio been captured? Was Adrio in pain, or dead, even now?

The university term ended. Kell got excellent marks. Adrio did not return, and Kell and Cay did not leave.

"My lord, I've misplaced the key to the buttery. Can you help?"

"Of course."

"Oh, my lord, the woodshed lock is stuck. Will you have a look?"

"Certainly."

He went to the back stable yard to open the well-oiled, perfectly maintained woodshed lock.

About Cay, Adrio had written.

Nesting in his bed with blankets wrapped around him, Cay sipped his wine and thumbed the dirt smudges on the first page of these notes. The handwriting within was messy, as if written in haste.

It must have been the summer of the Coup in Muntegri. Cay went up the Muntegrise Road from Lucenequa. There he found a Muntegrise patrol. Pleading some ill-usage, he led the Muntegrise up Lehoia Pass to a canyon where they found Dissut Ingoc Makhi. They fell upon the sleeping boy and imprisoned him in the morning hanged him. This was told me by Gisson Ingoc, chief of the Makhi. He gave no reason why Cay should have done this thing, nor can I imagine one.

I met Cay six years later.

The next page was more tidily written, and the page cleaner.

At Wind House. Midnight.

Wind House was Ondrei's old house in the foothills. They had honeymooned there. It was the site of some of Cay's happiest memories—not just memories of passion but of the luxury of time alone together with nothing to do but talk, sleep, read. The luxury of marriage, of affection that was not secretive, of passion that was not illicit. The luxury of knowing they were family now and always would be.

There Adrio had put to paper his hypotheses regarding Cay's guilt or innocence.

H1: Cay is innocent.

Gisson lied or was mistaken.

Gisson was drunk.

He is old and not entirely strong in his mind.

In his grief and in his cups, may have exaggerated.

H2: Cay is guilty.

Gisson was not contradicted by the other Chende.

He knew Cay's name. How could he have known it?

He had no way of knowing I was married to Cay, so this was no attempt to manipulate or control me.

I can think of no reason to concoct such a tale.

Cay does not like the Chende. He changes the subject whenever they come up.

Cay never speaks of his past. It has struck me many times, how he changes the subject or exploits my feelings to avoid it.

Lucca says there are Grup spies among the refugees from the coup in Muntegri.

Cay can disguise his handwriting. He dyes his hair, uses paint to change his looks. I have seen him manipulate people into thinking he is more na?ve and foolish than he is. How unlikely is it I, too, have been manipulated?

A long space, and then:

I cannot imagine why. Why would Gisson lie? But why would Cay do it?

I cannot bear to think why. I can only wonder at how.

How could Cay have known where to find the boy Dissut? How could he have known how to bring the Muntegrise up the Pass? The Pass is a labyrinth. I have travelled it, and I would not know how or where to bring them. He must therefore have been shown.

Who would show him? Why would they show him? Why would he comply?

Why would Cay—a refugee from the Grup—betray the Chende to the Grup? Why was he in the mountains at all?

Why?

That was all.

Cay drained his cup.

It had been painful to lose Adrio's love. Reading his logical reasons for it, in his handwriting, was fresh agony. And the injustice of it was infuriating: Adrio wanted to know why? Why? Why?

Why not ask him, then?

By the fourteenth day, Cay had searched every inch of Adrio's suite. He learned that the staff politely but emphatically did not want him in the kitchen. He was so jittery that he could not concentrate on sewing, drawing, or reading. He had taken to scaling the exterior walls of the house to relieve his anxiety and tire himself enough to sleep. So he was on the roof when a servant led a horse up to the back of the house. They moved slowly, the horse's red head bobbing with every limping step.

He dropped through a window into the attic and ran down the stairs and out into the stable yard, where Adrio's horse Sparrow stood, head low. He'd been unsaddled, and patches of dirt and sweat darkened his sides. Coreia, the head groom, knelt at the horse's feet, running her hands over his legs and clucking. There was no sign of Adrio.

"Is he here?" Cay demanded.

"No one here but this poor beast," said Coreia shortly, lifting one of Sparrow's hooves. "I'd like a word with whoever rode him to lameness."

Confused, Cay repeated, "But isn't he here?"

"The horse was walked over by one of Master Calareto's men," said the groom holding Sparrow's head. "My lord is not here."

Cay walked across the city, past the great bronze dolphin fountain, past the palace. On his way, he passed the small but elegantly-appointed house granted by the queen to the Muntegrise envoy. A servant swept the front steps, but the house itself seemed dark and quiet.

He went to the house of Fonsca Calareto. Though patches of white frost clung to the shadows between buildings and under balconies, the sun was warm on his shoulders, and he was sweating lightly by the time he reached Fonsca's door and pulled the bell rope.

The door was opened by a servant. "May I help you?"

Cay slipped nimbly past her and strode into the house.

"Sir! Please stop!"

"Don't worry," he said over his shoulder. "Master Fonsca and I know each other well." He glanced into the front parlor and the dining room as he passed, both empty, and continued on down the hall.

