The Madness Project (The Madness Method) (62 page)

“You’ll want to stay this way for a while, I imagine,” Kor
said finally.  “Wait till the fuss dies down.”

“You’re not going to ask me what happened?  Why I got
involved in a workers’ riot?”

“Nope.”  He dropped a hand on my shoulder and pushed me
forward.  “Keep walking.”

We reached Gibbs Crossing and found Zagger with the
motorcar, waiting just outside the pool of light from a nearby streetlamp.  As
soon as he saw us he climbed out of the cab and circled around to my door.  He
didn’t say a word, but he studied me with a frown and reached out to clasp my
arm.  I jerked my gaze away and climbed into the car.

The street lamps outside the palace were still lit against
the long winter night when we drove up, and inside the foyer I could see one
low light burning on the wall.  It might have been early enough that even the
servants were still asleep; I had no notion what time it was.  Kor opened my
door for me and walked with me up the steps.  A guard heard us coming and
stepped out of the guard post—not the guard I was accustomed to seeing as
Shade, but an older officer I’d known much longer.  He came to sharp attention
when he saw me, saluting smartly and staring straight ahead.

The door opened at almost the same moment, and Pont himself
appeared, looking rather ruffled as though he’d dressed in a terrible hurry.

“Your Highness,” he said, ushering me inside and taking my
coat and hat.  “It’s very early yet.  I’m afraid everyone is still asleep.”

I could never tell with Pont if he was at all curious about
my late arrivals.  I’d learned long ago, the first time I’d crept back into the
palace in the wee hours of the morning, that he’d never let me see any surprise
or curiosity in him, if he felt any at all.  At first it had disappointed me, then
I simply took it as a matter of course.  Now I wondered if he ever talked about
it to anyone.  If the servants ever gossiped.  If they ever speculated on my
character, wondering if I’d been out doing things I’d never actually consider. 
Back then I might have laughed at the notion, and decided it would make a
delicious scandal.  Now it only made me ashamed.

“I don’t require anything,” I said.  A few weeks ago I might
have left it at that and walked away, but this time I studied him a moment,
seeing for the first time the dark circles under his eyes and, deep inside
them, worry.  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

He froze, just, and then gave me a gracious bow.  “Thank
you, Your Highness.  It’s nothing.”

I nodded and headed up to my apartments, leaving Kor to go his
own way.  Zagger was already in my sitting room when I arrived, kneeling on the
ground in front of the fireplace to stoke the fire himself.  I flicked a glance
at the clock on the mantle—half past the eighth hour of the night.  Only four
hours past midnight.  I’d had no idea just how early it was.  And I’d gone and
woken Kor, and Zagger, and dragged them out into the cold night to rescue me,
and neither of them had given even a murmur of a complaint.

“Go to bed, Zag,” I said.  “You’ve done enough.”

He clenched his hands at his sides.  “Don’t see that I could
sleep any more tonight,” he said. 

I gave him a look and he dropped his head in a nod.  Without
waiting to see if he’d actually do it, I retreated into my bedchamber and
dropped onto the bed without even taking off my shoes.

Chapter 17 — Tarik

I woke some hours later to the clock chiming on my mantle. 
It was early yet, but, tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep any more.  I rang for
Liman, bracing myself for him to fuss over me when he appeared.  But he just
smiled and brought out my shaving kit.  Eventually, I realized, I would have to
unMask long enough that I would need to shave, or he’d only grow suspicious.

“Shall I ring for breakfast or will you be dining with your
family?” he asked, pulling out a dark tweed suit and jumper.  “And will you be
doing anything in particular today?”

“I’ll dine down,” I said.  “And no, that will do perfectly
fine.”

Once he’d gotten me presentable, I went down to breakfast in
the west parlor.  My mother and Trabin had already started eating, and they
both stopped and stared at me when the footman opened the door for me.  My
mother got up immediately and came to meet me, clasping my hands in hers.

