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Tadek eventually emerged from the bedchamber, all the laundry bundled in his arms. He put it in the antechamber to be collected by a cadet, then sat down at the table with a few of Kadou’s informal underlayers and began to inspect them for loose buttons, stray threads, popped seams. “Mind if I help myself to coffee?”
Kadou practicallyfelta wave of disapproval from Evemer’s side of the room, and ignored it. “Go ahead,” he said, trying for an absent tone of voice. He kept his eyes fixed on the papers as if he were terribly focused on them, and that was enough to keep Tadek from talking to him.
He’d made an awful mistake. Eozena was right—she was always right. Tadek wanted something different now than what he’d wanted before, and the situation had changed . . . He was Kadou’s responsibility, Kadou’s to care for and look after.
He couldn’t risk it. One wrong move and Tadek would be hurt, with nowhere to go unless he wanted to throw away his entire livelihood.
Tadek seemed like he was in a good mood, though—as he mended the clothes, he was humming under his breath, some song Kadou didn’t recognize.
Kadou stared at Armagan’s notes without processing a single word, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a soft tap sounded on the door. Evemer got up to answer it, and immediately stood aside to let in Melek. “Morning, all,” çe said brightly. “Commander, Highness, are you terribly busy?”
“Sort of,” Kadou said. “What is it?”
“I wanted to talk about the shift schedule.”
Tadek looked up from the mending. “Oh, yes. Me too.”
Kadou felt a brief throb of panic at Tadek’s words. He glanced up, met Eozena’s eyes, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. It said a thousand things, and he wished he could be as expressive back at her. “Could we discuss it later?”
Eozena sat back. “I don’t mind a brief interruption, since we’re all here,” she said. “I’d have to sign off on any schedule changes anyway, so you might as well make use of me while you’ve got me.”
Kadou gestured to one of the other cushions at the table. He shuffled the papers together and put them aside as Melek settled çemself.
Çe took a piece of paper from çir pocket and unfolded it. “Evemer’s got the dawn-to-dusk shift, six days a week. Tomorrow, Tegridem, is his day off. I’m the dusk-to-dawn shift, and I’m off on Ikinç.” Melek rattled off the rest of the shift assignments—who was on the door duty, and who was Kadou’s designated secondary for each shift, and who was tapped to be the substitute primary on the days Melek and Evemer were off, and the names of the cadets currently appointed to this area of the palace, and . . . well, it was really far more information than Kadou had been expecting, and his head reeled trying to follow it all. He poured himself another cup of salep. “So,” Melek said triumphantly, “I’ve been thinking there might be a smarter way to arrange things.”
“Oh?” Kadou said faintly.
Melek glanced at Tadek. “I’ll have to design a new draft if . . . Is Tadek getting shifts to attend you?”
Tadek looked up hopefully; Kadou froze.
“Not at this time,” Eozena said, firm but not unkind. “Attending to household matters is one thing. Armsman Hasira, I’m sure you can see that it would be improper to continue serving overtly as a kahya after you have been demoted. Perhaps in the future we can revisit the issue, but for now it is out of the question.”
Tadek had dropped his eyes back to the mending, his jaw set in a particular way that pushed Kadou’s already wobbly nerves even further off-balance.
Melek was nodding mildly. “Right. Well, here’s the thing, Highness, Commander. I hope you don’t mind me being forthright, but I’d rather get up early than stay up late.”
“You . . . want to switch with Evemer? Have days instead of nights?” That was . . . It couldn’t be done, no matter how much the idea appealed to him. Zeliha herself had appointed Evemer his primary. It would offend both her and him if Kadou were to shuffle him off into the night watch.
“Not quite like that,” Melek said. Çe looked over çir shoulder. “Stop glowering, Evemer, I’m not going to put you out. Look, if the shift changes happened at midnight and at noon, instead of dawn and dusk, then we’d both have a bit of time during the daylight to get other things done. What time did you wake up for training this morning?”
“The fourth hour,” Evemer said flatly. Kadou bit his tongue to stop a burst of surprised laughter, but no one else seemed to think it even faintly funny—he’d just sounded so offended, as if they should allknowthat of course he’d be up well before dawn.
“Look here,” Melek said, turning çir attention back to Kadou and Eozena, “Evemer would still attend His Highness for most of the important things—those usually happen in the afternoons and evenings, right? And you know how awkward it is to hand off a shift during the middle of a banquet or a meeting. It’d be so much smoother to do it at noon and—”
Kadou held up a desperate hand to forestall any more campaigning. “It’s up to you and Evemer,” he said quickly. Eozena nodded silently. “If you two prefer to do it that way, I have no objections.” This way, he’d have Melek at his back for half the day, and . . . “You’d want the morning shift? Midnight to noon?” Melek nodded.
Melek was always cheerful and pleasant in the mornings, and wouldn’t braid Kadou’s hair so tightly that it hurt him, and wouldn’t glare him out of bed, and wouldn’t make judgmental eyes about Kadou’s sartorial choices . . .
“I see no harm in it,” Eozena said with a shrug.
Kadou shoved aside all his selfishness. “It’s not fair to make Evemer change his habits unless he wants to.”
Evemer had gone stiff in that way he had that looked almost offended from certain angles. “I am pleased to serve however I am required, Highness.”
“That’s not an answer,” Kadou murmured.
Evemer’s eyes fixed on him. He looked as if he thought Kadou was challenging him. “I would be honored to take the afternoon, if Melek wants the mornings,” he said.
