Allesandra ca’Vörl
“THE WHITE STONE . . .”
“It must have been
the Kraljiki who hired him . . .”
“The Numetodo hired
him . . .”
“The Tennshah hired
him . . .”
“I heard that the
A’Hïrzg has been targeted herself, and her son . . .”
Allesandra heard the
rumors. They were inescapable, choking Firenzcia like the fog that
rose every evening from the woods around Stag Fall Palais, where
Starkkapitän Armen ca’Damont and Commandant Helmad cu’Göttering of
the Garde Hïrzg had ordered the family be taken after the
assassination. “The Commandant and I can protect you best there,
A’Hïrzg,” ca’Damont had said. She’d nodded stone-faced to
him.
Pretense . . . She
had to keep up the proper face. She had to make the ca’-and-cu’
believe that she grieved. She had to make them believe what she
would ask of them.
Soon. Even if there
was little hope now.
Security was visible
everywhere around the palais, with gardai seemingly at every
corner. Allesandra stood on the high balcony of the palais now,
staring down to the tops of the fir trees below her on the steep
flanks of the mountains, and to the gray-white strands of mist that
wound between them, lifting as the sun set. She rubbed a
pale-colored, flat pebble between her fingers.
She heard the door to
the balcony open, followed by the murmuring of male voices. She
turned to see Semini approaching her like a green-clad and
sober-faced bear. He said nothing, padding softly toward her and
stopping an arm’s length away—there were gardai to either side of
them, a careful several strides away. He put his arms on the
railing of the balcony and stared off into the mist coiling like
sinewed arms around the trees, as if ghosts were tending a garden,
reaching down to pull the weeds from between the wanted plants.
Occasionally, a wisp would reach the level of the balcony, and
cold, damp air would slide around Allesandra’s ankles as if trying
to pull her down into the gathering dark.
“So . . .” The word
sounded like a low wind through the pine needles. “Will the White
Stone be coming for me, now?” She saw his gaze flick down to the
stone she held in her fingers.
“I didn’t hire him,
Semini,” Allesandra said. Him . . . She
wondered about that now. Elissa had seemingly vanished the same day
Fynn had died, devastating Jan with another emotional hammer blow
atop the death of his Onczio Fynn. Two days later, a frantic
message came from Jablunkov saying that Elissa, daughter of Elissa
and Josef (née ca’Evelii) ca’Karina had died six years ago and
could the A’Hïrzg possibly have made some mistake.
Allesandra wondered.
It was possible that ‘Elissa’ had fled only because she knew that
Allesandra had sent a letter to the ca’Karina family. It was
possible that she’d run only because she knew her deception would
be exposed. It was possible there was no connection between her
disappearance and Fynn’s death. Still, being close to Jan meant
that Elissa had also had access to Fynn, and in Allesandra’s
experience it was dangerous to believe in coincidence. It was safer
to see instead the knife-edge of conspiracy under coincidence’s
veil.
The White Stone’s
voice . . . Could it have been a woman’s, pitched low?
Semini was nodding as
he glanced at the pebble in her hand. “Is that . . .
?”
She lifted the stone
so he could see it. “Yes,” she said. “This was what the White Stone
left behind. It . . . reminds me of Fynn, and it reminds me that I
will find who hired the White Stone and punish them.”
Another nod. Semini
was staring down again into the trees. “The Council of Ca’ will be
unanimous in naming you Hïrzgin. Congratulations.” His voice was
flat. “But you could have had that weeks ago, if you hadn’t sent
Jan to save Fynn.”
“I’m glad someone
remembers that. But . . . I have no intention of being Hïrzgin,
Semini.”
That brought his face
around to her again. A hand rubbed the silver-flecked beard as his
dark eyes searched hers. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
“I
thought—”
“You think entirely
too much, Semini,” she told him, then softened her rebuke with a
smile. The garda behind was looking the other way, and her body
shielded the one behind her. She reached out to stroke his arm,
once. “I intend to renounce my title of A’Hïrzg. After all, too
many people will be thinking just as you’re thinking right now.
There would always be whispers that I had Fynn killed so that I
might take the throne in Brezno. If I step down, that gossip will
die with my abdication. I will leave it to the Council of Ca’ to
name a new Hïrzg for Firenzcia.”
One thick eyebrow
curved high on Semini’s forehead. “Have you spoken to
Pauli?”
The mention of his
name threw a cold barrier between them, or perhaps it was the fog.
She withdrew her hand. “It’s not my husband’s decision to make,”
Allesandra told him sharply, then smiled again. “But it
will be interesting to watch his face
when I stand up in front of the Council and say this—and I expect
it to be entirely a surprise to him, Semini. I also expect that
he’ll be rushing back to West Magyaria in a rage the next day,
complaining to Gyula Karvella how the wife that he and Hïrzg Jan
handpicked for him has ruined him.”
“You’d truly leave
the decision to the Council?”
“Oh, I’ve already
spoken to some of them. Enough of them for my purposes, anyway.
I’ve suggested that—after due deliberation—the Council might come
to believe that my brother’s recent actions have shown them whom
he currently favored as successor:
someone who had amply demonstrated his loyalty and skill. Why, Jan
would grow into a fine Hïrzg, don’t you think?—one who would rule
strongly and well for many years to come.”
Semini chuckled,
softly at first, then more enthusiastically. “So that’s your intention.”
The stone felt like
ice in her hand. “Not entirely. I’m thinking of the future, Semini.
Perhaps when the Holdings and the Coalition are united again and a
competent ruler sits on the Sun Throne, and there is a righteous
Archigos in the Temple of Cénzi who has also reunited the severed
halves of the Faith, then Jan would be that Kralji’s perfect strong
right arm.”
His face was split
with a wide smile now. “Allesandra, you surprise me.”
“I shouldn’t,” she
told him. “You and I, Semini, are on the same side in this.” She
rubbed the stone between her fingers and tucked it into a pocket of
her tashta. She would have it mounted in gold on a fine chain. She
would wear it under her tashta when she spoke to the Council, wear
it alongside the broken globe of Cénzi that Archigos Ana had given
her. It would be a reminder of guilt, a reminder that she had acted
in haste and done worse to her brother than her vatarh and he had
ever done to her. I’m sorry, Fynn. I’m sorry
that we never really knew each other. I’m sorry . .
.
She placed her hand
on the railing, close to Semini’s hand, as she looked down again
into the mists. A few breaths later, she felt the warmth of
Semini’s hand carefully covering hers.
They stood that way
until darkness came and the first stars pricked the dark blue of
the sky.