Once Iosef brought Varanus with him to a conference of state in which Sophio spent twelve hours outlining her plan to recapture the Holy Land from the Saracens in support of a crusade that King Giorgi IV had planned in the Thirteenth Century. Yet Sophio spoke of it as if Girogi IV were still alive and the crusade about to be carried out.
She thinks herself to be Tamar of Georgia, Varanus thought to herself, when she is really like Mad King George of England!
When Varanus made mention that the Crusades had ended six hundred years before, she was berated by Sophio for her “ignorance” and barred from attending any council for the rest of her life. While this seemed to irritate Iosef, the peace and quiet were a godsend to Varanus. Then, two years later, she was called before Sophio to answer for the grave offense of ignoring her duty to attend the council with her master Iosef. Sophio seemed to have no recollection of her earlier pronouncement against Varanus’s attendance.
And so things went in the House of Shashavani. The other scholars said little and did nothing, though Varanus could see that all but an aged few recognized the insanity. It was all like a confused dream had under the influence of opium. Iosef was the most puzzling. Though he surely knew what was happening, he did nothing to confront Sophio’s insane pronouncements. Indeed, he facilitated them, calmly and gently appeasing his lady, while at the same time flattering each mad misconception. Varanus knew not what to make of it.
Fortunately, she was kept far too busy by her studies to leave much time to linger on such thoughts. Throughout the shrouded days and the long nights, Ekaterine was her constant companion. They read together, shared discourse on topics of philosophy and science, and taught one another their languages. While Varanus improved Ekaterine’s French and taught her English, German, and a small portion of Italian, Ekaterine reciprocated by instructing Varanus in no less than three languages of Georgia—or, more properly, the languages of the Georgians, the Svans, and the Mingrelians, who, she explained, were all distinct though related peoples.
Varanus delighted in Ekaterine’s company far more than she had expected. As the weeks turned into months and then into years, Varanus found herself regarding Ekaterine as something like a sister. She had never had a sister, of course, but it seemed the most apt way of describing things. Ekaterine was always there when she needed someone—most often to help with research but sometimes simply for conversation as well. Though intelligent conversation was abundant in the Shashavani house, she found a particular rapport with Ekaterine that made her preferable to everyone except for Iosef. In time, Varanus felt that she came to understand Iosef’s curious relationship with Luka far better than before. Not master and servant but comrades, each distinctly strong and distinctly weak, each relying upon the other, sharing in triumphs and failures, joys and sorrows.
* * * *
It was from Luka that Varanus learned the arts of war. She knew how to ride and how to hunt, but under Luka’s tutelege, she expanded her knowledge to the art of killing men. It was grueling work, and Luka was no easy teacher. He pushed her to her limits, night after night. For almost a year, the main focus of the training was entirely exercise. Varanus was made to run endless circles around the castle, lift and carry heavy weights, swim in the lake in the middle of winter, and hold her body in contorted poses while balancing precariously. She despised the exercises—as much for disrupting her work as for the physical discomfort—but she could not deny that they made her fitter and stronger.
The regimen, Iosef told her one evening, was intended to push her body to its limits constantly, forcing it to attain the superhuman vigor of the Shashavani over the course of years rather than decades or centuries. It was the same process he had used to train himself, and Varanus could not deny its success. She noted on many occasions that Iosef seemed as strong or even stronger than many of the Shashavani who were his elders by hundreds of years. Iosef’s endorsement of the regimen was enough to keep Varanus dedicated even when she was at her weakest.
About a year after her arrival, Luka began to train her properly in combat. There was some practice of marksmanship, merely to keep up what Luka called an “already tolerable degree of skill.” The main work was on fighting at close quarters, something for which Varanus had little aptitude and no experience. Their first work was wrestling, and Varanus quickly discovered that Luka’s skill easily outmatched her growing strength. Even when her physical prowess surpassed his, Luka still managed to beat her almost every time. But with effort, she improved. Next came sword training, then sword and shield, then spear, then axe. By the time Varanus began to work with this last weapon, she was strong enough to lift and swing it one-handed. At long last, Luka taught her to fight with a sword in either hand, a technique that he demonstrated with ease, and Varanus attempted with repeated failures. It was an important lesson that was not lost on her: however useful strength might be, skill and practice were always of paramount importance.
* * * *
From Iosef she learned how to exist as one of the Shashavani. He taught her to focus, to control her rampant senses, to avoid being blinded by the cacophony of information that bombarded her at every moment. He sought to ease her into the experience of blood drinking, but Varanus found it surprisingly simple to adapt to it. It was as though her body had always craved blood, and she was only now fulfilling its needs.
Iosef also taught her to meditate rather than sleep. This was especially difficult. Varanus was a creature of activity, and she had little interest in sitting quietly for hours on end, reflecting on the world. She simply did not see the point. The nature of the universe would be discovered in the laboratory, not through quiet introspection. But in time, Varanus came to see some minor value in the practice as a substitute for sleep. An hour or so of meditation left her feeling as refreshed as a whole night of sleep, and she acknowledged the worth of such a time-saving practice.
