Jan ca'Vörl
FROM THE WOODED crown of the rise,
the army spread out along the valley like a horde of black
ants on the march. Dust enveloped them in a tan, hazy cloak as they
trudged along the rutted, boot-stamped dirt of the Avi a'Firenzcia.
The western horizon promised rain, and their banners hung limp in a
breezeless air, stained with the same tan that caked the boots of
the foot soldiers and packed the hooves of the cheverittai's
horses. Faintly, Jan could hear the sound of the drummers beating
cadence.
Jan watched as a single rider broke
off from the main force and galloped toward the ridge where he,
Starkkapitän ca'Staunton, Allesandra, and Markell were watching.
Markell gestured to one of the starkkapitän's offiziers, standing
with their own horses judiciously downhill from the group above. An
offizier saluted and mounted, intercepting the rider; they
exchanged words and a packet. The offizier gestured back up the
hill. "Your pardon, my Hïrzg," Markell said. Nudging the side of
his horse with his bootheels, he rode down and spoke for a few
minutes with the rider before returning to the ridge.
"Word has come from Nessantico, my
Hïrzg," Markell said as he came abreast of Jan. Markell frowned as
he handed Jan a leather courier's pouch. "There's a letter from
A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca inside."
"And?" Jan asked.
The frown deepened. "The rider tells
me that the Kraljica is dead," Markell answered. "Assassinated.
Justi ca'Mazzak has been installed as the new Kraljiki."
Jan felt himself sitting up in his
saddle at the words. That's not possible, he wanted
to rail at Markell. It must be a mistake. Jan stared out at
his army, the army used so often by the Kralji when they wanted a
rebellion crushed or a territory conquered, the army that the Garde
Civile believed they rather than the Hïrzg commanded. The army that
was intended to force the Kraljica's hand, a hand that was now dead
and still.
"Vatarh? What's the matter?"
Allesandra asked him. He ignored her.
"Assassinated by whom?" he growled at
Markell.
"The gossip is that it was a Numetodo,
according to the rider," Markell said. "Kraljiki Justi has ordered
the arrest of all Numetodo in the city."
Jan clenched his jaw, staring at the
pouch in his gloved hand. He opened it, glanced at the letter with
A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca's seal on it, still intact. A suspicion began
to form. All I did for him, all the planning . . .
"Starkkapitän," he told ca'Staunton, waiting patient and silent
with his face carefully arranged to show nothing, "we will make
camp here for the day. Have your men prepare my tent. Find that
rider; if he hasn't spread word yet about the Kraljica, make
certain that it stays that way. This is news I need to contemplate,
and I don't need rumors spreading though the ranks."
Ca'Staunton saluted and rode off,
calling to his offiziers. He barked orders to them and they
scattered, dust rising in a line from their horses' hooves as they
galloped toward the main force of the army.
Two turns of the glass later, Jan
called Markell to his tent. When the man entered, he went to
Allesandra, playing with her soldiers, and hugged her quickly. "Go
outside for awhile," he told her. "Find your Georgi or get some
food."
"I want to stay, Vatarh. I want to
listen."
"No." The single, firm word made her
close her lips tightly. She gave Jan an ironic bow like a common
offizier and left the tent. Watching the tent flap close behind
her, Jan picked up the sheaf of parchments from his travel desk and
tossed it toward Markell. "Ca'Cellibrecca is going to get his balls
squeezed in a vise of his own making if he isn't careful. When he
does, I am going to enjoy hearing him squeal like the pig he
is."
"Hïrzg?"
Jan waved a hand. "The man plays both
sides, Markell. He had us get rid of his daughter's inconvenient
husband so she'd be free for marriage, and we went along with him.
Now the woman's free, yes, but she's also free to marry the
Kraljiki."
Markell blinked. "To have the Kraljiki
married to . . ." He stopped.
Jan nodded. "Yes, my friend," he said
dryly. "You see it, too. A Kraljiki married to the Archigos'
daughter would be a perfect marriage of secular and religious
power. And there just happens to be an unmarried Kraljiki." He
pointed to the paper in Markell's hands. "With her husband dead,
ca'Cellibrecca's daughter is now conveniently available for Justi.
And the new Kraljiki will certainly be looking to marry soon to
consolidate his position. Serendipitous, don't you think?" Jan
leaned back in his chair. "Kraljiki Justi ca'Cellibrecca. I'm sure
A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca thinks that would be an excellent name. In
fact, it makes me suspect that our Orlandi was the one behind the
murder of the Kraljica, though of course he talks about nothing but
the Numetodo in his letter, and how they must be exterminated. It's
wonderful to have such a convenient, politically-expedient excuse
as the Numetodo. He also tells us that 'it's urgent that we abandon
our present course for the time being.' He says our plans must now
wait 'until we have a chance to fully examine the implications of
the current situation.' Though, of course, he's now stuck in
Nessantico for the duration and doesn't know when he'll return to
Brezno. The cunning bastard . . ."
Rising from his chair, Jan snatched
the letter back from Markell's hand and scanned it again, his
nostrils flaring. He tossed the parchment into the small warming
stove in the center of the tent and watched the edges curl, darken,
and finally burst into flame. "I begin to believe that A'Téni
ca'Cellibrecca always considered us a secondary strategy, something
to use if his plot to kill the Kraljica failed and he couldn't
manipulate Marguerite's poor excuse for a son. Now everything's
fallen in place for him. All that remains is for our army to stand
down and he has everything he wants. The next news from Nessantico
will tell us how that dwarf ca'Millac has died and ca'Cellibrecca
has been installed as the new Archigos, and that the Kraljiki has
married Francesca. As Archigos, he would hold the threat of
withdrawing the Faith's support from Firenzcia if I don't
submit—and U'Téni cu'Kohnle, who served with ca'Cellibrecca, just
happens to be our chief war-téni."
"Cu'Kohnle is Firenzcian, unlike
ca'Cellibrecca," Markell said. "His loyalty is to you more than
A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca."
"Maybe," Jan grunted. "But when the
A'Téni is Archigos Orlandi, that may change. The new Kraljiki will
also insist that I stay married to that pious cow Greta. No doubt
the news has reached Brezno by now; I'll wager she's on her knees
praying to Cénzi in gratitude for her deliverance. I wonder if she
and ca'Cellibrecca weren't plotting this all along."
Jan paced the small perimeter of the
tent and sat again. Outside, he could hear the sounds of the
encampment: low talk, a burst of laughter, the clatter and bustle
as food was prepared. Markell waited patiently, warming his hands
over the coals where ca'Cellibrecca's paper was now ash.
"Vatarh?" It was Allesandra, standing
at the tent flap. She let it drop behind her. "Vatarh, you told me
that a good general must know which battles he can win and which he
cannot. Is this one you can win?"
He stared at her, shaking his head.
"You were listening?"
"You told me to go outside and find
Georgi. I looked and I didn't see him. You didn't tell me not to
listen."
Markell raised his eyebrows. Jan
sighed. "So you've listened and you know. In that case, what do you
think?"
"In all the stories you've ever told
me, and in all the ones Georgi knows, the Hïrzg never gives up. I
think A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca doesn't know those stories, or he
didn't listen to them very well."
Jan laughed, and Markell joined in.
"The wisdom of a child," Jan said. He nodded, and applauded softly.
"This has been a battle without armies," he told her, "as it has
been since we started this course. But we have an army with us. If
we turn back now, we lose the advantage of the field."
"My Hïrzg?" Markell asked.
"Justi has the title. That's all. He
has nothing else yet. And ca'Cellibrecca isn't yet the Archigos.
We're only two days from the border and a fortnight to the gates of
Nessantico itself. Ca'Cellibrecca advises us to wait—but he has the
interests of Orlandi ca'Cellibrecca in mind, not the Hïrzg of
Firenzcia. As my daughter has just said, he doesn't know the
stories of Firenzcia."
Jan saw the ghost of a smile press
against Markell's thin lips. "Should I inform the Starkkapitän that
we will continue our advance in the morning?"
"Tell him that I intend to pay a
personal visit to the new Kraljiki," Jan told him. "And send U'Téni
cu'Kohnle in; I need to know where his loyalties truly
lie."
"As you wish, my Hïrzg," Markell
answered with a quick bow. He opened the flaps of the tent, and Jan
heard him speak quickly to one of the gardai, and then the rattle
of armor as the man strode quickly away.
"A good general doesn't hedge," Jan
said to Allesandra. "And he doesn't hesitate because the winds have
changed. He uses them, instead."

Ana
cu'Seranta
"L ET ME TAKE YOUR CLOAK, O'Téni
Ana. They say the weather will change soon."
"Where's Vatarh?" Ana asked Sala. The maidservant shook her
head.
"He's not here, O'Téni Ana," she
answered. "He's away in Prajnoli on business. He's away almost all
the time, ever since . . ." She hesitated, and Ana saw a blush
creep from her neck to her cheeks.
