Heart of Gold Page 10

  Kit sat up in bed and noticed that she did not feel dizzy. “Yes, I was just thinking that I’d like a change of scenery,” she said, her own voice cool and light. “What in the world have you been dosing me with? It’s some kind of miracle drug, I think.”

  Her grandmother laughed shortly. “Miraleaf. Grows wild in Inrhio. It’s a cure for exhaustion and all sorts of ills. When I was a young girl, my mother and grandmother spent one month every summer harvesting it and boiling it down for medicine. None of those fancy drugs they’ve come up with at Cerisa Daylen’s Biolab have ever worked half so well.”

  “Well, it certainly worked for me. I’m glad you thought of it.”

  “I’m glad you’re better.”

  “You look nice,” Kit said. “Are you going off to a party or something?”

  Her grandmother snorted. “Hardly. A funeral.”

  Kit’s eyebrows rose. “Who died?”

  “A woman in Ariana Bayless’s office.” Her grandmother was watching her with those clear eyes, gauging her reactions, what she knew, what she felt. Automatically, Kit felt her face grow impassive. “She was with a delegation down at the Carbonnier Extension yesterday when a bomb went off.”

  But this was too terrible to withstand the neutral expression. “A bomb—a gulden bomb?” Kit stammered.

  “So it would appear,” her grandmother said dryly. “Since a guldman was killed in the fracas that followed.”

  “Oh, how dreadful,” Kit murmured, feeling all of a sudden as nauseated as she had two days ago. “This is terrible.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” her grandmother said briskly. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. Now get up and have some breakfast, and I’ll see you in a little while.”

  But as soon as the door closed behind her grandmother, Kit lay back down again, sick and shaking. She knew now why Jex had wanted to see Hecht and Shate, and everything was even worse than she had realized.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When Leesa arrived, all of Nolan’s senses seemed to change. He noticed things he had overlooked before, forgot about things that, while she was in-country, seemed a part of his unchanging daily routine. Cleanliness, that was one variable. He was ordinarily a neat man, but Leesa was fastidious, and so the first instant she walked through his door, he spotted the dust castles in the corner and the stains on the carpet. Scent, that was another. The air inside the apartment seemed stale and flat, but Leesa’s hair smelled like lavender and camomile, perfumes he would not even have been able to name a day ago but which now reminded him of the ingredients in his sister’s soaps and shampoos.

  “Sorry,” was the first word out of his mouth as he ushered her in. “It’s a little messier than I remembered.”

  Leesa strolled in with her usual unconscious grace, like a statue that had deigned to step down from its marble base, and trailed absolution behind her. “Oh, it’s just fine,” she said. “That’s new, isn’t it? That chair? What else have you gotten since I was here last?”

  “When were you here last?” he said, because he couldn’t remember. She gave him a brief minatory look which told him he should not have forgotten. “Oh, right, three months ago,” he said hastily. “Well, the chair. That painting by the kitchen door. Some pillows in the bedroom.”

  She wandered over to inspect the painting, a small oil showing the city skyline by a subtle sunset. He had bought it one afternoon at an art festival held outside the Complex, and Melina had admired it. Leesa did not. “I don’t think it’s very good,” she pronounced. “Was this a student artist?”

  “Probably. I didn’t ask,” Nolan said. “I got it at a street fair. I liked the colors.”

  She turned and smiled at him. “Naturally you should buy anything you like,” she said. “There will always be rooms in our house that are just yours, and you can fill every wall with pictures and colors that I can’t stand.”

  He smiled. “That’s very generous of you.”

  She was laughing. “The public rooms, however, the rooms that people will actually see, those I insist on decorating exactly how I choose.”

  “Well, of course,” he said with heavy gallantry. “You’re the one with the exquisite taste.”

  She pirouetted again, giving the whole room one comprehensive glance, then crossed to the sofa. Sitting down, she patted the cushion beside her. “Come talk to me,” she said in a voice that was half plaintive, half commanding. “You write such short letters, I never feel as if I know what’s going on in your life.”

  Obediently, he sat beside her, taking her hand because he knew she liked these casual gestures of affection. “Sometimes I think my life would sound strange but uninteresting to you,” he said.

  “Strange, maybe, but how could it be uninteresting?” she protested. “I want to know everything that happens to you. I hate it that you’re so far away. So tell me. All of it.”

  “Well, let’s see. The big excitement last week, of course, was Chay Zanlan’s visit to the city. That had everybody worked up.”

  “Yes? And did you see him?”

  “Only from the window. We couldn’t tell much, except that he looks really tall. Cerisa actually got to meet him, but of course the rest of us didn’t, and since Cerisa never talks to any of us, I don’t know what she thought of him.”

  “And then there was a bombing, I heard,” she said. “That must have been exciting, too.”

  “Well, exciting in a sort of terrible way,” Nolan replied. “And it’s created a lot of tension in the city. There’s still an after-dark curfew for gulden men, and they resent it, of course, and don’t think they should be punished for the behavior of a few terrorists. It’s made working conditions at the office a little tense.”

  “You work with gulden men?” she said, her eyes wide.

