Chapter 51: Crossing a Line

Volume 20: All the Kinds of Broken

Chapter 51

Crossing a Line

“Damn, Rishka.” Bror massaged Tilrey’s bare shoulders, shocked at the tension knotted under the surface. “You need this, sweetheart. What happened last night?”The rubbing didn’t seem to relax Tilrey, though he lowered his head and allowed Bror to kiss his nape. They were in the Gym sauna, just the two of them. In the weight room, Bror had sensed instantly that something was wrong, but he’d waited to ask Tilrey about it until Ansha was out of earshot.For the past few months, there’d been a subtle distance between them. Bror thought he could date the change to the afternoon when the protestors in Ring Six had taunted them. For several days after that, Tilrey avoided everyone, saying he had a cold. It was more than a ten-day before they went to the Vacants again, and for a while after, Tilrey always had reasons not to undress in front of Bror.He seemed fine now, at least on the surface. But Bror knew there was more to the story. He wished he knew a way to ask that wouldn’t seem voyeuristic or meddling or possessive.This time, at least, Tilrey seemed willing to talk. “We need to go to the Restaurant, right after this,” he said, twitching under Bror’s hands. “Do you think you could talk to your friend Tzara for me?”Tzara was the kid sister of Bror’s schoolmate Piter Kreifell—smart girl, sharp tongue, nimble with plates. “Why?”Tilrey swung around on the bench to face Bror, something desolate in his expression. “It’s no good,” he said, shaking his head, as if he’d already considered a plan and rejected it. “She’s dug in deep. She won’t listen. But maybe if you got one of her relatives to help?”“You got me on edge now, Rishka. Would you just explain?” Bror glanced at the door to make sure they were unobserved. Then he folded Tilrey into his arms, snuggling the blond head against his chest.Tilrey’s cheek felt wet against Bror’s bare skin. After a minute, he said, “I did something stupid. But I couldn’t help it.”Bror listened as details poured out of Tilrey. It was worse than he expected.“Ah, shit,” he said. So Councillor Lindthardt had his grubby paws on Tzara—who, in Bror’s recent-feeling past, had been a kid running around pretending to be a helicopter. Now she was a wild girl and savvy for her years, but not ready for this. “That fucker Lindthardt. I knew there was something off about him.”Tilrey looked relieved, almost as if he’d feared Bror would react differently. “He’s giving her pain relievers for her dad.”“Yeah, I bet. That rat bastard.” Picturing Piter and Tzara’s father, whose legs had been crushed by a loading dock, made Bror want to punch Lindthardt even more. “We gotta talk some sense into Tzara without talking down to her, or she’ll be off like a shot,” he said, thinking aloud. “I remember how I was at her age. Or we could put pressure on Lindthardt. Threaten to tell his wife.”Freeing himself from Bror’s embrace, Tilrey ducked his head as if he were holding something back. “I don’t have leverage over Lindthardt, I’m afraid. I handled it the exact wrong way.”“What exactly happened?” Bror asked, probing cautiously. “After Lindthardt showed her off in front of you?”Tilrey still wasn’t meeting Bror’s eyes; something bad had happened, all right. “He wanted me to … he wanted to give her to me. Or me to her. But I wouldn’t.”“Shit.” Bror tried to imagine how he would have dealt with the order in Tilrey’s place, but his mind shied away from imagining Tzara in Lindthardt’s clutches. Instead, he saw eighteen-year-old Tilrey at their first meeting in the Café—a shy, scared stripling, barely out of childhood, schooling his face into blankness to show no sign of the unendurable things he’d already endured.What if István had given Bror to Malsha one night and Malsha had ordered Bror to fuck his new kettle boy? Would Bror have obeyed, as gently as possible? Would he have told himself it was okay because Tilrey was of age? Even though reluctance would have been plain on Tilrey’s face?He hoped not. But Bror rarely disobeyed a direct order. And he had fucked Ansha once for Verán’s amusement, when Ansha wasn’t more than a year older than Tzara was now.Tilrey was still talking, faster and faster. “I fucked it up so badly, Brorsha. Even Tzara could tell. I should’ve just made an excuse, said I couldn’t get it up, but instead, I told him exactly why I wouldn’t touch her. I embarrassed him in front of her, practically called him out.”Bror squeezed Tilrey’s knee; it was the most touching he dared do right now. “Let me guess. Lindthardt didn’t react well.”“He didn’t. He … sent me home right then, so I had to explain everything to Vlastor, who’ll have to tell Verán.”From the strain in Tilrey’s voice, it was clear Lindthardt had done more than just send him home. But Bror didn’t want to push him on specifics. “Fuck Vlastor,” he said, giving the driver the brunt of his anger because it was safer than expressing his feelings about Lindthardt. “If you have to, tell Verán the truth. He may not care, but he won’t take Lindthardt’s part, either. Most of the Council thinks the man’s a spoiled little shit who shouldn’t have been elected so young. Give Verán one of the excuses you didn’t give Lindthardt, and let them work it out.”Tilrey nodded. But when he looked up, his expression was grim, the blue eyes clouded and full of doubts. “I wonder how old Adelbert was when his uncle offered him to Malsha?”“Adelbert? Verán’s nephew?” The handsome young Verán and Malsha had been an item long before Bror’s time; people still whispered about it. But Bror hadn’t heard anything about Verán brokering the relationship. “Why would Verán do that? Wasn’t Malsha his arch-enemy?”