Allesandra ca’Vörl
SHE FOUND SERGEI’S TALE fascinating, though she knew
the man well enough to know that there were details he was holding
back. She wasn’t bothered by that; she would have done the same in
his place. She had done the same,
during the long years she had been held in Nessantico. She had
liked Archigos Ana, who had treated her fairly and respectfully,
and she had been fascinated by Sergei, first by his reputation and
his silver nose, then—as she’d come to know him—by his intelligence
and his intriguing, dark personality.
“Ca’Rudka is an interesting and skilled man, and I would
not be where I am now if it weren’t for him,” Archigos Ana
had told her once, a few years into her exile, as Allesandra was
blooming into a young woman. “But you can’t
entirely trust him. Oh, he’s true to his word, but he gives that
word carefully and grudgingly, and will keep to the letter of it
and perhaps not the spirit. His true allegiance is to Nessantico,
not to any person within it. I don’t think he loves any person,
don’t think he ever has. His true love is the city and the Holdings
itself. And some of his tastes, what he enjoys doing . . .”
Ana had grimaced at that. “I hope those are
only vile tales, and not true.”
She remembered that
conversation as she regarded Sergei, now dressed in current
Firenzcian fashion and colors. He had come at her invitation to eat
lunch in her rooms in Brezno Palais, and if he had been offended by
the careful search of his body before he’d been allowed entry, or
if he noticed the two armed gardai who watched him closely from
their stations in the room, he said nothing. He smiled at her as he
might have at any ca’ in Nessantico, and he uttered pleasantries
about the presentation and taste of the meal as the servants passed
in and out, and he leaned back in his chair with a cup of tea as if
he were relaxed and at ease. He related how he’d been imprisoned in
the Bastida, and how he’d escaped. She watched his face, watched
his hands—none of them revealed any emotion at all; he might have
been telling a tale that had happened to some distant relative once
upon a time.
“So the Numetodo
Ambassador helped you?” Allesandra also remembered Karl
ca’Vliomani, who was so obviously smitten with Archigos Ana,
although she seemed to treat him as no more than a good friend.
Allesandra had not cared much for him, or for the Numetodo, who
scorned and mocked her own strong beliefs, who believed in no gods
at all. They believed that the world had always existed, that it
was impossibly old and that natural processes could explain
everything within it—the sheer illogic and arrogance of their
philosophy annoyed Allesandra. “That won’t please Archigos Semini .
. . or Archigos Kenne either, I would guess.”
“It was an act of
friendship and nothing else.”
“Archigos Ana once
told me that every act reflects on the faith of the person who
commits it,” Allesandra told him. “Are you a Numetodo now,
Sergei?”
He shook his head.
“No. I believe in Cénzi as strongly as I ever did.”
She wondered if that
statement was simply an artful deflection, but let it go. “Can
Kraljiki Audric truly rule the Holdings? Can Archigos Kenne hold
the a’téni together as Ana did?”
“Time alone will give
you that answer, A’Hïrzg,” he responded.
“Then indulge me with
speculation.”
Sergei lifted a
shoulder. “Archigos Kenne is . . . weak. Not just physically, but
also when it comes to confrontation. He is a good, moral, and
faithful man, but he’s a follower and not a leader. To his credit,
that defect is one that he knows and acknowledges. The Concordance
of A’Téni elected him Archigos because of it; they didn’t want
another strong leader like Ana. As for Kraljiki Audric . . . well,
he’s but a boy, and in ill health. I’m sure you have your own
people giving you reports, but I suspect they haven’t told you the
full story.”
He leaned forward,
setting down the teacup and plate silently on the table. She could
see her distorted reflection in his nose. “Audric has gone mad,” he
said softly. He tapped an index finger to his forehead. “How fully,
I don’t know. I saw it myself before he sent me to the Bastida, and
afterward my friends in court and with the Faith sent me word. He
holds conversations with the painting of his great-matarh
Marguerite; he puts the painting at his right hand in court as if
she were his councillor.”
