Wen knew, Hilo thought miserably. But he had been optimistic. He’d cut back on Tar’s duties believing it would be enough to curb his instincts. He’d blessed the marriage with the certainty that determined love would make Tar better and happier. So in the end it was all his fault, Hilo felt, for turning Tar into a monster.
“Tar,” Hilo said gently. “You weren’t yourself. You lost your mind tonight and you did something terrible that I know you would never have done if you’d been thinking at all clearly.” Hilo wondered now, too late for it to be of any use, if perhaps there was a medical reason as well, if a sudden undetected onset of the Itches was to blame. Tar would be the sort to dismiss or ignore jade overexposure symptoms, convincing himself that they were some other temporary malady, something that did not threaten his sense of greenness. “What you’ve done can’t be undone. You murdered one of our own, a Fist, a fellow Green Bone. It’s a crime that can’t be forgiven, you know that.” It was hard for Hilo to even say the words, and it was harder for Tar to hear them. His hands began to tremble and he pressed them into stillness between his knees, his shoulders hunched. He looked as if he might be sick. Hilo could barely believe that this wretched man had been for so long one of the clan’s most feared warriors.
“We need to go for a walk, Tar,” Hilo said. The words came out of him against his will. “Do you think you can do it, or do you need some help?”
Tar looked up at the Pillar with misery but also understanding and resignation. He said, with some of his usual dependable courage, “I can walk.”
“Can I trust you with your jade?” He had not given the order for Tar to be jade-stripped and did not want to humiliate him further in this moment if he could possibly avoid it.
“I won’t be any trouble, Hilo-jen.”
Hilo put a hand on his Pillarman’s back and guided him out of the room and toward the door of the house. The Fists in the hallway stepped aside and gave them ample space to pass.
Tar said, “Can I see the kids? Just for a minute.”
Hilo said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. They’re asleep.”
Tar nodded, and they walked out of the house and onto the grounds together. Lott and Anden watched them go with grim faces, not knowing what to say and saying nothing.
The Kaul estate sprawled over five acres, with the compound of residences and main courtyard in the center. The gardens, pond, lawn, training hall, and small swath of woodland covered the remaining areas and separated the family’s residences from its neighbors and the surrounding city. Hilo guided Tar onto one of the walking paths that wound through the property. They walked around the back of the Horn’s house, down a small slope where the Juen children were always making forts and holding mock battles. Hilo walked alongside his Pillarman, who could not move quickly on account of his injuries. When he swayed or stumbled a little, Hilo put a hand under his elbow to steady him. It was three or four o’clock in the morning, as quiet as it ever got in Janloon. A holding place between the day that had gone and the one to come.
When they were well away from the houses, and completely alone so that Hilo could only distantly Perceive the auras of the other Green Bones on the property, he stopped and faced his Pillarman. Tar took a step back and lowered himself to his knees. “Hilo-jen,” he said coarsely. “I’m sorry I let you down. Ever since we were kids in the Academy, I only ever wanted to follow you and be your best warrior. We’ve been through a lot together.” His voice broke, and he took a second to recompose himself so that when he spoke again, his words were steady. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master.” He touched his forehead to the ground and straightened up again with calm, apologetic expectancy—the opposite of whatever awful madness had brought him to this place tonight.
Hilo said, “Close your eyes.” Tar obeyed. Hilo drew his talon knife and walked behind him. Tar’s jade aura throbbed with grief and fear, his heartbeat thundering in the center of Hilo’s Perception, but he did not move at all, not even when Hilo placed a hand on the top of his head. It had to be done: one swift stroke, left to right, across the throat. Hilo had killed men with the knife before; it would be an easy motion, over in less time than it took to gasp.
A second passed. Another. Then another. Hilo began to shake. He was clutching the talon knife so tightly he could feel the hilt starting to strain under his involuntary Strength. His other hand curled in Tar’s hair, gripping the back of his brother-in-law’s skull. The woods seemed to close in and blot out the edges of his vision.