“Not back then.” Tilrey bowed his head again. “It’s not just us they treat like things, Bror. Sometimes they do it to their own kids, or each other. Anyone they can get away with.”Bror recalled a rumor Ansha had told him about Magistrate Linden’s family. After Edmond failed to carry on the family line, the duty of reproducing fell on his sister, Adeled. For a stud, she had chosen a pretty, low-named boy, barely an Upstart at all. Supposedly, Edmond had demanded that he also take the young man to bed before he gave his blessing to the marriage, much like a lord in days of old.Bror thought of that anecdote whenever he saw Magistrate Linden’s nephew, who’d clearly gotten his good looks from his father. Did Tollsha Linden know his dad was little more than a glorified kettle boy? How many high-named families had similar stories?“It’s messed up,” he agreed.But the important thing right now was getting Tzara out of the situation—and making sure Tilrey didn’t suffer any consequences. “I’ll talk to the kid,” he added, trying to sound more confident than he was. “She likes me. She’ll listen. And … Tilrey?”It hurt to see the tension in Tilrey’s body, the way Tilrey’s eyes slid away from his—then went glassy and opaque, refusing to convey anything at all. When Tilrey was upset, he went so deep inside himself that even Bror couldn’t reach him.Bror rubbed the knob of Tilrey’s shoulder until their eyes met. I got you, no matter what, he tried to say with the touch, but aloud he said only, “You did the right thing, calling Lindthardt out. A prick like that needs to have his face rubbed in his own mess. Nobody else will do it.”“It was still stupid.” Tilrey spoke in a dead voice.Not stupid. Rash. I wouldn’t have done it. Bror hated himself for having that thought, all the more so because it was true. How many times had he held himself back from speaking the truth because it would wound a Councillor’s ego?He drew Tilrey to him and kissed him on the forehead, then on the lips, trying to recapture the special kind of privacy they sometimes shared. “I love you for making Lindthardt feel like shit about himself,” he whispered, then grinned to lighten the moment. “You’re my hero.”Deep down, he was absolutely serious. That night, Vlastor knocked on Tilrey’s door. “Fir wants to see you.”The driver’s demeanor suggested he was torn between smugness and sheepish apology. It would have been entertaining if Tilrey hadn’t had other things to worry about.He was expecting the summons, so he hadn’t changed into sweats, as he usually did on Council worknights. He refastened the high collar of his tunic as he followed Vlastor into the sitting room, feeling as if he were strangling himself.Verán sat on the sofa in a dressing gown, surrounded by a pot of tea, a vial of sap, his handheld, and the Council Record. “Stand,” he ordered, pointing in front of him.Tilrey did as instructed, clasping his hands behind him and dropping his gaze.He waited while Vlastor boiled more water, poured it, and left the room, obeying Verán’s commands. When they were alone, Verán asked, “Why did Beirthsha Lindthardt send you home last night?”Tilrey barely felt the sharpness of the question. He was simply relieved that Lindthardt himself hadn’t complained to Verán today in the Sector, as Vlastor had feared. If he had, Verán would have led with that. Maybe the young Councillor had some shame, then.Now was the time to use one of those excuses Tilrey and Bror had talked about. He could spare Lindthardt’s vanity by claiming it wasn’t in his power to get hard for a woman. Or he could pretend he’d been afraid Verán wouldn’t approve of him engaging in such a display at all.But the excuses froze on his tongue when he remembered Bror kissing him and saying You’re my hero with that flash of white teeth. That beautiful, defiant grin.And he knew he couldn’t do it. I can’t lie one more time.He didn’t think it through. He only looked straight into the old man’s chilly blue eyes and said, “Fir Councillor Lindthardt wasn’t pleased when I refused an order to fuck his girlfriend in front of him. She’s not yet eighteen.”Verán stared back at Tilrey for a few seconds. As always, he seemed startled that Tilrey could express himself coherently at all.Then he laughed, “After all the times you’ve deep-throated me, I didn’t think you were such a prig. Are you even telling the truth?”Tilrey’s nails found his palm. He was already regretting his honesty. What the fuck was I thinking? “I wouldn’t make something like that up, Fir.”“No, you don’t have the brains for invention.” The majority leader seemed to muse on the situation. “I have to say, that’s messy behavior from Lindthardt. It’s presumptuous of him to think he can get creative the first time I give him the Island’s Jewel. But I suppose that’s his kink, seeing his girl with another man. More than I wanted to know. You,” he added as his gaze found Tilrey again, his voice turning to a whip crack, “should have stayed quiet about it. Telling me was indiscreet and disrespectful of your betters.”You fucking asked. Tilrey managed to keep the words inside, but behind his back, his hands became fists. It was so hard to swallow the arrogance and hypocrisy, over and over again.He couldn’t point out to Verán that the whole situation was rigged against him. That would be speaking up in his own defense, and he’d unlearned that long ago.But he could speak up for Tzara—whether she wanted him to or not. “He’s buying the girl, giving her sap and painkillers. Exploiting someone who isn’t old enough to say no.” Even if she thinks she is. “It’s decadence, Fir,” he added, borrowing a word that Verán himself often used to disparage Malsha and his other enemies.Verán chuckled. “Such moralizing from someone who rolls over and gives himself to all comers.”Not by choice. “You don’t even care, do you, Fir? It doesn’t matter if Lindthardt’s fucking a child. After all, she’s a Drudge.”Speaking freely made Tilrey lightheaded, the room swimming around him. Through a haze of adrenaline, he watched Verán’s amusement turn to annoyance. “I doubt very much the girl’s an actual child,” the majority leader said archly. “What on earth has gotten into you, boy?”