"I understand," she told the girl.
"Don't worry about it, Sala. Matarh?"
"She's expecting you, in the sun room.
I'll announce that you're here."
"Don't bother. I'll go on back and
surprise her."
The house no longer seemed familiar to
her at all—it had changed even more since she'd last been here. The
smell of fresh plaster and paint hung in the foyer, an odor like
guilt. The hallway beyond the front door was now a pale blue
instead of the yellow she remembered, and when she reached the
archway into the sun room, it was no longer draped with black as it
had been when her matarh was sick but was now filled with flowers
and plants, and there was a young male servant she didn't know
there with Tari. And the woman, standing with her back to Ana and
tending to a pot of blue-and-white-petaled skyblooms . .
.
Ana felt her breath catch. After the
argument they'd had the last time they met, Ana had been surprised
when her matarh had sent Ana a request to visit. Please, Cénzi,
don't let her still hate me. . . .
"O'Téni Ana!" Tari exclaimed, seeing
her, and the woman turned from the skyblooms.
"Ana. I'm glad you came." Matarh
smiled gently, and Ana felt the tension within her dissolve with
the greeting. Abini set down the small trowel and spread her arms.
Ana went to her, letting herself fall into the embrace, her
matarh's arms snug around her. Ana found herself crying, all
unbidden; her matarh continued to hold her tightly. "Hush, child.
Hush . . ."
Ana sniffed and wiped at the betraying
tears, pulling away slightly. Tari and the young man were pointedly
looking away from them. "You've engaged some new help," she
said.
"That's Jacques, who works around the
house and on the grounds, and we have a new cook as well, who makes
the most wonderful soups. They were both recommended to me by
Vajica cu'Meredi—do you remember her? She's used to call on us
before . . ." For a moment the old pain crossed her matarh's face.
". . . when your brothers were still alive and before I became
sick. She's made several calls to our house since you received your
Marque. All this . . ." Her matarh pressed her lips together, fine
wrinkles gathering. "All this is because of you, Ana. Everyone
knows how the Archigos chose you personally, and that you tended to
the poor Kraljica . . ." She stopped then. "Tari, why don't you
have Cook make Ana something? Jacques, if you'd tend to the bushes
in the rear garden . . ."
They ducked their heads and left.
Abini continued to hold Ana. "You look so sad," she said. "Is
something wrong?"
Ana could only nod. She didn't trust
her voice.
"Is it the Kraljica? Her death was a
shock to us all, and now there's that horrible news come from
Firenzcia about poor U'Téni Estraven ca'Cellibrecca being murdered;
I used to enjoy his Admonitions. I hope they kill every last
Numetodo in the city for what they did."
The image of Karl, bound and silenced
in the tower of the Bastida, came to her. So did the memory of
seeing him, of his brief single kiss . . . "Matarh," Ana
interrupted. "Stop. Please."
Abini's eyes widened, and Ana kissed
her cheek to soften the impact of the words. "I should have come to
see you sooner, Matarh," she said. "I wanted to. But . . ." I
couldn't, because I was afraid he would be here. I
couldn't because of what we said to each other the last time. . .
.
There was pain in her matarh's eyes.
"Ana, I thought about what you told me, and for a long time I was
angry."
"Angry with me,
Matarh?"
Abini was shaking her head. She'd let
go of Ana's arms and returned her attention to the skyblooms. Her
fingers fluffed the petals idly. "Tomas told me about what happened
the time you came here, when . . ." She stopped, sighing. "Tomas
told me that he said something to you that made you angry, and
there was an accident. He said the Ilmodo is so strong in you,
which is why the Archigos chose you, and that you couldn't control
it."
"No, Matarh. That's not why.
Vatarh—"
"Hush, Daughter!" Abini said sharply,
turning back to her. Her eyes were wide again. Her fingers touched
Ana's mouth, trembling. "Don't say anything, Ana. Please. Tomas . .
. he could have left me after I be came sick, but he didn't. No
matter what you think of him, no matter what . . ." She paused, her
lips pressing together before she began again. "He's not a horrible
man. He's flawed, yes, but he lost his sons and thought he had lost
a wife, and the struggle he had to keep our family as cu' . . . In
his heart, I truly believe he didn't intend to hurt anyone,
Ana."
"And that forgives him?" Ana could not
keep the anger from her voice. "That makes everything all right for
you?"
"No," she answered. Her gaze grew
hard. "It doesn't. It's why . . . it's why he's not here anymore.
He may never be here again." She brought Ana to her once more; Ana
resisted for a moment, then let herself fall stiffly into the
embrace. "I confronted him, Ana. I told him what you said. He
denied it at first, but he . . . he couldn't look at me." She
looked away herself, blinking away tears, then hugged Ana tightly
again. "I know, and I'm terribly sorry for what he did to you, but
I don't want to talk about this, Ana. Not now when I finally have
you here." Abini's voice whispered in her ear. "Let's talk about
you. Tell me how things are for you."
Talking about Vatarh is
talking about me, she wanted to say to her matarh. He is
part of why I am the way I am. But she could not. She sighed.
You've kept it inside this long. If that's the price you must
pay to have Matarh back, pay it. Pay it and be
grateful.
She didn't know what to say. Too many
things pushed at her, but she was afraid to talk of Karl, and if
she could not speak of Vatarh . . . "I'm having luncheon with
Kraljiki Justi tomorrow," she said finally. "The Archigos, he feels
that I—" She stopped as Tari entered the room again, placing a tray
down on a low table. Fragrant steam wafted from two bowls there;
wine purpled twin goblets. Tari bowed at the two of them and left.
Abini gestured toward the chairs.
"Sit," Abini said. "Let's talk as we
eat." As they sat, as Ana took a spoonful of the soup, Abini looked
at her curiously. "The Kraljiki will be looking for a wife," she
said. "It's what everyone is talking about. Even Vajica cu'Meredi
mentioned it . . . and you. You're in much of the gossip I hear
now, Ana."
"It's not what I would want, Matarh,"
Ana said. She set the spoon down; it clattered too loudly on the
porcelain.
Abini smiled sadly. "Ana. When did you
ever believe that marriage is what someone who is ca'-and-cu' might
'want' it to be?" she asked gently. "We're not the unranked, who
can marry whomever they want because it doesn't matter. Love isn't
a necessary element for a marriage, Ana; you know that. Love comes
later, if it comes at all. If Cénzi Wills it."
"Did it come for you,
Matarh?"
The smile vanished. "No," she
answered. "I always respected your vatarh, and he always respected
me." The frown deepened. "At least until my illness. Until what he
did with you."
"Why did you marry him? You've never
told me."
"I never told you because you were too
young at first, then the Southern Fever took me away when I might
have sat with you and explained how things are for a young woman."
She smiled again. "But now I can tell you. His family came to my
vatarh and matarh. They offered a substantial wedding price; the
cu'Seranta name was considered to be on the rise; your great-vatarh
even thought that the Gardes a'Liste might name us ca' once, though
that turned out to be a vain hope after Vatarh died, only two years
after my marriage. Still, Tomas kept the requirements of our
contract. Our marriage was what it needed to be. But did we come to
love each other?" Her head moved from side to side. She stared at
her soup. "No."
"Did you ever love someone?"
Abini's smile returned, faint and
tentative. "You did," Ana said, and the realization made her
suddenly feel one with her matarh. "You loved someone. And did you
give in to it?" she asked.
Abini glanced out toward the grounds.
"Yes," she said, so quietly that Ana leaned forward to hear her.
"Once."
"Who? Tell me, Matarh. Who was it, and
did you . . . ?"
"You can never tell your
vatarh."
Ana sniffed. "That's an easy promise.
I don't intend to ever see him again."
Abini's face colored, and Ana didn't
know if it was because of her remark or because of the memory of
her matarh's indiscretion. "I won't tell you who it was—you would
know the name. But . . ." Abini leaned back in her chair. Her eyes
closed. Her mouth opened slightly. "What caught me first was the
smell of him: sweetnut perfume. The perfume smelled so
different on him, and then I turned to look, and he was looking
right at me. I remember that best of all—the shock of our gazes
meeting that first time. I was much younger then, of course, and
I'd recovered my figure after Estravi's birth." Her eyes opened.
"Do you hate me, knowing that I was married already, that I was
already a matarh?"
Ana shook her head. "No, Matarh. I
don't hate you. I understand."
A nod. Abini's eyes closed again. "We
didn't say anything to each other, not that first time. But I found
that our paths kept crossing, as if Cénzi Himself were throwing us
together, and your vatarh was gone all the time with his duties,
and so . . . well, we began to talk. His own wife had died the year
before in childbirth, and the child hadn't survived the year. We
talked about that, and other things, and . . ."
She paused. Ana could see her matarh's
eyes fluttering under the closed lids, and a smile ghosted across
her lips with the memories. "I loved the sound of his voice," Abini
continued, "and the way he always kept his eyes on mine when we
talked. He listened, he truly listened to me as Tomas never
did. And his touch: it was so soft. So gentle. Being with him was
how I had hoped things would be with Tomas."
