Michel looked up sharply. Ichtracia was cleaning her nails, lips pursed. Switching from the bombing to Sedial so quickly seemed like a non sequitur, but she didn’t look distracted. Michel said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“That stunt with Forgula—he’ll take it personally. He takes everything like that personally. Sooner or later—and I’m guessing sooner—he’ll start asking Yaret why the bombings haven’t been stopped. He’ll ask why Forgula’s death didn’t put an end to the attacks, and why Yaret’s pet Blackhat hasn’t dug up his former compatriots yet.”
Michel was more than aware of all this—or at least he’d surmised it. Having his suspicions about Sedial’s anger be confirmed wasn’t exactly comforting. “I’m looking,” he assured her. “We have hundreds of people out trying to dig up je Tura’s hiding spot. We’ve searched every safe house that I know about and looted all their caches. We’ve arrested nearly four hundred known Blackhats.”
“And yet je Tura is staying one step ahead of you.”
Michel pursed his lips, trying to keep a neutral expression. Ichtracia was friendly, even charming, but he had to constantly remind himself that she was a Privileged. All she had to do was put on her gloves and she could break him in two, so it was best not to snap at her when she needled. “I have no idea how. Je Tura will need dozens of men to conduct his bombings. He needs a network to supply the powder, make the bombs, and case his targets. We’ve scrubbed the city of his people as thoroughly as we damned well can and yet he still evades me.” Michel sat back, grinding his teeth.
“Oh, don’t look so put out,” Ichtracia murmured. She rolled off the divan and crossed the room, coming around behind Michel. To his surprise, she began to rub his shoulders. “Look, I see what you’re doing here,” she said gently. “If you create a web of conspiracy around Forgula, true or not, then you’ll be able to keep Sedial on the back foot. You can accuse his people, keep the other Households in suspicion of his motives, and perhaps stay ahead of him.”
Michel felt himself stiffen up. Ichtracia’s tone was helpful, but he couldn’t help but hear a note of something sinister in her words. That was exactly what he had convinced Yaret he was up here doing, and Ichtracia had seen through it effortlessly. It didn’t bode well for his long-term career in Dynize politics.
“What I suggest,” Ichtracia continued, “is that you focus on the Blackhats. Even if you attack all his people, you won’t get ahead of Sedial. He’s been playing this game for longer than you and I together have been alive. But if you continue to add to your accomplishments, you will be harder for him to take his vengeance on … and he has been known to be forgiving to people who make themselves useful.”
Michel tried to enjoy the back rub, pressing the back of his head against her chest. Rumors had it that Ichtracia and her grandfather didn’t exactly get along, so maybe she really was on his side. Or perhaps she was lulling him into a false sense of security.
He pushed the book away from him, eyes closed, trying to form his own plans. “Do I have a future with the Dynize?” he asked.
Ichtracia’s hands stopped moving. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m an outsider. I know what happens to outsiders. The moment I am no longer useful, I will be either forgotten or destroyed.”
“You should have thought of that before coming to our doorstep.” Again, the tone was not unkind, but in it she made it very clear that she’d be offering little sympathy. She paused, then let out a soft sigh. “You may,” she said cautiously. “You’re quite clever, though whether you’re just the right amount to keep from being eaten alive remains to be seen. You’re also useful. I’ve always thought of the Dynize as xenophobic, but next to you Kressians we’re practically loving of other cultures.” She let go of his shoulders and crossed to the other side of the table from him. “Put away the books,” she suggested. “Come to the Foxhead Club with me for the rest of the evening.”
The Foxhead Club was a bit of a joke among the Dynize. They’d taken an exclusive gentleman’s club in the center of Landfall and turned out the Kressians, making it available only to Dynize and Palo upper crust. Michel wondered briefly if he’d be turned away, but imagined that no one would turn away the guest of a Privileged. He leaned forward, examining her face, wondering what time it was. Perhaps he should take a break. “Where do you fit into all of this?” he asked.
“All of what?”
“This.” Michel gestured expansively around him. “Sedial. Yaret. The Households. Tenik told me that Privileged aren’t allowed to be political in your culture. In Kressian culture they have their fingers in everything, and …” Michel trailed off, realizing that he’d let himself forget who he was talking to. When he was in the Blackhats, he probably would have balked at even addressing a Privileged, let alone speaking so candidly with one.
Ichtracia regarded him casually, tapping on the table with one long fingernail. “It is complicated, as you may imagine.” She paused, frowning down at her hands, and for a moment Michel thought that perhaps her cool, collected mask had slipped. “Do you know about dragonmen?” she asked.
“I’ve heard the rumors.”
“Dragonmen and Privileged hold the same position in Dynize society. We belong to the emperor. We are not people, nor citizens. We are tools. When we are needed, we serve without flinching, without questioning. When we are not needed, we are left to our own devices. We have no power of our own, not in a political sense, but we have a sort of power simply by being tools of the emperor.”
Michel opened his mouth to respond, but found he had nothing to say. The idea of being a possession had never even occurred to him, and the slight crack in Ichtracia’s voice when she spoke of it told volumes. “I …” He hesitated. “If you’re a possession of the emperor’s, and Sedial is the emperor’s man on this continent, then …”
Ichtracia’s slipping facade suddenly became cool and casual again and she regarded him with a dispassionate sort of annoyance. “I wouldn’t worry too much about your own skin. Sedial may think he is the emperor, but he definitely is not. It’s no secret that he and I do not get along. I have no intention of handing you over to him.”
“I didn’t mean—”
She cut him off. “It’s all right. You want to know where you stand, and I won’t begrudge you that. So here is this: I find you fascinating. You are an innocuous and boring person on the surface, but there are layers beneath your facade that I think I’d enjoy peeling away. I intend on playing with you for at least a few months before I cut you loose and move on to the husband of a minister or the daughter of a general. I will enjoy our time together, and I suspect you intend on doing the same. Do not expect anything more of me than you would a tool of the state, and I won’t expect more of you than I would a spy who knows he needs someone to protect him from the lions among my people.”
For a moment, Michel felt as if he’d been slapped. The shock was gone within seconds, and he found himself laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Ichtracia demanded.
Michel reached out a hand. “Thank you for that. It’s incredibly refreshing.” She knew that he was using her to protect himself from Sedial, and she didn’t give a damn. Somehow that knowledge relieved Michel, the idea that he wasn’t hiding just one more thing from another person. “I’m sorry if I’m being rude, but you’re far more pragmatic than I expected. I like that.”
Ichtracia took his hand with a look of wariness. Slowly, that feline smile spread across her face. “Don’t apologize. It’s tiresome, and I don’t want to find you tiresome quite yet.” She released his hand and slid the ledger he’d been reading off the table with a clatter. “Your work is done for the night. Come with me to the club.”
“Can I meet you there?”
“How long?”
“An hour.”