Anza was not interested in being flirted with by a man old enough to be her father, which described many of the guests. She walked down the steps to the lawn, where more of the younger people were. Jance, in a black and scarlet mask that covered the upper half of his face, was standing with half a dozen other people. He waved her over.
He was already drunk. When he gave her a kiss on the cheek, she smelled the wine on his breath. He put an arm around her shoulders and said cheerfully, “I’m glad you came. There are going to be fireworks later, did you know?”
With a firm hand, she removed his arm. “Introduce me to your friends,” she said. “Is there an occasion?”
“It’s my cousin’s wife’s birthday.” He made the introductions.
They chatted, mostly about people Anza did not know. Fireflies were green-gold sparks floating on the air. The women had slim necks and elegant jawlines and wore jeweled necklaces, and the men had their hair tied back with colored cords and sported expensive rings. She knew she looked respectable enough in the gown Rumil had bought her for such occasions, but she was aware as always of her so-different upbringing. When these people had been presented at their first formal balls, she had been dancing barefoot on the floor of a barn with loose bits of hay in her hair.
A servant magically appeared and refilled the wineglasses. The sky darkened and the first white stars appeared.
Anza tired of conversation and wandered to the house, where she made herself a plate of spiced mushrooms and peppers. When she finished eating, she put the plate on a small table where other people had done the same. Her mouth and fingers were greasy, and she wiped them on a fine linen napkin. So much wealth.
In the great room, people were dancing. Most of them were fifteen or twenty years older than her, she guessed, old enough to remember life before Karolje was king. Had it made much difference to them? As they danced now, did they have any fear of the king’s spies? Surely some were present.
The thought chilled her. She found a servant and took a glass of wine, then went to the side of the terrace to drink it. The cutout patterns on the hanging lanterns seemed letters in another language, suspended in darkness.
“Anza,” said a woman behind her, her voice velvety smooth.
Anza knew that voice. She had not expected to ever hear it again. She turned, dreading the encounter. “Thali,” she said, trying to be civil. The last time they had spoken she had shut a door in Thali’s face. But that had been four years ago. “You’re looking well.”
Her former lover wore a slim, high-waisted, one-shouldered gown that showed off her excellent figure and her husband’s excellent income. Thali’s honey-gold hair was piled on her head, artful tendrils hanging beside her face. Her green mask covered the top half of her face and matched the gown. Her sandals revealed narrow, high-arched feet and painted toenails. Beside her, her husband held a wine cup.
“Who’s this?” said Doru, eyeing Anza’s dress. “Some city girl risen up beyond her station?” His half-mask was gorgeously painted and doubtless expensive.
Anza’s immediate impulse was to mock him equally in return. She remembered what Sparrow had told her: The chief interrogator reports to him. She dipped her knee, hoping no fear showed on her face.
“An old friend,” said Thali. “I was surprised to see her, Doru, it’s nothing more. We can move on.” Her once-expressive features were sculpture-still. The coldness in her voice might have been intended as insult or as protection.
“But I delight in knowing your old friends,” he said. “Hold this.” He gave the glass to his wife and stepped closer to Anza. He was a man of middling height with a wiry frame, but he loomed threateningly anyway. She had never seen eyes so cold. Poor Thali, she thought.
With one finger he stroked Anza’s chin. She recoiled. His hand locked around her forearm. Dressed as she was, public as they were, kicking was not an option. The only thing to do was to stand motionless. Pretend she was about to shoot.
He caressed her neck, trailed his hand over her chest to the neckline of her gown, and lifted it without touching her breast. On the other side of the terrace, people were watching. Anza felt as soiled as she had in the Citadel cell.
“You’re right, my love,” he said, turning. “She’s nothing.” He reclaimed his glass.
