Dancing on the Block

by Marina Barinova

  “The Keeper is listening. Open your heart to him.”

  Voldhard turned and walked over to the fountain, the gravel crunching underfoot. Brother Aristid walked beside him. Sitting down on the rim, Gregor gave himself to his memories.

  “We met a few years ago. Back then, it was the first time she came to Ellisdor with the embassy mission. She founded a home for orphans whose parents had been killed by the Runds, and then she came to visit our cloister. We met at a ceremonial review. I was in the honor guard as a brother of the Order, and I’m not sure what happened, but it was like lightning struck when I saw her. I fell in love like a little boy. Well, to be fair, I still was a little boy. Her beauty and wit were blinding; her dedication to the Way was inspiring. She was so pure and righteous.”

  “Then what?”

  “Soon, I found out that the feeling was mutual,” Gregor said with a smile. “I remember, it started with a feeling of heavenly happiness, and then… Then, I got scared. I was supposed to become a brother protector, so I’d already given my vow of chastity…”

  “You shouldn’t be afraid of love, pilgrim. The Keeper is love, himself, and what you described is a woman beyond worth.”

  “She is that, Brother Aristid,” the duke replied, bowing his head. “But she’s fated for the next emperor—she bears the Mark of Gintare. Still, for me, she turned away from that, giving herself to me. She sinned. Sure, my vow of chastity had already been rescinded, but that doesn’t change anything. There’s no forgiveness for me. I broke my holy vow to protect Lady Irital and made us both sinners.”

  “How many times did it happen? If you stopped…”

  “I only gave myself over to passion once, but what does that matter? When I came back to Missolen and found out that there had been an assassination attempt… I can’t get rid of the thought that this is punishment sent by the Keeper for my weakness. I fought for her happiness and left her deeply unhappy as a result. Now she’s going to have to live in the knowledge that the empire is always one blow away.”

  The monk snapped his rosary beads together.

  “I take a different view.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’re a great man, Gregor Voldhard. I think the Keeper himself blessed you at the moment of your birth, because only he could have given one person so many noble gifts: selflessness, bravery, faith, sympathy, righteousness… But god doesn’t give anything without a good reason. He’s generous but demanding. When he gives you these blessings, he sends difficult trials along with them. The stronger you are, the more difficult your path will be. But not one single pilgrim receives a burden heavier than they can bear. This isn’t a punishment; it’s a trial, Lord Gregor. I think the Keeper has special plans for Your Grace,” the monk said, flashing a brilliant smile. “I wasn’t sure until this conversation, but now I’m positive. From what I can tell, the Keeper plans to make you a protector of the true Way. Your Grace’s faith is so strong that you can’t sit by and watch it be twisted by others. You despise yourself for taking just one small step backward. One! But I’m sure god let you take that step back so you could see that redemption is available for all of us. In the name of the Keeper, I release you of your sin, Gregor Voldhard.”

  Brother Aristid made the holy sign over Voldhard, who froze in surprise.

  “That’s…all?”

  “You’ve punished yourself enough, Your Grace. Self-reproach is sufficient—this isn’t what the Keeper needs you for.”

  “So, what am I supposed to do then?” The duke still hadn’t recovered from his amazement.

  “I’m not sure what sort of punishment you were expecting, but the Keeper isn’t cruel. It’s the people who made the Teaching into a tool they could use to achieve their ends here on earth who are cruel. I believe you are a messenger whose mission it is to save people from their harmful influence, and I’m convinced that you need to stand at the head of those who hunger for the true Way. You, Gregor Voldhard, must throw the masters spoiled by luxury off their luxurious thrones.”

  “I’d like to believe that,” the duke replied timidly, “but the way things are…”

  The monk looked at Gregor in confusion.