“She’s seventeen.” Now that Tilrey had started being unwise, words came faster than he could censor them. He hadn’t forgotten everything Adelbert had told him; he never would. “But you wouldn’t care, would you, Fir? Wasn’t your nephew still a schoolboy when you gave him to Malsha as a favor?”The slap caught Tilrey off-guard—he wasn’t used to seeing Verán move so fast. One second, the old man was on the sofa. The next, he was on his feet and backing away from Tilrey, hand still raised, visibly trembling.The blow he had delivered barely stung, but his rage was toxic and palpable. “How dare you repeat the exile’s lies to me, you worthless slut?” Verán hissed under his breath, as if he thought someone might overhear.Tilrey was still riding the rush of honesty. Defiance felt good, and the slap only intensified his determination to stand his ground. In his current heightened state, he could almost have laughed at how wrong Verán’s assumption was. “Malsha didn’t tell me that, Fir. Adelbert did.”Verán had gone dead white. He more collapsed than sat back down, his wasted body gone boneless. His tongue worked inside his mouth as if he were trying to swallow the last dregs of sap.“Adelbert,” he said after a moment, “is a liar, a low achiever, a wastrel. He sabotaged his own Notification and had to be rescued from himself. His relationship with the exile was by his own choice. Anything he told you was part of a low scheme.”The last part was true, as Tilrey knew better than Verán possibly could. “It still happened, though, didn’t it?” he asked—unable to resist, although Verán’s reaction had already confirmed Adelbert’s tale. “You sold your young nephew to Malsha so he wouldn’t be Lowered—that was how you ‘rescued him from himself.’ Did Adelbert even tell you that Malsha refused to use him that night? That he bided his time and seduced him later?”He expected a scorching reply, fuel for the fire of his own anger. Instead, Verán merely stared back. His gaze looked lost, more plaintive than angry, as if Tilrey had actually conquered him.“If you find my family so distasteful,” the old man said, “perhaps it’s time for you to go live with Linden. His family is known for its exemplary probity.”The tone was that of a helpful suggestion, but the warning was plain. Verán had witnessed the aftermath of both nights with Linden.He wants me to beg. Tilrey’s rush was ebbing now, and he knew he couldn’t sustain the intoxicating rage for much longer. He’d allowed himself to lose control. One way or another, he would pay the price.Not that way, though. He had begged many times, but not today. Not after Bror had called him a hero, even in jest.“I guess you’ll do whatever you see fit, Fir,” he said, knowing he was digging the hole deeper and refusing to care. “It’s your choice how to dispose of me.”“So it is.” Verán was regaining some of his color and confidence. “For your sake, child, and no one else’s, I’ve kept you in my home for nearly two years,” he lectured. “I’ve nurtured you, protected you. And now look at you, biting the hand that feeds you—viciously, I might add. I’m not sure I have a choice anymore.”Tilrey knew there was still time to reverse this. Fall at his feet. Apologize. Cry. Say you don’t know what got into you. You didn’t mean it. You were foolishly repeating what Adelbert told you. Crawl for him. Beg to suck his cock.But he couldn’t. Not one more time. Whatever awaited him in Linden’s home—and he had a pretty good idea—suddenly seemed cleaner and more honest than what he’d been doing here.“Your protection has been much appreciated, Fir,” he said, crossing his arms. “But I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties to the Republic. If you’re so offended, well, do as you see fit.”The impotent exasperation on Verán’s face was almost worth it. Almost.“I don’t need a fuckpiece’s permission for anything,” he said. “You’ve used up your last chance. Out of my sight.”The next day, Tilrey didn’t get up. Didn’t go to the Gym. He was still in bed at noon, when Vlastor burst in.“He wants me to pack your things by tomorrow,” the driver said, flustered and shame-faced. “He’s sending you to go live with the Magistrate. Nettsha, what did you do?”Whatever madness had come over Tilrey yesterday was gone. He’d had time to think, but thinking hadn’t made the situation look any better. So here he was, contemplating the ceiling of his hated but familiar room. His safe room.“Over and over you’ve asked me what I’ve done, Vlastor,” he said, knowing he didn’t have to suck up to the driver anymore. “And every time, I’ve only done the same unacceptable thing. I’ve existed. I’ve been me.”How will I tell Bror? That was the black hole his brain kept circling.He and Bror had made a sensible plan for dealing with the Lindthardt problem, and Tilrey had smashed that plan into a million pieces because apparently he had no sense of self-preservation. For the sake of a few moments of defiance, and the pleasure of seeing Verán speechless, he had sacrified his own relative safety and Bror’s peace of mind.

