A Prison Unsought (46 page)

She tapped the flimsies. “What this shows, incontestably, is
that—somehow—during those ten years of peaceful social pursuits he never
stopped his studies.”

Which must have been damned difficult, watched as he was by
Semion, Osri thought. And—slowly—the implications started settling in.

That Brandon, after all, had had a goal. Had pursued it
without pause, without discussing it with any living soul.

And then the night of his Enkainion, when he was to step
into the political arena as a player, he threw it all away and disappeared.

Why?

Osri looked up to meet Ng’s knowledgeable eyes. “This is
classified,” she said. “Until Nyberg decides what to release, and when. And
how.”

“But
I promised him a notification, by mail.”

Ng shrugged, smiling. “You have a social engagement to
prepare for. And he has one to host. This will wait.”

Osri thought of his mother and winced. “But I’ll be right
with him, the entire evening.”

Ng dropped the flimsies into the disposer and stored the
files under a high-level code. “My opinion of that young man has undergone some
serious revision in the last few days, and will again, I suspect,” she said
slowly. “But I’ll hazard a guess on this much: he won’t ask you. He might not
even remember it.” She took the chip out and pocketed it.

“What
do you mean by that?” Osri asked. “Sir.”

Ng shook her head. “Go. Watch. Listen to his music. I have
an idea he’s giving us a message, in the way he’s most adept. A message, or a warning.”

Osri left, shutting out the questions and comments of the
other officers. Ng would know how to field those.

He glanced at his boswell. An hour and a half to go.

o0o

From all over Ares, those invited to the Aerenarch’s
concert began to converge on the Burgess Pavilion.

Many more turned up to watch the most powerful, the highest
ranking, and those just plain lucky, arrive and ascend the shallow stairway to
the main floor.

Archon Srivashti arrived early, with Fierin vlith-Kendrian
on his arm, in order to observe the other arrivals.

Fierin paced beside Srivashti, her fingertips resting on his
silken sleeve. She had every nerve under strict control, so the first sign of something
out of the ordinary was Srivashti’s short intake of breath.

Marines in formal uniform lined the wide hall, an honor
guard for a ruler’s son. But there was no mace-bearing grand steward standing
at the door to announce the visitors. The Aerenarch stood there himself,
wearing the same white suit she’d seen him wear to several parties, but tonight
he wore jewels, which the severity of his clothing set off beautifully.

He’s on display, and
he knows it
, Fierin thought, admiring his slender form, from the perfectly
barbered hair to the glossy boots. A diamond glinted in his ear, and more on
the boswell at his wrist.

Where had he got them? Hadn’t he arrived with nothing but
Charvann’s family signet?

Then she heard Vannis, newly arrived a few paces back, laugh
softly. “That’s Charidhe Masaud’s prize blue diamond in his ear. How in
Haruban’s Hell did he get it from her?”

Fierin glimpsed Charidhe, who always reminded her of a
poisonous flower, standing in the background with the very first arrivals. She
wore a fabulous gown that seemed to be made entirely of silver filaments, a
smile of pride on her thin lips.

Borrowed jewels
,
Fierin thought.
An Arkad wearing borrowed
jewels. And from a family that hates his.
Whispers spread behind Fierin as
the reception line made its way up the steps.

They were close enough to hear snatches of conversation as
Brandon greeted everyone by name. Of course there had to be some laergist
concealed in the background somewhere, bozzing him any IDs he didn’t know, but
still it was impressive.

Fierin looked his way, then remembered who she was with, and
dropped her gaze. Nerves tightened the back of her neck, and her privates
clenched. Twice she had tried to reach Nyberg, and both times Srivashti had
somehow known, and stopped her.

Both times she’d almost blurted out her real reason, but
that horrible image of the laergist’s pleading gaze before he died stopped her,
and she blathered words about Jes.
You
leave that to me,
Srivashti had said.
I
am pursuing your brother’s case quietly.

The second time, he had signified his displeasure in her
lack of obedience.

It took a very long time.

And afterward he kissed her and gave her new gowns and the
jewels she wore in her hair. She abandoned trying to get through the many
layers of security protecting Nyberg; she would be patient. Whatever was on
that chip could wait.

