Lost Era 06_ Catalyst of Sorrows - Margaret Wander Bonanno [96]
“We’re reduced to family names now, I see,” the silver-haired one said, avoiding a direct answer. “Shall I call you ‘Jarok’ from here on?”
Jarok, Zetha thought. Now, why is that name familiar? Aemetha would know. Aemetha knows everyone of any importance. Knew everyone. Aemetha, how are you, where are you? Did the Lord leave you alone once I agreed to go with him? Stop it!
“Forgive me, Che’srik. I have become a bit… obsessive.”
“I’m glad you said it!” Tal muttered, fingering a filigreed pendant that had caught his fancy.
“First names, surnames, what does it matter?” Jarok asked bitterly. “Mine will be anathema if I’ve judged the climate wrongly…”
“The Hero of Norkan?” Tal snorted. “That alone will protect you, but only up to a point. Leave off this line of inquiry, I beg you.”
“Not this time, old friend,” Jarok said.
“How many such triumphs and reversals have you and I survived?” Tal leaned forward so as not to be overheard, but Zetha heard him anyway. “That business following Narendra III, for instance? How long did that measure of peace endure before it once again was set on its head? But you and I moved with it and are here today to tell of it. These days it’s not only the enemy at the gates we need to fear, but the one in the room beside us. Yet we do survive, if we’re careful. We have no alternative.”
Not kin, then, Zetha noted for herself, not the Lord, watching the white-haired Tal clasp Jarok’s shoulder in support. A mentor advising a student who he felt had surpassed him in rank, in accomplishment. What serious thing were they talking about? Something so serious no nonmilitary half-breed could begin to guess at it.
Jarok, she thought, as the jeweler returned as if to stay this time, plopping himself down on a couch at a deferential distance from the two, nattering on about the merits of this piece or that. If I’ve heard the name, or read it, it’s in my mind somewhere. Why can’t I retrieve it? The stresses of the past few months, the constant drills, the lack of sleep, more empty bunks in the barracks, the sense that something was building to a fever pitch, were taking their toll. She couldn’t endure this much longer.
I am wallpaper, she thought. They do not see me; therefore, I don’t exist. But what if they actually say something that the Lord wants to hear? How will I know what’s of value to him? How will I know what he will use it for? Is it only because these two are so interesting that I wish them no harm? Or is it because the only pleasure left in my life is thwarting his lordship?
“… and your family to consider,” Tal was saying, indicating with a gesture that he would take the delicate pendant after all, and motioning the jeweler off to wrap it and ring it up. “You’ve wed again, I hear.”
Jarok smiled then for the first time. “It’s why I’m here. To get her something suitable for her naming day.” He produced a padd from his pocket and displayed what was probably his wife’s holo. Zetha couldn’t see, but both men stopped to admire it. “Something suitable for the most beautiful woman in the Empire.”
“She is a beauty,” Tal acknowledged. “Children?”
Even from where she stood, Zetha could see Jarok’s eyes mist over.
“Not yet, but we were planning, if I could get enough leave time…” Jarok’s voice trailed off. “Perhaps it was a mistake to marry again, considering…”
“Haven’t you got those settled out yet?” the jeweler hissed, coming up suddenly behind her. She pretended to be startled, and dropped the tangle of chains so she would have to start over. Beyond fury, the jeweler stalked to the back of the shop to deal with the purchase of the pendant.
If the jeweler is Tal Shiar, then why do I have to listen? Zetha wondered. He’s practically sitting in their laps with his trinkets and his simpering; let the Lord ask him what he’s heard. Or is that part of the trap? The jeweler reports one thing, I another, the Lord assumes