“Truly?” Allesandra
gestured, and one of the servants hurried forward to refill the
teacups. She watched the golden liquid steam in her cup. “And no
one says anything?”
“Kralji have
sometimes acted strangely, and sometimes punished those who point
out their strangeness. That’s happened often enough in Nessantico’s
long history; we could both recite the names, I’m sure. And if it
doesn’t seem to directly affect the Holdings—” he lifted a
shoulder, “—then it’s best to keep such observations to yourself .
. . and to be careful. I’m sure that’s what Sigourney ca’Ludovici
is doing: she wants the throne, and she watches for the opportunity
to seize it. Most of the Council of Ca’ would back her; the Sun
Throne is hers if Audric dies or must be . . . removed. Either one
of those is a very likely scenario in the next few months, I
suspect.”
Allesandra nodded.
She lifted the teacup and blew over the fragrant surface, sipping
carefully. Neither of them said anything for several breaths. “Why
did you come here, Regent?” she asked finally. “I know what you
told my son and the Archigos. But I think there’s
more.”
He glanced over his
shoulder at the gardai and said nothing. “They’re my people,” she
told him. “My own handpicked gardai who have been with me since I
returned to Firenzcia. I trust them implicitly. I’m sure you had
men under your command whose integrity you trusted in such a
manner.”
“It’s been my
experience that nearly everyone has a flaw that can be exploited.
I’ve learned that the fewer ears hear something, the more chances
there are that statements won’t be repeated.”
She waited, sipping
her tea; he rubbed at his nose, smearing her
reflection.
“As you wish,” he
said at last. “Nessantico and the Holdings have been my life,
A’Hïrzg. That’s not a loyalty I can or will give up. My sincerest
wish is to see the Holdings restored to what it was when Kraljica
Marguerite was on the throne. I would like to see you in Nessantico, as Kraljica Allesandra. You
could be the Kraljica that Nessantico requires now.”
Even though she’d
been expecting the words, she still found herself drawing a quick
inward breath. You see, Vatarh? You see? This
is the legacy you wanted, and this is the promise you gave up when
you abandoned me for Fynn. The emotional depth of the
internal response surprised her; she could feel the warmth of it
spreading upward from her chest to her face. She struggled not to
show any of it to ca’Rudka. “Wishes are cheap,” she told him. “We
can wish for all we want. What we can accomplish is quite another
thing.”
“Yet if two people’s
wishes coincide, and they coincide with those of other people, and
if those people are powerful enough . . .” He smiled, folding his
fingers together on the lace tablecloth as if he were praying.
“Would that be your wish as well, A’Hïrzg? Can you see a ca’Vörl on
the Sun Throne? I know your vatarh had that vision.”
He knows. “Let’s put that aside for the moment,
Regent. There are other issues if this is something we would
pursue—and I’m not saying that it is. What of the Faith? Who would
be the Archigos in this restored Holdings you envision: Semini, or
Kenne?”
“Despite what I said
about his faults, I like Archigos Kenne. He is my friend, his faith
is true, and as I said, he’s a good man.”
“He may be all of
that, but he is not a friend of Firenzcia and, like Ana, would
coddle the heretics. And Semini is my
friend.”
Sergei made a
contemplative sound deep in his throat. “There are rumors, A’Hïrzg,
that he may be more.”
She flushed hotly at
that. The gardai behind the Regent moved his hand from his side to
the hilt of his sword, but she shook her head to him. “You speak
too freely about rumors and lies, Regent. You can’t treat me like a
girl or a royal hostage anymore. You’re on my land, and it’s your
life at stake, not mine. If this is the way you spoke to Audric,
then it’s no wonder he no longer wanted you to be
Regent.”
He bowed his head,
but there was no apology in his hawkish eyes. “My apologies,
A’Hïrzg. My stay in the Bastida has, I’m afraid, scrubbed away both
my diplomacy and my patience. But those rumors and lies do concern
me, if we are to work together.”