Bror wants so badly to protect me. Even Vlastor tried to do that, in his way. Why couldn’t I just let them?

“You’ve done a lot more than that,” Vlastor said. “The Fir’s in a fucking temper. He practically slapped me, and I never give him any trouble.” He sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m sorry I told him about Lindthardt, okay? I know now I didn’t need to. I just thought it might blow back on me.”You always come first, don’t you? But the damage was done, so Tilrey said, “You’ve done what you could.” The memory of how Vlastor had stolen his mother’s letters kept him from sounding too grateful. “I don’t think Visha Verán and I were ever a good match.”“Why can’t you be like the others? Like Ansha?” There was actual anguish in Vlastor’s tone. “It’s not that hard to be a Councillor’s piece, is it? You just do as you’re told and act grateful.”“I’m terrible at it,” Tilrey conceded.How kind you’re being to this fool, Malsha whispered. He doesn’t deserve it.Tilrey had been hearing Malsha’s voice less often since he and Bror had become closer. Whenever Malsha spoke up, an imaginary Bror spoke over him, and soon Malsha went silent.But that had changed last night. Tilrey needed company to get him through the long hours, and there Malsha was, congratulating him on the way he’d embarrassed the hated Verán.Now, deep down inside him, Malsha added, This Vlastor’s probably in love with you.I doubt it.

No, seriously. Look how miserable he is that you’re leaving. Rub his nose in it. Make him admit his own weakness. Wouldn’t that be a nice revenge?

Tilrey wasn’t sure it would be. But he was sad and bored and dreading tomorrow, so he sat up and nudged Vlastor’s hip with his knee. “Sounds like you’ll miss me. Poor Vlastor.”Vlastor turned away, probably blushing. “I’m fine, Tilrey—Nettsha. Just worried about you.”Tilrey crept closer until their shoulders touched. “So you do know my name, after all? Would you feel better if I gave you a little something to remember me by?”“Fuck off.” Vlastor edged away from him. “I know my duty. Never been inappropriate with you, and I never will.”Except when the Fir tells you to. But Tilrey did Vlastor the mercy of not reminding him of that night aloud.Malsha was right. Giving Vlastor a sweet kiss or even a blow job and then crushing his spirit might be fun. But the driver had been “appropriate” with Tilrey, and that didn’t mean nothing. Not all drivers had such scruples, as Tilrey knew too well. He wasn’t especially looking forward to seeing Jorning again.So he limited himself to a mocking smile as he said, “I’ll miss you, too, Vlastor. Just a little.”

