by the Seneschal.” He shook his head. “I thought things would be different now. I heard about people inside coming out. But nobody’s out, you know. They just moved the Wall. Made it invisible, so nobody would notice. Bindy told me what you did to keep her. Why? Why put yourself on the line for some Marketside factory worker’s girl?”
“I wouldn’t call it putting myself on the line,” Nate said. “I filled out a form. Anyway, Bindy’s smart and I like her. Are you going to accuse me of evil intentions? Because your mother and I already covered that.”
“Why me, then? Why’d you put yourself on the line for me?”
“To be honest, I have no idea.” Now it was Nate that was cold. “I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it. Eleanor asked me to, and it seemed like Judah would have wanted it. By the way, you haven’t asked, but I’ll tell you anyway. If she was pregnant, it was undone shortly after the caning. I saw to it myself.”
He expected the stableman to flinch; had wanted him to. But Darid only shook his head. “Then you added to her pain for nothing. We never had sex.”
It was Nate who flinched, then. The stableman leaned forward. He really didn’t look anything like Bindy; Bindy’s hair was strawberry, almost red, and her eyes a clear sky-blue. Everything about Darid was plain and drab, but his dull blue eyes were intense as he said, “Why’d the Seneschal let her live?”
Nate couldn’t speak.
“Elban’s sons, I get. The Seneschal doesn’t want to let them go rally up an army but he doesn’t want to make them martyrs, either, so he tucks them out of sight and mind, lets the hope die slowly so nobody even notices it’s gone. In the meantime, he gets to pretend he’s not as cruel as Elban. Plus, maybe sometime he’ll need somebody to blame for something, and there they’ll be.” The fate of the two men clearly didn’t bother him. “But why keep Judah? Kill her or let her go, sure. But keep her?”
With unaccountable malice, Nate said, “Maybe he’s in love with her.”
The stableman dismissed that idea quickly with a curl of the lip. The gesture spoke volumes of a life where opinions were pared down to their slimmest possible expression. “The people who’ve come out keep talking about the orchards and pastureland and fields. There’s talk of taking the House by force.”
Nate felt the color drain from his face.
“Nobody’s taking it seriously yet,” Darid went on, “but come winter, they will. And when they do—people still have warm feelings for the Children, but they’ve got warmer ones for their own. If it comes to violence there’s no way to guarantee she’d be safe.” Then, all in a burst, “She shouldn’t have to live or die with them. She’s none of Elban’s get. She deserves a life.”
“With you?”
The man withered at the contempt in Nate’s voice. “No. I can’t imagine she’d want that. I’m not sure I want it for her.” He hesitated. “Does she know I’m alive?”
“You want me to tell her?”
Darid shook his head. “Let her believe I’m dead for now. I might as well be, until I think of a way to help her.” He sucked at his lower lip. “Who’d they kill instead of me?”
“I don’t know,” Nate said. “I wasn’t involved.”
Later, when Nate told Derie about the stableman’s visit, the old woman was alarmed. “Oh, no,” she said. “No, no, no. We can’t have her losing focus now. That won’t do at all,” and made Nate let her into his head again, where she shoved the memory of Darid’s visit so far behind the locked door that when she was done, it felt like something he’d dreamed, or dreamed of dreaming, deep in a fever or on the edge of death. It made him uncomfortable, itchy. He didn’t like to think of it again.
* * *
Why can’t I do anything in the real world? Judah asked, petulant, the next time he was in the tower. They were in the Work, but she had not yet immersed herself in his memories and the tower was still visible around them, with the purple membrane strung across every surface. She had her fingers in it and was playing with it like clay. The sight made Nate shiver. All this stuff is everywhere and you say it’s powerful. Why can’t I walk on it, or build a fire with it, or use it