“The Archigos already
has a wife. That’s all that needs to be said, and all the answer
you’ll receive. As to Archigos Kenne . . .” Allesandra remembered
Kenne ca’Fionta also: a gentle man, a quiet man, one who was always
an effective second-in-command but never questioned anything asked
of him or spoke up for himself. She could not imagine him as
Archigos. Ana could be gentle and affectionate also, but there was
hard bone and steel underneath her velvet, and you did not want to
be her enemy. Allesandra wasn’t certain what lay underneath
ca’Fionta’s exterior, but she suspected that Sergei’s assessment
was correct.
But Semini—Semini
could be as adamantine and strong as Ana. “If you want Firenzcia’s
help,” she continued, “if you want the help of our war-téni, then
it will be Archigos Semini, not Archigos Kenne, who reunites the
Faith. Kenne needn’t be killed; if he could be convinced to
renounce his title for the good of the Faith, perhaps even to
become the a’téni of one of the cities. I suspect a friend could
convince another friend of the sanity of that course. I hope so,
for Kenne’s sake.”
Allesandra settled
back in her chair. Sergei, for the first time, had a look of
uncertainty in his face, and she was surprised by the strength of
the enjoyment that gave her. She wondered if that was how a
Kraljica or a Hïrzgin often felt, if that was one of the gifts of
power. A gift, or perhaps a trap for those who fell into the thrall
of that feeling. “I know what I bring to you, Regent,” she said to
him. “I bring you my name and my genealogy. I bring you the
unmatched army of Firenzcia through my son. I bring you the
fearsome war-téni of the true Concénzia Faith through Archigos
Semini. I bring you Miscoli, Sesemora, and the Magyarias, who
answer to Firenzcia. I bring all that to the table. What is it that
you bring us, Regent?”
He didn’t answer
quickly. His right forefinger stroked the lip of the teacup before
him, and he seemed to be staring down at the pattern of the leaves
in the bottom. “I bring you knowledge,” he said. “I know the Garde
Kralji and the Garde Civile and the strengths and weaknesses of
their commanders. I know Nessantico; I know all her paths and all
her secrets. There are those in the Garde Civile and the Garde
Kralji who will answer if I call them. There are those among the
ca’-and-cu’ who will do the same. There are chevarittai who will
come to me if I summon them. It may be, A’Hirzg, that I can deliver
the Sun Throne to you with as few lives lost as
possible.”
“Why, if you could do
all that, why isn’t it that you’re the Kraljiki yourself rather
than a refugee?” she asked him, but gave him no time to respond.
“And if you can do all this, what is it that you want in
return?”
“Nothing,” he said,
and Allesandra felt surprise lift her eyebrows. “Give me whatever
reward you see fit. I do this for Nessantico only, to whom I have
always pledged my life. I once protected Nessantico from
Firenzcia’s aggression; now, I will give her to Firenzcia freely.
Kraljica Marguerite believed in marriage as a way to reconcile
opposing forces, and I believe the same, because the marriage of
Nessantico to Firenzcia is what she needs now to
survive.”
Pretty words, she wanted to say scoffingly. She
wasn’t certain she believed the man at all. But Cénzi had brought
the Regent to her, all unexpected, a gift she couldn’t refuse.
“You are an intelligent, talented, and
attractive young woman,” Archigos Ana had told her when news
had reached Nessantico that her vatarh had named the infant Fynn as
the A’Hirzg and refused to pay the ransom that Kraljiki Justi had
demanded for her release. It had been less than a year into her
cushioned and bejeweled imprisonment, and Allesandra had wept in
bewilderment and fright. Ana—the enemy—had held her and comforted
her, had stroked her hair and calmed her again. “I know Cénzi has a plan for you. I can feel it,
Allesandra. There is a great part for you to play yet in life. . .
.”
She would play that
part. She would have what her vatarh had once promised her: the
brilliant necklace of Nessantico. That was the reason that Sergei
ca’Rudka had appeared now.
“We shall see, Regent
ca’Rudka,” was all she told him now. “In the end, it will be as
Cénzi wills. . . .”