He hadn’t told this to Kimber before. He had barely told anyone—Verci, Mila, that was it, and neither of them knew all of it. But he needed to say it. And Kimber had already seen the worst of him, what he became when he let go, and she was still here with patient kindness.
“What does she say?”
“Things I already know. Things I don’t want to admit to myself.”
“Does she tell you that you’ve saved this neighborhood?” Kimber asked. “And the people who live here?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then she tells you lies,” Kimber said. “That’s all she is. A liar.”
Liora—the one he saw out of the corner of his eye, sitting in a chair with a glass of wine—just raised her glass quietly.
“I should get back. Verci will wonder where I am.”
“No church service today?” Kimber asked.
“Maybe tonight,” Asti said.
She gently touched his cheek. “Maybe. I’ll be bringing Jared Scall as well.” She pointed to Jared, sitting at a table in the corner. The neighborhood butcher was easily on his third beer, despite it only being early afternoon. He sat slumped. Asti couldn’t blame him. He had lost almost everything in the fire.
“At least he’s not still carrying his mace around.”
“He is,” Kimber said. “I take it from him when he comes in here, though.”
“Wise,” Asti said. “I’ll try to come by later.”
“I’ll be here for you.”
Asti left Kimber’s and went down the alley that was the fastest route to Junk Avenue, to the Gadgeterium. He had only gotten a few steps when he heard a wheezing voice.
“Help—you gotta—”
A tiny person lay in the refuse—Asti wouldn’t have even noticed him if he hadn’t spoken. Asti knelt down and turned him over.
“Tarvis,” Asti said. He hadn’t seen the angry little boy in months, and now he looked worse than ever. Pale, down to his bones. Scrapes and scratches all over his face, dirt and filth on his scraps of clothing. “What happened?”
Tarvis’s eyes focused on him. “Rynax,” he whispered. “You gotta—stop—giant.”
Asti didn’t know what had happened, but he cradled the little boy in his arms and ran back to Kimber’s.
Chapter 3
THE PARLIAMENT BUILDING WAS A chaos of functionaries and staff, marshals and Tarians and Spathians, and the actual members of Parliament themselves. They all went through the administrative work of assigning offices, coordinating security schedules, and for the custodians, trying to keep the floors clean through it all.
Dayne went down to the marshal offices briefly, but there the chaos was at its peak. Donavan was keeping charge, giving out assignments, and talking with the two elite masters about chain of command and oversight of the joint force.
Dayne watched that from a distance, as it seemed clear his input would not be welcome from either Tarian Master Gerald or Spathian Master Meralister. Which showed him just how empty and feckless his posting as a “liaison” really was. They were liaising just fine without him.
If all they needed was someone with a strong jaw and clean uniform to talk to the press, Dayne would serve as he was ordered. He knew it was a waste of his time and his talent. He thought he had proven that enough, proven his value to the Tarians, to the august body of the Parliament.
He was reminded how little his efforts mattered as he went back up the stairs toward his apartments. He passed three members of Parliament: the 5th, 7th, and 9th Chairs from Yinara, respectively. Ruprect, Jude, and Samuel Benedict. Cousins to each other, uncles all to Lenick Benedict, the young boy who would spend his life in rolling chairs thanks to Dayne’s failure. They all looked upon Dayne with utter contempt. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.
They still held such resentment for Dayne, even after he had saved Jude’s life on the Parliament floor. Surely the heart of the 1st Chair from Yinara, Wesley Benedict, hadn’t softened either. He was the one who led the Parliamentary Committee overseeing the Elite Orders, he was the one who would prevent Dayne’s advancement to the rank of Adept, forcing him out of the Tarian Order forever.
Dayne slipped through the crowds as best as a man his size could, to make his way to his own apartments. If he was needed to talk to the press again, he could be easily found. That was why he was quartered here instead of at the Tarian Chapterhouse, after all.
Though he wondered if he just moved to Lady Mirianne’s household, would anyone even care?
“Heldrin!” someone called. Dayne turned to see that new Member of Parliament—Haberneck?—approaching him.
“Good Mister Haberneck,” Dayne said. “Are you lost? I know the corridors can be a bit confusing, but this area is mostly quarters for the building staff.”
“No, Heldrin, I was looking for you.”
“For me?” Dayne asked. He had wanted to tell Dayne something before he was pulled away to talk to the press. “Is there something I can help you with, sir? I’m really not . . .”
“Don’t call me ‘sir,’” Haberneck said. “I’ll tell you, this whole business is pretty strange, but the strangest is how everyone’s talking to me. I ain’t seen anything like it.”
“There is a protocol of address, Mister Haberneck,” Dayne said. “It’s supposed to prevent—”
“I know the why of it, Heldrin. It’s mostly hot wind off a stinking sea. But you . . . you seem like the sort who has his head on straight, not like the rest of these folks. They all got their cravats a little tight.”
“I don’t know about that,” Dayne said. “But there’s something you need? Perhaps you should go to the marshals or—”
“No, I . . .” Haberneck shook his head. “I already tried that. Let me start from the top. I know most of the folks in here, they’re living in fancy houses that are gifts from barons, or something like that. I ain’t going to do anything of the sort. I got some kin who live on the south side, so I’m staying near them, helping them out. Nice