A sigh escaped her. She sat up, her
eyes open once more. "What happened then?" Ana asked. "Did Vatarh .
. . ?"
Abini shook her head. "No, he never
found out. It ended because it had to. We were together for a few
years, whenever we could manage, but he . . . his birth family had
prospects for him. We finally had to end it, or rather I had to end
it—to give his new wife the chance she deserved. If we had
continued, our relationship would have always been a wall between
him and his wife, and I knew her also. She was young, and she liked
him and I knew she wanted him to love her, and I . . . well, I just
couldn't."
"He married her?"
The nod was so slight that Ana wasn't
certain she saw it. "Seeing him . . . seeing him around the city,
it was hard for both of us, I think. But I hope, I hope he came to
love her. I know she loves him, loves him still."
"Matarh . . ."
Abini reached across the table and
touched Ana's hand. "You are now in the family of the Faith, Ana,
and you must do as the Faith wishes. Whatever happens, it will be
Cénzi's Will. Remember that." Ana felt Abini's eyes searching hers.
"You already have a lover, darling? Is that why you're
upset?"
"No," she said , then corrected
herself. "Maybe. I don't know. It's all so confusing."
"Tell me. Who is it?"
"I . . . I can't, Matarh. I'm sorry. I
can't. I wish I could."
Abini nodded. "Ana, if you would
marry, then you must give your husband a chance. The respect
between you may blossom into more, and you have to give it the
opportunity. But if it doesn't . . . You might find someone with
whom you can share that part, if you're careful and
discreet. People in Nessantico will look the other way, if
you don't force them to stare at it. I know."
Her fingers tightened around Ana's.
They said nothing. Finally, Abini released Ana's hand and sat back
once more.
"I've been talking and your soup is
sitting there," she said. "You really should give it a taste before
it goes cold."

Dhosti
ca'Millac
THE PACKET CAME the morning of
Gostidi: the morning of Estraven's funeral service, a gloomy
day mirrored in the clouds that promised rain. Kenne, who had
brought the envelope, glanced at the banked fire in the hearth.
"It's a cold morning, Archigos," he said. "Would you like me to
send an e'téni to attend to the fire?"
"Thank you, Kenne, but no," Dhosti
told him. "A little discomfort I can offer up to Cénzi, eh? If you
would, make certain that the staff is ready to go to the Old Temple
as soon as I come down. Oh, and Ana should be on her way here.
Bring her up as soon as she arrives."
Kenne nodded and gave the sign of
Cénzi before he left the room, closing the doors behind him. Dhosti
looked again at the stiff, creamy paper of the envelope in his
hand, at the ornate handwriting that addressed it to him, and the
insignia pressed into the red wax of the seal: a trumpet flower.
The Kraljica's flower. The seal was intact—Dhosti made certain of
that before he opened the envelope and took out the folded
parchment leaves inside. He shivered in his robes as he moved to
the windows where the light was slightly better. The letter was
signed by Greta ca'Vörl and the tiny, careful handwriting was
hers—or an excellent imitation of the example that the Kraljica had
given to him. Dhosti made a small, sure pattern with his left hand,
closing his eyes and calling out a short spell at the same time. He
felt the Ilmodo rise within him and he released it toward the
paper. In the lower left corner of the first page, where there had
been nothing before, five small trumpet flowers glowed yellow,
gradually fading back to invisibility.
Dhosti began to read slowly, paying
attention only to every fifth word.
Archigos: I write to you as the
Kraljica had told me I should if I ever learned that she was
dead. The news I must relay is not good. The Hïrzg has taken
the army, and I believe that he may be intending to threaten
Nessantico. He is plotting with ca'Cellibrecca. You are in
danger. If I learn more, I will write you again, but I am
watched closely in Brezno. Be careful.
Dhosti sighed. Someone knocked at the
door and he folded the papers. "Enter," he said. The door opened,
and Kenne let Ana slip through before closing the doors behind her.
She bowed, more deeply than she needed to, and he smiled, though it
did nothing to erase the frown she wore. "Good morning, Ana," he
said. "You're ready?"
"For U'Téni ca'Cellibrecca's funeral?"
she asked. "Yes."
"And for the Kraljiki's luncheon
afterward?"
Her shoulders lifted and fell. "How
should I prepare for that, Archigos?"
"I don't know, quite honestly, but I
thought we might discuss possibilities." He shivered again. "It's
terribly cold this morning. Could you start the fire for me, Ana?"
He saw her glance at the hearth, then reach for the tools to the
side to poke at the coals. "Not with those," he told her. "With the
Ilmodo."
She stared at him, almost as cold as
the draft that billowed the curtains behind him. He could see her
considering a reply, then she turned her head to the side. "I don't
know that I can do that," she said.
He nodded, pleased with the honesty.
He walked past her to the fire and threw the letter onto the coals.
It curled, blackened and smoked before finally igniting. They both
watched it. He turned back to Ana.
"Give me your hands," he said. She
hesitated, drawing back a half step. "I'm not going to hurt you,
Ana," he told her. "I'm not your vatarh."
She grimaced, but she held out her
hands and he took them in his own wrinkled and small ones,
marveling at the smoothness of her skin against his own. You are
an old man, and you haven't much time . . . He shoved the
thought aside and opened his mind to the Ilmodo, his lips mouthing
a hushed sequence of words. He let go of her, his hands shaping the
air between them. The Ilmodo rose again, much stronger this time,
and he let the energy wrap about her extended hands. When it glowed
bright, he took her hands once again, both their hands caught in
the bath of Cénzi's power. He let his attention drift out from
himself, down from his hands and into hers. His eyes closed, he
gazed outward with the illumination of the Ilmodo. The light
reflected from the pool within her soul, and he found himself
filled with mild jealousy at what he saw there.
He released her hands. The light
faded. He felt himself dizzy suddenly, and he seated himself on the
nearest chair. "So tiring," he said. "The Ilmodo becomes easier to
shape as you age, but the demands on the body are worse." Ana was
watching him, but her hands were still held out. She seemed to
notice it belatedly, dropping them to her sides.
"I felt you," she said. "Like you were
looking at me from the inside."
"I was," Dhosti answered. "And I can
tell you that Cénzi hasn't taken His power from you, even if you've
lost the path to find it. He has indeed blessed you, Ana. And His
blessing remains. It is there. Still."
She had caught her upper lip in her
teeth as he spoke, and he saw moisture gathering at the corners of
her eyes. "Archigos—"
He raised his hand wearily, slumping
back against the cushions of the chair. "Say nothing," he said. "I
know. I know you went to see Envoy ci'Vliomani after the Gschnas. I
know you were with him when he was arrested, and that you went to
see him at the Bastida. You are perhaps lovers. Ca'Rudka has told
me."
"We're not lovers," she said quickly,
then dropped her head again. "Not . . ."
"Not yet," he finished for her. "You
find yourself drawn to him?"
She nodded.
"He's handsome enough, charming
enough, and intelligent enough," Dhosti said. "I was impressed by
him the few times I met him, and the Numetodo chose well when they
sent him to represent them to the Kraljica, even if he never had
the chance to plead his case to her. I'm also told that he is
betrothed to a woman back on the Isle of Paeti. Did he tell you
that?"
Her eyes widened.
"I thought perhaps he had left out
that bit of information," the Archigos continued. "Her name is
Kaitlin Mallaghan; beyond that I know nothing about her; after all,
she doesn't even have a ranked name, so it's obvious who would gain
the advantage from any marriage between them. But that name might
be enough for you, eh?—to mention to Envoy ci'Vliomani when you see
him next." He stopped and pulled a chair alongside around so that
it faced him. He patted the cushions. "Sit, Ana. You look
pale."
She obeyed, moving as if he'd struck
her. "Do you think . . ." She swallowed hard. ". . . that the envoy
killed the Kraljica?"
Dhosti shook his head. "No, I don't,
no matter what ca'Cellibrecca says or what Numetodo trinket was
found on ci'Recroix's body. I don't believe that any more than I
believe U'Téni Estraven ca'Cellibrecca was also killed by Numetodo,
as A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca is claiming."
She took a long breath; he could see
that she wanted to believe him. "Then who?"
Now it was Dhosti who shrugged. "I
don't know. I do know that I find it convenient that
ca'Cellibrecca's daughter would be without a husband just at the
time that the Kraljiki takes the throne without a wife. I know that
Justi and ca'Cellibrecca have views in common when it comes to the
Faith and the Divolonté." She was looking away, as if lost in her
own thoughts. "Ana," he said sharply, and her head turned back to
him. "You're caught in the middle of this, whether you like it or
not, and the choices you make now are going to be important: for
you, for the Faith, and for Nessantico. You have to realize this. I
need you here with me."
"I didn't want to be part of
it."