“Damn, Rishka.” Bror massaged Tilrey’s bare shoulders, shocked at the tension knotted under the surface. “You need this, sweetheart. What happened last night?”

The rubbing didn’t seem to relax Tilrey, though he lowered his head and allowed Bror to kiss his nape. They were in the Gym sauna, just the two of them. In the weight room, Bror had sensed instantly that something was wrong, but he’d waited to ask Tilrey about it until Ansha was out of earshot.

For the past few months, there’d been a subtle distance between them. Bror thought he could date the change to the afternoon when the protestors in Ring Six had taunted them. For several days after that, Tilrey avoided everyone, saying he had a cold. It was more than a ten-day before they went to the Vacants again, and for a while after, Tilrey always had reasons not to undress in front of Bror.

He seemed fine now, at least on the surface. But Bror knew there was more to the story. He wished he knew a way to ask that wouldn’t seem voyeuristic or meddling or possessive.

This time, at least, Tilrey seemed willing to talk. “We need to go to the Restaurant, right after this,” he said, twitching under Bror’s hands. “Do you think you could talk to your friend Tzara for me?”

Tzara was the kid sister of Bror’s schoolmate Piter Kreifell—smart girl, sharp tongue, nimble with plates. “Why?”

Tilrey swung around on the bench to face Bror, something desolate in his expression. “It’s no good,” he said, shaking his head, as if he’d already considered a plan and rejected it. “She’s dug in deep. She won’t listen. But maybe if you got one of her relatives to help?”

“You got me on edge now, Rishka. Would you just explain?” Bror glanced at the door to make sure they were unobserved. Then he folded Tilrey into his arms, snuggling the blond head against his chest.

Tilrey’s cheek felt wet against Bror’s bare skin. After a minute, he said, “I did something stupid. But I couldn’t help it.”

Bror listened as details poured out of Tilrey. It was worse than he expected.

“Ah, shit,” he said. So Councillor Lindthardt had his grubby paws on Tzara—who, in Bror’s recent-feeling past, had been a kid running around pretending to be a helicopter. Now she was a wild girl and savvy for her years, but not ready for this. “That fucker Lindthardt. I knew there was something off about him.”

Tilrey looked relieved, almost as if he’d feared Bror would react differently. “He’s giving her pain relievers for her dad.”

“Yeah, I bet. That rat bastard.” Picturing Piter and Tzara’s father, whose legs had been crushed by a loading dock, made Bror want to punch Lindthardt even more. “We gotta talk some sense into Tzara without talking down to her, or she’ll be off like a shot,” he said, thinking aloud. “I remember how I was at her age. Or we could put pressure on Lindthardt. Threaten to tell his wife.”

Freeing himself from Bror’s embrace, Tilrey ducked his head as if he were holding something back. “I don’t have leverage over Lindthardt, I’m afraid. I handled it the exact wrong way.”

“What exactly happened?” Bror asked, probing cautiously. “After Lindthardt showed her off in front of you?”

Tilrey still wasn’t meeting Bror’s eyes; something bad had happened, all right. “He wanted me to … he wanted to give her to me. Or me to her. But I wouldn’t.”

“Shit.” Bror tried to imagine how he would have dealt with the order in Tilrey’s place, but his mind shied away from imagining Tzara in Lindthardt’s clutches. Instead, he saw eighteen-year-old Tilrey at their first meeting in the Café—a shy, scared stripling, barely out of childhood, schooling his face into blankness to show no sign of the unendurable things he’d already endured.

What if István had given Bror to Malsha one night and Malsha had ordered Bror to fuck his new kettle boy? Would Bror have obeyed, as gently as possible? Would he have told himself it was okay because Tilrey was of age? Even though reluctance would have been plain on Tilrey’s face?

He hoped not. But Bror rarely disobeyed a direct order. And he had fucked Ansha once for Verán’s amusement, when Ansha wasn’t more than a year older than Tzara was now.

Tilrey was still talking, faster and faster. “I fucked it up so badly, Brorsha. Even Tzara could tell. I should’ve just made an excuse, said I couldn’t get it up, but instead, I told him exactly why I wouldn’t touch her. I embarrassed him in front of her, practically called him out.”

Bror squeezed Tilrey’s knee; it was the most touching he dared do right now. “Let me guess. Lindthardt didn’t react well.”

“He didn’t. He … sent me home right then, so I had to explain everything to Vlastor, who’ll have to tell Verán.”