“Oh, Tarik,” she murmured.  “When you disappeared again, I
had no notion how long you’d be away.”

I’d made plenty of appearances in society since the
Kalethelia ball, but I’d avoided Trabin as much as possible, and as a result I
hadn’t seen my mother either.

“I just had some things to take care of,” I said.  I kissed
her on both cheeks.  “I hope I find you well.”

She smiled and led me to the table with her hand on my
elbow.  “We’ve only just sat down,” she said, and flicked a glance at one of
the servants waiting in the shadows.

He bowed and disappeared, and I took my place across the
table from Trabin.  He had already returned to his meal, but he met my gaze
evenly as I sat down.

“Did you ever give those newshawks their interview?” he
asked.

“Yes,” I said.  “It was a dreadful bore.”

Perhaps I should have said that
I’d
been a dreadful
bore.  Such a bore, in fact, that I never read about the interview in the
Herald, which had been precisely my intent.

Trabin arched a brow as he slathered his scone with
strawberry preserves and clotted cream.  A servant brought me a plate of eggs
and biscuits and fried hash, and another poured out a glass of light wine.  My
stomach rumbled fearfully, and, after weeks of canned vegetables and half-stale
bread, I wondered if I’d ever really taken this for granted.  I couldn’t even
imagine what Hayli would say about the spread.  The mental image I got of her
goggling wide-eyed at my plate made me smile, and I had to duck my head before
Trabin or my mother saw and asked me what I was grinning about.

The silence at table had never bothered me before, but somehow
today it made me unbearably twitchy.  I had nothing to say, though—or at least,
I had nothing to say with Trabin present.  So I held my tongue and savored my
meal, and when Trabin finished his last scone, we all moved into the east salon
for tea.  The yellow and white room gleamed with the early daylight, bright for
once with a rare sun.  While my mother read over her private correspondence,
Trabin asked me again if I needed to report anything.  I was on the verge of
giving in and telling him how close I was to an audience with Rivano when the
footman stepped into the room.

“Your Majesty, Mr. Farro is here.”

“Griff?” I said, startled.  “What in the world does he want
at this hour?”

“Let him in,” Trabin said.

A moment later Griff hurried in, holding a rolled up copy of
the Herald under his arm.  His hair stood almost straight on end and he still
wore his aviator jacket and breeks, looking like he’d just returned from some
bizarre hunt in the skies.  He kissed my mother’s hand and bowed to Trabin.

“Your Majesty,” he said.  He caught sight of me standing
near the window, and lifted his hand in an absent kind of wave.  “Oh, hullo
Tarik.  Didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“Farro,” I said.

“What’s this about, Mr. Farro?” Trabin asked, folding a hand
behind his back.  “It’s rather early for a social call.”

“I was actually looking for my father.  He isn’t here, is
he?”

“No, not yet,” Trabin said, studying Griff sternly.  “He’ll
be along later, after we’ve had our tea and begun our day properly.”

Griff turned bright red at that, and bowed again.  “I’m
sorry.  I did ask the footman if I might possibly get an audience with you, if
my father weren’t here yet.”

Trabin flicked his fingers at him, dismissing his apology. 
“Well?  What is it you find so urgent?”

Griff unrolled the newspaper and held it out to Trabin.  A
little cold knot twisted in my stomach, harder and tighter as I watched the
blood drain from Trabin’s face.

“What am I looking at, Mr. Farro?”

“That fellow there?  He led a workers’ riot—or, an anarchists’
riot, not sure which—yesterday down at Macallum Mill.”

“And?”

“I’ve seen him around the palace before.  I know that
bloke.  Proper mage, always coming around on business with some bald gentleman
who works in the east wing.”

My mother’s head snapped up, her face turning terribly
pale.  She flicked a cautious glance at me, which Trabin must have caught.  For
a moment he stood staring at the paper, then suddenly he slammed it down on the
corner table and spun toward Griff.

“Thank you, Mr. Farro.  That will be all.”