"I know you didn't, but it was Cénzi's
decision to give you this burden, and you must carry it."
"How?" she asked. "How, when even the
simplest spells are hard for me?"
"The gift is still with you, Ana.
Regain your faith, and the rest will return."
"The Numetodo . . . I saw them,
Archigos. They can do things with the Ilmodo that we can't, not
with all our belief. They create their spells beforehand, and cast
them later with a single word and gesture; none of us can do that.
Ka—Envoy ci'Vliomani told me he could show me how, that
anyone who can find the Second World could do it. He said
using the Ilmodo has nothing to do with faith or with Cénzi at all.
I saw them cast spells, Archigos, without calling on Cénzi at
all."
"And you wondered how Cénzi could
allow that, didn't you? And afterward, what happened?"
She ducked her head again. She gave
the sign of Cénzi, an involuntary motion. "Since then, I haven't
been able to use the Ilmodo. Not as I once did."
He reached over to her; she didn't
flinch this time as he touched her cheek, her neck. "Look at me,
Ana," he said, his fingers under her chin as if she were a child,
and her head slowly lifted. "I've seen this before, with other téni
who came into contact with the Numetodo and also found their belief
shaken. This is nothing new, and it's nothing permanent. Now you
know what happens when faith falters. It's a test that Cénzi has
set to you. Cénzi has done this so you see His power, and so you
return to Him even stronger than before. That's all that's required
of you: you must truly believe in Him."
"But the Numetodo don't believe in
Cénzi at all, and what I saw . . . None of them had any
téni-training . . ."
"Trickery and misdirection," he told
her. "I know. I was once in a circus, and I saw 'magic' there,
too." He closed his eyes and spoke a harsh, sibilant word, lifting
his fisted hand at the same time. He opened his eyes and his fist;
there, dangling from his fingers, was a fine silver chain from
which hung a shell of stone.
Ana gasped, her hand at the collar of
her robes as if searching for something hidden underneath.
"Trickery," Dhosti told her again. "And hands that have been
trained to deceive. I took your necklace, yes, but not with magic
and not with the Ilmodo. It's amazing how you never really lose the
skill. You shouldn't believe your eyes so much, Ana, but your
soul." He held out the chain to her, letting the chain pour into
her palm over the shell. "That's not a symbol that a téni should
wear. Let me give you a better one."
He reached around his own neck and
removed the broken-globe pendant he wore, cast in gold and set with
jewels. He offered it to her. "Keep the shell the Envoy gave you,"
he told her. "Let it remind you of what you saw with the Numetodo.
But wear this instead, close to your heart."
"I can't," she whispered.
"I insist."
She closed her hand around the stone
shell, then placed the chain in the pocket of her robe. She took
the pendant with Cénzi's symbol from Dhosti and placed it around
her neck. The globe gleamed on green cloth in the valley between
her breasts.
Dhosti smiled. "Now, that looks far
better on you than on me," he said. He sighed. "Now, let's talk
about your luncheon with the Kraljiki. There's something you should
tell him—it will be a gift from you to him. We don't have much
time. . . ."

Orlandi
ca'Cellibrecca
"THOSE WHO WOULD bring down the
Concénzia Faith are utterly without bounds and without
remorse, and they would bring down Nessantico herself," Orlandi
thundered from the High Lectern of the Old Temple: Estraven's
temple. The téni who had served U'Téni Estraven were there, solemn
in their green robes in the front rows, and the ca'-and-cu' who had
come to the service were arrayed in their finery behind them.
Francesca sat with the family to Orlandi's left, all of them in
white mourning, Francesca's face covered with a heavy veil so that
her features were hidden. The Archigos was there as well, seated
with his whore in the balcony to the right. Orlandi glared up at
the dwarf, his thick, graying eyebrows lowered.
Orlandi gestured again at the casket
before the altar where Estraven ca'Cellibrecca lay, the coffin
closed because of the deteriorated condition of the body. "Look
there," Orlandi railed. His voice was in fine form this morning,
blessed by Cénzi in this significant moment, roaring low like deep
thunder throughout the temple. "The enemies of the state and of the
Faith have struck down another of our finest, the husband of my own
daughter, someone who may have one day worn the robes of the
Archigos."
There hadn't been a chance of that,
Orlandi knew. Estraven had been a competent follower, but that was
all. Still, Orlandi saw ca'Millac's lips purse at the comment, and
that was pleasure enough. Orlandi gathered himself, drawing in a
long breath. Help me with this, Cénzi. Help me to make
them understand Your will. "It should be obvious to anyone with
true faith that we have tolerated those who mock Cénzi long enough.
It should be obvious to anyone with true faith that the only
course we have is to destroy them before they destroy us. The
Divolonté says it: 'When threatened, protect yourself and do not
fear to use the sword, for Cénzi alone will judge those who are
sent to Him.' Well, we know who struck down Estraven. We know, yet
they go unpunished. I say that it is time for such tolerance to
end. I say that it is time that we follow the Divolonté that is
derived from Cénzi's law. I say it is time for the Faith to show
its full strength and its full fury. I say we find those who scorn
us and we strike!"
With the last word, he lifted his hand
high and brought it down again hard, striking the lectern with his
fist. The sound of the blow echoed through the Old Temple, and he
heard the susurration of assent roll through the audience. It took
all his will to resist looking up at the Archigos with a smile of
triumph. Now he leaned forward on the lectern and lowered his
voice; he saw the congregation lean forward to hear him.
"Listen," he said to them in a
near-whisper. "Listen." He paused, holding a hand to his ear. "If
we listen to our hearts and our prayers, we will hear Estraven
ca'Cellibrecca and Kraljica Marguerite, both of them calling to us
from the arms of Cénzi and Vucta. Listen: they call out with the
voices of all those who have been murdered over the years. They cry
for justice. And we must . . ." He paused, looking from the
congregation to the casket, to Francesca and the family, and back
again to the people crowding the Old Temple. He let his voice roar
once more. "We must listen to their pleas and give Estraven
and Kraljica Marguerite what they ask for. If we do nothing, if we
refuse to hear them, then it will be Cénzi's wrath that we will
face next. I will not let that happen. This must be
the task for all of us: do not let that happen."
There was no applause, not here in the
sacred space below the painted vault, but he knew they yearned to
shout and clap their hands. He could feel it. Orlandi
pressed his lips together, looking at them and nodding once,
slowly. Then he left the lectern, and the u'téni leading the
service called out the recitatives as the choir began to sing from
the loft.
Orlandi took his seat next to
Francesca. He took her hand into his lap.
"You should have seen the Archigos,
Vatarh," Francesca whispered to him, leaning on his shoulder. "I
thought the man was going to collapse right there, his face was so
red."
"If only that were truly Cénzi's
Will," Orlandi told her. The choir's lament masked their voices. He
patted her hand. "It will have to be enough that Cénzi has called
Estraven back to Him. That will suffice."
"Was he called, Vatarh, or was he
sent?" He glanced at Francesca, at the strange sound of her voice,
but the funeral veil obscured her features. For a moment, he
wondered, then her fingers pressed against his. He leaned back,
closing his eyes and singing along with the choir.
After the service, as Estraven's body
was placed on a white-draped carriage to be taken to the
crematorium for its final dissolution, the Archigos approached
them, bypassing the long line of ca'-and-cu' prepared to pay their
respects to the new widow. Low, fast clouds drizzled rain as they
emerged from the Old Temple and hoods and scarves had come up, but
the Archigos' head was bare, his bald scalp gleaming with the
moisture. It had also turned colder, as if the spring had decided
to retreat back to winter, and his breath was a cloud around him.
His staff remained behind in the shelter of the temple alcove, and
the whore was not among them. That made Orlandi scowl under the
blue-and-gold canopy held up by four of his e'téni—today was
Gostidi, and cu'Seranta would no doubt be hurrying to meet the
Kraljiki. He would need to go to the palace himself, as soon as he
could politely escape.
"Vajica ca'Cellibrecca," the Archigos
said to Francesca, also protected under Orlandi's canopy. She bowed
her head and gave him the sign of Cénzi, as etiquette required. "My
prayers go out to you, and for your husband. O'Téni cu'Seranta
asked me to extend her sympathy as well—unfortunately, she had to
rush away for her luncheon with the Kraljiki. We will miss U'Téni
Estraven here in Nessantico." Then the Archigos cocked his head to
look up at Orlandi. "His loss is a great tragedy for the Faith," he
said. "But we shouldn't let that lead us into rash actions,
especially in times like these."
"You believe defending our Faith is
rash, Archigos?" Orlandi said it loudly enough that heads turned
toward them. The e'téni holding the cloth over them struggled to
pretend that they weren't listening.
