Ascendant

by Florian Armas

  “I think that both of us wanted some kind of absolution. For different reasons, though,” Cantemir said cautiously. “And you tried to kill me twice.”

  “Not me; your friend Aron tried to killed you; he who may be a Sage from your Circle.”

  “I did not know that,” Cantemir said, playing again with the dark-red button of his shirt. “To move to the recent past, I had nothing to do with what happened a week ago in Severin. Orban kept it hidden from me, as he knew that I would oppose it. It was between him and the Circle.”

  “Are you not part of the Circle, and its previous Master Sage?” Cernat asked.

  “A previous Master Sage belongs to the past, not to the future, and my relation with the actual Master is not the best. I opposed Bucur’s election as Candidate King. Unfortunately it was too late. It was quite a mischance, as my best source of information was blocked over the winter in Long Valley.” Cantemir remained silent for a while, as all the other three reacted: a frown, a twitch of the lip or a tremor of the hand. They did not react when I spoke about Bucur; they reacted when I mentioned Long Valley. Do they know Tudor? “Aron is indeed a Sage, so it may be that some subterranean movements against me started a long time ago. It’s not usual for a Sage to try to kill another one,” he said absently. “There are some rules against... Never mind,” he shook his head. Killing a Sage, a Master Sage... Is the Circle so corrupt? “I suggested that Orban wait a month for the marriage, but he will ask for your hand the day he returns. More than one month would be difficult to...” Cantemir stared at Jara, waiting for answer, even though he did not ask a question.

  “One month,” Jara agreed, her voice lost in a weak whisper.

  “Until the marriage, Vio will stay with you. That doesn’t mean that Orban would not want to...” Cantemir stared again at Jara; it was difficult for him to go into such intimate details, even more so knowing that each word would hurt Jara. And Vio was there too.

  Yes, Jara nodded.

  “Why am I in Arad?” Vio asked abruptly. “There was an agreement between the Circle and Codrin.”

  “I don’t really know,” Cantemir shrugged. “Maybe they want to control Codrin or Saliné through you.”

  “If we take into account that it’s only a maybe, would it be possible to come to an amiable agreement and send Vio to Codrin?” Cernat asked.

  “I don’t want to leave Mother.”

  “I think that Jara would be relieved if you left,” Cantemir said, smiling, starting to realize that he liked the girl. “But it’s too early to talk about this, and it may be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous because of Orban or because of the Circle?” Jara asked.

  “Both.”

  ***

  In front of the door, she breathed deeply. Eyes closed, she tried to place her hand on the knob. Her hand trembled, and she pulled it back. I have to do this. For Vio. For Mark. For Father. I have to do it. Her hand moved and turned the knob as if trying to pull it out from the door.

  “Jara,” Orban smiled when she entered the room, which was prepared for their dinner. His head tilted elegantly. There was aristocracy in every trait of him, albeit a deceitful and decadent form of it. “I have waited so long to have you as my guest in Arad.” He stood up, and walked toward her. With a hint of theatrics, he kissed her hand, and offered her a seat.

  It was Jara’s fourth day in Arad, and she was better prepared to meet Orban than she was on the day of her arrival. Cantemir was right, she thought, even though she was not sure how much she could reevaluate him, and how much she could trust him. They had talked a few times but, for a reason that she could only guess, Cantemir preferred to spend more time with Cernat. And surprisingly, he took care of Vio too, taking her to meet Lamia, Orban’s daughter.

  As she seated herself, Jara had her first shock; the plates on the table had once belonged to her, when she was still Grand Signora of Midia. She bit her upper lip, feeling that, behind her, Orban was observing her reactions. “It seems that Midia moved here in more detail than I thought,” she said, with the calm of a woman talking about a mundane piece of porcelain.

  “Isn’t that interesting?” Orban smiled while going to his chair across the table. Their places were in the middle of a long table to host twenty-four people. “A symbiosis between Midia and Arad. Past and future. What would be more important to you, what has happened or what is about to happen?”

  “Both are important to me, and how can you build a future without past. Was this ... symbiosis supposed to revive my memories about what I have lost, or to make me feel your interest?”

  “Both are important to me. Speaking about ... past and future. Once I lost that precious toy of being the Candidate King, things suddenly looked less ... interesting. That business ate a lot of my past, in return for a hypothetical future. When you are free of your past, the present seems to be more alive, more intense.”

  “And without that precious toy, what would have changed in your past?”

  “How should I know? Why should I care? Wouldn’t that mean letting the past drive me again?”

  “It may help to live the present differently.”

  “It already happened. I will make an exception, just to underline my point. The other dinner we had in Midia and this one. Don’t you see the difference between them?”

  The only difference is that in Midia you drugged and raped me; now I have to accept you in my bed. “There may be some differences,” she said, prudently. “But they may be resemblances too.”

  “Like the plates,” Orban smiled.

  “Like the glasses too.” You put the drug in my glass.

  “You have a good eye for detail. Do you think that we’ve settled some things now?”

  “I don’t think that forgetting the past is a good way to prepare for a new future. But,” she added, seeing Orban frowning, “I also don’t think that the past should be the only way of looking at your future.”