  “What more proof do you need? You were chosen by the Keeper himself, and he’s given you so many signs. You’re a descendent of the emperor and a zealot of the faith. You have power and everything else you need to achieve the goal god has for you. Even the woman destined for the emperor turned her back on her false calling because she felt that her place was with a man as righteous as you! If you want to avoid the wrath of god, marry her and found a dynasty truly faithful to him. Cleanse Highligland of traitors, renounce the sinful empire, and become the first king of Highligland! The first to bring together the true faithful.” The monk’s ardor burned hot. “You didn’t turn from the road, Gregor Voldhard. All this time, you’ve been wandering in the dark, and only now do you see the true Way—that is your calling. Accept it and act for the praise of the Keeper.”

  Stunned by the monk’s passion, Gregor walked unsteadily over to the wall. The sun had gone down behind the horizon, turning the sky blood red. A flight of swallows flew south.

  “I really like what you have to say, holy brother. And in the depths of my soul, I always did feel a kind of conflict—pain that I couldn’t live the way my conscience dictated. It’s only now that that pain is starting to recede. But Brother Aristid, you’re talking about an armed conflict. War. Rivers of blood.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no way around that.”

  Gregor, at a loss, shook his head, his gaze still fixed somewhere off in the distance.

  “But that’s not the path I want to walk. I’m a warrior, yes. Ever since I was young, I was raised to be a protector prepared to spill blood and send others to their death. But that’s not what I want right now. Neither I nor my people are ready for that kind of upheaval—it’s going to be hard enough when I announce that Highligland is leaving the alliance, not to mention when I present their new dowerless queen to them.”

  “But that time will come sooner or later, my lord. The world is changing, people are changing, and the times aren’t what they were when our fathers were around. And it’s your role to lead those changes. I can sense it.”

  “Not right now, though. Later, when the dust settles, and I figure out how to live in isolation, which is where I’m taking us.”

  Brother Aristid shot the young duke a heavy look.

  “My lord has still not grasped the changes that await him. My lord still does not understand what his enemy is capable of, and that enemy may show up at any moment.” Closing the book, the monk carefully replaced the papers covered in Highliglandian and headed toward the way out of the garden. “At any moment.”

  Chapter 39. Missolen

  Looking back, Demos couldn’t figure out when the madness began. Brother Lasius hadn’t shown up with the unmarked carriage to whisk him away for an audience with the great master. The cook had neither made fish pies for breakfast, nor shared any juicy gossip. His mother hadn’t stuck her nose out of the estate, complaining that she wasn’t feeling well. The arrogant and beautifully unattainable Lady Vittoria was most likely enjoying capital society under the watchful eye of a chaperon. Nothing was there to portend evil, though hopes for the future were nonetheless doomed to collapse one placid and sweltering morning.

  For it was that day that Demos Devaton received an official note from Eclusum in which Great Master Ladarius summoned Gregor Voldhard and Lady Irital Urdanan to review the issue of their treachery before the Ecumenical Court.

  Ah, the tender chains Tallonius the Great shackled us with! We, simple sinners, have already forgotten the exclusive sway the church holds over us. Which is it this time, Your Holiness? Fear, ambition, or righteous indignation?

  Ladarius had picked the most emphatic option, stirring up all of Criasmor, from Laklan to Rodua. The Ecumenical Court was charged with collecting three hundred representatives of the privileged classes. And Demos, in
the meantime, was staring directly at the consequences of the high clergyman’s grand gesture, dragging a foot across the cobbled pavement of the market square and muttering to himself. Actually, he could have given his cane up. His old injury wasn’t bothering him, and his newer wounds had all closed up, though the chancellor found a special joy in feigning weakness.

  It can be quite helpful to appear weaker than you actually are.

  There was a haze over Lake Ladris, which the poets had written so much about. The hills to the east were covered in it, while the Uli proudly carried water through the capital to Rion, on the banks of the Lutin Sea. But that was where the idyllic stopped and the crazy began.