Jes was her heart’s concern, and she had yet to see any sign
of Jes’s situation being investigated, much less mitigated. So she’d tried to
get near the Aerenarch at parties, but he was always surrounded by people, and
she always had Felton shadowing her. For safety, Srivashti said.

She had managed to speak briefly, to each of the
Telvarna
’s crew, except for the captain,
who everyone said seldom left Detention. They were powerless to help her. Srivashti
had said that the Aerenarch was a handsome, beautifully trained fool, and that
a Regency would be the best thing.

As they approached, she gathered her courage. She was going
to ask the Aerenarch a question, but it had to be the right one, because there
was no chance to ask without Srivashti’s hearing.

Her question must not make Srivashti angry. She shivered,
and he glanced down at her, his brows raised. “Cold, my dear?” he asked, his
heavy-lidded gaze running down her thin figure in the gossamer gown in warm
shades of apricot.

“A little,” she said, glad he had provided his own answer.

No, she must not ask anything that would make Tau Srivashti angry.

“Ah, Fierin, that is a lovely gown.” That was Vannis
mounting the steps to join them, accompanied by Kestian Harkatsus, with his son
Dandenus at his shoulder.

Fierin returned Vannis’s compliment sincerely, admiring the
snow-maiden grace of Vannis’s floaty white, severe in line, with no ornament,
but perfectly fitted. Dandenus and his father both looked handsome in silken
tunics and old-fashioned trousers, but their twin sulky expressions sparked
amusement in Fierin—and annoyed Srivashti.

“Here to be seen?” Srivashti murmured, and when Kestian
replied, “Certainly not to be heard,” Srivashti retorted softly, “Appreciation
is a skill even the young can master.”

Kestian flushed as Dandenus yawned, scanning past them for
someone his own age.

Kestian made a more polite effort, engaging Vannis and Srivashti
in chat as they moved slowly up the line, and Fierin gratefully turned her
thoughts inward.

Music. Her question should be about music, and it had to
seem a joke—Srivashti was making caustic observations about some guests out of
Fierin’s line of sight. If she matched his tone, he wouldn’t pay as much
attention. And it had to be quick, for she would only have the Aerenarch to
herself for a few seconds, judging by the progress of the line.

Then it was their turn.

Brandon observed them coming, and readied himself. He’d
evaded Srivashti’s questions during their private interview—a game within a
game—knowing that their verbal fencing match had been only the first.

He raised his blandest gaze to meet those disconcerting
yellowish eyes, then, after the Archon’s perfect obeisance—severely formal,
more suitable for the ballroom floor than a concert—turned his attention to the
rest of his party.

Vannis’s smile was warm, her gaze exactly as bland as his
own, and Harkatsus and his heir polite, but he sensed more than tension in the
graceful young woman half-hidden at Srivashti’s shoulder. Her eyes, startlingly
pale against her dark skin, met his with an imploring look.

Brandon had noted the authoritative line of Srivashti’s arm
as and the young woman approached—with a jolt he remembered that she was Lokri’s
sister—and Brandon said to Srivashti, arcing his hand wide to include the
entire pavilion, “You see, Your Grace. I took your advice. I hope you will be
pleased.”

“I am delighted you deemed my counsel worthy of notice,” Srivashti
said, smiling as he passed on; he sent a summoning look over his shoulder at
Fierin, who had sidestepped behind Vannis.

To give her a moment of respite, Brandon reached for Vannis
and kissed her hands, one then the other. She smiled quizzically, but before
either could speak, Kestian Harkatsus unexpectedly—and completely without
intending to—came to Fierin’s aid by shouldering in front of her, in order to
take precedence of that no-family girl Srivashti had gone soft over. His
exchange with the Aerenarch was nothing but politenesses. And then the blue
eyes gazed directly into Fierin’s, and he touched her outstretched palms, and
called her by name.

Was his mind already going right past to the next one in
line? She rose from her curtsey, aware of Srivashti listening a couple paces
away, and said with her best smile, “Thank you for inviting me. Any clues on
what we’ll be hearing?”

“Can you wait, and let it surprise you?” he asked, and yes,
he was looking right at her, not at the next person.