From the strain in Tilrey’s voice, it was clear Lindthardt had done more than just send him home. But Bror didn’t want to push him on specifics. “Fuck Vlastor,” he said, giving the driver the brunt of his anger because it was safer than expressing his feelings about Lindthardt. “If you have to, tell Verán the truth. He may not care, but he won’t take Lindthardt’s part, either. Most of the Council thinks the man’s a spoiled little shit who shouldn’t have been elected so young. Give Verán one of the excuses you didn’t give Lindthardt, and let them work it out.”

Tilrey nodded. But when he looked up, his expression was grim, the blue eyes clouded and full of doubts. “I wonder how old Adelbert was when his uncle offered him to Malsha?”

“Adelbert? Verán’s nephew?” The handsome young Verán and Malsha had been an item long before Bror’s time; people still whispered about it. But Bror hadn’t heard anything about Verán brokering the relationship. “Why would Verán do that? Wasn’t Malsha his arch-enemy?”

“Not back then.” Tilrey bowed his head again. “It’s not just us they treat like things, Bror. Sometimes they do it to their own kids, or each other. Anyone they can get away with.”

Bror recalled a rumor Ansha had told him about Magistrate Linden’s family. After Edmond failed to carry on the family line, the duty of reproducing fell on his sister, Adeled. For a stud, she had chosen a pretty, low-named boy, barely an Upstart at all. Supposedly, Edmond had demanded that he also take the young man to bed before he gave his blessing to the marriage, much like a lord in days of old.

Bror thought of that anecdote whenever he saw Magistrate Linden’s nephew, who’d clearly gotten his good looks from his father. Did Tollsha Linden know his dad was little more than a glorified kettle boy? How many high-named families had similar stories?

“It’s messed up,” he agreed.

But the important thing right now was getting Tzara out of the situation—and making sure Tilrey didn’t suffer any consequences. “I’ll talk to the kid,” he added, trying to sound more confident than he was. “She likes me. She’ll listen. And … Tilrey?”

It hurt to see the tension in Tilrey’s body, the way Tilrey’s eyes slid away from his—then went glassy and opaque, refusing to convey anything at all. When Tilrey was upset, he went so deep inside himself that even Bror couldn’t reach him.

Bror rubbed the knob of Tilrey’s shoulder until their eyes met. I got you, no matter what, he tried to say with the touch, but aloud he said only, “You did the right thing, calling Lindthardt out. A prick like that needs to have his face rubbed in his own mess. Nobody else will do it.”

“It was still stupid.” Tilrey spoke in a dead voice.

Not stupid. Rash. I wouldn’t have done it. Bror hated himself for having that thought, all the more so because it was true. How many times had he held himself back from speaking the truth because it would wound a Councillor’s ego?

He drew Tilrey to him and kissed him on the forehead, then on the lips, trying to recapture the special kind of privacy they sometimes shared. “I love you for making Lindthardt feel like shit about himself,” he whispered, then grinned to lighten the moment. “You’re my hero.”

Deep down, he was absolutely serious.

That night, Vlastor knocked on Tilrey’s door. “Fir wants to see you.”

The driver’s demeanor suggested he was torn between smugness and sheepish apology. It would have been entertaining if Tilrey hadn’t had other things to worry about.

He was expecting the summons, so he hadn’t changed into sweats, as he usually did on Council worknights. He refastened the high collar of his tunic as he followed Vlastor into the sitting room, feeling as if he were strangling himself.

Verán sat on the sofa in a dressing gown, surrounded by a pot of tea, a vial of sap, his handheld, and the Council Record. “Stand,” he ordered, pointing in front of him.

Tilrey did as instructed, clasping his hands behind him and dropping his gaze.

He waited while Vlastor boiled more water, poured it, and left the room, obeying Verán’s commands. When they were alone, Verán asked, “Why did Beirthsha Lindthardt send you home last night?”

Tilrey barely felt the sharpness of the question. He was simply relieved that Lindthardt himself hadn’t complained to Verán today in the Sector, as Vlastor had feared. If he had, Verán would have led with that. Maybe the young Councillor had some shame, then.

Now was the time to use one of those excuses Tilrey and Bror had talked about. He could spare Lindthardt’s vanity by claiming it wasn’t in his power to get hard for a woman. Or he could pretend he’d been afraid Verán wouldn’t approve of him engaging in such a display at all.

But the excuses froze on his tongue when he remembered Bror kissing him and saying You’re my hero with that flash of white teeth. That beautiful, defiant grin.

And he knew he couldn’t do it. I can’t lie one more time.

He didn’t think it through. He only looked straight into the old man’s chilly blue eyes and said, “Fir Councillor Lindthardt wasn’t pleased when I refused an order to fuck his girlfriend in front of him. She’s not yet eighteen.”

