had come, and Sakisa followed after, trumping in excitement. Shallan picked up her sketchpad. Father had recently forbidden her from drawing the manor’s parshmen or darkeyes—he found it unseemly. That made it hard for her to find practice figures.
“Shallan?”
She started, realizing that Wikim hadn’t followed Balat. “Yes.”
“I was wrong,” Wikim said, handing her something. A small pouch. “About what you’re doing. I see through it. And . . . and still it’s working. Damnation, but it’s working. Thank you.”
She moved to open the pouch he’d given her.
“Don’t,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Blackbane,” Wikim said. “A plant, the leaves at least. If you eat them, they paralyze you. Your breathing stops too.”
Disturbed, she pulled the top tight. She didn’t even want to know how Wikim could recognize a deadly plant like this.
“I’ve carried those for the better part of a year,” Wikim said softly. “The longer you have them, the more potent the leaves are supposed to become. I don’t feel like I need them any longer. You can burn them, or whatever. I just thought you should have them.”
She smiled, though she felt unsettled. Wikim had been carrying this poison around? He felt he needed to give it to her?
He jogged after Balat, and Shallan stuffed the pouch in her satchel. She’d find a way to destroy it later. She picked up her pencils and went back to drawing.
Shouting from inside the manor distracted her a short time later. She looked up, uncertain even how much time had passed. She rose, satchel clutched to her chest, and crossed the yard. Vines shook and withdrew before her, though as her pace sped up, she stepped on more and more of them, feeling them writhe beneath her feet and try to yank back. Cultivated vines had poor instincts.
She reached the house to more shouting.
“Father!” Asha Jushu’s voice. “Father, please!”
Shallan pushed open the slatted wood doors, silk dress rustling against the floor as she stepped in and found three men in old-style clothing—skirtlike ulatu to their knees, bright loose shirts, flimsy coats that draped to the ground—standing before Father.
Jushu knelt on the floor, hands bound behind his back. Over the years, Jushu had grown plump from his periods of excess.
“Bah,” Father said. “I will not suffer this extortion.”
“His credit is your credit, Brightlord,” one of the men said in a calm, smooth voice. He was darkeyed, though he didn’t sound it. “He promised us you would pay his debts.”
“He lied,” Father said, Ekel and Jix—house guards—at his sides, hands on weapons.
“Father,” Jushu whispered through his tears. “They’ll take me—”
“You were supposed to be riding our outer holdings!” Father bellowed. “You were supposed to be checking on our lands, not dining with thieves and gambling away our wealth and our good name!”
Jushu hung his head, sagging in his bonds.
“He’s yours,” Father said, turning and storming from the chamber.
Shallan gasped as one of the men sighed, then gestured toward Jushu. The other two grabbed him. They didn’t seem pleased to be leaving without payment. Jushu trembled as they towed him away, past Balat and Wikim, who watched nearby. Outside, Jushu cried for mercy and begged the men to let him speak to Father again.
“Balat,” Shallan said, walking to him, taking his arm. “Do something!”
“We all knew where the gambling would take him,” Balat said. “We told him, Shallan. He wouldn’t listen.”
“He’s still our brother!”
“What do you expect me to do? Where would I get spheres enough to pay his debt?”
Jushu’s weeping grew softer as the men left the manor.
Shallan turned and dashed after her father, passing Jix scratching his head. Father had gone into his study two rooms over; she hesitated in the doorway, looking in at her father slumped in his chair beside the hearth. She stepped in, passing the desk where his ardents—and sometimes his wife—tallied his ledgers and read him reports.
Nobody stood there now, but the ledgers were open, displaying a brutal truth. She raised a hand to her mouth, noticing several letters of debt. She’d helped with minor accounts, but never seen so much of the full picture, and was stunned by what she saw. How could the family owe that much money?
“I’m not going to change my mind, Shallan,” Father said. “Leave. Jushu prepared this pyre himself.”
“But—”
“Leave me!” Father roared, standing.
Shallan cringed back, eyes widening, heart nearly stopping. Fearspren wriggled up around her. He never yelled at her. Never.
Father took a deep breath, then turned to the room’s window. His back to her, he continued, “I can’t afford the spheres.”
“Why?” Shallan