Allesandra ca’Vörl
“I WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGIZE for my wife, A’Hïrzg. She .
. . well, the subject of the Witch Archigos always upsets her. They
have a . . . history together, after all. Still, she should not
have been so outspoken at dinner last night, especially toward you
as the host.”
Allesandra nodded to
Archigos Semini. They were seated on a viewing platform high on a
slope behind the Hïrzg’s private estate—the palais at Stag Fall,
well outside Brezno. They faced east, the platform overlooking a
wide, long meadow of tall grass dotted with wildflowers. There,
below them, they could see a cluster of figures and horses: Fynn,
Jan, and several others. On either side of the meadow, in the tall
fir forest, drums echoed from the flanks of the steep, verdant
hills that formed the landscape: the sound of the beaters, herding
their prey toward the meadow and the waiting Hïrzg.
Behind Allesandra on
the balcony, servants bustled about with drinks and food as they
set a long table for dinner. Otherwise, Allesandra and the Archigos
were alone; all the other favored ca’-and-cu’ who would be dining
with them that evening were with the Hïrzg’s party in the meadow.
Allesandra had little desire to be in such close proximity with her
brother for that long. She wasn’t certain why Semini had remained
behind at the palais—Francesca was in the meadow with the
others.
“Please believe me
when I say that I took no offense, Archigos,” Allesandra told the
man. “Even though I have far more sympathy for Archigos Ana, I
understand how your wife might feel that way.”
She glanced at Semini
and saw him smile. “Thank you,” he told her. “That’s kind of you.”
He glanced carefully at the servants, then pitched his voice low
enough that they couldn’t overhear. “Between the two of us,
A’Hïrzg, I wish that I could have convinced your vatarh to name you
as his heir. That boy—” he pointed with his chin down to the
gathering in the meadow, “—would be a perfectly adequate
Starkkapitän for the Garde Civile, but he hasn’t the vision or
intelligence to be a good Hïrzg.”
“I do believe I hear
the Archigos speaking treason.” Allesandra kept her gaze carefully
away from him, her attention on Jan astride his horse next to Fynn.
She wondered whether she could believe what ca’Cellibrecca was
saying, and she wondered why he would voice it aloud to her. He had
a reason for doing so, she was certain: Semini was not a man for
accidental statements. But what was the reason? What did he want,
and how would it benefit him?
“Did I perhaps speak
what is also in your heart, A’Hïrzg,
even if you don’t dare say it aloud?” Semini answered in the same
hoarse, low whisper. He turned toward her. “My heart is here, in
this country, A’Hïrzg Allesandra. I want what is best for
Firenzcia. Nothing more. I have given my life in service to Cénzi,
and in service to Firenzcia. I shared your vatarh’s vision of a
Holdings where Brezno, not Nessantico, was the center of all
things. He nearly achieved that vision. He would have accomplished that, I’m convinced, if it
hadn’t been for the heretical sorcery of the Witch
Archigos.”
There was hatred in
his voice, genuine and heated. And also a strange
satisfaction.
Vatarh would have succeeded if Ana hadn’t taken me
hostage, if she hadn’t snatched me away from Vatarh and used me to
end the war. As long as Allesandra remained in Nessantico,
as long as her vatarh refused to pay the demanded ransom, his
defeat was still incomplete. There was still hope that the results
might change, and it had taken him a decade and more to lose that
hope.
That’s what she’d
told herself. That’s what Ana had told her. Ana had never spoken an
unkind word against Hïrzg Jan; she had always cast him in as
sympathetic a light as she could, even when Allesandra fumed and
raged against his slowness to ransom her.
Allesandra caught her
breath, her hand going to her throat, to the cracked globe of Cénzi
around her neck.
Ca’Cellibrecca
evidently misinterpreted the thought behind the gesture. “Ah, I see
we share our opinion of Ana ca’Seranta. That creature kept the
Holdings from falling apart entirely under that one-legged fool
Justi—and now, at last, she’s gone, praise Cénzi.” His voice
softened even further as he leaned close to Allesandra. “Now would
be the time for a new Hïrzg to achieve what your vatarh could not .
. . or it would be if we had a Hïrzg—or Hïrzgin—worthy of the task.