When Thali and Doru had disappeared inside the house, Anza let herself slump. Her heart was pounding. She put her wineglass shakily on the balcony wall. A man across the terrace gave her a sympathetic glance but made no move toward her. She supposed she was marked now as dangerous to associate with. Surely she had been here long enough to politely leave. She would find Jance and ask him to send her home with an escort.
An unfamiliar man’s voice said, “Anza Istvili?”
She turned, reluctant, and saw a tall, bearded man. The set of his eyes reminded her of Jance. This must be his cousin.
“My lord,” she said with another dip of the knee. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“My cousin has told me quite a bit about you.”
“Oh dear.” And where are you now, Jance, you ass?
“Not at all. My wife will be delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said. “Come inside.”
Was she being sheltered from Doru or was it chance? She guessed the former. Reluctantly, hoping not to see Doru, she followed Lord Darvik inside and to a parlor opening off the large foyer. The house reminded her of Nikovili’s. She remembered the soldiers’ footsteps, the dusty closet, the prison cell.
Several women and men were seated inside. Most were not wearing masks, and Anza removed hers. The room was very blue: the chairs upholstered in a pale blue velvet brocade, the walls papered in patterns of dark blue and silver, the carpet an Eridian weave in four shades of blue, and the vases on the side tables sea-blue glass. The windows were open, heavy velvet draperies pulled aside and light linen curtains hanging straight in the motionless air.
Darvik made the introductions. His wife, Jeriza, was tall and lovely, her auburn hair braided and pinned, her full breasts covered but accentuated by the dark red satin of her fitted gown. Anza felt short and plain.
Jeriza said, “You’re Jance’s friend? I wish he had invited you previously. Since he joined the Guard he’s become so serious.”
“Anyone would be, Riza,” said Darvik. “But I’m glad something changed enough for him to invite a friend. Have you known him long?”
“Five years, my lord. But we haven’t seen each other much since leaving the College.”
“Oh!” said Jeriza. “I’m always interested to meet women who have been at the College. I would have liked to go, you know, but my father would not let me. I think he was afraid of what I might do if left on my own.”
“I did all sorts of improper things,” said Anza. “Once I climbed over the wall around it on a bet. None of the boys thought I could do it. Thank the gods I wasn’t caught. I would have been expelled. I did win a lot of money, though.”
Darvik laughed. “Please, come sit down,” he said.
There was no getting out of it. She sat, folded her hands decorously on her lap, and listened to a conversation that was entirely mundane. Politics, events, ideas, those were all risky to talk about. The wrong words could result in interrogation. Much better to discuss a lady’s new necklace or the incompetence of the workmen doing repairs on a house. Comparing horses was about as safe as it could be.
She tried to pay attention, in case anything was mentioned that might be useful to the resistance, but she felt out of place. It had been more comfortable talking to Esvar. Which was odd, as he had so much more power than these people.
He hadn’t been afraid. That was the difference. Tense, cautious, demanding, yes, but not stunted with fear. Not that she was much of a threat to him. But if he was in the habit of looking over his shoulder, he had concealed it well.
The talk was interrupted by heavy footsteps, not the tread of guests. The music, which had been a constant background sound, went silent. Anza tensed. Ha
d there been enough time for Doru to have called in soldiers for her arrest? The women in the room looked as though they had been posed, the men had curled hands by their hips. Everyone sensed danger. And these were the people supposedly on Karolje’s side.
“Excuse me,” said Darvik, rising.
Before the door shut behind him Anza saw four soldiers, whips in their hands. Their swords were sheathed. One of them was holding out a paper with a seal attached. A warrant. They were required in order to arrest nobility. She could not be the target. Which did not mean they would not take her if they wanted to. Who would they be coming to arrest at a party? It would be easier to take any noble present from within the Citadel.
Though not, perhaps, so publicly.
An argument was happening, voices low and indistinct but rapid with anger. Jeriza’s hands were locked together over her belly with worry for her husband. Through the door, Anza heard Jance say, “I’m an officer. What’s all this?”
