Allesandra ca’Vörl
THE CEREMONY AT BREZNO Temple was excruciatingly
long, as was Fynn’s speech of welcome to the A’Gyula of West
Magyaria: Pauli, her husband. Allesandra’s face ached from
maintaining a smile throughout Fynn’s droning greetings—written,
undoubtedly, by one of the palais scribes, since Fynn sometimes
peered quizzically at the parchment in front of him as he stumbled
over unfamiliar words. Her spine ached from the uncomfortable,
straight-backed pews of the Temple. Jan, sitting between Allesandra
and his vatarh, fidgeted endlessly, enough that Pauli finally
leaned over to the young man and whispered something in his ear.
Afterward, Jan stopped his restless shifting in the seat, but the
scowl on his face was noticeable even as Allesandra and Pauli
proceeded from the temple behind Fynn, Archigos Semini, and his
harridan wife, with the ca’-and-cu’ of Firenzcia following them
like an obedient flock of sheep.
Then came the fête at
the Grand Palais of Brezno. Now it was her feet that ached, and
Allesandra imagined that the whalebone stays of her
fashionably-cinched tashta were going to leave permanent furrows in
her waist. The ballroom was a furnace on the stifling and humid
evening, more like mid-Summer than the Spring the calendar insisted
it was. The Archigos had stationed e’téni around the room to keep
the ceiling fans a-swirl with the energy of the Ilmodo. The
movement of the fan blades seemed to intensify rather than diminish
the heat, churning the air into a fetid cologne of sweat, pomades,
and perfumes. The night was raucous with the music of the orchestra
at the far end of the room, the sound of feet dancing on the wooden
floor laid down over the tiles, and a hundred separate
conversations, all reflected back at them by the dome
overhead.
Allesandra wished
fervently to be elsewhere, but if the discomforts bothered Pauli,
he hadn’t allowed it to show. He had separated from Allesandra as
soon as propriety allowed, as he always did, and was standing in a
cluster of young women around Fynn. Jan was there also, at his
vatarh’s side, and Allesandra noted that he was receiving nearly as
much attention as the Hïrzg, and certainly more than Pauli. Fynn
was regaling everyone with the tale of the stag hunt, his arm
cocked back as if he were sighting down a bow as he laughed,
slapping Jan on the back. “. . . the boy is nearly as good a shot
as me,” she heard Fynn say, and Jan’s face was alight with a broad
grin as the young women applauded and made the appropriate
compliments.
Of course, it would
be Pauli who would almost certainly find comfort and release
between the thighs of one of them tonight. Allesandra was certain
of that; her husband no longer bothered to hide his transgressions
from her. She told herself that she didn’t care.
“A’Hïrzg, are you
enjoying yourself?” She turned to see Archigos Semini
ca’Cellibrecca standing behind her with two iced drinks in his
hand—Fynn had, at great expense, brought wagonloads of glacial ice
from the mountains around Lake Firenz. He proffered one to
Allesandra. “Please, take it,” he said. “Francesca seems to have
vanished and the ice will be gone soon in this heat.”
Allesandra took the
water-beaded glass gratefully. She sipped at the cold drink,
relishing the chill as the honey-sweetened juice slipped down her
throat. “Thank you, Archigos. I think you may have just saved my
life.”
He smiled broadly at
that, his beard glistening with oil. “Would you care to walk with
me, A’Hïrzg? I suspect there’s a bit of a breeze over near the
windows.”
She glanced at the
gaggle around Fynn, at her husband and son there with him.
“Certainly,” she told him. The Archigos offered his arm, and she
put her hand in the crook of his elbow as they walked. He said
nothing until they were well away from the Hïrzg, then leaned close
to her. “Your husband enjoys the attention he receives as A’Gyula.
But he’s a fool to leave you unattended.” His free hand covered
hers on his arm.
“I could say the same
of your wife, Archigos.”
He chuckled. His hand
patted hers. “The ideal spouse is both an ally and a friend,” he
answered. “But that’s an ideal rarely achieved, isn’t it? That’s a
shame. I’ve wondered, at times, what might have happened had the
false Archigos not snatched you away. Perhaps, A’Hïrzg, you and I
might have ended up . . . allies. Or more.”