Fonsca had walked freely into Cay's home many times, but Cay had only been here for social events, only when invited, and only on Adrio's arm. Behind the receiving rooms facing the street was a smaller, private conservatory. Its door was closed, but Cay threw it open and walked in.

"Sir!" protested the servant on his heels.

The conservatory was a pleasant room, less formal than the front parlor, with old, comfortable divans and windows opening onto the small back garden. The furniture had been moved since the last time he'd been here. One of the divans was turned so its back was to the door, its cushions to the sunlight shining in through the window. He didn't have a moment to wonder about it because Fonsca was rising from a chair, his face taut with annoyance.

"What in the deep hells are you doing here?" demanded Fonsca, blocking his entrance into the room. "Tria, why did you let him in?"

"I'm sorry, sir, he—"

"Don't scold her," snapped Cay. He turned to the servant with an imitation of Adrio's lordly manner and said, "You may go."

She looked at Fonsca and, at his sigh and nod, vanished.

"Where is he?" Cay demanded.

"I have no idea."

Cay surveyed him. Fonsca stood with his fists clenched, his handsome mouth set in a kind of pout. "His horse has returned. Is Adrio here? Is he hurt?"

"The Muntegrise are known for their uncivil and coarse manners," said Fonsca. "You are the very illustration of the text."

Cay snorted. "Leave my personality aside for now, as well as your dislike for me. Adrio is my husband. Tell me your news of him."

"I have no news."

"We must play cards sometime, but not today." Fonsca glare intensified. Cay took another tack, gentling his tone, widening his eyes. His face had softened hard hearts in the past. "Please, Fonsca. I beg you, please, tell me what word you've had."

"None. And do not bother to play this pretty music for me, for I am deaf to it."

"You are deaf to reason," snapped Cay. "Do you suggest the horse came to you on its own? Adrio married me. It was his choice, and surely he would choose for me to know his fate now. You know he would not cherish my ignorance."

"He might not, but I do. Indeed, I think he would not choose for his fate to be reported directly to the Grup, via your good friend the envoy."

Cay flushed. "I am not a Grup informant."

"And yet you inform the Grup," Fonsca said. "I have no news for you, Lord Cay, and if I did, I would take it directly to Hob Fierar. It's good business to omit the broker in the middle."

Cay pressed his fists over his eyes, wrestling with fury and despair. He didn't know what to do: walk out like a kicked dog or punch Fonsca in the face like a madman. Neither course would get him closer to what he needed, but what else was there?

A drawling voice said, "Honestly, Fonsca, no need to be such a cow."

"Ondrei?" Cay opened his eyes and blinked the water out of them.

Ondrei Rege, of Lord of Noresposto, rose from the window-facing divan. He wore a blue robe pulled tightly across his barrel chest and swayed on his feet, bracing himself with one hand on the back of the divan. He scolded Fonsca: "You no more think he's a willing traitor than I do."

"He is a gentle beast, said the man of the bull that gored him," said Fonsca.

"Oh my gods," cried Cay, coming toward Ondrei. He wanted to throw his arms around him, but there were stark gray bruises and scabbed cuts on his face, and he was standing on one foot as if the other pained him. And, of course, Cay had done this to him.

Cay dropped to his knees, bowing his head. "My Lord Noresposto. Please forgive me."

Ondrei said nothing but sank back into his seat with a grunt of pain.

Cay felt tears prickle his eyes. "I had no idea you were involved. I had no idea the envoy would dare touch you. But of course—of course—this is no one's fault but mine."

Ondrei said softly, "Well, Cay. How shall we climb down from this branch?"

Still kneeling, Cay examined him. The sunlight from the window fell upon the divan, and Ondrei had clearly been napping there. His feet were bare, his hair damp, and in the open V of his shirt, Cay thought he saw more bruises. "Lay back. Please. You look awful. How badly are you hurt?"

Ondrei dropped back onto the cushions. "A little sore."

Cay sat beside him on the divan. "Do you need anything? Are you in pain?"

"No. I'm all right." His tone was dryly ironic. "They seemed to realize my ignorance of invisible flying machines was entirely unfeigned, so they stopped."

"Oh, Ondrei." This man might never be his friend again. The idea was unbearable. "Please. I am so very sorry."

Ondrei sighed. "We took pains to ensure you didn't know, so it's no one's fault but ours."

Fonsca cut in: "You forgive him so readily, then?"

"I don't know. Maybe I must ask forgiveness of him." He put a hand on Cay's. "Adrio came and got me out. He released me but was himself captured."

Cay's breath caught in his throat.

Ondrei hung his head. His eyes were shadowed, one half-hidden behind a painful-looking black bruise. His voice was low and rough. "He thrust the reins of his horse into my hand and ordered me to flee; he said I must go or we would both be taken. To my shame, I obeyed him, and now I can't stop imagining what else I might have done. Had I done something clever and brave, we might somehow have won free. But I didn't. I mounted and left him behind, and now I am here and he is not."

Cay pressed his lips together and tried to breathe past the tremor in his heart. Adrio was in the hands of the Grup.

