Jade War

CHAPTER 46 Unforgivable

Shae rushed home from the Financial District to discover that the Kaul estate had been turned into a fortress. Only immediate family members and Hilo’s most trusted Fists were being allowed in or out of the grounds. Judging by when he’d left the house, Maik Kehn had driven the Duchesse Priza straight to the park without stopping anywhere in between so the only explanation was that someone had gained access to the vehicle and planted a timed explosive on it while it was in the family garage. The cowardly attack had come from within.

Shae could barely comprehend the idea. All visitors to the estate were members of the clan or known affiliates. The culprits might still be on or near the grounds. The guards and estate staff were being individually questioned. The leaders of the tributary Stone Cup clan, who’d been meeting with Hilo earlier that day, were being rounded up, as were the representatives from the nonprofit group. A couple of Fingers had been dispatched to find Kyanla and bring her in; it was suspicious that the Abukei woman happened to be absent today of all days, though Shae could not imagine their longtime housekeeper having anything to do with so heinous an act.

Wen and the children were safely back in the main house, which had been thoroughly searched for any other source of danger. Shae was not sure if Kehn’s wife had been told of his death yet. It was not hard to deduce that the bomb had been meant for Hilo; everyone in the city knew that the monstrous white Duchesse was his car. Kehn had driven it out to pick up Wen and the kids at Hilo’s request; his own muscular black Victor MX Sport was in an automobile shop getting a new carburetor.

Shae’s working assumption was that Ayt Mada was behind the attack. Two years of supposed peace between the clans was no reason to believe that Ayt had set aside her long-standing goal to have Hilo killed. Shae was on the phone in the study, on a conference call with Woon and her key staff on Ship Street. News about the bombing was on television, and the Weather Man’s office was receiving anxious inquiries as to whether clan war was about to break out again. Shae did not have an answer, but she told her people to make it clear that no conclusions had been reached yet. She still had doubts. Ayt Mada whispered names in a considered and precise manner, sending assassins to do the work closely. A car bombing was an impersonal, covert, gutless, and thin-blooded act, likely to harm innocent bystanders and carelessly break aisho—it was not the Green Bone way.

Juen knocked on the study door and stepped inside. His jade aura was vibrating with urgency and agitation. As soon as Shae ended the call, the First Fist said, “Kaul-jen…” There was a strange woodenness in his voice. “A man just turned himself in at the gates. He claims to be responsible for the bombing.”

A horrible sick apprehension dropped into Shae’s stomach. With abrupt certainty, she knew she did not want to see what Juen would show her, yet she stood at once and followed the Fist out of the house to where half a dozen Green Bones were gathered on the driveway, surrounding a man kneeling on the ground. The familiarity of his aura assailed her before she saw him. Maro appeared unharmed, but his beige slacks were scuffed and his blue shirt rumpled. He was sitting back on his heels with his shoulders hunched, his gaze on the asphalt in front of him. The sight of him on his knees, guarded by men carrying moon blades, was so incongruous that disbelief overwhelmed Shae, dragged her steps to a halt and rooted her to the ground.

Maro saw her and began to climb to his feet. One of Juen’s men put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down roughly. Shae protested, “Let him stand up,” but Maro did not make another attempt to rise. He remained where he was and looked up at her with a desolate expression.

It did not make any sense. Maro could not have planted a car bomb. He and Shae had not ended their relationship on speaking terms, a fact that saddened her and filled her with regret, but Maro was not a vindictive personality. He had no clan interests, no appetite for violence, and no matter what anger he might feel toward her, he had nothing at all to gain from killing Hilo.

“They weren’t supposed to hurt anyone else,” Maro said quietly. “That’s what they promised me. I would never have cooperated if I thought they might hurt you or the children.”

If there had been something nearby for Shae to hold on to, she would’ve reached out to steady herself. “The meeting that you asked me to set up with Hilo months ago. That was this morning.” Understanding pushed into her resisting mind like a thin blade. “That’s how the assassins got in.”

Maro’s face crumpled like paper. “The meeting was real,” he said. “None of the Four Virtues staff were in on the plan, I swear to you on my life. All I was asked to do was add a couple of fake college interns to the group at the last minute. They told me to get them through the gates to see the Pillar, that was all. They never gave me any other details.”

Juen drew in a breath between his teeth. The idea of an enemy trying to strike at the Pillar in his own home was inconceivable. All of Hilo’s meetings were approved by his Pillarman, Weather Man, or Horn. An aspiring murderer’s hostile intentions would be Perceived by the guards and he would never get anywhere near the Pillar, nor would he escape alive. However, one or two unarmed visitors with seemingly legitimate credentials and no jade, attached to an otherwise honest party, would not raise suspicion. Once through the gates, they could find an opportunity to wander a short distance to the family garage. It was clear from Maro’s wretched look that despite his complicity in the affair, he had not anticipated a planted car bomb any more than they had.