Griff shot a step back, frowning and confused, but as soon
as one of the footmen moved toward him, he bowed and retreated from the room.

“All of you, out!” Trabin shouted when Griff had gone.

The remaining servants bowed, faces neutral as always, and
filed out in silence.  As the door settled shut behind them, Trabin turned,
slowly, to face me.  I swallowed and didn’t look away.

He asked, voice dangerously low, “What is this?”

“A riot,” I said, bland, not even wincing when his eyes
flashed with rage.

“Obviously,” he snapped.  “Is this you?  Is that what this
is?  You led an anarchists’ rebellion in the south streets?”

“It was hardly a rebellion.  Some workers were angry.  I
just used them for cover.”

“So this
is
you.”

I took a few steps forward and picked up the paper, and
found that same photograph of Shade staring back at me over his shoulder, all
stark contrast of sharp black and white, like an ink sketch in a grey-washed
world.  Even the white tattoo around his eye was barely visible.

“You told me to change my appearance and infiltrate the
Clan,” I said.

Trabin snatched the paper from me and shook it in my face. 
“But not to make yourself look like
Godar bloody Eyid!
”

“What?” my mother asked, startling.

Trabin held up the paper so she could see the picture, and
her face turned terribly pale.

“Tarik…” she murmured, but just met my gaze and nodded once,
faintly.

“You had to get involved, didn’t you,” Trabin said to me,
never even noticing.  “You couldn’t possibly choose a slower, quieter way to infiltrate. 
You had to go and make a scene and get your face plastered on the front page of
the paper, because that’s all you know how to do!”

His voice had pitched to a shout, but for the first time in
my life, it didn’t drive me back, cowering, into my shell.  I didn’t go any
closer to him, either, but I stood a little straighter and stared him in the
eye, wearing Shade’s cold smile, while everything inside me wondered if what he
said was really true.  Maybe that
was
all I knew how to do.

“What are you so angry about,
sir?
” I asked.  “That I
chose to look like Eyid, or that I acted outside the parameters of your
intention?”

His mouth twitched, but he only asked, “Why?  Why him?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” I said.  “At least, not at first.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he growled.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother watching,
anxious, her hands white-knuckled on the fragile porcelain of her teacup.  She
knew, just as I did, that Trabin was unraveling fast.  I stood on treacherous
ground, yet I couldn’t back away.  Somehow I thought, deep inside, I almost
wanted to push him over the edge.  Trabin never spoke what he really thought
unless fury had completely blinded him.

“I mean that I didn’t know I’d made myself look like him
until someone else pointed it out.  And then I decided I liked the
association.  Eyid was a great leader.  He took care of his people and treated
everyone justly, even mages.”  I grinned, acid.  “Maybe because he was one
himself.  A powerful mage, the kind of mage I hope I can be.  So I figured that
wouldn’t be such a bad thing to tap into.”

“Mage,” he snorted.  “
Mage
.  He was nothing but a
filthy, inhuman
Jixy
.”

My blood turned cold.  “Inhuman?” I echoed, a bare whisper. 

That did it.  He’d slipped into that space of pride and fury
that made him right and the world wrong, no matter who happened to be arguing
with him.  I’d seen it happen so many times before, with his Ministers, with ambassadors,
with myself in my mischief.  I didn’t expect him to answer rationally, but even
so, when he spoke, he stunned me.

“That’s what they are.  Beasts!  Beasts that don’t deserve
the life they pretend to live.”

All my breath hissed out at once.  I took a step closer to
him, forcing him to look at me.

“Is that what you think of me?” I asked.  I nodded in my
mother’s direction.  “Is that what you think of her?”

He turned to meet her gaze, but the hardness in his
eyes—hard, unflinching hatred—turned my heart to stone.  In a rush the coldness
of my blood churned into a fire, and I slammed my hands on the table.  The
noise made everyone jump, even me.  Clenching my teeth on a furious breath I
spun away, knotting my stinging hands, lips twitching, wanting to scream.  The
room faded away from me, bleeding into red.