A moment later the door opened. Darvik said, much more bluntly than Anza would have expected, “They only want Lady Jeriza. The rest of you are in no trouble.” He extended a hand to his wife, who stood, pale and proud. Everyone else relaxed guiltily.
The lord left the door open this time, and Anza had a clear view of the foyer. Jeriza took the warrant and read it, then thrust it back at them. “This is ridiculous!” she said.
One soldier shifted his whip suggestively from hand to hand. The leader said, “It’s our orders, m’lady. We have to carry them out.”
Darvik put his hand on his wife’s arm. “Let’s get this over with, then,” he said. “I’m sure it will be resolved quickly. Cousin, if you would be so good as to take over as host, I will be grateful.”
“Of course,” Jance said.
The men shook hands. Escorting his wife formally, Darvik followed two of the soldiers out. The other two fell into place behind them.
No one said anything until the front doors of the mansion had swung shut. Then everyone spoke at once. Anza got up and went to Jance’s side. He placed her hand on his arm as though they were about to dance, but his fingers gripped much too hard. They might leave bruises on the inside of her wrist.
He guided her into another room, smaller and more comfortably furnished, and closed the door most of the way. He said, “That’s a way to get sober in a hurry. Hell. Let me know when you’re ready to go home, and I’ll order the carriage for you.”
“What was she arrested for?”
“The warrant didn’t say, which means it’s likely sedition or treason of some sort. Whatever it is, she’s innocent.” He wiped his face. “I may be next.”
“Have you done anything wrong?”
“I’m Darvik’s cousin. That’s enough. She was taken to put pressure on him, I expect, though he hasn’t done anything wrong either. Except be liked. But he’s not about to lead a revolt.”
“You don’t—never mind.” She had been about to ascribe rational behavior to Karolje. “What happens if they aren’t released?”
“If the property isn’t confiscated by the Crown, it goes to Darvik’s younger brother. Nothing comes to me; our mothers were sisters, and the property is from Darvik’s father.”
“At least that means you’re unlikely to be framed,” said Anza.
“Unless this is the first step in a purge.”
“If it’s a purge, they wouldn’t bother framing you. What about Prince Esvar?”
“What about him?” said Jance. “It’s my job to protect him, not his to protect me. He has problems of his own. When I got back to the Citadel after taking you home, he’d had some sort of quarrel with the king. It was about one of the interrogators. He told me later he had been punished. That was his word. This business with Darvik might be related. I feel pretty damn helpless, Anza.”
She had no words to encourage him. She was shivering at the thought of the interrogator. He misjudged a political situation. In other circumstances, he might have come out on top. That was about Esvar’s reprimand, which had been about her. Was the prince going to pay for having freed her? The thought made her stomach hurt. She didn’t want to bear that obligation.
Jance continued, “None of it’s your responsibility. But there are games going on I don’t understand, and after what happened tonight, I’m afraid you might get sucked in. There are other people who can fight the king. You can’t do anything against him if you’re in a cell or dead. You got away once. It won’t happen twice. You need to go back to your aunt and help her with her farm. This is war, and you’re not a soldier.”
“You’re wrong. I am a soldier, even if I don’t have a uniform. And I’m not talking about weapons. Anyone who doesn’t resist Karolje helps him. I won’t do that.”
His face reddened. She realized she was condemning him and braced herself for a quarrel. But all he said was, “Because of your father?”
“Because the king is evil.”
Jance sighed. She wondered how much effort it had taken for him to refrain from saying that her father had not resisted. To refrain from defending himself. She had been unfair; he had warned her at risk to himself, had appeared ready to protect her from the prince, had not turned his back when he learned the truth. He was a good man. Her hands were bloodier than his, and her father’s had been even bloodier.
She still didn’t know if killing made her evil. The rules all changed in war.
And were the rules the arbiters of morality? Had she nothing at her center that was constant, that was good? Law and justice were distinct—that was obvious to anyone living under Karolje—but were justice and goodness? Was there such a thing as a just war?