  “Symbiosis.”

  “Symbiosis,” she shrugged.

  His hand went under the table, and came out with a small box wrapped in black velvet. Slowly, he pushed the box toward the middle of the table until Jara was able to see the ring, and she recognized it. “You know the ring; it belonged to my wife, and before that to my mother and to her mother. Put it on your finger.”

  Half hidden by the plate, Jara’s hands gripped the table. She blinked a few times, until Orban’s intense stare brought her to her senses, but it still took her a while to take the ring and place it on her finger, next to the one she had received from Mohor.

  “I don’t think that those two rings work well together.”

  She said nothing, and took both rings off, and put back only the one from Orban; but she left the other one in sight, on the table.

  Orban frowned again and tried to say something, but changed his mind, at the last moment. “Jara, will you marry me?” he finally asked.

  “Yes,” she said flatly, her eyes fixed a painting on the wall behind Orban, the hand not on display gripping the edge of her chair.

  He stared at her with a narrow smile on his lips. “Finally. I have waited so long for this. We will have a great party.”

  “What for?” That’s the last thing I want, to be paraded like a trophy, together with my children while I am still in mourning.

  “It’s our wedding. I want everybody to be part of it, to enjoy it.”

  “A waste of resources, and they will only laugh; both of us already had two weddings.”

  “I like that.” He rubbed his chin, and Jara stayed silent, not really understanding what he wanted. “You are already thinking of our resources.”

  This is business, not marriage, and I need to negotiate my place. “I should have a look at the Visterie and Secretariat.”

  “Ah, yes, you were Secretary once. It will not be the case here, but you may have a look at the Visterie, if that makes you happy. Shall we?” He pointed at the first course on the table.

  ***

  From their
first day in Arad, Jara decided that they needed to train again. She had been trained to fight from her childhood, but she had also learned the Assassin Dance from Codrin, though she had not practiced much in recent years, after having Mark, while Vio trained together with Saliné. To her surprise, after two weeks, Jara felt that her body was responding well, even to the most torturous exercises Vio was making her do – the advanced moves from the Assassin Dance were not easy; they required good stamina, coordination and balance. Over the last two days, they had begun to train with daggers. Because of Cantemir, or just through Orban’s neglect, their luggage had not been not checked and, in Severin, Jara had hidden four weapons among her clothes.

  At this stage of the Assassin Dance, Vio became the teacher, and they played fast, their daggers clanging when steel met steel. They were exercising in the room that was set up as Jara’s office. It was large enough and, of all the rooms belonging to her, the most distant place from Orban’s suite.

  “Turn more to the right, Mother,” Vio said, her hand moving fast, finding another hole in Jara’s defense.

  “I wish I could move with your speed,” Jara sighed, but she turned, and Vio lowered her speed, allowing her mother to counter a new blow.

  Codrin’s words were still playing in Vio’s mind: a trainer has to be tough with the pupils, but sometimes he must allow them to feel that they have value. Codrin was speaking to Cernat one day when they were still living in their house, but Vio had been sneaking around.

  “Again,” Vio said and, with a grim smile, Jara complied.

  She raised her left hand at an angle against her own body, and kept the right hand lower. When Vio attacked, she turned swiftly, her left hand moving up for defense, and she was finally able to parry the blow with the dagger in her right hand. Vio attacked with her second dagger, but Jara was prepared and moved forward and to the left. Her sliding foot caught a small difference of level between two planks and she abruptly fell forward, just as Vio attacked. Vio reacted instantly, but she could not avoid cutting Jara’s shoulder.

  “Mother!” she cried, and dropped her daggers.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch.”

  Vio pressed her right hand on the wound. It would have been a logical reaction if she had a piece of cloth in her hand to stop the bleeding, but she did not.

  “I am fine,” Jara insisted, but Vio clung to her, still pressing on the wound.

  Suddenly, Vio’s hand started to glow white. Eyes closed, she did not realize it, but Jara saw everything, and even more, she felt the heat passing from Vio’s hand into her shoulder. Then she felt well. Opening her eyes, Vio retracted her hand, and behind it, both of them saw that the wound was almost healed.

  “We need to talk,” Jara said, seeing the surprise in Vio’s eyes.

  “What... What was that?” Vio asked, staring at her hand, its glow decreasing slowly. Absorbed by the strange thing happening to her, she did not hear the answer to her question, and Jara left her time to adapt. Once the light vanished, Vio raised her eyes toward Jara, who embraced her gently.

  “There is nothing wrong with you, Vio,” Jara said again. “You have the Light.”

  “Do you mean that I am a Wanderer?”

  “One becomes a Wanderer by choice. The Light comes to you without any strings attached. When you are eighteen, the Wanderers will ask you to join them, but the decision will be yours.”

  “Are you sure that it will be my choice?”

  “They will pressure you for sure, but they can’t force you. Mother had the Light too, but she did not agree to join the Wanderers. She wanted to make a family, to have children. With the first child, most of the Light will vanish.”

  “It’s a hard choice.”

  “Yes, one has to balance between family and Light, but keep in mind that the Light will not go completely from you, even after you have children.”

