He glanced up just in time to see Zeliha roll her eyes. “Oh, of course, there’s no difference between a fool and a hero besides everything else in the world around them. What wisdom.” She was silent again for a time. “Fine. His life is yours. Make of him what you will. Or what you can.”
He slumped with relief. “Thank you.”
“You’d both do well to look for better influences,” she said, and then paused. “Ah.”
“What?”
She tapped her fingertips on her knee. “I’m thinking of punishments. Your personal guard needs to be reassigned, I think. I wonder if Commander Eozena would have time to supervise. You’ve already been working with her for the Shipbuilder’s Guild investigation. Keep doing that and she can easily keep an eye on you for me.”
If it had been anyone else, he might have resented it more. All the kahyalar were considered family, in theory, but with Eozena it was real. She was warm and familiar, solid. She was a lifeline: real and incontrovertible proof that Zeliha saw a constructive way forward and wouldn’t change her mind later, sending him away or cutting him out of the family for good. Both of them loved Eozena like an aunt, and her loyalty and love in return was beyond question. His very earliest memory was of her saving his life: He’d been little more than an infant, and he’d toddled into a fountain. He could remember struggling in the water, the rippling light of the surface that he couldn’t reach, and then Eozena’s strong hands plunging down, and her warm skin as she held him very close against her neck and cuddled him until he breathed again and then as he cried.
“She has nearly thirty years of irreproachable service,” Zeliha said, clearly warming to her idea. “You’ll do well with someone really steady and prudent to talk to, someone who won’t let your foolishness hold your common sense hostage. You know her, I know her, we both trust her. Don’t we?”
Kadou could only nod. Eozena wouldn’t lead him wrong. Sooner that the sun would rise in the west. Sooner that the sea-wall would crumble into the waves before Eozena let him misstep again.
“But she doesn’t have time to hang around you every moment of the day, and she’s not a common kahya anyway. She has important things to do besides watch over you. You need a new primary. Not Tadek, of course.”
“Melek’s my primary right now,” he said.
“Melek is sweet and gullible,” Zeliha said. “Çe won’t do at all. You need an anchor. Someone . . . rule-oriented. Disciplined. Someone who will be a good example to Tadek of what he should have been as a kahya.” She tapped her fingers once again. “Do you know Evemer Hoskadem?”
Late on Tegridem afternoon, the day before the promotion exams began, Evemer went to accompany his mother to the temple near her house, where she lit candles to Usmim and prayed that Evemer’s trials would be easy ones. Kneeling beside his mother as she prayed, his hands flat on his thighs, he made calm and steady eye contact with Usmim’s statue. He was ready. His training and practice and studies were sufficient. He had done his best. That was all that Usmim ever asked. After this trial, there would be another, because Usmim always sent another trial—such was the nature of life. Evemer would be ready for that one too, and he would do his best again. He could not imagine any situation he could not handle. He had always done his best, and it had always been sufficient.
He went home to his mother’s house that night instead of the kahyalar dormitories in the palace, and she made him his favorite meal, and when he’d finished eating, she took his face between her cool hands and looked hard into his eyes. Evemer looked back, open and honest and wordless, thinkingI’m readyas firmly as he could, and then she nodded to meanYou’re ready,and he’d gone upstairs to bed.
On Ikinç, two days later, he finished the exams and knew he had done well. They had not been difficult for him; he had been ready. Usmim had never sent a trial that was truly beyond Evemer’s ability, only some that required greater determination, preparation, and care. After all, what would be the point of a trial that you weresupposedto fail?
On the evening of Törtinç, two days after that, he returned to the palace, taking the winding road up the cliff by foot, passed through the immense double doors of the Copper Gate, and went to the dormitories, where he found the entire garrison in chaos and heard the terrible news of what had happened on the hunt that day.
The next morning, he reported to his commanding officer, who handed him a chit of passage and ordered him immediately to present himself before Commander Eozena, who could be found past the Gold Gate. By this, Evemer understood that he had done well enough to earn promotion to the core-guard, and felt a quiet bloom of satisfaction in his chest, which he carefully kept from reaching his face.
Sergeant Benefse did not deign to provide him with any further indication of what his new assignment would be, and so Evemer did not ask her for any clarification. He bowed himself out, went through the Silver Gate, where the daily business of the government happened, and then through the Gold Gate. The area beyond was as splendid as he had been told—quieter and cozier than the Silver Court, with jewel-like mosaics framing every window, all of which seemed to look out over cool shady gardens. He could hear birdsong and the bubbling sound of fountains whenever he stopped and listened, broken only by the murmur of distant voices.
He had never been past the Gold Gate, even as a cadet—he’d given his service years in the city watch instead. Balaban had mentored him there for a year or so, before he himself had been promoted to the core-guard.
Balaban was dead now. He kept forgetting. It was strange to think that someone he respected was just . . . gone, and uselessly. That was the part that stung most—not that Balaban had died, but that he had sworn to give his life to protect the royal family and then his death had beenpointless.
Evemer set the thought aside firmly. It was not the time.
Commander Eozena was waiting for him in one of the courtyards leading into the residential wing of the Gold Court. During the winter, the provincial governors would swarm in from their holdings in the countryside and set up households in the palace’s apartments. As it was the end of spring, they had all left again, so the Court was serene and quiet.
“Morning, Hoskadem,” Eozena said as he approached. She was an inch taller than him, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, her hair styled in hundreds of long, thin locs and decorated with a scatter of bright silver bands and charms. Besides knowing her by reputation and at a distance, he’d also had the great honor of meeting her on the sparring fields on several occasions. He’d been utterly trounced, of course—she was thecommander.
If it had been anyone else, it might have been embarrassing to lose so definitively, but in Evemer’s estimation, being beaten by the commander was better than winning against anyone else. She had always smiled and helped him up out of the dust, offered him brisk words of advice and encouragement as he brushed himself off, like she was pleased to see his progress and more pleased at the thought that he could progress further still. She was his direct commanding officer now, and that thought made the glow of satisfaction burn in his chest again.
“Commander,” he said, saluting.
“Congratulations on your exams, and welcome to the core-guard. Did they show you the results?”
“No, Commander.”
She smiled at him in a way that made her look terribly like his mother, though Eozena was more than a foot taller than her. “Best marks out of everyone. You should be very proud of yourself.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“Now, I expect you have questions—they didn’t tell you anything before they sent you over, did they?”
“No, Commander.”