Fierin pressed her lips, and spoke as softly as she could.
“I just wish everyone could come.” And then, in a rush, so low no one could
possibly overhear, “I always believed that music—like justice—has eternal
appeal.”

His eyes, so very blue, gazed directly into hers, and though
his smile remained exactly as pleasant as before, his eyelids narrowed and his
pupils widened with focus. But as Srivashti’s step was heard at Fierin’s left,
all the Aerenarch said was, “I hope the music will please you.” And a bow.

Srivashti took her arm, “Converse in a receiving line,
Fierin?”

It was considered a gaucherie to make the line stop. She
needed another gaucherie, and fast. Flipping a lock of hair back, she said,
“Oh, I tried to prise the program out of him. Music, you know, was my study
before Jes left.” She admitted ruefully, “I guess I was hoping to show off my
knowledge. What else can I use it for?”

Srivashti laughed indulgently, Kestian Harkatsus murmured
something about how his son was better trained, and Vannis smiled. To Fierin’s
surprise, a hint of blush rose beneath the warm sienna of the former
Aerenarch-Consort’s flawless cheeks.

Srivashti’s fingers gripped Fierin’s arm and she followed
obediently, looking around and commenting on everything she saw, in hopes that Srivashti
would forget the incident. And there was much to see. She’d heard that the Ares
theater had one of the most extensive morph-tech installations in the Thousand
Suns, able to evoke, if not actually imitate, almost any kind of entertainment
facility.

Vannis drew in her breath. Srivashti glanced at her, a
slight line between his eyes. Fierin was relieved that his attention had
shifted to Vannis, who did not live with him, and who therefore did not have to
worry about Srivashti in a mood for chastisement.

The hall shone brilliant with color; concentric circles
around a low pit, wherein stood a single keyboard and a chair. Above, a carillon
of crystal sconces refracted light in a glory of rainbow patterns. It was
beautiful, but not so much that it should have such an effect on Vannis and Srivashti,
Fierin thought, glancing at their faces.

The Aerenarch is
making some kind of statement. Aimed at the Douloi?
Oh, yes. Those raised
brows and the long vowels of Tetrad Centrum Douloi politesse indicated that
some point had been made.

Those accustomed to observing were aware of the subtle signs
of shock, and speculations ringing outward as newcomers entered the theater
circle.

As Srivashti asked for drink preferences, Kestian answered
his son’s whispered question with a muttered, “I should think a holo display had
already been ordered—”

Vannis whispered, “No, Kestian. Not with live musicians.
Holos are never done at the Mandala when the musicians are present.”

“The Mandala?” Dandenus repeated, and once again he and his
father shared twin expressions of muted surprise.

Fierin found the elusive memory, like a popping bubble: a
chip shown at school, and now she understood the reaction betrayed by the
Tetrad Centrum Douloi: the Burgess theater had been adapted to evoke the Halle
Concertum in the Palace Minor on the Mandala.

Srivashti was tense. Fierin could feel it, though his gaze
never ceased observing the people streaming in. He and Kestian talked in low
voices; Vannis listened, but Fierin noticed how the Aerenarch-Consort’s
attention strayed most often to the royal balcony.

A hum of comment rose above the general susurration in the
theater as a single figure emerged onto the stage, a large, rather ugly man,
dressed in finely tailored but plain gray tunic and trousers. She recognized
him: Montrose, who’d been very guarded with her the one time she’d been able to
speak to him about Jes.

Montrose seated himself on the bench and commenced a somber,
wandering melody, more like an introspective improvisation than a performance
piece.

The audience began to quiet in anticipation. Yet there were
still arrivals: Basilea Risiena, having received an invitation to sit in the
royal box, was the last, for she had been determined to make certain that every
one of these stiff-necked Douloi saw her and her girls’ triumphant entry into
the royal box, with the Aerenarch.

Only he wasn’t there yet.

She scowled, and loudly asked the Marine usher who was
playing.

“He calls himself Montrose,” was the neutral reply

She exclaimed, “One of the Rifter outlaws?”

A susurrus of whispers shot around the room, quickly
stilled. Under cover of it, Kestian Harkatsus leaned toward Vannis. “Who?”