  “Sure. I thought you knew that.”

  “Well, I knew you said they were there at the lab … I mean, I thought they were janitors or something.”

  He was pretty sure he had mentioned Pakt before, maybe even Colt; was it possible he had neglected to specify race and rank? “No, they’re scientists, just like me. Pretty good ones, too.”

  “But you’re better,” she said.

  He laughed. “I’m not better than Pakt. He’s pretty amazing. He can look over any compilation of data—just the data, not even the experiments set up under the microscope—and show you where you’ve gone wrong. Everybody in the lab respects Pakt.”

  “But he’s a guldman?”

  “Well, yes.”

  She arched her eyebrows but forbore to make any of the comments obviously circling in her brain. This was her idea of broadmindedness. “So what are you working on right now?” she asked. “What project?”

  “A sort of generic antibiotic that will destroy any number of bacteria that attack the gulden,” he said calmly, anticipating her reaction. “I haven’t actually tested it in the field, but in the lab it’s one hundred percent effective.”

  She was trying hard to keep an encouraging, pleasant expression on her face, but bewilderment and a certain repulsion were trying to work their way through. “An antibiotic that only helps the gulden?” she repeated. “That’s what you’re working on?”

  He nodded. “It could have incredible consequences if it really works. There’s a lot of disease, especially in the Lost City—”

  “The what?”

  “The part of town where the impoverished guldwomen live with their children. Bad health and living conditions there, so there’s a lot of illness.”

  She looked more puzzled and incredulous with every word. “But—Nolan—why do you care if these guldwomen are sick? I mean—of course we should help everybody if we can, but shouldn’t you be working on some other kind of medication? You know, something to help the indigo when they’re sick? Wouldn’t that be more valuable?”

  He shouldn’t even feel this
great swoop of anger. This was Leesa, he had known what her reaction would be. He shouldn’t even have told her what project he had under way; he had known she would be baffled and dismayed. “Maybe, but there are other people working on indigo cures,” he said as gently as he could. “I seem to have a particular talent for understanding the gulden cells. And it gives me a great deal of—” He hesitated and discarded the word pleasure. “Of pride to be able to produce something that will alleviate suffering in another human being. No matter who that human being is.”

  “Well, of course, I didn’t mean to belittle your work,” she said, though the words rang somewhat false. “I’m very impressed with your abilities, you know that. It’s just that—I would think, with all your skills and your intelligence, you would be working on something just a little more—important, I guess.” She gave him a smile that was intended to be soothing, for she must realize her words had ruffled him a little, and then she laughed self-consciously. “And now I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to tell my mother! She keeps asking me what it is you’re doing, and I felt so guilty that I didn’t really know. But I’m not sure she’ll be too enthusiastic when I tell her.”

  Oh, he was sure she wouldn’t be. He could picture her, the majestic Brentitia Corova, having all her high-born indigo friends over for drinks, trying to explain what it was her prospective son-in-law did for a living. No wonder Leesa seemed so ill at ease; she was asking for her mother, not herself, and his answers seemed even more radical, judged by that standard. “Just tell her I’m working on drugs that will cure serious infectious diseases,” Nolan said. “That should please her.”

  Leesa bestowed a radiant smile upon him. “Of course! That’s perfect! It sounds quite wonderful when you put it that way.”

  He gave her a teasing smile in return, though his heart was a little heavy. Though his heart was unsurprised. “So,” he said, “do you think she’ll still respect me enough to allow you to marry me?”

  But Leesa answered him seriously. “Yes,” she said, “I think she still will be able to respect you when I tell her that.”

  Nolan felt his smile grow a little twisted, but he did not think Leesa noticed. In fact, her next words were on a completely different subject. She had apparently forgotten that her plan was to find out everything about his life. “Did I tell you?” she said, her voice taking on a lilt of excitement. “My grandmother has decided to give up her Chabbedon property. Well, it’s just gotten to be too much for her—the house is huge, and the grounds are so extensive that she can’t possibly keep track of everything. So she’s moving in with my mother at the end of the year.”

  “Chabbedon,” Nolan repeated. “That’s one of the ones your mother is to inherit, isn’t it? And Corfelo goes to your aunt.”

  Leesa nodded. She was almost bouncing where she sat, and her black eyes snapped with delight. “Yes, and of course Mother has always planned to leave Chabbedon to me. So she told me, if I want, we can move in there as soon as my grandmother moves out! That’s this year, Nolan! I thought we’d have to wait at least another year before the Hayden property was ready. And Chabbedon! It’s always been my favorite house.”

  Nolan felt his bones curl inward and his muscles spike with chill. This year! To be back in-country so soon! “Yes, it’s a beautiful place. I can’t remember why, but I remember that your family and mine all spent one summer there when my sister and I were little.”

  “That’s when your mother was remodeling your house,” said Leesa. She was two years older than, Nolan, and she never forgot anything—none of the details of her life, none of the details of his. “And my father had been sick, and my mother wanted us to be away so we didn’t all get infected. So she brought all of us to Chabbedon and invited your family so she wouldn’t get bored. I thought it was a wonderful summer. Which makes it even more perfect that Chabbedon will be our first home together.”