Verán stared back at Tilrey for a few seconds. As always, he seemed startled that Tilrey could express himself coherently at all.

Then he laughed, “After all the times you’ve deep-throated me, I didn’t think you were such a prig. Are you even telling the truth?”

Tilrey’s nails found his palm. He was already regretting his honesty. What the fuck was I thinking? “I wouldn’t make something like that up, Fir.”

“No, you don’t have the brains for invention.” The majority leader seemed to muse on the situation. “I have to say, that’s messy behavior from Lindthardt. It’s presumptuous of him to think he can get creative the first time I give him the Island’s Jewel. But I suppose that’s his kink, seeing his girl with another man. More than I wanted to know. You,” he added as his gaze found Tilrey again, his voice turning to a whip crack, “should have stayed quiet about it. Telling me was indiscreet and disrespectful of your betters.”

You fucking asked. Tilrey managed to keep the words inside, but behind his back, his hands became fists. It was so hard to swallow the arrogance and hypocrisy, over and over again.

He couldn’t point out to Verán that the whole situation was rigged against him. That would be speaking up in his own defense, and he’d unlearned that long ago.

But he could speak up for Tzara—whether she wanted him to or not. “He’s buying the girl, giving her sap and painkillers. Exploiting someone who isn’t old enough to say no.” Even if she thinks she is. “It’s decadence, Fir,” he added, borrowing a word that Verán himself often used to disparage Malsha and his other enemies.

Verán chuckled. “Such moralizing from someone who rolls over and gives himself to all comers.”

Not by choice. “You don’t even care, do you, Fir? It doesn’t matter if Lindthardt’s fucking a child. After all, she’s a Drudge.”

Speaking freely made Tilrey lightheaded, the room swimming around him. Through a haze of adrenaline, he watched Verán’s amusement turn to annoyance. “I doubt very much the girl’s an actual child,” the majority leader said archly. “What on earth has gotten into you, boy?”

“She’s seventeen.” Now that Tilrey had started being unwise, words came faster than he could censor them. He hadn’t forgotten everything Adelbert had told him; he never would. “But you wouldn’t care, would you, Fir? Wasn’t your nephew still a schoolboy when you gave him to Malsha as a favor?”

The slap caught Tilrey off-guard—he wasn’t used to seeing Verán move so fast. One second, the old man was on the sofa. The next, he was on his feet and backing away from Tilrey, hand still raised, visibly trembling.

The blow he had delivered barely stung, but his rage was toxic and palpable. “How dare you repeat the exile’s lies to me, you worthless slut?” Verán hissed under his breath, as if he thought someone might overhear.

Tilrey was still riding the rush of honesty. Defiance felt good, and the slap only intensified his determination to stand his ground. In his current heightened state, he could almost have laughed at how wrong Verán’s assumption was. “Malsha didn’t tell me that, Fir. Adelbert did.”

Verán had gone dead white. He more collapsed than sat back down, his wasted body gone boneless. His tongue worked inside his mouth as if he were trying to swallow the last dregs of sap.

“Adelbert,” he said after a moment, “is a liar, a low achiever, a wastrel. He sabotaged his own Notification and had to be rescued from himself. His relationship with the exile was by his own choice. Anything he told you was part of a low scheme.”

The last part was true, as Tilrey knew better than Verán possibly could. “It still happened, though, didn’t it?” he asked—unable to resist, although Verán’s reaction had already confirmed Adelbert’s tale. “You sold your young nephew to Malsha so he wouldn’t be Lowered—that was how you ‘rescued him from himself.’ Did Adelbert even tell you that Malsha refused to use him that night? That he bided his time and seduced him later?”

He expected a scorching reply, fuel for the fire of his own anger. Instead, Verán merely stared back. His gaze looked lost, more plaintive than angry, as if Tilrey had actually conquered him.

“If you find my family so distasteful,” the old man said, “perhaps it’s time for you to go live with Linden. His family is known for its exemplary probity.”

The tone was that of a helpful suggestion, but the warning was plain. Verán had witnessed the aftermath of both nights with Linden.

He wants me to beg. Tilrey’s rush was ebbing now, and he knew he couldn’t sustain the intoxicating rage for much longer. He’d allowed himself to lose control. One way or another, he would pay the price.

Not that way, though. He had begged many times, but not today. Not after Bror had called him a hero, even in jest.

“I guess you’ll do whatever you see fit, Fir,” he said, knowing he was digging the hole deeper and refusing to care. “It’s your choice how to dispose of me.”