The Archigos smiled placidly. "By no
means, Orlandi," he answered. "Such a tragedy and a coincidence,
though, Estraven being assassinated only a few days after the
Kraljica. I hope you're feeling no guilt for having dispatched him
to Brezno." The dwarf's smile widened slightly, as if he were
amused at his choice of words. Then his face fell back into serious
lines. "And a horrible loss for you, Vajica, in these troubled and
uncertain times. I do remain certain, though, that Cénzi will cause
the truth to emerge, and—as your vatarh said so eloquently—those
responsible will be brought to justice."
With that, the dwarf gave them the
sign of Cénzi and waddled away back toward his staff, seemingly
uncaring of the rain that beat down on him. Orlandi glared after
him.
"Cénzi will send that horrid little
man to the soul shredders," Orlandi said, not caring that the
e'téni would hear. "He is a disgrace to the title, and Cénzi will
call him to task for the damage he has done to the
Faith."
"That may be, but he's not foolish,
Vatarh. Don't make the mistake of underestimating him." Francesca
shivered. "It's cold, Vatarh, and I'm feeling truly ill."
"I'm sorry, my dear," he told
Francesca, then gestured to the e'téni on Estraven's hearse. "My
daughter's grief is about to overcome her," he said to the
well-wishers. "If you will forgive us . . ."
There were murmured assents and calls
of condolences. No one objected to the curtailment of niceties, not
in this weather. "You spoke the truth in your Admonition, A'Téni,"
one of the ca' called out from the crowd, gesturing with his fist
to the sky. "It's time that we punish the Numetodo for what they've
done. We should see their bodies hanging from the bridges of the
A'Sele." There were shouts of agreement and more fists, and
ca'Cellibrecca saw the Archigos staring back at them from the
cluster of his staff.
"They will pay," he answered
them loudly. "Cénzi has promised me that, and I won't fail
Him."
They shouted, clamoring. At the
entrance to the Old Temple, the Archigos grimaced and began walking
away quickly with his staff gathered around him, hiding the little
man from view.
As Orlandi bowed and gave the sign of
Cénzi to the crowd, the e'téni began chanting and the wheels of the
funeral carriage began to turn. The congregation dispersed with
more calls of support and sympathy, leaving the family to their
slow, ritual walk behind the carriage.
The rain pattered angrily on the cloth
above them, and Orlandi glanced up. "The Moitidi's tears," Orlandi
said. I know, Cénzi, he prayed. I know You are angry that
we coddle those who deny You, and I promise You that I will
do Your will. Thank You for showing me the way. Thank you for
permitting the sacrifice of this one man to save many. I won't
fail You.
"Vatarh?"
"Estraven's death was not in vain," he
told Francesca. "Cénzi will make certain of it." He took her hand.
"I know this," he said to her. "I know it."

Ana
cu'Seranta
THE RAIN POUNDED at the walls and
drummed on the ceiling, but inside the room in the Grande
Palais, the roar of the great fireplace held the cold at bay while
servants bustled in to burden the table with offerings. "Here,
O'Téni," the new Kraljiki said. "This is spiced icefruit from
Graubundi; you really must try it." Ana still wasn't used to the
voice, a boy's voice housed in a man's body. She smiled at him from
across the small table draped with fine linen and placed near the
fire, overpowered by the vastness of the room beyond. Their voices
echoed despite the heavy curtains pulled back from the tall,
leadedglass windows, the padded chairs, and the
hypnotically-patterned rugs.
He seemed to notice her glances around
the room, already far different from what she remembered of the
palais in her visits with the Kraljica. He took a large gulp of the
wine before him and gestured to the room with the glass. "Matarh's
taste was rather staid, old-fashioned and, well, boring, I must
admit. I find that I prefer more visual stimulation. The Holdings,
after all, are drawn from many nations and many cultures, and we
should enjoy them all, don't you think?"
"I would agree, Kraljiki, that we can
find much of interest in other ways if we bother to look, even with
beliefs we might consider antithetical to our own views."
He set down the glass. "Ah,
well-spoken. So you might even find something worthwhile in the
beliefs, say, of the Numetodo?"
"I do. In fact, I know."
He glanced down to where the Archigos'
gift lay on her robes, then back to her face. "Isn't that a
heretical belief for a téni to hold? A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca, for
instance, would never say such a thing."
"A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca, like your
matarh, is rather more staid, oldfashioned, and boring than me,
Kraljiki," Ana answered, hoping she had judged the man correctly.
The Kraljiki peered at her for a moment with his dark eyes, and she
wondered whether she had miscalculated, but then he leaned his head
back and unleashed a shrill laugh. She saw the servant bringing in
a tureen of stew raise his eyebrows at the sudden sound.
"Indeed," the Kraljiki said. "And
please, while we are here alone, could we simply be Justi and Ana?
The formality is so . . ." He smiled at her. ". . .
staid."
"His matarh was regal and aware of
her position, always, and because of that some people
thought Marguerite was somewhat cold and distant," the Archigos
had told her. "Those who believed that of her were mistaken.
The Kraljiki is her opposite. He can be disarmingly charming
and open, but those who believe those qualities define him
are also mistaken. Justi uses those attributes only when he
wants something. It's the charm of a snake, and just as
dangerous." Ana remembered the warning. She smiled back at
him. "If it pleases you to do so, then yes, Justi."
"Thank you, Ana," he replied. "You
see, isn't that better already?" He nodded to her. In the light of
the candelabra set in the middle of the table, his eyes glittered
like smoky glass. "So . . . you truly believe the Numetodo aren't
the evil creatures the Divolonté says they must be?"
"Neither the Toustour or the Divolonté
say anything directly about the Numetodo at all," she replied
carefully. "They're too new in the world. So any interpretation
from Toustour or Divolonté is exactly that: interpretation, not
fact."
"Again, that's not what A'Téni ca'
Cellibrecca would say. In fact, Ana, he would say that I should not
be listening at all to someone who is known to consort with the
Numetodo."
Ana felt her face color—she knew that
he would know, but it didn't make his statement of the fact any
less a shock. "I know Envoy ci'Vliomani personally, yes," she
answered. "And it's because I do know him that I also know
he was not responsible for the death of your matarh,
Kraljiki."
"Justi," he corrected her. "And is
that what you know, or is it your interpretation?"
She forced herself to smile at the
word. "Only Cénzi knows," she told him. "But, yes, I'm
confident in what I say."
"You would wager your life against
that, Ana?" He said it with the same odd smile, leaning forward.
Ana took a slow breath.
"The Kraljiki always holds my life in
his hands," she said. "And I trust his judgment to do what is best
for Nessantico and Concénzia, just as I trust my belief in the
innocence of Envoy ci'Vliomani."
He chuckled, leaning back slightly and
taking another sip of wine. "That was well-spoken also. I'm
beginning to suspect that my matarh may have been entirely right
about you, Ana." He reached across the table to where her hand lay
on the linen. She forced herself not to move as his hands closed
over hers. His grip was strong. "We might make a fine team, the two
of us. Don't you think so?"
She forced another smile to her face,
hoping that none of them seemed false. Her stomach tightened; she
felt a knot of tension forming deep within her. "You flatter me,
Justi," she said.
Fingers pressed on hers. "No," he said
seriously. "I don't. False flattery isn't something I indulge in.
Ever." His fingers pressed on hers. "For instance, I won't insult
either one of us by telling you how beautiful you are. Matarh used
marriage the way another Kralji might have used the Garde Civile—as
a weapon. The protégée of the Archigos, a person who has been
well-blessed by Cénzi, a person of intelligence . . . that could
become a good weapon for me, as I could be for you in return, with
people like A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca. That's what I'm saying, Ana. I
understand how one would be willing to do whatever must be done to
attain a goal. I sympathize with that."
She saw the door to the room open
behind the Kraljiki as he spoke and Renard entered to stand
discreetly a few strides from the table, just within Justi's
peripheral vision. Justi held Ana's gaze for a moment, then glanced
over at Renard with obvious annoyance. "Yes?" His hand didn't leave
Ana's; Renard very pointedly did not look away from Justi's
face.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Kraljiki, but
A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca is here and he is . . . very insistent
that he must speak with you immediately."
Justi was looking at Ana when he
replied. The mention of ca'Cellibrecca reminded her of what the
Archigos had told her, and she wanted to blurt it out. Justi kept
his gaze on her face as he spoke to Renard. "No doubt he is." He
waved his free hand toward the man, still not looking at him. "Tell
the a'téni that I again extend my condolences to him on the loss of
U'Téni Estraven, and I'm sure that it is the grief of his loss and
not blatant rudeness that would cause him to think that I have
forgotten that I'm scheduled to meet with him shortly. I will be
with him when I have finished my luncheon. No sooner. Is that
clear, Renard?"
"As crystalline as the Sun Throne, my
Kraljiki," Renard answered. Ana thought there might have been the
barest glimpse of a smile on the aide's face. "It will be my
pleasure to convey your message to the a'téni." Renard bowed to the
Kraljiki, then gave Ana the sign of Cénzi. He left quickly,
snapping his fingers at the gardai to open the doors as he
approached. As the door clicked shut behind Renard, Justi's fingers
tightened again on her hand.