Perhaps most importantly, he also taught her to withstand the sun. Every day, save when disrupted by other concerns, he made her sit with him on one of the eastern balconies to greet the sunrise. Precautions were taken, of course—they sat with heavy blankets to shield themselves once the light became too painful, and either Luka or Ekaterine was always on hand to help them escape to the darkness inside—but it was still a nerve-wracking experience each time. The creeping dread of anticipation was often worse than the pain itself as the light of dawn rose over the mountains.
Try as she might, Varanus could never withstand the pain for long. The first time she fled immediately. The shock of the experience was simply too much for even her hardened resolve. With practice she managed to stay for a few seconds, then a few minutes. It did not take long for her to master her fear, but her body did not keep pace with her will. As per Iosef’s instructions, she withdrew each time once her flesh began to boil. Iosef always remained after she fled, often for thirty minutes or more. Varanus fled while he remained. The shame of it burned her worse than the light of the sun.
One day, she resolved to match him minute for minute. She would prove to him that she was as strong as he. She waited, breathless, as the sun rose. She braced herself as the first rays washed over her. For a moment the sensation was pleasant and warm, with a faint prickling that delighted as much as it hurt. Then came the pain, exactly as she remembered it. At first it was minor, only a sensation of heat beneath the skin. But soon the sensation grew til it felt like her body had been wrapped around bars of heated iron. Her bones ached, her flesh boiled, her eyes went blind, but still she sat there, gritting her teeth and refusing to succumb.
She forgot when exactly it was that she blacked out. Her next recollection was of opening her eyes to the sight of Iosef’s face, palid and sun-scarred. As Varanus watched, the burnt flesh began to smooth out and heal.
“Your eyes have reformed,” Iosef said. “Good.”
“What happened?” Varanus asked. “Why am I here?”
She lay on the stone floor of the room by the balcony. The doors to the outside were
now shut and shielded by heavy curtains.
“You are a fool!” Iosef snapped. “Why did you do such a thing? You could have died! You would have, had not Ekaterine pulled you to safety!”
Varanus looked at Ekaterine, who sat in a chair nearby, watching her with a mixture of relief and frustration.
“Thank you, Ekaterine,” Varanus said to her.
Ekaterine’s mouth was tightly set in anger, but she nodded and said, “Of course.”
Iosef took Varanus by the chin and pulled her back to face him with a sharp tug. Babette looked into his pale blue eyes without flinching.
“I know the purpose of this exercise,” she said.
“Do you?” Iosef asked. “I think not.”
“It is a test of fortitude,” Varanus said. “Of determination. You prove yourself my master by suffering the pain for longer than I do.”
Iosef exhaled and shook his head at her, for the moment speechless.
“I am not your master,” he said. “I am your teacher! Is that what you think this is about? A show of strength?”
Varanus felt a sudden shiver of doubt. Could she have been wrong? But surely… Why else would Iosef have made such a show of outlasting her?
“Isn’t it?” she asked.
Iosef released her chin and folded his hands. Blackened flakes of flesh tumbled away, revealing newly healed skin beneath.
“No, it is not,” he said. “This is not a contest, Varanus. This is training, as much as your time with Luka. It has nothing to do with me.”
“I don’t understand,” Varanus said.
Iosef sighed and said, “Perhaps I should have explained earlier, but I intended for you to have firsthand experience with which to understand this. That has always been our way.”
“I have plenty of experience,” Varanus said. “Explain it to me now. Please.”
“The sun is like poison,” Iosef said. “Poison that burns like fire, yes, but poison all the same. And like poison, your body can become accustomed to it. Surely you have seen this yourself. You can now withstand exposure many times as long as you could when you first tried.”
“This is true,” Varanus said.
She thought for a moment or two, and the comparison came to her. Not only had she learned to withstand the pain, the touch of the sun took longer to reach the same point of severity as before. It was a difference of seconds, but the difference was there.
“I understand,” she said. “As with arsenic, a little constant exposure builds resistance.”
“Yes,” Iosef said. “And if you take more than you can manage, you will still die.”
“So we expose ourselves to the sun that we might adapt to it?” Varanus asked.
“Indeed,” Iosef said. “It is the only way to venture into the outer world. There are those among us who have not faced the sun in hundreds of years. They react to it just as you do. Whereas I, with my constant limited exposure can withstand the better part of an hour—longer if I am protected.”
Varanus sighed. She wanted to berate Iosef for not telling her before, but she understood the reason. In truth, she would not have believed him without experiencing it herself.
“When will I become immune?” she asked.
“Ages,” Iosef said. “I have spent more than a hundred years training myself in this manner. But mark my words, Varanus, if you are disciplined and adhere to this practice with dedication and caution,” he greatly emphasized the word, “you will one day be able to dance freely in the sunlight, just as Sophio does.”