  “I did this,” Vio pointed to the almost healed wound. “What else can I do?”

  “Healing a wound is unusual. There is no other Wanderer I know with this power. I’m not sure they know that such a power exists. You must keep this secret. Don’t reveal it to any Wanderer, not even to Dochia.”

  “I trust Dochia.”

  “Yes, but she would have to tell them, and ... they may try to force you to join them, or even kidnap you. Remember that they tried to kill Codrin. The Wanderers are no longer what they were before. They supported Bucur. Keep this in mind.”

  “What other powers do I have?” Vio asked eagerly, and Jara bit her lip. “Don’t worry, I will never mention my healing powers.”

  “You may start to have visions of the future.”

  Vio frowned, and her face suddenly became serious. “In Severin,” she said reluctantly, “I saw Mohor, dead. It was just the day before... I thought it only a bad dream. I am sorry, Mother.”

  “You did not know,” Jara said, embracing her again. “And it was already too late; Orban’s soldiers were already in Severin.”

  “But...”

  “Don’t,” Jara said gently. “Mohor knew what he was doing, and he knew that Orban would kill him anyway.” That’s strange, Mohor’s death made my marriage with Orban possible. Things would have been more complicated, if Orban had killed him... She tightened her arms around Vio, fighting hard against her tears. She lost the fight and began to sob.

  “I am sorry, Mother,” Vio said and laced her arms around Jara’s neck.

  “I am fine,” Jara said after a while. “Let’s train again.” I have to keep my mind afloat. Vio and Mark need me.

  Chapter 13 – Jara

  There was only one person in the palace that Vio was happy to meet. In the beginning, she frowned at Cantemir’s effort to put her in contact with Lamia, Orban’s daughter. It was hard for Vio to separate her from her father but, at Cantemir’s and Jara’s insistence, she accepted. Lamia was a kind person who resented Orban’s brash personality, even though she did not know about his many sins, and she resented her brother, Alic, even more. He was eighteen and had the mind of a fourteen-year–old, coupled with the hormones of his real age. Alic was a pest for anyone in the palace, and many maids suffered because of his obsessive interest and bad temper. Sometimes, he groped Lamia, who was sixteen, tearing her shirt or raising her skirts. Since Orban ignored his son because of his weak mind, Cantemir had to take care of him and bring Alic women from time to time. That lessened the pressure on the maids, but did not erase it.

  A lonely presence in the palace, Lamia enjoyed meeting Vio too; they had many things in common, like reading or painting. One day, Orban found them together in front of a book, and he frowned, not knowing about their relationship. The girls froze when they saw him, even Vio, who was not so easy to astonish.

  “We are reading,” Lamia said.

  “That’s obvious,” Orban said, and he smiled suddenly. “Let me see the book.” He walked toward them and Lamia raised the book so he could see the title.

  “The voyage of Cherac... I read it when I was your age or even younger. It’s about Arenia and Sylvania. You may know a thing or two about Arenia,” he said to Vio.

  “I do.”

  “This book is more than two hundred years old. There is another one which was written fifty years ago. It may depict Arenia better. Some things may have changed.”

  “Arenia is ... less strong than two centuries ago,” Vio ventured.

  “And that means?” Orban stared at her.

  “Decadence,” Vio said flatly, not understanding Orban’s sudden interest. She knew him as a bad and cruel man and for her that meant lacking culture too. She was wrong; Orban was as intelligent and sophisticated as he was evil.

  “And that means?”

  “Poorer people, fewer books, less skilled writers.”

  “Did Codrin tell you that?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a good thing for a man to understand his situation. Or for a woman. What about Frankis?”

  “It’s even worse,” Vio said, start
ing to think that she might need to reevaluate Orban.

  “What does a girl know?” Alic asked, entering the library only because he had heard about a new girl. “Who are you?” He stared at Vio, moistening his lips.

  “Alic,” Orban turned. “It seems that she knows some things that you do not. You may join them and read the book.”

  “Men don’t need books,” Alic said, walking behind the girls. “But I may join them. This one may provide some entertainment.” He pointed at Vio, and grabbed her from behind, trying to find her breast.

  “Take your hands off me,” Vio growled, blocking his hand and restraining herself from hitting him.

  “Or you will do what?”

  “Let her alone,” Orban finally said.

  “We will meet again,” Alic said, and left the library, winking at Vio.

  “You’ve met my son,” Orban said. “Try to avoid him.”

  “Why don’t you teach him how to behave?” Lamia asked.

  “I gave that up a long time ago.” He shrugged and left the library too.

  “Let’s go to my room,” Lamia said. “Alic will not bother us there.”

  Before leaving, Vio stopped Lamia and glanced along the corridor: there were some servants, walking left and right, but Alic was not in sight. “We can leave,” she said.

  They walked at a brisk pace, glancing back from time to time. Alic’s suite was in the opposite direction from Lamia’s. The arrangement was Cantemir’s work; he had convinced Orban to keep his children far from each other. Orban did not care about them for different reasons: Alic was not fit to rule, while Lamia was a girl who could not exercise power in Arad. Orban had two bastard sons, but his hidden hope was that maybe Jara would give him the legitimate son he needed.