"When Renard mentioned ca'Cellibrecca,
you nearly started to speak."
"You're very perceptive, Justi. I have
news to give you, Kraljiki. From the Archigos."
Justi nodded. "When I meet with him
after our luncheon, A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca will be counseling me to
do here in Nessantico as he did in Brezno," he said. "He wants the
Numetodo in the Bastida tortured until they confess their crimes,
then he would see them mutilated, executed publicly and displayed
as a warning. He will be most insistent in this, and he will give
me persuasive arguments from both the Toustour and Divolonté, both
of which he knows I hold in the greatest regard. He will appeal to
my faith and to my duty as Kraljiki."
Ana started to interrupt, but Justi
lifted a finger and she swallowed her words. "My faith is genuine,
Ana," he continued. "I have very little sympathy for the Numetodo.
My sense of duty to Nessantico is also strong; I believe my matarh
did the Holdings a disservice with her neglect of the Garde Civile
and the chevarittai—we are not as strong as we should be, and we
have given too much strength to Firenzcia as a result. Now . . .
ca'Cellibrecca, as I said, will appeal to my role as Protector of
the Holdings and my own security. The fact that O'Téni cu'Seranta
doesn't believe in the Numetodo's guilt will hold little weight for
him. Your belief would hold no weight at all if Orlandi were to
discover that you knew Envoy ci'Vliomani, or that you'd actually
been with him when he was arrested. I also know that Orlandi offers
me another marriageweapon I could use: his own daughter, the new
widow ca'Cellibrecca. Like any good swordsman, I prefer to practice
with my weapon and know it very well before I use it in
battle."
His gaze would not release her. The
smile was gone now, and his hand felt as if it weighed as much as
the Sun Throne itself. "I'm a much stronger and more independent
person than A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca believes me to be. He thinks I am
still the A'Kralj, bound to Matarh's will. He's wrong; I'm more
like Matarh herself, even if she didn't see it. I would have no
difficulty telling A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca that I will release the
Numetodo entirely, or perhaps choose a single one of them, the
least of them, to act as a symbol for all and let all the rest go,
including Envoy ci'Vliomani. That's what you want, isn't it,
Ana?—you don't have to answer. I see it in your face. I can do
that, Ana. I will do that: if it would seem to be in
my best interests."
He withdrew his hand, suddenly, and
she felt chill air on her skin. "So—what is the news from the
Archigos?"
Ana couldn't answer immediately. She
took a breath, pretended to sip her wine while she absorbed what
Justi was saying. "The Archigos . . . He received a letter,
Kraljiki, from your cousin the Hïrzgin. She believes that Hïrzg Jan
intends to bring his army into Nessantico. She believes that he and
A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca are conspiring to take the Sun Throne from
you."
Justi's eyes did widen at that. "I can
believe that the Hïrzg would be foolish enough—Jan ca'Vörl's a
half-barbarian and not known for the subtlety of his strategy. I'd
enjoy seeing him rot in the Bastida. But it's more difficult to
think that ca'Cellibrecca is willing to be part of such an alliance
when the cost of failure is so high. The Archigos genuinely
believes this to be true?"
Ana shrugged. "He knows that the
Hïrzgin believes it to be true."
"Then I will have to make my own
investigation. And quickly. The Hïrzg and ca'Cellibrecca both
overstep themselves if they think I'm so easily cowed." He nodded,
as if to himself. He said nothing for a few moments, scowling.
Then, abruptly, he smiled again. "In any event, that news means
that A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca won't have a decision from me this
afternoon. In fact, I will make him wait quite a bit longer while I
set some things in motion. I'm sorry that the a'téni has seen fit
to interrupt our luncheon, Ana. I would make it up to you: if you
would come by tonight for a late supper, in my private chambers? If
you would do that, then I'll make ca'Cellibrecca wait some days for
his answer on the Numetodo."
She knew what he asked; she knew what
he threatened. "He will try to trap you, Ana," the
Archigos had said. "You have to remember this: there are
no decisions without consequences, and the more critical the
decision, the harsher those consequences will be. In the
circles in which the Kraljiki operates, there are also no
rewards that come without payment. In that, it is like our
use of the Ilmodo: the spells give us power, but we must
always pay for them." She could feel the bars enclosing
her. For a moment, the memory of Vatarh's face looming over her
rose in her mind, and she shivered. The hand that the Kraljiki had
held was fisted on the damask. The smell of the food before her
made her ill.
He was waiting for her answer, a
single eyebrow lifted, his prominent chin thrust forward. "I have
services with the Archigos at Third Call, Kraljiki . . ."
He would not let her finish. He
pounced, like a cat on a mouse skulking along a wall. "Then I will
expect you immediately afterward." It was not a question. "I will
have a carriage waiting at the Archigos' Temple for you."
She nodded. The fist in her stomach
clenched tighter.
"Good." He gestured to the servants
against the wall. "I have to leave you, Ana—your news demands
attention. Please, take your time and finish your lunch, Ana.
Leisurely, and with the knowledge that A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca will
be fuming more with every bite, thinking about the two of us
together—that will add a lovely spice to the dishes, don't you
think?"

Mahri
THE RAIN HAD SENT the residents of
Nessantico scurrying from doorway to doorway while scowling at
the sky, and left the streets devoid of all traffic but the
occasional hire-carriage with a miserable driver hunched over in
his oilcloth greatcoat. However, the weather bothered Mahri very
little. The cold drizzle soaked the dark rags that swaddled his
scarred body, but the moisture felt soothing on his ravaged flesh.
He walked unhurriedly along the banks of the River A'Sele near the
Bastida, and paused as he approached the Avi a'Parete and the
Pontica a'Brezi Veste. He could see the tower where Karl
ci'Vliomani was held rising glumly above the walls girdling the
prison, walls that had once been part of the ancient city wall that
Nessantico had long outgrown. Mahri had chosen this spot carefully,
where he could see the tower easily and yet there would be few
passersby to interfere or notice him; the rain would only
help.
He slumped down on the wet grassy
slope of the riverbank. He could smell the water—the foul scent of
filth, human sewage, and rotting fish. He grimaced and tried to put
the odor out of his mind. He pulled an oiled paper scroll from a
pocket of his robe and placed it on his lap. He stared at the tower
and began to chant, his hands and fingers dancing an intricate
gavotte before him.
He closed his eyes.
He felt himself drifting as he if were
no longer attached to his body, though he could sense the mental
cord that tied him to the body, stretching as he floated away and
growing more taut and resistant with distance. The sensation was
disconcerting, and for a moment nausea threatened to send him
tumbling back into his body, but he forced his awareness to
continue flowing outward. He could see the tower coming closer; he
rose above the crumbling top of the wall and up, up to the open
balcony where he'd seen the Numetodo and into the darkness beyond.
The connection to his body was nearly at its extreme distance; he
had to fight mentally to stay, to not go tumbling backward toward
his abandoned body. He could see a form seated at the crude table
in the center of the cell, his head enclosed in a strange
contraption, his hands chained tightly together: the envoy. He was
staring directly at Mahri, his eyes wide as if he were staring at a
ghost—which, Mahri knew, was somewhat the case. Mahri had seen
others do this spell before; he'd seen the translucent outline of
the person that resulted: incorporeal, untouchable, spectral. And
fragile. Mahri knew he had little time.
Ci'Vliomani grunted something that the
mouthpiece forced between his lips rendered unintelligible; Mahri
lifted a finger to lips in warning. He forced himself to slide
forward to the door against the growing resistance of his body,
feeling the chill of the metal as he passed through it entirely.
Beyond, a garda snored, leaning against the wall with his eyes
closed. Mahri spoke a word and gestured; the man slumped to the
floor, the snoring intensifying. Mahri let his body pull him
backward into the cell, forcing his awareness to stop within the
cell once again, though he could feel himself desperately yearning
to return.
"I don't have time, Envoy
ci'Vliomani," he said. He could hear his voice as if he were
speaking through a long tube, whispering and hollow. "They intend
to kill you as an example to all Numetodo. I offer you escape, but
you must trust me, and we must act now. Are you
willing?"
For a moment, ci'Vliomani did nothing
and Mahri prepared to let himself drop back into his own body once
more. Then the man gave the barest of nods, and Mahri struggled
keep his awareness in the cell. He no longer dared to move; if he
did, the connection would break and he would go tumbling back.
Yes. This is the way I saw it in the vision-bowl . .
. "You can read?" he asked the man, who nodded again. "Good.
Then we must hurry. Come here. Step into the space where I'm
standing . . ."
Too slowly for Mahri's comfort,
ci'Vliomani stood and shuffled over toward him. He hesitated as he
stood in front of Mahri, and Mahri thought that the man would
change his mind. Then he took the final step, and Mahri's awareness
doubled.
. . . What is this? What are you
doing to me?
. . . Trust me . . .
