“Highness, we don’t even know what they used to batter down the doors,” Armagan said. “All we know is that they used the noise of the fireworks on the night of Her Highness’s birth to cover up the noise—that’sit. There isnothingto go on. Highness, I’ve seen a dozen cases like this. There’ve been times I’ve worked my fingers to the bone only to turn up nothing. There are better ways to spend our energy—reinforcing security at the guilds, perhaps, so that it doesn’t happen again; learning from what mistakes or infelicities happened here. That sort of thing. But with the search for answers or explanations . . .” Çe sighed. “Sometimes we just have to accept failure.”
Those last words lodged in Kadou’s chest like a crossbow quarrel. “I see,” he said. “Well. I’ll . . . I’ll have to tell Her Majesty—”
“No need. I’ve already sent a report to Her Majesty and to Minister Selim.”
Çe had gone over Kadou’s head, in other words, likely because çe reallycouldn’tstomach the idea of working with him and probably hadn’t thought that he could be relied upon to accept good advice. “Oh. I see.” There was an awkward beat of silence, and Armagan’s eyes flicked to the door. Kadou got the hint immediately. “Well. Thank you for your service, then. I’m sure you did the best you could, and I’ll be sure to commend you to Her Majesty.”
Empty, rote words. Words that felt wrong in his mouth, that heknewwere wrong. He should have insisted. He should have demanded answers. But he was no expert in such things, and he wasn’t trained for this—the purpose of ministers like Armagan was to provide wisdom and counsel, but what good was that if their expertise was not heeded?
Kadou felt the familiar shivering beginning at the core of him, the cracks that would run through all his glass-fragile nerves until he shattered to pieces. He paused just long enough for Armagan to bow, and then he fled.
Evemer’s duty was to the sultan, he reminded himself again and again that day. Not to the prince.
He followed His Highness from the embarrassingly short meeting with Lieutenant Armagan to a series of equally short ones with other people, watching as the prince got quieter and more withdrawn with each person he spoke to. Evemer didn’t know how to interpret it—was His Highness surprised that so many people were upset with him? Was he taken aback that no one was commenting on his performance of mourning? He was quite pale by noon, his face stark against the deep black-red of his kaftan, and he kept having little spells of shivering, as if he were cold.
He remembered, belatedly, that His Highness had not touched his breakfast, and promptly decided that it was not within the required standards of a kahya for Evemer to remind him to eat lunch. It would build character and discipline for him to go a little hungry.
By midafternoon, the prince’s posture was terrible, like a meek child who thought they might be slapped at any moment. Evemer mentally shoved at him, willing him to straighten and stiffen his back, to raise his chin, to stopfiddlingso with his cuffs. He knew His Highness was capable of it. He’d seen it in his effortless seat on that fine horse at the Shipbuilder’s Guild.
Evemer straightened his own spine until it was as erect and rigid and unyielding as cold iron. His muscles ached in protest.
He could show enough discipline for both of them. He wouldn’t allow himself a dram of ease as long as His Highness was slinking around like that as if no one were watching him, as if there were a single soul in the palace who wasn’t paying attention to his every move. Evemer wondered how a person could be so oblivious, and then remembered—not oblivious. Just careless and negligent.
Evemer served the sultan. He obeyed Commander Eozena.
The very moment that Kadou felt he could reasonably return to his chambers, he did so, charging through the doors and striding across his parlor to his bedroom without waiting to see who, if anyone, followed. He staggered toward the bed and collapsed into it, rolling onto his back and clasping both hands to the center of his chest.
His clothes were far too tight—the collar around his neck, the sleeves, the waist. He couldn’t move in them, couldn’t breathe. The velvet was too heavy and too hot, even in the mild warmth of midspring.
“Highness,” Evemer said from the door. “Do you require a doctor?”
“No. Don’t. It’s nothing.” Kadou struggled suddenly back to his feet, stumbled across the room, and fumbled at the latches on the window. “I want this open. It’s so stuffy in here.”
Evemer came forward and brushed Kadou’s hands aside, swinging the glass open to the inside and propping it open with the chair so the wind couldn’t blow it closed. Kadou clawed at the black silk frog-closures of his kaftan with shaking hands and leaned against the windowsill—he managed a few of them, and even that was a sharp relief.
He’d failed. Zeliha had been right—he should have let her send him away somewhere to be useful. He shouldn’t have talked her out of it, because now here he was, a failure and an embarrassment who couldn’t even oversee the simplest investigation, let alone a crucially important one. What more could he have done? Surely there must have been something.
“I was not made aware of Your Highness having any medical conditions,” Evemer said.
“I don’t. It’s nothing,” Kadou said firmly. “It’s not a medical condition. There’s nothing wrong.” He forced a laugh. “You might as well know. You’ll find out eventually anyway. What’s the point of hiding it? It’s not a medical condition. I’m just a coward.”
Evemer said nothing.
“You needn’t worry,” Kadou said. He closed his eyes and, though his hands were shaking, managed to undo two of the closures of his underlayer at his neck. The cotton stuck to his skin, sticky and overwarm, and Evemer had braided his hair so tightly that morning that his scalp was aching. “It comes upon me unexpectedly. Or . . . expectedly. Cowardice, after all. But that’s all it is. Pay it no mind.”
He stumbled back toward the bed, but Evemer caught him by the shoulder. “Your clothes, Highness.”
The velvet was not so delicate that it would have been the worse for Kadou throwing himself into bed. A curse on all kahyalar and their universally inconvenient obsession with his presentation. Suppressing the impulse to scream, he propped himself up against one of the bedposts and shoved everything within him away while Evemer unknotted the sash, made quick work of the rest of the kaftan’s buttons down Kadou’s front and at his wrists, and peeled the mourning kaftan off of him. Then Evemer turned away, as if he didn’t care at all now whether Kadou toppled into bed or not, now that he’d saved the velvet from being crushed.
Itwasdesperately more comfortable without the weight of it dragging him down, at least. “Send a message to the kitchens,” he said, falling into the sheets. “I’ll be eating here in my rooms for dinner.” He wondered when Evemer’s relief shift would be sent. Perhaps he’d have to choke down a few bites of food under that cold gaze. He deserved it—it so clearly said that he had taken Kadou’s measure and calculated precisely how much he’d fallen short.
“Yes, Highness,” said Evemer. He folded the velvet kaftan neatly and laid it atop the dresser. Then, as if the words were being drawn from him with a team of oxen, “Is there anything else you require?”
“Send for Eozena,” he said, barely keeping the quaver out of his voice. He was utterly appalled with himself. He’d be burdening her. She had better things to do than come to talk to him. “And—and can you please find out where my armsman is?”And then bring me quite a lot of wine,he did not add. Better to wait a little longer for that.
Evemer’s moment of silence had a vaguely astonished quality. “Your armsman, Your Highness?”
“Tadek Hasira. He’s—he’s somewhere in the palace, unless they’ve sent him on leave—but they wouldn’t have, because he’s undermycommand now, and I didn’t tell him—just send someone to find out where he is. Please.”