“Who were they?” Shae felt as if she’d been stabbed and the knife was lodged in her rib cage. “Who approached you?”

Maro pressed the base of one palm to his eyes. “There were three of them. The leader was half-Shotarian and wore jade hidden. I heard the others call him Soradiyo.”

“Barukan.” Juen spat. “I’ve heard the name Soradiyo before. He’s a rockfish recruiter who works for Zapunyo.”

The expectant stares and auras of the surrounding Fists and Fingers were like a hot physical pressure against Shae’s skin. She turned to Juen. “Let me talk to him alone for a few minutes.” After a second, she added in an undertone, “Please,” because as Weather Man, she had no authority over Fists, and with Maik Kehn’s death, Juen Nu was now the acting Horn of No Peak.

Juen shifted a slow gaze to the prisoner on the ground, then returned it to the Weather Man. He motioned for the other Green Bones to back off and take up vigilant positions elsewhere, but he himself made no move to leave. “It would be irresponsible of me to leave you alone with this man, Shae-jen,” Juen said, and Shae understood this to be less an expression of concern for her safety than a reminder that as Horn, he was her equal, and had every right to hear what was said if it involved threats to the clan. Shae did not try to argue further. The inside of her throat seemed to be swelling and she was afraid it would soon close up completely. She made herself walk to Maro and kneel in front of him so their eyes were on the same level. “Why did you do it?” The whisper that emerged from her throat was dry and unrecognizable. Plaintive. “Did I hurt you that badly?”

Maro’s eyes filmed with sadness. “Yes. But that’s not why.” He dropped his face into his hands. “They got to me, Shae. The barukan gangs are powerful in Shotar, and they’re ruthless. They found out about my visits and phone calls to Leyolo City.” Maro’s shoulders were shaking now and his voice was muffled. “At first, they tried to blackmail me with the information. When I refused and ignored them, they sent me photos of my father. Of my half sisters and little nieces behind the windows of their homes. Close-up pictures of them in their neighborhood, at school, on the playground. I was told that if I didn’t do as Soradiyo asked, something would happen to them. They would never know why.”

Shae gripped Maro’s forearms and pulled his hands away from his face. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve done something—protected your family, gone after the barukan…”

Maro raised his eyes and the bleak accusation she saw in them dried the words in her mouth. “Did you tell anyone when you felt threatened? When you realized you had no choice?” he asked. Shae could not reply. Maro had been visibly nervous the evening after Woon’s wedding, wanting to talk, hoping for reconciliation. Instead of offering it to him, she’d told him the truth that she knew would drive him away.

Maro’s shoulders slumped and he turned his face away. “Soradiyo promised that if I let a word out to anyone, the barukan would get to my nieces sooner or later and send me their tiny fingers one by one. Maybe it was a bluff, but I didn’t dare call them on it. Even though my sisters are Shotarian, and I’m Kekonese, they welcomed me. They made me a part of their lives, of their children’s lives. I could never put them in any danger.” His jaw tightened, and bitterness slid edgewise into his voice. “You never brought me into your life. You kept me away, kept secrets from me, didn’t even tell me when you decided to get rid of our—” He stopped, his eyes flickering toward Juen, still standing nearby and watching them.

Maro jammed his lips together. His hands clenched in his lap, the knuckles white. There was blackboard chalk on the cuffs of his sleeves, a detail that had become so familiar in the time Shae had known him that she was surprised to be noticing it again now of all times, as if it were something new. “You say you would’ve protected my family, but the truth is that the clans protect only themselves. Would No Peak really help strangers, especially Shotarians? You won’t even go against the Espenians on the issue of Oortokon refugees.” Maro shook his head slowly. “The Green Bone clans rule Kekon—but only Kekon. If the barukan wanted to go after my sisters’ families in Shotar, they’d find a way. Who in Kekon would care, besides me? I couldn’t take such an awful risk. I knew they’d try to kill your brother—why else would they want to get past the guards?—but you’d already chosen your clan over me; I had to choose my family’s safety over yours. I had to do as they asked.”

“Why did you come here?” Shae cried, almost angrily. “If the barukan are as powerful as you say, why didn’t you ask them to get you out of the country?”

Maro let out a short, helpless chuckle. “Who in their right mind believes they can escape the justice of the clan? Green Bones have no equal when it comes to dispensing violent punishment. You know that more than anyone. Once your brother whispered my name, I’d spend the rest of my life as a dead man in waiting. At least this way, I had a chance to face you and explain myself in person.”

The resentment left Maro’s face and he gazed at her in sad resignation. “I never imagined this, Shae. Dying by the blade—that’s for greener men. I would’ve been happy with books, and conversation, and… occasional silly romantic musicals. What we had together was real and perfect, for a while.” He smiled weakly, then breathed a sigh that seemed physically laborious before dabbing the edge of his sleeve to his perspiring brow and looking up stoically at Juen. “Please make it quick.”