Mahri spoke the final word of the
spell, and the world shifted. His viewpoint swung around; he was no
longer looking through his own eyes, but ci'Vliomani's. He heard a
wail and a cry, and a shimmering ghost fled from the room, a streak
of fog blown by the winds of an unseen tornado.
The specter's scream faded into the night. . . .

Karl
ci'Vliomani
HE WAS SITTING on a grassy bank of
the A'Sele with the rain pelting down on him. For a moment,
that was enough, because there was no strength in him. He was
utterly exhausted, as drained as if he had used the Scáth Cumhacht
too much and must pay the steep price. Slowly, as if from a deep
dream-fog, he allowed himself to come back to life.
Everything was wrong.
Everything.
He could not see well. His vision was
strangely flat; only his right eye seemed to be working. A strange
odor hung around him, of spices and scents he could not identify.
He brought up his hands, and the hands that emerged from black,
tattered sleeves were not his hands at all. His breath was tight in
his chest and when he turned his head, the flesh tugged hard at the
left side of his face, resisting the movement. His probing tongue
found empty gums and only a few teeth, and the taste in his mouth
was sour and unpleasant. Glancing down, he saw a body encased in
dark rags and tatters.
It was Mahri's body, he suddenly
realized. Karl gasped, turning his head to look to the Bastida's
tower, a hundred or more strides away. He saw a tiny figure there,
standing on the high balcony of his cell: himself, his hands
chained and bound, his head encased in the silencing mask. The
figure stared down through the rain toward him, and as Karl
watched, the snared hands lifted as if in salute and the captive
turned to go back into the cell.
Karl tried to stand. He could not; the
body would not obey. Muscles screamed and cramped; he felt as if he
were trying to lift the weight of Nessantico itself. "What did you
do to me!" he shouted, and the voice wasn't his: it was
phlegm-racked and deeper than his own, the words slurred through
the gap-toothed mouth. The sound of it echoing from the nearest
buildings made him shut his mouth. The movement had sent a roll of
oiled paper tumbling to the grass from his clothing. He reached to
pick it up. "Can you read?" Mahri had asked. Karl unrolled
the paper with clumsy fingers that were too stubby and too
stiff-jointed, feeling panic running cold through him. The words
set the blood pounding in his head.
Envoy ci'Vliomani—You are no doubt confused and afraid, and thatis to be expected. I asked you to trust me, and I ask you to continueto do so. Trust me. If all goes to plan, you will not remain in thisbody for too long. If the plan fails, then your own body will be destroyed and me with it, but at least you will survive. We are all morethan simply the bodies which we inhabit—remember that if the worsthappens. Go to my rooms at 12 Rue a'Jeunesse; I will find you therein time, hopefully, and we can each return to the bodies we know best.Take care of my poor mortal cage as well as you can; I will try todo the same with yours.
Karl read the note twice. The rain
splattered and beaded on the paper, blurring the ink despite the
oil. He lifted his head to the clouds; the rain felt good on his
face, as if it cooled a heat there. He glanced again at the
Bastida; he saw only the stones and the dark hole of the opening to
his cell. He wondered if Mahri were there, watching him.
He wondered if he were somehow
dreaming all of this.
Karl tried to get to his/Mahri's feet
again. This time, he managed it, but he swayed and nearly slid back
down. He was the wrong height, and everything felt wrong. He took a
tentative step, shuffling along slick, damp grass and bracing
himself against the slope that led down to the swirling brown
currents of the A'Sele. He nearly fell once more, but forced
himself to take another step, then another, moving back toward the
streets of Nessantico. Anyone who saw would have guessed that he
was drunk. He glanced back again at the Bastida, shaking a head
that felt too heavy.
As he walked, he saw people staring at
him in disgust before looking away again. He continued on, staying
to the shadows as Mahri himself once had, and making his way back
to Oldtown and the address that was written on the
scroll.

Ana
cu'Seranta
THE CARRIAGE was there for her as
she came out of the Archigos' Temple, as the Kraljiki had promised.
A new insignia had been placed on the side of the vehicle, no
longer the trumpet flower of the Kraljica, but a fist clad in
studded mail. The carriage was drawn by a pair of white stallions.
Their reflections shimmered in the puddles left by the afternoon's
rain.
The Archigos came up alongside Ana as
she stared at the carriage, as the driver jumped down from his seat
to open the door. Kenne and the rest of the staff judiciously kept
the congregation spilling out from the church away from the two of
them. "I hope you know what you're doing, Ana," he said quietly.
"Justi is not someone you can trifle with."
"I understand that," she told him. "It
was you who set me on this course, remember? I promised the
Kraljiki I would meet him for dinner."
His eyes searched hers. "We should not
have lies between us."
Ana grimaced, her lips tightening. She
nodded. No, you won't abuse me as my vatarh did; you will
only sell me to another. "No, we should not," she told him.
"Which is why I won't say more."
She thought he would protest, but the
dwarf sighed and touched her hand. "Then be careful, Ana. And be
safe." He gave her the sign of Cénzi, gathered his staff around
him, and walked into the crowds, already talking to the waiting
ca'-and-cu'. Ana went to the carriage and nodded to the driver, who
helped her in and shut the door behind her. She sat on the leather
cushions as the driver called to the horses and they moved
away.
They did not go to the main entrance
of the Grande Palais off the Avi a'Parete, but to one of the side
entrances facing the gardens en closed by the wings of the palais.
Renard was waiting for her at the door as the driver helped her
down. "The Kraljiki is in his outer chambers, O'Téni cu'Seranta,"
he said. Anything the man might be thinking was carefully veiled.
He smiled neutrally; his gaze never staying long on her. He led her
along carpeted back corridors vacant of servants to an unremarkable
door. He knocked, turned the handle and opened it, gesturing to
her. "If you please, O'Téni," he said. She approached, glancing
inside. "You have only to knock on this door," Renard said as she
glanced into the room beyond. His words were a whisper, private.
"At any time. I will be here to escort you safely out, with no
questions."
She glanced at him. His chin was
lifted slightly, and there was open concern in his old eyes. "Thank
you, Renard."
He nodded to her. "He waits for
you."
She went in; Renard shut the door
behind her.
The room in which she found herself
was richly decorated. Heavy curtains shielded the windows and
brought early night to the room, which was illuminated by several
dozen candelabra set on the tables and above the mantel, and by a
fire that flickered invitingly in the hearth. A table was set for
two in the center of the room, with several covered plates and wine
already in the goblets. She could not see anyone in the room,
though an open doorway led away into other chambers. A log fell in
the hearth with a fountaining of sparks, drawing Ana's gaze. She
drew in her breath. Over the mantel, swathed in candlelight, was
ci'Recroix's portrait of Kraljica Marguerite, eerily lifelike. She
seemed to gaze back at Ana almost sadly, her mouth open as if she
were about to speak.
"Startling, isn't it? I think it's the
eyes that fascinate me most; you can almost see the firelight
glinting in them."
With the sound of the high-pitched
voice, Ana spun around to see the Kraljiki standing by the table.
He was dressed casually, in a bashta of yellow silk. She tried to
smile and failed. "That painting . . . Kraljiki, it was ensorcelled
and was responsible for your matarh's death. I'm certain of it. You
can ask the Archigos if you don't believe me. This . . . this was
the instrument of your matarh's death."
The Kraljiki's shrug closed her mouth.
"Perhaps," he answered in his high voice. "Or perhaps not. It
changes nothing, though. The painting's exquisite, regardless.
Ci'Recroix was a true genius, even if he was also an
assassin."
"You'd keep the painting, knowing what
I just told you?"
"Would I cast away the Kralji's
ceremonial sword because it has killed before? It's not the sword
that kills, but the person, Ana." She shivered at his use of her
name. "I took the liberty of having our food served already.
Sit—the lamb roast, the chef has assured me, is delightful and so
moist it will dissolve in your mouth. And if the painting bothers
you, then sit here, where the fire will warm your back . . ." She
heard the scrape of a chair on the floor, and turned away from the
painting with a final, lingering glance. She allowed the Kraljiki
to seat her. His hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment before
he took his own seat across from her.
She thought then, for a time, that
perhaps he had simply invited her to eat with him. As they
ate, he spoke of Nessantico, of how he hoped to continue the growth
of the Holdings, of how he intended to visit each of the nations
within the Holdings as part of a Grand Tour to celebrate his
coronation, to travel even to the Hellins across the Strettosei. He
spoke of his devotion to Cénzi, how he believed that the Concénzia
Faith was the bedrock of the Holdings, but how the Holdings must be
prepared to allow within their borders those who had yet to learn
the truth of the Faith.
"The Archigos understand this, of
course," Justi said, breaking off a bit of bread, dipping it into
the sauce on his plate and tucking it into his mouth. "He served
Matarh well, and I expect him to do the same for me until such time
as Cénzi calls for him. And after that . . . well, he certainly
speaks highly of you, and your skills. Only six women have ever
been Archigos. Perhaps it's time for the seventh?"
