Bo’s silence made Adamat sigh. The Privileged had no interest in helping. He’d probably leave the country now that his debt to Adamat was paid. It seemed that Bo had just enough civic sense of duty to try to convince Adamat to help stop Claremonte.
“Even Vetas said that your son would be gone by now,” Bo said.
“And you trust him? That’s awfully naïve for a cabal Privileged.”
Bo leaned in toward Adamat. “I
“It was too easy,” Adamat said. “I know what type of man Vetas is. He’s keeping something back.”
Doubt flickered across Bo’s face, then resolved itself in a scowl. “No. He won’t. He can’t. Like I said, I broke him.”
“You should keep at it.” Adamat’s stomach twisted at the words. This kind of torture made him sick. Even when applied to Lord Vetas. “There’s no telling what else he has in that head of his.”
“He’ll be dead within hours,” Bo said.
“Ricard’s orders?” Perhaps Ricard thought Vetas was too much of a liability to keep alive for long. If Claremonte managed to find and rescue him, the following wrath would be terrible indeed.
“I don’t take orders from Ricard. No, nature will finish what I started. It’s taken what little knowledge I have of healing to keep him alive. I tore his arms off, and then spent the last two days questioning him. You think he’ll live long? No. By nightfall I’m throwing his corpse into the Adsea and getting the pit out of this country.”
“Well, then.” Adamat took a deep breath and smoothed the front of his coat. Here he was, back to square one. All his allies were gone. The Proprietor had cut off contact. Ricard was busy dealing with the fallout of Vetas’s capture, and Bo was leaving the country. Adamat was alone again. “I guess this is good-bye.”
Bo tugged at the fingers of his right glove and pulled it off. He extended his hand. “Thank you.”
“No,” Adamat said, clasping the hand. He felt his heart skip a beat. Privileged did not shake hands with anyone. Not ever. “Thank you.”
Bo headed back toward the mill basement. Adamat watched him go, hoping that perhaps he’d change his mind and stay in the country. Maybe he’d even help Adamat rescue Josep. But after a moment Bo disappeared downstairs.
Adamat headed into the street. This would be difficult. Maybe, just maybe, he had one friend left in Adopest.
Adamat paused on his doorstep and looked through the front window.
The blinds were drawn, but through the cracks he could see the twins playing on the rug in the living room. One of them had a wooden boat. The other one wanted it, and pushed the first over, snatching for the toy.
Adamat felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. They’d been through so much, but they still played and argued like regular children. He’d expected them to be worse for the wear after their ordeals. Fanish, his oldest daughter, shouted from the back room, and a moment later she entered and separated the two, then berated them soundly.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. It didn’t take long for all the children to mob him as they all sought for a hug or a kiss. He knelt and let them fawn over him. Felt the relief to have them back home. He never would have thought he’d welcome the shouting and shoving after a long day of walking the street… but he finally had his family back.
The smile slid from his face. No sign of Faye.
“Where’s your mother?” Adamat asked Fanish, gently prying Astrit off his leg.
“She’s in bed, Papa.”
“Has she been down today?” Fanish looked at the younger children and shook her head. She was old enough to know her mother had been through a lot, and to notice readily that she was acting strange. She was also smart enough to want to keep the other children from worrying.
Adamat took his daughter aside. “Has she eaten?”
“No.”
“What did you have for dinner?”
“Soup. It’s still over the fire.”
“Where’d it come from?”
“Ricard’s assistant brought it by. Enough for three days for the whole family.”
“Fell?”
“Her. Yes.”
Adamat’s fists tightened. The woman who almost cost Adamat his wife by letting Vetas escape. He’d never forget that. He stopped himself from getting worked up. This was no time to hold a grudge. “Get me a bowl of soup.”
He set his cane next to the front door and hung up his hat, then took the soup from his daughter and headed upstairs. In their bedroom, Faye was lying with her back to the door, blankets pulled up around her shoulders even though it was summer and the house was quite warm.
“Faye,” he said gently.
No response.
He went around to her side of the bed and sat gently on the edge. He could see the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed softly. Her eyes were closed, but long intimacy told him she was still awake.
“Love,” he said, “you need to eat something.”
Again, no response.
“Sit up,” he said. “You need to eat.”
“You didn’t take your boots off.” Her voice was quiet and timid. Not at all the scolding brashness that he was used to, and that worried him.
“I’m sorry, I’ll sweep up. You need to eat now.”