Varanus smiled at Iosef and said, “I can assure you, my lord, that once I can walk in the sun with impunity, I will use that ability for something more important than dancing.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Late Winter, 1887
Fifteen years passed almost without Varanus’s notice. Removed from the experience of aging, she now found that each night faded into the next with little to distinguish them. Sheltered from the daytime within the halls of the castle, Varanus quickly lost track of when one day ended and the next began. The daily regimen of greeting the sun lasted only the first five years, at which point Iosef had left the decision to continue in Varanus’s own hands. Appreciating the wisdom in the practice, Varanus did her best to maintain it, but over the years the regimen slipped from a daily practice to a weekly one, even monthly during periods of especially focused work. Sometimes entire seasons passed without her notice. Before, she had wondered how The Three had managed not to notice Basileios’s excesses for so long. Now she understood.
Over the years, Varanus watched as Sophio’s madness grew. While Iosef’s constant subservience to such a creature astounded Varanus, she saw that he was the only person who could placate the Queen of the Shashavani. Meanwhile, the other members of the house cloistered themselves in their laboratories and reading rooms, leaving all proper affairs of state unattended. It did not take Varanus long to realize that Iosef was the only thing standing between the house and its collapse.
Then, one day near the first thaw of spring, Varanus received a letter from France. This was not an uncommon occurrence—she had maintained a distant correspondence with both Father and Grandfather over the years—and she thought little of it when Ekaterine brought the letter to her study.
“News from France,” Ekaterine said as she entered the room. She crossed to where Varanus sat, nose buried in ancient tomes of medicine.
Varanus looked up from her work and waved her hand, saying, “Read it to me if you please, Ekaterine.”
She watched as Korbinian leaned across the table and propped his head on one hand, looking at her with a giddy smile.
“News from home!” he exclaimed. “How exciting! I wonder what it can be.”
“It will be nothing of consequence,” Varanus told him, forgetting for a moment that they were not alone. “Merely Father fussing about the neighbors or this and that.”
Ekaterine paused in the midst of opening the envelope.
“Do you wish me to read it to you or not?” she asked.
Varanus quickly caught herself and glared at Korbinian.
“Please do, Ekaterine,” she said. “I am merely predicting the contents.”
Ekaterine opened the envelope and removed the letter. Clearing her throat with a delicate cough, she read aloud:
“‘My dearest Babette. It is my most fervent wish that this letter finds you well. I fear that I cannot report similar news of myself. You will notice that your grandfather’s Christmas letter has not arrived.’”
Varanus’s eyes widened a little. Father was right; it hadn’t arrived. Varanus had assumed that it was delayed by the distance, but now…
“‘I fear,’” Ekaterine read, “‘that a great misfortune has befallen our family.’” She quickly stopped and looked at Varanus. “Perhaps you would prefer to read it on your own,” she said. “This is clearly of a private nature.”
“Continue, Ekaterine,” Varanus said. Her stomach clenched, and a shiver ran down her spine. She already knew what it would say.
“‘With a heavy heart,’” Ekaterine read, “‘I must inform you that your grandfather has passed. We were all taken by surprise, for as you will recall, your grandfather was always a model of health. But he was taken quietly in the night late in January. We put his body to rest in the family mausoleum, as he would have wanted.’”
Varanus blinked back a tear. Grandfather dead. She had always known his death would come some day, but she had never really thought about what would happen when it did.
Korbinian knelt beside her and kissed her hand.
“It was his time, liebchen,” he said to her. “Do not let this sorrow tear you apart. He would have been proud to see you as you are now.”
“‘Now it falls to me to make sense of the estate,’” Ekaterine continued. “‘I fear that your grandfather was especially private regarding the business, and you know that I never had a head for such things. In truth, I am completely unprepared for the management of the c
ompany, the finances, or indeed any of the tasks his death has placed upon my shoulders. I am so terribly alone, Babette. I know not where to turn. And worse, I myself have taken ill. I am lost, Babette, and I fear I must ask you to return home to help me settle the estate. If you and your husband would consent to come to Normandy at once, I would be eternally—’”
“Enough,” Varanus said. She took a breath and forced herself not to cry. Grandfather would not have approved. She was stronger than that.
“I must go to France, Ekaterine,” she said. “Will you accompany me?”
Ekaterine laughed and shook her head. She walked to Varanus’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“That you should need to ask,” she said.
Varanus patted her hand and said, “Thank you. Normandy will be tedious, and I will thank God for some intelligent conversation.” Another thought occurred to her, and she laughed a little. “Bring my husband…as if I am incapable of managing Grandfather’s affairs.”
She knew Father meant no insult, but it was there all the same.
Behind her, the door to the room opened. It was almost silent, but Varanus had no difficulty in hearing the faint rush of air. She turned in her chair and saw Iosef standing in the doorway. He wore a dark gray chokha under a similarly drab-colored greatcoat—clothes normally reserved for the soldiers and hunters who patrolled the valley in winter.
Varanus immediately rose and faced him.
“My lord,” she said, “what is it?”
“Make yourself ready, Varanus,” Iosef replied. “Then meet me at the stables. You as well, Ekaterine.”
“As you wish,” Varanus said. She motioned to his clothes and asked, “Why are you dressed so, my lord?”
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