Mazes of Power by Juliette Wade

Author:Juliette Wade
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2020-02-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Vigil

Aloran woke, half-falling out of his chair. There had been a sound . . . He caught a breath and straightened, trying to orient himself. The young Master’s room, dimmed for nighttime—the Lady sleeping in a chair beside the bed—his medical kit on the bedside table, open—and young Master Tagaret tossing in his sheets, panting and muttering while his body tried to go up in flames.

The horrified ache in Aloran’s throat started again, and tears rose in his eyes. He longed to fight, to sacrifice himself so that Tagaret might live—as if now that he had stood by Lady Tamelera’s side, he received the right to love him as she did. He blinked back his tears, and made another check: pulse steady, fast but not dangerously so. No sign of the hives he’d suffered earlier in the evening, which was a mercy. His temperature, though, was a frightening six degrees above normal.

Aloran checked his watch. Enough time had passed that a fourth dose of medication wouldn’t tax the young Master’s organs. He shifted him onto his back, and the boy roused, opening bleary eyes.

“Nekantor, don’t break my lock this time,” he said indistinctly. “Why would you walk on only the black tiles?”

“It’s Aloran, young Master.”

“Imbati Aloran,” murmured Tagaret. “My mother thinks he’s a man.”

“Hold still, young Master. This will make you feel better.”

He steadied Tagaret’s arm and delivered the shot, wishing he could give him not just medicine, but some of his own strength to get him through this unharmed.

A soft knock.

Was that what he’d heard? Why wouldn’t Serjer just have come in?

Aloran disposed of the needle, removed his treatment gloves, then walked silently to open the Maze door.

Kiit was standing behind it.

Aloran blinked, trying to make sense of her. Her anxious face was newly marked, and she wore treatment gloves just like his own. She carried a paper. Belatedly, he gaze-gestured questioning.

Kiit took two steps back into the Maze.

Aloran glanced over his shoulder, and reluctantly stepped across the threshold.

When she spoke, her whisper was scarcely above a breath. “Update on the epidemic.” She placed the paper in his hand.

“Thank you.” But she could have delivered this paper to Serjer. Too tired for manners with her, he simply asked. “Kiit, did you need to see me?”

Kiit’s eyes flickered over his shoulder. What did she see there? Nothing either of them could have imagined, despite every lesson, every warning. She gestured to her own forehead.

“Just—I’m sorry, Aloran.”

How could he even respond? What came out was, “Congratulations. . . ?”

She winced and nodded. “I just needed to tell you. I understand now.” She turned and loped away down the Maze hall.

Aloran exhaled. He returned to the room, peering at the note in the dim light, then discovered Lady Tamelera was awake in her chair, gazing at him. She wore a white nightgown, and her face still bore traces of her earlier tears.

Aloran bowed to her. “I’m sorry, Lady,” he said. “These are the victims of the epidemic.” He placed the list of handwritten names in her hand.

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