Transgressions of Power (The Broken Trust, Band 2) - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Juliette Wade never outgrew of the habit of asking "why" about everything. This path led her to study foreign languages and to complete degrees in both anthropology and linguistics. Combining these with a fascination for worldbuilding and psychology, she creates multifaceted speculative fiction that holds a mirror to our own society.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1

Chapter One

Singled Out

Birthdays just weren't the same when everyone expected you to live. Adon loved the excitement of the preparations, but today, on the eve of turning thirteen, he knew tomorrow was going to be anticlimactic. He'd been singled out as a lucky exception to the decline of the Grobal Race since the day he was born. This morning, Mother had caught him moping, and asked if he'd prefer the kind of pawing congratulations other noble boys received for managing not to die of hemophilia, heart defects, or inherited cancers. He shuddered at the thought, yet the fact remained: he just wasn't like most people.

Soft-footed, he moved among the boisterous boys who ran between classes in the vaulted stone hallway of the Grobal School. Usually he would linger to avoid the rush, but for role-play class, it was important to arrive early. And to stay unnoticed, if possible. So, not a day for fashion innovations. The sapphire velvet suit and white gloves he wore had already been adopted by several classmates, and wouldn't draw any attention.

Not far from the bronze doors of the play hall was a column, half-embedded in the wall; Adon tucked himself behind it and pressed his nose to the cool stone. He evaluated the others with his right eye. Boys in gangs, scheming for the hour to come. If not for them, role-play would have been his favorite class. He could have talked to Imbati-caste servants his own age, gotten to know them with an eye to hiring a bodyguard when he turned seventeen-which was supposed to be the whole point. Not, who can be rude to the most Imbati in an hour?

Adon scanned and found a gang of his cousins from the First Family. Xeref and Cahemsin were in that group, but they never seemed to agree on which servant to approach first. Running it was, then, as usual. He tugged his gloves tight, and shifted his weight to his toes.

With a click, and a shift in the cool air, the heavy doors swung open.

Adon dashed forward, dodging between gangs into the hall where Imbati awaited their testing. After he'd bumped a couple of older boys and gotten elbowed for it, he slowed a bit. Don't try to get out ahead, just find Imbati Talabel.

Talabel: she stood calmly in her maroon uniform. Though she stood within arm's reach of a brass chair at one of the tables, she didn't touch it. Tall, graceful, eighteen-she wore her hair in twists, and her eyes seemed to speak. Adon wished he could erase the small Imbati castemark of black paint between her eyebrows, so he could see her whole face, just once. Sometimes, in secret, he tried to stand like her. He never could find that Imbati poise.

Just as he drew close, Venmer of the Eighth Family veered off another nearby servant and tried to beat him to Talabel; Adon leapt past and blurted, "Imbati-Talabel-I-require-your-service!"

The Imbati girl bowed. "Yes, Grobal Adon, sir."

"Adon, you took my servant," Venmer drawled behind him.

He didn't want to answer. He wanted to talk to Talabel. He glanced up at her; she seemed to approve of him staying put.

"Adon," Venmer said, louder this time. "Give her to me."

He shook his head, no.

"Your mother's a muckwalker. She brings fever-carrying Lowers to contaminate our air."

Lies. Adon's cheeks burned, but he said nothing.

"Tunnel-hound." Venmer shoved his shoulder, hard enough that Adon stumbled forward by a step. "Your mother wants doctors to inject us with Lowers' blood."

That's not true. That's not how inoculants work. But he'd heard all of this before, and arguing never helped. "Come on, Talabel," he said, "let's go somewhere el-"

Venmer grabbed him roughly by the back of his coat.

Adon squeaked, "Talabel, defend me!"

The servant took a step forward. "Please release him, Venmer, sir."

"Ha!" Venmer scoffed. He shook him so his teeth rattled. "That's not going to work this time. You can't fool me."

Adon winced, and caught Talabel's gaze pleadingly.

"Sir," the Imbati girl said. "Please release him. This will be my final request."

Venmer laughed. "What are you gonna do, Imbati? I've called your bluff; admit it. You can't do a thing to me."

"Grobal Venmer, sir. I shall simply role-play as manservant and bodyguard to Adon of the First Family, as requested, according to the play hall rules."

The gloved hands on Adon's jacket slipped slightly. "You wouldn't dare."

"Pardon me, sir."

She flashed past. Adon spun around as Venmer's hands dragged down his body. He jumped and pulled his leg away, and found Venmer lying face-down on the floor. For an instant, Talabel's eyes came up to his and she smiled. Actually smiled! Then the moment was gone, and her face returned to its Imbati calm.

The Eighth Family boy surged up with a roar. Adon took three steps backward, every nerve afire, intensely aware that Talabel was taking a place beside his left shoulder.

"You can't do that!" Venmer shouted. Rage pulsed in his face. "Whose side are you on?"

My own? Adon took a breath, but Talabel murmured down to his ear, "Don't answer."

He pressed his lips shut. He could feel all eyes in the room on them. But role-play was how you tested a servant's qualifications, and wasn't that exactly what he was doing? What those other boys did-sneering at the Imbati, or humiliating them-made no sense.

Venmer raised gloved fists as if to strike, but then shook them instead. "I'm reporting you, Imbati! That was a fault, you hear me? You're not allowed to touch your betters!"

Adon relaxed slightly. Venmer had it backward: nobles of the Race were the ones expected to keep their hands to themselves. Imbati were allowed to touch those they served-Mother's Aloran styled her hair, and dressed her, and helped her in the bath.

Venmer stormed off toward the Schoolmaster supervisor. Imbati faded out of his path, but when younger schoolmates were too slow, he shoved them out of his way.

Adon's breath came faster than he liked. Would the Schoolmaster supervisor intervene? Surely he wouldn't be told his actions reflected badly on the First Family, or Mother . . .

He whispered, "You were perfect, Talabel. Like a certified manservant." Which, in a few months, she would be. If only he were older . . .

"Thank you, sir."

"If he asks, I take full responsibility for my orders. I won't let the Eighth Family get you in trouble."

An unexpected shift in the air brought his head up; he stood on his toes to look toward the entrance. The massive bronze doors were opening again, and a hushed stillness spread outward. All eyes swung to the man who entered: tall, thin, commanding, with a streak of gray in his sandstone hair, a noble nose, and a gaze that seemed to stab right through you.

His least favorite birthday inevitability was here a day early. Every time he saw his older brother Nekantor, Adon felt a sudden urge to hide.

Murmurs chased through the room. "By Varin!" "It's the Heir." "Nekantor." "The Heir!" "Nekantor of the First Family, impress him and he could make your career!"

Those words started a sinister change. Boys shifted-Imbati tensed-and suddenly two Twelfth Family boys started throwing punches at the servant they'd been working with. Next thing Adon knew, all the boys were doing it,...