Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [62]
“Did they really care that much about the phases of the moons?”
Midian looked hurt. “I’m not known as a noted researcher of Dhakaani history for nothing, Geth. Fortunately for Razu and the new lhesh there will be just such a conjunction just two days after the end of the games.”
“Really?”
The gnome’s lips twitched. “Let’s just say it’s not a position I’d try to put forward in a research paper for the Library of Korranberg. But there’s only ever been one coronation of a lhesh, and Razu is desperate for ideas to build the ceremony around. You’ve noticed how dar love tradition?” His blue eyes twinkled. “You can tell me I’m brilliant again.”
They had almost reached the door of his chamber. Geth knew he should end the conversation and get away from the gnome, but Midian’s smugness was like vinegar in his mouth. “What if Razu asks Senen Dhakaan about this?” he said sharply. “Senen will know you’ve made it up.”
“There’s an odd thing.” Midian’s voice turned serious. “Razu did ask Senen—and Senen said I was right. I may be brilliant, but I’m not that brilliant. Senen hates me. She’d contradict hard evidence just to spite me. I wonder if she knows we’re up to something.”
The answer gave Geth a moment of real surprise, and he glanced down at Midian. “Maybe she does.”
“It would be better if she didn’t. Aren’t we trying to make sure the secret of the rod stays a secret?”
Maybe it was his imagination, the shock of having Chetiin’s story confirmed, but Geth thought he heard a chilling ruthlessness in Midian’s words. He tried to hide the shiver that raised the hair in his neck. “You’re being suspicious,” he said.
“That’s what keeps gnomes alive.” Midian stopped beside the guards who stood outside Geth’s door. “Your chamber. I’ll see you at the arena?” His face brightened considerably. “Keraal has developed a popular following. He defeated three Kech Shaarat bladedancers yesterday. There’s a rumor that he’s ighting four Marguul berserkers today.”
“I’ll be there.” Geth stepped up to his door—the guards put fists to chests in a salute—then glanced back at Midian for a moment as the gnome bounced away down the corridor. Maybe it wasn’t so difficult to see him orchestrating Haruuc’s death. He wondered how long they’d be able to keep Chetiin’s survival a secret.
Geth pushed open his door, stepped into his chamber, and closed the door behind him, then looked around the room. Hang something out of your window if you need to talk to me, Chetiin had said. Geth’s eye landed on a bright green blanket across his bed. Dragging it off, he took it over to the open window and wedged one end firmly around the hinge of a shutter. The other he tossed out of the window. The wind caught it and blew it out like a woolen banner.
It was all he could do for now. Hopefully Chetiin would see the signal and come to him. Geth turned away to prepare for his appearance at the games—and stopped as he caught sight of himself in a mirror that hung on his wall.
One cheek was streaked with black. The whole time he’d been talking to Midian he’d had soot on his face. He cursed and looked more closely. The patch of soot was small and narrow, left behind by the careless touch of a inger maybe. Geth turned his face back and forth, then tilted his head back, trying to guess how much a short person like Midian could really have seen. The soot was close to the thick hair of the sideburns that traced his jaw and easy to mistake for a shadow. Maybe the gnome hadn’t even noticed it. And what if he had? It was only a smear of soot. It could have come from anywhere.
You’re worrying over nothing, Geth told himself. He drew a deep breath, blew it out again, and scrubbed the soot away with the heel of his palm.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
22 Sypheros