“So it is.” Verán was regaining some of his color and confidence. “For your sake, child, and no one else’s, I’ve kept you in my home for nearly two years,” he lectured. “I’ve nurtured you, protected you. And now look at you, biting the hand that feeds you—viciously, I might add. I’m not sure I have a choice anymore.”

Tilrey knew there was still time to reverse this. Fall at his feet. Apologize. Cry. Say you don’t know what got into you. You didn’t mean it. You were foolishly repeating what Adelbert told you. Crawl for him. Beg to suck his cock.

But he couldn’t. Not one more time. Whatever awaited him in Linden’s home—and he had a pretty good idea—suddenly seemed cleaner and more honest than what he’d been doing here.

“Your protection has been much appreciated, Fir,” he said, crossing his arms. “But I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties to the Republic. If you’re so offended, well, do as you see fit.”

The impotent exasperation on Verán’s face was almost worth it. Almost.

“I don’t need a fuckpiece’s permission for anything,” he said. “You’ve used up your last chance. Out of my sight.”

The next day, Tilrey didn’t get up. Didn’t go to the Gym. He was still in bed at noon, when Vlastor burst in.

“He wants me to pack your things by tomorrow,” the driver said, flustered and shame-faced. “He’s sending you to go live with the Magistrate. Nettsha, what did you do?”

Whatever madness had come over Tilrey yesterday was gone. He’d had time to think, but thinking hadn’t made the situation look any better. So here he was, contemplating the ceiling of his hated but familiar room. His safe room.

“Over and over you’ve asked me what I’ve done, Vlastor,” he said, knowing he didn’t have to suck up to the driver anymore. “And every time, I’ve only done the same unacceptable thing. I’ve existed. I’ve been me.”

How will I tell Bror? That was the black hole his brain kept circling.

He and Bror had made a sensible plan for dealing with the Lindthardt problem, and Tilrey had smashed that plan into a million pieces because apparently he had no sense of self-preservation. For the sake of a few moments of defiance, and the pleasure of seeing Verán speechless, he had sacrified his own relative safety and Bror’s peace of mind.

Bror wants so badly to protect me. Even Vlastor tried to do that, in his way. Why couldn’t I just let them?

“You’ve done a lot more than that,” Vlastor said. “The Fir’s in a fucking temper. He practically slapped me, and I never give him any trouble.” He sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m sorry I told him about Lindthardt, okay? I know now I didn’t need to. I just thought it might blow back on me.”

You always come first, don’t you? But the damage was done, so Tilrey said, “You’ve done what you could.” The memory of how Vlastor had stolen his mother’s letters kept him from sounding too grateful. “I don’t think Visha Verán and I were ever a good match.”

“Why can’t you be like the others? Like Ansha?” There was actual anguish in Vlastor’s tone. “It’s not that hard to be a Councillor’s piece, is it? You just do as you’re told and act grateful.”

“I’m terrible at it,” Tilrey conceded.

How kind you’re being to this fool, Malsha whispered. He doesn’t deserve it.

Tilrey had been hearing Malsha’s voice less often since he and Bror had become closer. Whenever Malsha spoke up, an imaginary Bror spoke over him, and soon Malsha went silent.

But that had changed last night. Tilrey needed company to get him through the long hours, and there Malsha was, congratulating him on the way he’d embarrassed the hated Verán.

Now, deep down inside him, Malsha added, This Vlastor’s probably in love with you.

I doubt it.

No, seriously. Look how miserable he is that you’re leaving. Rub his nose in it. Make him admit his own weakness. Wouldn’t that be a nice revenge?

Tilrey wasn’t sure it would be. But he was sad and bored and dreading tomorrow, so he sat up and nudged Vlastor’s hip with his knee. “Sounds like you’ll miss me. Poor Vlastor.”

Vlastor turned away, probably blushing. “I’m fine, Tilrey—Nettsha. Just worried about you.”

Tilrey crept closer until their shoulders touched. “So you do know my name, after all? Would you feel better if I gave you a little something to remember me by?”

“Fuck off.” Vlastor edged away from him. “I know my duty. Never been inappropriate with you, and I never will.”

Except when the Fir tells you to. But Tilrey did Vlastor the mercy of not reminding him of that night aloud.

Malsha was right. Giving Vlastor a sweet kiss or even a blow job and then crushing his spirit might be fun. But the driver had been “appropriate” with Tilrey, and that didn’t mean nothing. Not all drivers had such scruples, as Tilrey knew too well. He wasn’t especially looking forward to seeing Jorning again.

So he limited himself to a mocking smile as he said, “I’ll miss you, too, Vlastor. Just a little.”