Shem feared he was going to retch again.
The High General squinted as if reading his face. “You know what happened last night. I have no doubt. I can read the layers in men’s eyes, Zenos. In yours I see terror and worry, but underneath those layers I also see a wall of deceit. You’re hiding things, Corporal, but years ago my father put measures in the code of the army that prevents me from using more effective methods of discovering exactly what you’re hiding. Your deceit may be nothing more than the fact you are nowhere near the age of twenty-one that you claim to be. Or your deceit may be that you are nothing at all as you present yourself.”
Shem kept his eyes on the general as he walked back up to his head. It was in moments like these that he was grateful for his training that conditioned him to go rigid until a threat had passed.
General Shin bent down and picked up off the floor the damp cloth that had been on Shem’s head most of the night. Shem stopped breathing as the general’s hand went for Shem’s throat, but Shem didn’t think he could choke him with only one hand.
But then again, he was the High General.
The general only wiped the cloth under Shem’s chin, then stood back up, examining it.
“Know this, Zenos,” he said, staring at the cloth, “that I know. And when I have more evidence, I’ll be back for you.”
He was about to say something else, but mercifully the treatment door swung open again. The general purposely dropped the cloth on Shem’s hand, and Shem’s fist enclosed it.
“Oh, General! Are you all right?” Mahrree rushed over to her father-in-law as if she was going to embrace him, but she only gripped his arm. “I can’t believe no one told me until this morning! Perrin’s been gone half of the night, and only now did someone send for me. Where’s Mother Shin?”
“In the guest quarters. I’ll take you to her, Mahrree.” The general nodded at the corporal and led Mahrree away.
She sent a fleeting and confused glance to Shem, but still Shem couldn’t move.
Only after they left the room did Shem relax, unclench his fist, and look at the cloth.
“No!” he gasped.
High General Shin had wiped off a minuscule drop of dried blood from under Shem’s chin. There it was, a small red smear revitalized by the dampness of the white cloth.
He frantically wrenched off his jacket and inspected it in the growing morning light for blood splatters.
Nothing.
He glanced at his cap on the floor, but it, too, was clean. He stood up and hurriedly made his way to a mirror above a wash stand at the front of the treatment room. His face was completely clear. Nothing either in his hair, throat, or ears.
High General Shin had noticed, in the dim morning light, the one bit of evidence that Shem had been near the lieutenants. And he’d given that bit of evidence to the corporal.
Shem sat down clumsily on a nearby cot. The only reason the general did that was because he was sure he would find something more compelling to accuse Shem with later.
Then it would all be over.
Shem would have saved the High General’s life, but also would have failed in saving them.
Stay anonymous, keep a low profile, connect with no one . . . that’s what Tuma Hifadhi had told him to do. He had failed in all of that, too.
He was definitely in over his head.
---
“General,” Mahrree said circumspectly as they walked down the hall, “why were you speaking to Shem?”
“Just asking questions, Mahrree. I’m full of questions today.”
She firmed her grip on his arm. “Surely you don’t suspect that Shem—”
“Right now I suspect everything and everyone. Even Perrin’s dog.”
Well, that would’ve been too convenient, Mahrree considered briefly. “I realize you don’t know much about Shem beyond what we tell you, but you have to believe me—he’s innocent.”
“And why should I believe that? Because he willingly changes the soiled cloths of your children? Because he has the face of a child himself? Because he goes with you to the congregational meetings? None of that means anything. He’s a skilled, strong young man. He was exceptional in the race I saw him run yesterday, and you told me yourself that he barely lost to Perrin last week. Only a man equal in power to Perrin could come that close to besting him. I’m telling you—he’s not what he seems.”
Mahrree scoffed at that. “Why, he may be strong, but he barely touches his sword! Perrin’s still trying to get him comfortable with a blade. Shem Zenos is a sweet boy that’s no more capable of killing anyone than . . . than I am! And you know how squeamish I am. I pay the butcher extra to debone my chicken. Shem may be even worse!”