Someone who was not Fynn. There are
those in Nessantico who believe that, A’Hïrzg. People you might not
suspect of harboring such thoughts.”
The clamor of the
beaters was coming closer in the valley beneath them. The riders
were stirring restlessly, and Allesandra saw Fynn signal to Jan to
nock his bow. “What are you saying to me, Archigos?” she asked,
watching the tableau beneath them.
“I am saying that you
are currently the A’Hïrzg, but we both know that’s a temporary
situation. But if Fynn were . . .” He hesitated. The drums crashed
loudly below, and now they could hear a thrashing under the shade
of the trees to the right. “. . . somehow no longer the Hïrzg, then
you would become Hïrzgin.” Another pause. “As you should have
been.”
The drums and
shouting grew louder, and suddenly a stag emerged from the tree
line several dozen strides from the Hïrzg’s party. The beast was
magnificent, with antlers the span of a person’s arms and shoulders
easily a tall man’s height or more. The pelt was a stunning reddish
brown with a flash of white under the throat. The stag cantered out
from the brush, then caught the scent of the hunting party.
Allesandra felt herself holding her breath, looking at the gorgeous
creature; alongside her, she heard Semini mutter: “By Cénzi, look
at that gorgeous beast!”
The stag stopped,
glaring at the riders momentarily before taking an enormous leap
and bounding away from them toward the far end of the meadow. At
the same moment, they saw an arrow speed away from Fynn’s bow, the
twang of the bowstring following
belatedly to their ears. The stag went down with its rear legs in a
tangle, the arrow embedded in its hindquarters. Then it pushed
itself up once more and began running.
Jan had kicked his
horse into motion with Fynn’s shot, and now he raced after the
wounded stag, controlling to his horse with his legs alone as he
drew back the string of his bow. At full speed, he loosed his own
arrow with the stag only a few bare strides from reaching the cover
of the forest once more.
The stag shuddered,
the arrow plunging deep in the left side of its chest. It ran a few
more steps, nearly to the woods. It seemed to be gathering
itself—it leaped, but its front legs snagged on the log it was
trying to vault, and it went down.
The stag lay on its
side, its legs thrashing at the brush and tearing clods of grassy
earth from the ground with its antlers. Fynn galloped up to where
Jan had pulled up his horse. Allesandra saw him slap Jan once on
the shoulder, then Fynn put another arrow to his bow.
With Fynn’s shot, the
stag went still. A distant cheer echoed from the hunting
party.
“Your son’s physique
may be slight, but he’s an excellent horseman and a better archer.
That was impressive—to shoot like that while in full
pursuit.”
Allesandra smiled.
For a moment, he almost looked like his
great-vatarh, riding that way. . . . Below, Fynn and Jan had
dismounted to go to the downed stag. “Moving archery is a skill
taught to the Magyarian cavalry—and Jan’s had excellent
teachers.”
“He’s had excellent
instruction in politics, as well. He waited for the Hïrzg to give
the killing blow. I assume you’ve been his teacher in
that.”
“He knows what he
should do, even if he sometimes ignores my advice,” Allesandra
said. “Generally because I’m the one who gave it,” she
added.
“Children of his age
feel they must rebel against their parents. It’s natural, and I
wouldn’t be too concerned with it, A’Hïrzg. He’ll learn. And one
day, if he were the A’Hïrzg rather than just another ca’ somewhere
in the line of succession to be Gyula of West Magyaria . . .” He
let his voice trail off.
Allesandra turned to
him finally. He towered over her like a green-clad bear. His dark
eyes were on hers. Yes, he has eyes in which
you could lose yourself. “You continue to give me these
little intimations and hints, Archigos,” she said quietly. “Do you
have more than that to offer, or are you trying to goad me into
revealing myself? That won’t happen.”
Ca’Cellibrecca nodded
slowly and leaned down to her. His mouth was close enough to her
ear that she felt his warm breath. It made her shiver. “I have an
offer, A’Hïrzg. If this is something that interests you, I do
indeed,” he whispered. Then he stood and applauded toward the
meadow. “The cooks will have some fine venison steaks,” he said
loudly, “and there will be new antlers to adorn the palais. We
should go down and meet the brave hunters, A’Hïrzg. What do you
say?”
He offered her his
arm.
She rose, and took
it.