Audric ca’Dakwi
THE PAPER RUSTLED in his hand as he held it at an
angle so that Great-Matarh Marguerite could read it also. He could
hear her intake of breath, harsh and annoyed. “We’ve confirmed that
the seal on this is genuinely from Francesca ca’Cellibrecca,”
Sigourney was saying as he read the missive. “And we’ve had
independent confirmation that former Regent ca’Rudka . . . pardon
me, Rudka . . . is indeed in Brezno and that he’s met with the
Hïrzg, the A’Hïrzg, and the Archigos. As to the affair she talks
about between the Archigos and A’Hïrzg Allesandra . . . well, that
we can only speculate about.”
The paper trembled in
Audric’s hand. His great-matarh was staring at him, her eyes
furious. “You believe this?” He was asking his great-matarh, but it
was Sigourney who answered.
“We have no reason
not to believe it.”
“Well, I have a reason—Maister ci’Blaylock pounded that
history into me too well. Francesca ca’Cellibrecca’s vatarh
betrayed my vatarh and all the Holdings at Passe a’Fiume.” His
finger tapped the parchment. “Now she wants to ally with us? She wants a reward?”
“If she’s right,
Kraljiki, then we should be grateful for her warning. She
can help us, as close as she is to the
Brezno inner circles.”
“You genuinely think
there’s going to be war?” Audric said, and hated the way he
sounded: like a worried child. “You’re not a
child. Not anymore. Now you must be Kraljiki,” Marguerite
told him, and he nodded to her. He made his voice as deep and stern
as he could. “The new Hïrzg is foolish if he thinks he can do that.
We will crush him. We will send him bleeding and broken back to
Firenzcia.”
“Those are brave
words, Kraljiki Audric,” Sigourney said, nodding, though her face
looked rather unconvinced to Audric. “I’m certain that you’re
right. But we can also hope it won’t come to that.” She inclined
her head toward the painting on its stand next to him. “With Vajica
ca’Cellibrecca’s help, perhaps we can force diplomacy on Firenzcia.
Your great-matarh understood that; she didn’t use force unless it
was necessary.”
“Don’t tell
me what she would do,” Audric snapped
at Sigourney. He coughed with the ferocity of the words, and had to
press his kerchief to his lips until the spasm passed. When it was
over, he continued, with less volume, his throat sore from the
attack. “I know her best. It’s
me who understands my great-matarh.
It’s me she talks to. Not
you.”
Sigourney raised her
hands, her eyes wide from his outburst. “I didn’t mean to suggest
otherwise, Kraljiki. It’s just . . .” She lowered her voice,
leaning toward him as if afraid someone might overhear, though
there were only the three of them in the room. “We need to be
careful here. It’s possible this may be nothing, or it may be the
suspicions of a wife who feels she has lost the trust of her
husband, especially if the rumors regarding Archigos ca’Cellibrecca
and Allesandra are true. We have to consider Vajica
ca’Cellibrecca’s motives.”
“Sergei Rudka is in
Brezno,” Audric spat. “I want him here.
I want him in the Bastida again, and this time I’ll make sure he
experiences all the pleasures of the deepest cells.”
“Yes, yes,” Sigourney
was saying but he was barely listening to her, prattling on at him
as if she were trying to soothe a child on the verge of a tantrum.
She was still talking, but Audric heard none of it. Sigourney was
beginning to remind him of Sergei, acting as if she were the one on
the Sun Throne and not him. Maybe he might have to throw her in the
Bastida, too. Now that he was acknowledged as the Kraljiki, maybe
he’d throw all of the Council of Ca’ there. Let them meet and plot
in the stones of the main tower and see how they liked that. Sergei
had proved that he was a traitor and he would pay for that; Audric vowed that he would
witness the man’s torment himself, maybe even help the torturer. He
would watch the man writhing in torment on the table, and later
enjoy the crows plucking the flesh from Sergei’s bones as his body
swayed in its cage on the Pontica Kralji. “Yes, you will have all that,” Marguerite told him.
Her mouth twisted into a momentary smile. “You
are the Kraljiki now, and they can deny you nothing. You will plant
the banner of the Holdings on the Hïrzg’s very grave. Your sword
will run red with the blood of those who try to stand in your
way.”
“Yes,” he told her.
“It will. I promise.”
“What?” Sigourney
said. She looked startled, interrupted in mid-speech. “What do you
promise, Kraljiki?”
He wanted to cough.
He could feel the urge in his throat and his lungs, and he forced
it down. “I promise that those who stand in my way will be
destroyed,” he told her. “That’s what I promise.” He was staring
directly into her eyes. He expected, he wanted to see fright there, but that wasn’t what he
saw in her face. There was only a quiet appraisal there, and
perhaps pity. That made him angry, and the emotion sent him into
spasms of coughing again. The coughing made it difficult to
breathe; he could feel the edges of his vision darkening and he
thought he might faint entirely.
As he hacked into his
kerchief, nearly doubled over, he suddenly felt Sigourney’s hand on
his head, stroking his hair.
“I know how this
illness must hurt, Kraljiki. Audric. I know.” She pulled him to
her, and he resisted for a moment—“You must be
strong. You can’t let them see your weakness or they will exploit
it.”—but he found that he wanted this—this matarhly
touch—and he let her cradle him to her, as she might have one of
her own sons. Her warmth was a comfort, and he heard a sob that he
realized with a start had come from him. She had heard it, too,
evidently. “Shh . . . it’s all right. It’s just the two of us. Just
us. If you need to cry, I understand. I do . . . I will call the
Archigos, have him bring that woman téni back here.”
Her fingers swept
back the hair from his face. “Be strong . .
.” But it was hard to be strong all the time, and he’d never
known his matarh’s affection and his vatarh had always been
surrounded by the chevarittai and the ca’-and-cu’ and servants. As
Sigourney held him, he opened his eyes and saw Marguerite’s
portrait. She stared at him, hard and cold and disapproving. Her
head moved slowly from side to side. “My true
heir would not do this. This is weakness. My true heir would know
how he must act.” Her disappointment burned inside
him.
He pushed himself
away from Sigourney, so hard the woman stumbled backward and nearly
fell.
“No!” he shrieked at
her. “No. We will do as I wish in this.
We will send a demand to the Hïrzg—he must send Sergei back to us,
or I will go and take him. Do you hear me? I will go there myself
with the Garde Civile at my back and snatch Rudka from them.”
Marguerite’s strength filled him and he stood, not coughing at all.
“Send the commandant to me, so he can begin mustering the troops. I
want you to write the demands—we will send it by fast-rider today.
We will give them a month to return him. No more.”
“Kraljiki, you’re
moving too fast. We must study this more, wait—”
“Wait?” The word came both from him and his
great-matarh at the same time. “I will not wait, Vajica. And those
who oppose me or refuse to go with me, I will consider no more than
traitors themselves. I expect to see a draft of the demand by Third
Call. Do I make myself clear?”
She stared back at
him. “Ah, that is finally fear you see in the
lines of her face. You’ve done well, Audric.”
“Abundantly so,
Kraljiki,” Sigourney answered. “Abundantly.”