Ana thought of her shaken faith, of
her lost gift, of her uncertainty, and shook her head as she sipped
at the wine. "You flatter me, Kraljiki, but I'm not ready for that
burden. I don't know that I'll ever be."
"You would rather have A'Téni
ca'Cellibrecca ascend to the title?"
"No, I wouldn't," she answered
quickly, then realized how blunt that sounded as Justi
laughed.
"Your openness is charming," he said.
"Most people are afraid to speak their thoughts in front of me. But
not you . . ." He set his goblet down. "So tell me, Ana," he said.
"This Numetodo, Karl ci'Vliomani; does he satisfy you as a
lover?"
The shock of his question, so frank
and direct, startled her. Her goblet crashed against porcelain and
silver as she set it hurriedly down. "The envoy and I are not
lovers, Kraljiki," she said, swallowing and forcing herself to
return his challenging, amused stare. "If this is the quality of
the information Commandant ca'Rudka is giving you, then I can
understand why the Numetodo have been unjustly detained."
"Oh, the commandant is very careful to
only give me verifiable facts." Justi's finger circled the
gold-chased rim of his goblet, the thin metal ringing. "I know you
were with him when he was arrested; I know you visited him at the
Bastida. I was making the natural inference."
"It would be better for the Holdings
if the Kraljiki made his decisions not from inferences but from
certain knowledge."
She thought for a moment that she'd
gone too far. His face darkened and lines furrowed the tall brow
under his thinning hair. Then he smiled again. "You are undoubtedly
correct, Ana," he said. "So give me that knowledge. You've gone to
see ci'Vliomani alone, more than once. If you are not lovers in
fact, then what is your interest in him, an interest so strong that
you would come to me to intercede for him?" He paused, but before
she could form a reply, he raised a hand. "No matter; I see it in
your face. There is 'certain knowledge' in faces, if you
know where to look, Ana, and I've had much practice with that over
the years—and a harsh taskmaster in Matarh to school me. You might
not be lovers, but there is an attraction there."
The words were harder to say than she
thought they would be. "There is," she admitted. "But attraction
doesn't mean there will be anything more."
" 'Love rarely respects the order of
life, but love is not a prerequisite for marriage,' " Justi said.
"That's a saying of Matarh's. She would drag that out whenever she
ordered one of her nieces or nephews to marry for the sake of
Nessantico. She used it with me when she arranged my own first
marriage." He rose from his seat, the chair scraping against the
parquet floor. Ana watched him come around the table to stand
behind her chair. His hands stroked her neck, lifting her hair, and
he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "The person I marry would
have to understand that I would not be a faithful husband," she
heard him say. "My appetite is . . . large, and while I would
certainly continue to do my duty by my wife, I also know she would
not be enough for me. But I'm not an unreasonable man. I would not
expect faithfulness of her, either, were she to find solace in
another's arms. Not as long as there was sufficient discretion so
that no embarrassment came to me." His fingers trailed down, under
the loose collar of her téni's robe to the nape and down to the
slope of her breasts. She sucked in her breath at his touch. "Do
you understand me, Ana?"
Ana stared blindly across the table to
his empty seat. She realized her hands were clenched, that she was
holding her breath, that she wanted to flee. He is not your
vatarh. You don't have to do this. This is your choice this
time, not his.
She nodded silently.
"Good," Justi said. His hands slid
back up, cupping her face. His hands surprised her with their
softness, and they held the odor of lavender oil. I used to love
that scent. . . .
His hands left her and turned her
chair abruptly. He lifted her up, his eyes on hers now. There was
fire in his eyes, but no affection. His kiss was ungentle and
quick, but she opened her mouth to his tongue as his hands went
around her, pulling her to him. She could feel the hair of his
mustache and beard, prickling her skin. She moved her face from his
with a gasp, making her own arms go around him so that she rested
her head on his shoulder. She could see the painting of Kraljica
Marguerite over the fireplace; she seemed to gaze almost
approvingly to her. The Kraljiki's hands slid down her back to her
buttocks, pressing her against him so that she felt his
arousal.
Is this what you want? There was no answer within
her.
"I trust I won't be just a duty with
you, Ana," Justi spoke in her ear. He released her, taking her
hand. She followed him, her eyes on the picture rather than him.
The Kraljica's gaze seemed to follow her as she left the outer room
and went into the bedroom beyond.
Ana wondered what Renard was thinking as he led her down from
the Kraljiki's apartments the next morning well after First Call.
He said nothing, walking in front of her a few strides and never
glancing back. He guided her through the back corridors and out
through a door to the more public corridors of the
palace.
Justi had left their bed much earlier,
with a perfunctory kiss to the forehead. "The duty of the Holdings
calls," he said. "Renard will be here in a turn of the glass for
you. If you would like to break your fast here, tell him and he
will arrange it. I may call for you later, perhaps." He seemed
distracted, cool and distant.
She pulled the covers to herself and
watched him leave and close the door behind him. Through the carved
wooden panels, she heard servants entering the dressing chamber to
assist him.
The normal bustle of the day had
already begun, with the courtiers gathering near the door of the
reception hall and the ca'-and-cu' who had business at the palace
that day arriving in their carriages at the front entrance. "I took
the liberty of having your servants send a carriage for you,"
Renard told Ana, stopping near the doors of the hall. "It's waiting
for you now."
"Thank you, Renard," she told him. "I
can find my way from here."
He bowed with clasped hands to
forehead and left her. Ana took a breath, pulled the cowl of her
robes over her head, and started toward the main entrance and the
crowds there.
"O'Téni cu'Seranta!" She heard her
name called, a feminine voice, and she saw Francesca ca'Cellibrecca
just leaving the hall. She detached herself from a knot of
courtiers with a word and came toward her. The woman seemed to be
assessing her, her head slightly tilted.
"Vajiki ca'Cellibrecca," Ana said,
clasping hands to forehead. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am
for the loss of your husband."
Francesca waved away the comment. Her
lips pressed together before she spoke, as if she were suppressing
a thought. "It's surprising to see you here at the palais so
early," she said. "Weren't you with the Archigos at the temple for
the First Call?"
"Normally I would have been, Vajica,"
Ana said. "But the Archigos sent me here to deliver a
message."
"Ah . . ." Francesca smiled. "The
message must have been an important one to necessitate making his
favorite o'téni an errand girl." She stopped. Sniffed the air.
"Lavender," she said. "It's an exquisite scent, don't you think?"
Her eyebrows arched with the question.
Ana felt herself color and hoped that
the cowl shadowed her face sufficiently. "Indeed," she said. "I'm
sorry, Vajica, I really must be getting back. I have a driver
waiting."
She started to hurry past the woman,
but ca'Cellibrecca reached out her hand and caught Ana's arm.
Fingers dug into her biceps as Francesca drew her close. "You fuck
him, don't you, O'Téni?" she whispered, and the raw obscenity
snapped her head around to glare at the woman. "Yes, you do,"
Francesca purred, her voice sounding strangely satisfied. "Well, so
do I. Interesting. Well, I knew I wouldn't be the only one to share
his bed. I wonder which one of us he prefers, O'Téni?"
Ana pulled her arm away. Courtiers,
chevarittai, and supplicants stared at them from down the hall, the
ca'-and-cu' whispering and pointing. "I have nothing to say to you,
Vajica," Ana said. "You don't know what you're talking
about."
Francesca laughed, as if the two of
them were sharing a joke. "Oh, we both know that I do, though I
must admit that I'm a bit startled. It certainly can't be
beauty he sees in you, only the possibility of gaining
power—that's all he really wants from us, after all—the advantage
we can give him. The fact that we'll spread our legs for him as if
we were grandes horizontales is just an additional
benefit."
Ana gasped as if the woman had slapped
her across the face. "Vajica, I won't listen to this crudity." She
started to walk away but Francesca's voice stopped her, nearly loud
enough to be heard by the others watching them.
"You reek of him, O'Téni. I would
suggest a long bath and strong perfume. It's what I do afterward.
And if you haven't already taken precautions, I can recommend a
good midwife who has potions you can take to avoid . . .
consequences."
Ana half-turned to her. "We've nothing
more say to each other, Vajica. I am done with this
conversation."
"Then listen to this as a parting
word," Francesca told her. "I won't be replaced by you, O'Téni. I
won't."
"No one ever wishes to replace a pile
of dung, Vajica. They only wish to get rid of it as quickly as
possible." Francesca's eyes widened as Ana gave her the sign of
Cénzi once more and strode away.
"I'm to meet the Kraljiki and my
vatarh after lunch, O'Téni cu'Seranta," Francesca called after
her—loudly now, so that all those in the hall heard her clearly.
"I'll be certain to mention to him that you and I had a perfectly
charming conversation."
Ana ignored her, continuing to walk
toward the open doors of the palace. She could feel the stares of
the courtiers and their whispered speculations at her back as she
made her way to her carriage.