I half-turned away, not wanting to gawk, as a physic in the audience pushed his way through the crowd. If Bradomir’s heart had given way, I could say I was neither surprised, given his overindulgent lifestyle and general ill health, nor saddened. But I did not want to intrude on the legitimacy of his family’s grief, either. Before I could make my polite escape, though, Karista’s eyes locked on mine as if she’d sought me specifically out of the crowd, and their hostility took me aback. She didn’t like me, had never liked me—as peers at school, my particular oddities and compulsions had been a cause of much mockery from her—but this was a look of unabashed hatred and fury.
Uncomfortable, I tried to convey sympathy in my expression. Whatever my feelings about her uncle or her personally, I knew the devastation of the unexpected loss of a mentor. Two years on, I still felt Etan’s absence every day as I floundered around my attempts to be a good teacher for Dija, and despite Bradomir’s public withdrawal, rumor had it that Karista still leaned heavily on her uncle’s advice in managing Leka interests.
Her glare only intensified, and unpleasant understanding struck me as I turned away. Her look was an accusation. Just like the Ash family after Credola Nara died, as if my ill will had contributed to her heart failure. Irritation replaced my initial sympathetic urge. Disliking Bradomir or Nara couldn’t cause their deaths or they’d have died a long time earlier, and not just because of me.
But the thought did occur to me, as I slipped from the theater with my sister and ward, that the assassin I had been so sure I had seen targeting Tain could just as easily have reached Bradomir, seated only a row in front of the Chancellor.
Other families’ poisonings weren’t my business, I told myself firmly. My job was to protect the Chancellor, not to usurp the significant protections the other Councilors employed. If Bradomir had made an enemy, that was not unexpected and absolutely not my problem.
* * *
“And how is this your problem, precisely?”
Thendra sounded more irritable than usual, and barely slowed her pace, forcing me to trot after her. The physic’s skin gleamed with sweat and her arms were laden with supplies; belatedly I hurried forward to awkwardly share the pile. The hospital was crowded with physics, assistants, and patients, with people moving in every direction and a constant hum of noise and activity. I followed along down the corridor and into a treatment room with four separate patients on pallets, where Thendra handed off her pile to a harried-looking assistant and gestured for me to do the same, before pivoting from the room again.
“It’s busy today,” I said, avoiding her question by stating the obvious.
“The city is overrun, Credo,” she replied without so much as glancing at me. I didn’t need telling. Every guesthouse in the city (and plenty of opportunistic un-Guilded private residences and businesses) had long since filled, and even the rougher options in the fledgling settlement outside the walls were bursting. “More disease, more accidents, more foolishness, more conflicts.” The last was snapped with obvious disapproval. With the population of the city multiplied past capacity, including people whose homelands had a higher tolerance for violence than Sjona, the karodee influx had led to additional disputes and injuries, both accidental and deliberate. “We will need a second hospital if this is to be sustained.”
“Karodee will be over in a few days, at least.”
“This is not a karodee problem,” she replied, terse. “It is a population issue, Credo. It did not start with the festival.”
It was true. Over time the city had changed. Immigration led to a denser population, more competition for resources, more pressure on the Guilds and consequently more un-Guilded work at lower standards. We had greater crime and constant pressure on the determination council adjudicating petty and serious disputes. It would be easy to miss the peaceful, sophisticated city of my memory if only that enforced civilization had not been bought and paid for by the suffering of others.
“These gangs, these drugs…” Thendra was continuing, her expression grim. “I am seeing things I have never seen in all my years’ practice here.”
I sighed, fists clenching. “I know.” There was always crime in a big city, but its apparently successful organization was a new phenomenon. Chen, the Captain of the Order Guards, seemed to be locked in a perpetual battle with the most powerful gang. It was likely linked to the increased use of recreational drugs, but drugs were one more entry on the list of problems my fellow Councilors had no appetite to pursue. Encouraging the government to act on an issue was challenging when a good proportion of them, I suspected, had come to enjoy that particular vice. “I’ve raised it, Chen’s raised it. They’ll give you more funding.”
“I do not like what I am seeing. When it is one of their family members in here on my table, hmm? Or their homes broken into?”
“Sooner or later it will be,” I muttered. “Listen, Thendra, about Bradomir…”
“Well, I asked you, did I not?” She glanced back at me. “I do not mean to be rude, Credo, but is there some special reason I should interfere with a matter that has nothing to do with me—or with you, no?”
I cleared my throat and met her gaze; she held it for a moment and then let out her breath in a rush. Her lips thinned and she shook her head, but her bristly impatience softened. “Very well.”
“Thank you.” Relieved and grateful, I fell into silence as she led me downstairs into the basement, where the hospital kept bodies until formal burial. Thendra and I had never had an honest conversation about what my job entailed but she knew, or at least suspected, and she had done me plenty of favors in the past.
Bradomir’s body was clean and wrapped, smaller in death than it had appeared in life. I felt hollow looking down on his blank, slumped face. I did not pity him, exactly, but death never felt trivial. I was glad Dija wasn’t with me.
“Did you examine him?”
She shot me a look brimming with irritation. “Do not be foolish, Credo. The Families do not submit to such things. Credola Karista would have me thrown from the Guild for even speaking to you about this.”
I examined his face, crouched to better see his neck, letting the silence drag on, until words were tugged inevitably from her like I’d been winding a well rope. “His heart failed, it seems.”
“Mm.” I glanced at her, and her gaze slipped off to the side. “Sometimes these things happen.” She pointedly didn’t look at me as I checked the skin around his neck, checking for signs of a puncture. After a moment, she cleared her throat.
“The wrappings need some adjustment. Would you mind assisting, Credo, since you are here?”
“Of course.” Together we rolled the body to its side, and Thendra fussed with the wrapping around one arm, determinedly avoiding my gaze as she revealed a shoulder muscle. I frowned at the tiny pin mark, faintly discoloring Bradomir’s skin but so small—a mere blemish to the casual glance. My heart sank; for once, I would have preferred to have been wrong. “But it would have had to come through the clothing,” I muttered. I remembered Karista holding her uncle’s shoulders, trying to shake him to consciousness. Could she have unknowingly dislodged a tiny dart? One meant for Tain, but whose trajectory had been disrupted by my shout? A pinprick on his arm could easily have been overlooked in that sudden press of bodies and the stampede to get out of the theater. He had been well enough when everyone had resumed their seats, but dead half an hour later.