  The white stone walls of Missolen shook in the turmoil that had overtaken it. Traders, merchants, owners of tenement houses, bankers, prostitutes, and innkeepers traded entire sacks of silver. New porticos opened, markets emerged one after another, and auctioneers trundled around looking to invite the more prosperous to bid on their wares. The Belterian bank spiked interest rates and unapologetically made a fortune handing money out to distinguished guests. Of course, none of it happened without Demos’ tacit approval.

  Something good should come out of all this chaos.

  A limunada seller walked by, offering a drink made from lemons and icy spring water mixed equally. The chancellor gestured for Ihraz to stop the peddler and purchase a pitcher of the drink. After the Ennian tossed a few copper coins on the tray, he grabbed three portions and took a quick sip from each of them. He waited a little while to make sure none was poisoned before handing one to his master.

  “You know what I love about this heat?” Demos asked thoughtfully as he drank the delightfully sour liquid. “It makes everyone the same. King or tramp, merchant or singer, the heat hits you the same. We all sweat until we feel the salt crunching in our buttocks. That burning ball in the sky doesn’t care who we are, feeding all of us the same.”

  Lahel shrugged and downed her portion of the drink in one gulp. She had no desire to shout over the street musicians.

  The entire scene looked like one long fair. The main event had yet to begin, but the preceding chaos was already driving the chancellor up a wall. More than anything, Demos hated his own powerlessness. Ladarius, needless to say, had the right to the farce, and people were saying that the great master even had a witness who was ready to speak in court.

  And I’ll bet I know who.

  On the other hand, Devaton couldn’t figure out why the head of the church, who had previously been showing a willingness to work together, hadn’t consulted with anyone from the palace before taking such a big step.

  Perhaps it’s a careful hint to me about how low my position really is. Could that be what Irving was warning me about? Maybe he got ahead of himself, too. Tillius said that Margius was helped out of this world, and Izara fled the capital for fear of me… What am I in the middle of? And what did Irving get me involved in?

  Demos still hadn’t found time to work through Allantain’s final riddle. The voice of reason was telling the new chancellor to stay away from the whole thing, though, for the first time in a while, Demos was ignoring that voice.

  If I don’t start looking for answers right now, I’m not sure I ever will. Getting ready for court, the process itself, what will happen afterward… It’s almost like someone’s purposely distracting me.

  That’s what was on Demos’ mind as he headed toward the Allantain residence. His servants said nothing.

  The palace belonging to the rulers of Osvendis resembled a fortress, and an unusually ugly one by local standards. It was a hulking leviathan made out of gray stone from the Shungar Mountains, with the property lined by a tall, impenetrable hedge. At the base of the wall, there was a moat, though none of that was visible from the road. Curious passers-by could only see the tall gray towers and vigilant guards.

  “We weren’t prepared for a visit by Your Grace this soon,” said a steward in black and red livery, his eyes darting from side to side. “Lord Bryce—”

  “Was informed this morning,” Demos replied imperiously with a fleeting look around the enormous hall. “The meeting is a private one, and I’m not looking for a luxurious reception.”

  “Of course, Lord Demos. I will let His Grace know you’re here.”

  The chancellor quickly lost interest in the steward as he backed away, too busy studying the architectural merits of the Allantain residence. Ihraz and Lahel froze at a respectful distance.

  The hall, as well as the other parts of the castle open to guests, was entirely traditional for Osvendians. Some points were identical to the Allantains’ ancestral estate in Belfur. The towering arches that made up the ceiling were decorated with rough carvings, a reminder that the Osvendians and Runds were once one people. The ostentatiously primitive pieces were juxtaposed with elegant Belterian and Gatson furniture, rounding out a discordant design.

  Demos slowly looked around at the walls. The enormous fireplace, a dark, gaping hole in the wall, could have fit several people. Intricate candleholders made from colorful Gatson glass packed the shelves chaotically. And above the fireplace hung the splendid Allantain crest—a burning, bleeding heart pierced through with three black spears and set on a field of red.