“I’m not blaming you,” she said, trying to soften things between them. “I’m going to step outside and clear my head, and then I’ll be ready to leave.”
Standing on the terrace again a few minutes later, she rubbed her arms against a nonexistent chill. Even obscured as it was by the trees, the Citadel threatened. The night felt enormous.
She heard footsteps and knew before she turned that it was Thali again. This time Thali was alone.
“Where’s your husband?” Anza asked.
“Don’t accuse me,” Thali said. “Please.” Her hands went to her temples, and she nervously loosened a strand of hair. “I didn’t come here to pick a fight with you. Doru is back at the Citadel. He left shortly after we encountered you. When I saw the soldiers, I was afraid you were the one they’d come for.”
“He went back without you? Isn’t that improper?”
“There are a great many things about our marriage that are improper.” The contained anger in her voice was alarming. “It was a mistake. I don’t need to have you tell me that, by the way. I know it. But here I am.”
If Thali still held a grudge, it was a small one. Apparently she wanted to talk. They would never be friends again—they had been too different in the first place—but at least they were not enemies. Anza pushed back the thought that wanted to come in, that her split with Rumil had been no neater, and said, “Why did you marry him?”
“All the usual reasons. He was charming and handsome and he wanted me. I thought I loved him. I didn’t know how coldly cruel he is. Or how much he watches. He watches everything, every step, every word. He married me because I came without a fistful of established Citadel alliances, and he tried to force me into ones that would be useful to him. He’s a spidergod, watching from the dark and pulling threads other people don’t see. He vanishes at times, and people die.”
“I’m sorry,” Anza said, meaning it. “Can you divorce him?”
“No magistrate would grant it. They’re too afraid of him. His enemies find their lives difficult and short. I would have to ask the king. And you can imagine what that would be like.”
Anza could, only too well. The marriage might be sundered with an axe. Esvar might grant a divorce, but only if he dared oppose the king. Thali was unlikely to be worth that much to him.
“I wish I could help.”
&n
bsp; “I didn’t come talk to you expecting you to save me.” Thali slapped at an insect. “But you might try to save yourself. If Doru starts poking about and finds that you were invited here by Jance, he’ll get quite suspicious, since Jance has been taken up by Prince Esvar. That’s probably half the reason Lady Jeriza was arrested. Any people at the College together will continue to know each other afterward—it’s nothing. But Doru won’t see it that way.”
Four years ago Anza would have flared angrily at Thali’s brisk You might try to save yourself, sparking one of their frequent quarrels. Thali had been her first lover, and that part had been delicious, but she could see now how they had rubbed against each other in all the wrong ways in every other thing that mattered.
She said, “Thank you. I don’t know what Jance was thinking, inviting me to this party. Or what I was thinking in accepting.”
“When he gets that sincere pleading look in his eyes, he’s hard to say no to.”
“He’s hardened in the last two years. I suppose we all do after we leave the College.”
“It’s called giving up your illusions.”
Anza glared in the direction of the Citadel. There were half a dozen things she wanted to ask Thali now, and speaking of any of them would be dangerous. Even if Thali never told anyone about them, a Truth Finder could get them from her. The only real way to keep a secret was to forget it.
The musicians were playing again. Lights, music, a pleasant evening. What was happening to Lady Jeriza?
“I’m a clerk for a lawyer,” Anza said. “He might know someone who can secure your money for you.”
“I have a lawyer. And a bank. It’s the marriage contract itself that is the issue. He hates to lose.”
Should she say it? “I heard that he is the spymaster.”
“He is. I didn’t know that when I married him, of course. Anza, I can’t stay talking to you. Word will get back to him, and then you will become even more interesting. I just wanted to warn you to be cautious. Especially if you are doing anything illegal. He’s got spies everywhere, and there is no shortage of people who would inform. Be careful.”
The Vanished Queen Page 19