But Ondrei was gray with guilt and sorrow, and Cay understood him all too well.

"Ondrei," he said, very softly, clasping Ondrei's hands. "May I tell you something? Something I have told almost no one?"

"If you wish." Ondrei spoke with his customary politeness, but his face was gray and lined with tension. Of course, he was exhausted, angry with Cay, and full of guilt and pain; he didn't want confessions. Cay smiled at him, acknowledging the strain between them.

"As you know, my parents were killed in Turla," he said. "I was seventeen when the Grup seized power, eighteen when my father was killed. I didn't defend him. I didn't attack the man who killed him. I hid with my sister and held my hands over her ears, so she wouldn't hear what was happening. And I have often thought of all the things I might have done differently; how I might have leaped from my place and stopped it, or distracted his attacker, or somehow helped him. How my father would be here today if only I had acted differently."

Ondrei raised his head.

"Sometimes the world moves too quickly," Cay went on. "Later you think of all the options there might have been, but in the moment, there's no time. You must make the best choice you can, knowing only what you know. No one would judge you if swift disaster overcomes you."

"Oh, Cay," murmured Ondrei.

"I forgive you without reservation." He squeezed Ondrei's hands and forced a smile. "And I hope we will be friends again someday. I'm so relieved you're home safe. And when Adrio returns, I think he will scold you for worrying."

There was a long silence. Ondrei closed his eyes, but he did not sleep; one hand rested on his chest, and he tapped his fingers there, as if lost in thought or memory.

Something about the story Ondrei had told nagged at Cay. It didn't quite make sense. Cay examined the man's injuries, trying to deduce what had happened to him: scraped knuckles, a broken fingernail, a smudge of dirt behind his ear, missed by his bath. Behind him, Fonsca sighed with boredom.

He realized what was bothering him.

"But you did not ride all the way back from Turla on Sparrow, surely." The horse would be dead after such a journey, not merely lame.

"No," said Ondrei. "I wasn't in Turla. They were holding me—"

"Ondrei," warned Fonsca.

"Oh, shut up, do," said Ondrei. "He deserves to know. I was held in Bortorra by Emaro, that moss-covered oak, that dung fly, barely five miles from Wind House."

Cay blinked at him. "What? Bortorra?"

"Bortorra is the country home of Emaro of Hasca, my near neighbor. Hasca is just on the other side of the river from Noresposto, to the west, but we do not socialize. The details of the feud between Hasca and Noresposto are too tedious to recount, but Emaro seems quite devoted to hating me and snubbing me socially. Imagine my shock to be taken to a bedroom in his summer home. Locked in, but fed and feted like an old family friend until Hob Fierar of the Grup arrived to tenderize me like a tough steak." He sniffed. "The man is allied with Muntegri, whether because he agrees with the Grup or because he seeks vengeance upon my family, I do not know."

"Treason," breathed Cay. He glanced at Fonsca. "You've sent this information to the queen?"

Fonsca said nothing.

"Noresposto is but two days' ride from here," added Cay, his brain scrambling to assimilate this news. "Why— It's been two weeks?"

"Adrio thought I was in Muntegri, like you," said Ondrei. "We didn't have time to talk, but I think he must have gone up Lehoia Pass to talk to the clan, or even all the way into Muntegri, to speak to his contacts, before he learned I hadn't crossed the mountains at all."

"But—"

"I don't know how he found me," interrupted Ondrei. "We didn't have time." He frowned, touching the bruises on his face. "And then I left him and may have killed his horse hurrying home."

Cay straightened, and then turned. "Is the queen sending a party to rescue him? To arrest the traitor and seize the envoy and bring Adrio home?" Fonsca studied his fingernails. Cay found himself on his feet, wringing his hands. "Answer me!"

He did not. But Ondrei said, "Too risky. If the envoy sees a troop of soldiers marching up the hill, he might make haste to bury the evidence—Adrio."

"Then you are planning a rescue mission, surely? Fonsca! We could be there by tomorrow night!"

Finally, Fonsca answered. "We are not hounds after a hare. Ondrei needs sleep, and I need to talk to the others and make a plan. And you will return to your burrow and stay out of it."

Cay opened his mouth to protest but then looked at Fonsca's obdurate expression and thought better of it.

"Adrio would want me to stay out of it, wouldn't he?"

"Absolutely he would."

"He really would, you know," said Ondrei, in a kinder tone.

"I do. I know." Cay lowered his lashes. "And what could I do, anyway?"

"Nothing." Fonsca nodded firmly. "You should wait at home."

"Of course." He met Fonsca's eyes. "I will wait at home. Will you send word to me if you hear news?"

"Certainly I will," said Fonsca.

Gods, what a terrible liar.

Cay said his farewells to Ondrei and set off for home. As he passed the envoy's house, he noted again how dark and quiet it seemed. Perhaps Hob Fierar was still not in Valette. Which meant Hob Fierar was probably at Bortorra. Perhaps even now, right now, Hob Fierar was torturing Adrio for information about the Uncanny Aviator.

Cay broke into a run.