  I don’t know if looking through Irving’s office will help, but I need to try.

  Finally, Bryce Allantain himself appeared, a heavily built and middle-aged man half a head taller than Demos. He was wearing a tight doublet made from crimson velvet, a fat gold chain decorated with a ruby pendant lying on his chest.

  “I’m happy to greet you here in my home, good Chancellor.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to visit, Your Grace.”

  Demos stepped closer and shook Bryce’s hand, suppressing the urge to wipe his own on the edge of his tunic afterward. He hated slick palms. Allantain tried to hold himself well, but even the excellent posture of the newly christened duke wasn’t enough to hide his large stomach. His gluttony had left its mark on his face, too. Bryce, certainly, once brandished the kind of bellicose good looks that swept hot-blooded southern girls off their feet, though they had already been ruined by sagging cheeks and bedraggled eyes that betrayed the effects of the previous night’s wine.

  Lord Bryce coughed, and Demos was hit with the stench of alcohol. The duke’s gloominess had everything to do with a simple hangover.

  I’d guess it was some kind of Shati Berdeni-Male with some nice notes of violets and almonds. If he enjoys Belterian wine so much, I’ll have to bring him some bottles from my cellars in Amellon.

  “What brings you here on such short notice?” Allantain was doing his absolute best to hide how poorly he felt. It wasn’t working. “Did something else happen?”

  Ladarius is off his rocker, that’s what happened. Play for time, Demos! Wear him down. He’s feeling so lousy, so looking to get his fat back to his featherbed, that he’ll agree to anything soon.

  “Just the normal work questions. I need to be read in on everything my predecessor was doing.”

  The last time I had a bad hangover was five years ago, back when I still thought I could drown the sense of loss. A pointless waste of time and health. But you aren’t trying to drown your grief—you’d be drinking something stronger if you were. So, celebrating? Enjoying your long-awaited inheritance? I get that. Old Irving stuck around for quite a while. You’re already past forty, and you even have your own children and grandchildren…

  Bryce shook his head and instantly grimaced in pain.

  “My father rarely talked to me about his work, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to help. My job is to protect Osvendis and the borders of the empire. The squabbles in the capital don’t have anything to do with me.”

  Is that right?

  “An admirable charge,” Demos replied, playing along. “Still, I need to ask you for a favor.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Your father told me many times how he liked to work here. And for some things he was in the middle
of, there are problems—missing documents, letters… I’m having a hard time fulfilling my duty to the empire the way I should. So, I was thinking His Grace may have left the missing papers here.”

  “And you want me to show them to you?” the drunkard asked, finally catching on.

  “I’d like to make sure the papers I’m looking for have been here the whole time. If not, I’m going to have to start an investigation—they could have been lost in the commotion or even stolen. We can’t have that! The empire is suffering because of it.”

  Upon hearing the last phrase, the younger Allantain paled.

  “Of course, you’re welcome to look through my father’s office. We haven’t touched anything in there.”

  “Thank you for your help. I’d like to see it at once.”

  Bryce sighed with obvious relief.

  “As you wish. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to accompany you—the Keeper is reminding me today that I’m no longer a young man.”

  That was probably the Belterian wine telling you that it isn’t as innocent as the first glass might seem. But I should stop making fun of the poor guy.

  “You’ve done enough,” the chancellor replied with an amiable smile. “By way of thanks, I would be happy to send you my healer. Quite the specialist, believe me! He got me back on both legs, and I was told I’d only get to keep one.”

  “Thank you, Lord Demos, but I wouldn’t want to disturb him. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

  As long as today doesn’t feature a reprise of yesterday’s festivities.

  “It’s up to you… But remember, just one message, and my personal doctor will be on his way.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Lord Bryce replied, nodding. “My servant will walk you where you’re going and do everything he can to help. Take as long as you need. It’s just a shame that Cainitch isn’t around anymore—the old man was in charge of my father’s things and would’ve been perfect for this.”