Juen replied unsympathetically. “Tell us what else you know about Soradiyo and the barukan who contacted you. The men who came in today and set the bomb—who were they?”

“A couple of young men who worked for Soradiyo. I can describe them, but I don’t know their names. The barukan made sure I didn’t know much.” There was no deception in Maro’s aura. After he’d offered up what little additional information he possessed, Juen beckoned to one of the senior Fingers, Lott, and asked, “Did you reach the Pillar?”

Lott said, “He’s on his way.”

Juen glanced at Maro, then at his wristwatch. There was no question of the prisoner’s guilt, but this was an instance not only of treason against the clan but a murderous attack against the Pillar’s family. Any intelligent Fist would wait for direction from Hilo.

Shae got to her feet, overcome by sudden dread. “Is Maik Tar with Hilo?”

Juen said, “I think so.”

Shae’s stomach turned over. Tar would lose his mind; he would tear Maro to pieces. He’d make it last for hours or days. Maybe Hilo would put an end to it, but Hilo had just lost his Horn, a man he considered a brother, and his wife and children had nearly been killed; Shae couldn’t count on him to be merciful.

Seeing the terrible realization on Shae’s face or Perceiving the spike of panic in her aura, the little remaining color drained from Maro’s face and was replaced with true fear.

A leadening sense of déjà vu flooded into Shae’s limbs. She remembered standing in the cabin in Opia, facing Yun Dorupon. She’d told Maro about it: I couldn’t kill him. She’d hated Doru for years but in that moment been unable to draw her blade. Now she walked toward Juen, her face a mask that hid every roiling emotion within her. “Juen-jen,” she said. “If you’re to be the Horn of No Peak, we’ll be working together from now on. I’ve heard my brother and Maik Kehn speak highly of you, so I want us to start off on the right note.” She forced moisture into her throat. “Tau Maro betrayed not only the clan but my personal trust. He’s told us everything he knows, and there’s no question he’s to die. Do you disagree?”

Juen gave her a long, calculating look, but there was sympathy in it. He was not yet officially the Horn and it would be overstepping his authority to act on something so personal to the Kaul family without consulting the Pillar, but that was not the case for Shae, and Juen had no desire or reason to oppose the Weather Man. “No, Kaul-jen. That’s all true.”

Shae returned to Maro and knelt back down in front of him. She had a nauseating sensation she might sink into the ground. “I’m sorry,” she managed to say.

Maro nodded gratefully. He took one of Shae’s hands and enfolded it in his own large ones, then brought it up to his face and laid it against his cheek as if it might offer a vestige of comfort. “Maybe I’m a coward after all,” he said, “but you’re not.” He leaned into her touch, his beard tickling the center of her palm, and closed his eyes. Shae reached up and cupped both hands around the back of Maro’s head and neck. His life pulsed beneath her touch, the wrinkled texture of his jade aura warped with anguish and regret but no longer burdened by the tension of anger or fear.

Shae felt as if she couldn’t breathe; she squeezed her eyes shut and imagined herself as a column of ice, a creature like Ayt Madashi, made of unwavering resolve and unflinching steel. With a stifled, incoherent cry, she gathered all the jade energy she could muster and Channeled into the base of Maro’s skull. He put up no defense at all, did not raise even the flimsiest Steel. His energy yielded beneath hers; his aura tore and fled. The vessels in his brain burst and he died in seconds.

She caught Maro as he fell into her arms. She lowered him to the asphalt gently, then toppled over his body in a shudder as the blowback of his escaping life rushed into and through her. She clung to the wave for a second, wanting to hang on to it, to follow it into whatever oblivion it was headed toward, but it slipped past her and she was still on the asphalt with Maro’s body in her lap. Slowly, Shae lowered him to the ground onto his back. His eyes were still closed, and his face was inexpressibly sad, but relaxed. Shae kissed his forehead, then both of his closed eyelids. She stood up. Juen and his men were gathered around, but they did not speak or move toward her.

She turned and walked toward the Weather Man’s house. Halfway there, the memories came—slowly at first, a trickle from behind a wall of spreading cracks, growing into a torrent, then sweeping her away like the deluge from a bursting dam. Long conversations and tender moments, the fire in Maro’s eyes when he was energized by an idea, the softness of his smile, the aching warmth of their bodies pressed together. Miraculously, she didn’t break her stride, didn’t stumble or collapse or burst into a run, but her vision swam and she could barely see her own front door when she reached it. When she was inside her own house and alone at last, Shae closed the door behind her, took three steps into the foyer, and crumpled to the ground with a long, silent, wordless howl, arms clutched to her sides, forehead pressed to the hardwood floor as if in eternal penitence.