  He had been betrothed to Leesa since he was fourteen; he had expected to marry her, been delighted at the prospect of marrying her, since he was old enough to understand what it meant. She was beautiful, educated, gracious, and sweet-tempered, and any indigo man in or out of the Higher Hundred would envy him. So why did he feel this depression, this sense of loss, this moment’s brief spasm of protest? “We must marry before we live together,” he said, attempting both a smile and a light tone. “Did you have a timetable for that as well?”

  “Yes. We can have a winter wedding at Chabbedon, itself—probably a month or two after my grandmother leaves. I’ll need a little time to change the furnishings—at least in our private rooms. The main rooms have antiques that have been in the family since my grandmother’s mother was born—I don’t think we’ll want to part with those. But in our bedrooms—well, you know, she’s an old lady! All this fussy lace and heavy pieces of dark old wood. I know we want something a little more modern to live with every day. Although—” She paused, inspected him, and gave him a little-girl smile. “Although perhaps there are some colors and fabrics and furniture styles that you would prefer over others?” she said in a conciliatory voice. “And perhaps I shouldn’t go wild just ordering the sorts of things I like?”

  “Oh, you’ve remembered the sunset picture on the wall,” he said, managing to smile back. “And you don’t see how it will fit in with all your decorating schemes.”

  She scooted over to nestle against him, tucking her free hand under his arm and laying her black, black hair against his shoulder. “I just want to make sure you’re happy,” she said into the weave of his shirt. “You seem so far away sometimes. I’m not always certain you want the same things I want anymore.”

  He could not help his sudden look of surprise, for that much insight he had not expected from Leesa, but fortunately she could not see his face. He kissed her on the back of the head. “Of course I’ll be happy,” he said. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They stayed in that first evening, cooking together in the small kitchen, eating by candlelight at the cramped dining room table. Leesa spent most of the meal recounting for him stories of her recent social life—who she had visited, what her sister had done, what his sister had said, the betrothals, the inheritances, the big and small details of their families and their friends. Nolan listened and commented but was not required to talk much, so he did not. Mostly, he watched the shades and colors of Leesa’s face by the flickering light, and thought about her.

  He could not remember a time he had not known her. Their mothers were best friends and had planned, since the children were born, to marry them off at a suitable time. That had been common knowledge between them and among their friends, but Nolan could still recall the afternoon, fifteen years ago, when the formal announcement was made. Their parents had held a joint lawn party, overflowing with expensive meats and rich pastries and an extraordinary assortment of wines; there must have been two hundred people in attendance. He and Leesa and their parents had stood in a small circle at the head of the salad table while Leesa’s mother told the assembled aristocracy how her daughter and Margo Adelpho’s son had been promised to each other in marriage. Everyone had clapped madly, and Nolan had been ready to die.

  He had been a thin and awkward youth, sensitive and shy; the concept of marriage to anyone, particularly someone like Leesa, made him almost painfully sick. Leesa, at sixteen, had been lovely, with that sculpted blue face, fine flyaway hair, and legs so long she could never find trousers to fit, so she always wore filmy, floating skirts which gave her even more grace and motion. It was impossible to imagine touching such a goddess, let alone engaging in any intimacy with her. He was not of her sphere.

  But Leesa at sixteen had also been kindhearted, unaffected, and eager to please, and she had, after all, known him her whole life. She found a minute, in the press of all those people and their waterfall of congratulations, to seek Nolan out where he had hidden himself behind the serv
ing tent. The instant he had seen her, he had dropped his china plate and spilled his wine, and his face, his whole body, had reddened with mortification.

  “Leesa—you—that is—isn’t there someone your mother wants to introduce you to?” were the only stammered words he could think to utter.

  But she had laughed, and come close enough to squeeze his arm, and bent to retrieve his dishes. “I know. It seems pretty awful now,” she said in the most sympathetic of voices. “But I think you’ll be happier about it in a couple of years.”

  “No, I—of course I’m happy,” he had said, stuttering again, but she had burst out laughing and kissed him suddenly on the cheek.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she advised. “We’ll just be friends like we’ve always been friends. You’ll see. It won’t be so terrible.”

  And in fact, for the next four years it was just that—the same friendship they had always had, though tinged with a certain inescapable knowledge of the future. In fact, that knowledge had deepened their friendship, to the point where they told each other things they told no one else. She repeated to him her rare, bitter fights with her mother; he confided in her his desire to go to Inrhio State University. She described her ineradicable fear of the horrors of childbirth. He confessed, at the age of eighteen, that he was still a virgin.

  “Oh, I hoped so,” was her reply, although he knew (for she had told him) that she was not. “I always wanted you to be all mine, but of course I know that a lot of men—well, Mother says it’s to be expected, especially with all those low-caste girls working out at the processing facilities. And I wasn’t going to be angry with you if you—but I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Well, I just—I wanted you to know because I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” he said in a rush. Disappointing a bride was a murky concept to Nolan, but one he had heard spoken of with great disapproval by his father and some of his older friends, and he did not want to be guilty of such a sin.