they are going to find out.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Adelaide-”
“They never found his body.”
“The earth is full of unburied souls.” Feodor lifted his hands: a gesture of resignation. “Listen to me. It does no good to mull over these things. And besides, this is a delicate situation. Decorum is required. There are procedures. You must not-you will not-start making ripples. Hanif has everything in hand. He will inform me the moment-”
“Please. I won’t take anything, I won’t touch anything, I just want to look-”
“He will inform me the moment new information arises. I am sure it will not be long.”
She fell still. On the Neptune o’screen, the forked tail of a fish disappeared beyond the edges of the frame. She reached out a finger, tracing its exit. Nebulous ideas, suspicions that had led her to this day and this request, tightened in her head and bound.
“How can you be so confident?” she murmured.
Feodor shifted his weight, flexing and refolding his hands around the back of the chair. “Adelaide. Perhaps this is difficult for you to understand, having been so close to your brother, but this-disappearance. In some ways, it is not, perhaps, entirely unexpected. The shock is no less, but the mind… the mind can sometimes anticipate, without knowing…”
Adelaide’s chest constricted with outrage. “Are you trying to imply that he-”
“No!” Feodor looked, for once, truly scandalized. “Don’t insult me. Axel was still a Rechnov, he would never- Let me finish. I am talking about accidents. An accident… Nothing more.” He took a deep breath, visibly gathering himself. “Now what I need you to do, Adelaide, is give me your word you will take this matter no further. Come back. Come back to the Domain. We will survive this as a family. We must not forsake one another in our grief.”
“I can’t grieve for someone who isn’t dead.”
Even as she spoke, she felt a dull flicker of recognition within herself. Grieving was exactly what she had been doing for the past year. But there was no longer time for that.
Feodor let out a long sigh, as if to say only the deeply misguided could still have hope, and for them, he was powerless.
“Ask the stars for guidance, if you will not accept mine. And drop this crusade. It will not bring him back.”
A shaft of sunlight fell across the room, whiting the image on the Neptune. The machine whirred gently.
“You won’t help me,” she said. The words fell slowly, hand in hand with the confirmation. If Feodor wouldn’t help her, he had to be hiding something. What did he know that she didn’t? Had the Rechnovs already been inside the penthouse? Had they found something? She imagined Feodor and Linus going through Axel’s things, discussing their strategy, agreeing that under no circumstances would they tell Adelaide.
“Even if I did have access-which I do not-I cannot possibly let you interfere with an investigation. All Councillors are under oath to the City. You know that. We have duties beyond the personal, and you, as my daughter, are implicit in that.”
She kept her face, her voice, carefully neutral. “I understand.”
“Good. Your mother is holding a Council dinner tomorrow tonight. She sent you an invitation.” The blood had drained from his cheeks. He was the politician again, calm and ordered.
“I received it.”
“Then we shall see you there.”
“Get me the keys and maybe I’ll come.”
Feodor made a sound of disgust.
“Oh, go back to the Haze, Adelaide. You make it impossible.”
She made everything impossible. That had been the line for a long time now. Slowly, Adelaide crossed the room and picked up her handbag from the table. As she turned to leave there was a knock at the door.
“Yes?” barked Feodor.
She expected it to be Tyr, but someone else entered the room. A wide, bald man in a chocolate suit. He had dual toned eyes, one green and one brown. They slid towards Adelaide. On the back of his neck he had a third eye, a tattoo. Blue.
Goran was ex-Home Guard. Some of the Guard had been conscripted, in the early days, but Goran had volunteered. He was occasionally referred to as her father’s bodyguard, but it was unspoken knowledge that his job extended beyond protection. The twins had always been scared of him; she was not sure if it was the clothes that did not quite conceal his gun, or the way such a robust man managed to make himself into a shadow, appearing and disappearing seemingly as he chose.
Goran stood inside the door, his hands hidden behind his back.
“Good afternoon, Miss Rechnov,” he said. Some of the warmth seemed to leave the air.
“Hello,” she muttered. She glanced at her father. “Thanks for the drink.” Already her voice was retracting, back from the Rechnovs and their mire of lies, slowly back into what she had made herself. Another breath and she was there.
“Now don’t trouble yourself,” said Adelaide Mystik. “I’ll see myself out.”
Goran smiled. Whatever he had to say to Feodor was said after the door closed.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Tyr asked. Adelaide stopped.
“If I didn’t, would you get it for me, Tyr?”
He pretended to think about this. “Probably not,” he said, with a slow smile that took in more of her than was warranted.
“Then what use are you to me?” she said haughtily.
They were close again, inches, maybe centimetres between them. She ran her gaze over what was offered; the honeyed hair, the aquiline features. His face was highlighted by two days stubble and a darkness under the eyes, both of which were engineered-the one with a carefully applied razor, the other through his milaine habit. In the curve of his lips were tiny lines. Each containing a memory of all the places his mouth had grazed her body. Bruised her, sometimes. His hand drifted down to her hip, connected, pushed her hard against the door. Almost enough to knock it ajar.
“Some use,” he said. “Apparently.”
“No more than any other lover,” she said, and this time she thrust past him with a force that was intentionally violent.
6 VIKRAM
There were no delays on the return journey, but the waterbus paused before crossing the checkpoint, bobbing patiently in a swell. Vikram heard the music first, then the roar of the engine. A patrol boat streaked down the waterway towards them and he averted his eyes. The patrol boat bombed with music. Within its beat he heard the sound of laughter, present and past. He shut his ears against it. The boat flashed past. Its noise faded. The skadi would be joyriding up and down the border all night.
When the waterbus crossed the lane into the west, the squalor struck Vikram with something akin to surprise. Graffiti looked stark and lewd on structures that must once have shone. The clamour of traffic was phenomenal: Boat horns, collisions, gulls screeching, yells of abuse. Even the sea smelled saltier. For a few seconds his head swam with sensory overload and then it was normal once more.
In normalcy he saw, stretching out like the sea itself, the dreary march of the days ahead. Each washing over him as relentless as the currents. He saw how every day would be a new fight; to keep free of the gangs, the manta wars and the insurgent games; to find food enough to survive the winter and clothes to keep from freezing. He saw the riots that would come as surely as would the storms. He saw friends beaten by the skadi. The tank towed back to the border packed with swollen corpses. He saw the winter freeze ravaging the old, children hardened into crime until they wore unkindness as a resin on their skin. He saw the slow thick bleed of anger. He