Allesandra nodded to
a passing covey of ca’-and-cu’ wives. She saw their speculative
gazes rest on her hand laced with the Archigos’ arm. “The daughter
of Archigos ca’Cellibrecca was a better choice for you, Archigos.
Look at where you are now.”
She felt more than
heard his snort of derision. “A cold, calculating choice on the
part of my younger self, and it gave me a marriage with exactly
those same qualities. But there are other alliances that can be
forged outside of marriage, A’Hïrzg, if one is careful. And
interested.” His hand was still on hers, his fingers
pressing.
“I’ve always been
extremely careful about my alliances, Archigos. That’s something I
learned early on.”
He nodded. They were
near the dance floor now, the music masking their voices. “I
understand you will be giving a fealty oath to Hïrzg Fynn at the
Besteigung tomorrow?”
“Ah,” she said. “You
have sources close to the Hïrzg.”
Under the
salt-and-pepper beard, the man smiled. “Knowing what the powerful
know is a survival tactic, A’Hïrzg, as I’m sure you realize.” For
several moments they walked along in silence around the edge of the
floor. Couples swayed near them to a gavotte. “I also hear from
Nessantico that the young Kraljiki is not well,” he said.
Allesandra said nothing. “The rumors that have come to me say that
the Council of Ca’ in Nessantico might consider the twins Sigourney
ca’Ludovici or Donatien ca’Sibelli as successors should Audric die.
They’re second cousins to Audric, I believe.” A breath. A smile.
“As are you.”
Allesandra stared
blandly back at the man. Dancers moved past them. “As is Fynn,” she
answered finally.
“Yes, but you are the
eldest. And you have the advantage of having lived there; you
know Nessantico as your brother does
not. And perhaps there are those in Nessantico who might recognize
strength when they see it and desire a strong presence on the Sun
Throne. Someone stronger than either Sigourney or Donatien.” He
leaned close to her and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “For
that matter, there are those here who
would prefer you to wear the crown that is currently on Fynn’s
head.”
“You speak treason
again, Archigos?” she asked, just as quietly.
“I speak truth,
A’Hïrzg.”
“And those here that
you speak of. Would you be among those, Archigos?”
His fingers tightened
on hers. “I would. Perhaps . . . perhaps it is possible for both
the Coalition and the Faith to even become one again—under the
right leaders.”
The right Archigos being yourself, of course . . .
Allesandra watched the dancers on the floor, moving through their
intricate and preordained steps. What does he
really know? What does he really want? She didn’t know how
to answer him. She didn’t know if he knew about the message she’d
been sent from Nessantico, or if he’d perhaps received something
similar. She didn’t know whether Semini was a potential ally or her
enemy—and the Archigos could be a terrible enemy, as the skeletons
of Numetodo heretics hanging in the gibbets near the Brezno Temple
could attest.
The ice was gone to
water in her drink. She gave the glass to a passing servant and
smiled at the Archigos. “My vatarh believed that there would be one
Holdings again—when he sat on the Sun Throne as Kraljiki,” she told
him. “That’s what I believe also, Archigos: that a Hïrzgai could
also be the Kralji. And I . . .” She lifted the hand that had held
the glass. She could see cool, glistening drops of water clinging
to her fingers. “When last I checked, I was not Hïrzgin.”
“No, you are not,”
Semini answered. “But—”
She cut him off even
as he opened his mouth again. “No, I am not,” she said. “That seems
to be Cénzi’s Will. You wouldn’t intend to thwart Him, would you,
Archigos?” She gave him no chance to respond. She removed her hand
from his arm and gave him the sign of Cénzi. “Thank you for the
drink and for the conversation, Archigos,” she said. “You’ve given
me much to think about. If . . . if
something would happen to, well, change things, I know that you and
I might make excellent allies. Certainly you are a far more
competent Archigos than the one the Nessantican Faith has named.
Kenne never impressed me.”
She saw the pleasure
in his face as she said that, and he nodded slightly. “I’m
flattered, A’Hïrzg.”
“No,” she told him,
“it’s I who should be flattered. Now . . . you should find
Francesca, and I must go be my husband’s wife and the A’Hirzg, and
pretend not to notice when the A’Gyula slips away for the
night.”