by S L Farrell
Varina thought he glanced sidewise toward the woman with him. Varina looked at her also. She didn’t recognize the face, but there was something about her, something vaguely familiar… She shook her head.
“I’m aware that I’m her great-matarh’s age,” she told them, “and I know what my studies have done as well. I’ve seen the face in the mirror. I’ve already made inquiries. But for now, Sera’s in my charge, and I will protect her. I’m serious, Nico.”
“And that’s understood,” he told her. “I’ve already told you that I’m glad they gave her to you. You were always kind to me back then. Sometimes I wished…” He glanced again at the woman with him, then took a long breath. “Keep her safe,” he said. “Maybe sometime I can actually be her vatarh.”
“You are her vatarh,” Varina told him. “And I’ll tell her about you. She’ll know you. I promise you that much.”
Another nod. He pulled his finger away from her hand and she fussed. He stroked her cheek again. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Good-bye, little Serafina.” He leaned down and kissed her, then straightened. The woman with him had moved to the gate.
“Let me unlock it again for you,” Varina said, but the young woman only gave her a look of disdain. She plucked two thin pieces of steel from somewhere in her cloak, leaned down, and a moment later pushed the gate open. She grinned back at Varina. Nico bowed, almost as if he were leaving her house after a visit.
A moment later, he and his companion were gone. Varina pulled the gate shut again, listening to the lock click into place. Sera was whimpering.
She hugged the baby, rocking her in her arms until she settled again.
Brie ca’Ostheim
The drums beat cadence as the army approached the city. The a’offiziers, following orders relayed from Stakkapitan ca’Damont, steered the army toward the fields north of the Avi a’Firenzcia and didn’t enter the city itself. The citizenry of the villages just outside the gates cheered the advancing battalions and the silver-and-black banners that waved above them. And they especially cheered the Hirzgin who accompanied them.
Brie waved back to them, smiling the smile she’d perfected over the years for state affairs, a mask behind which she could hide her own uncertainty and fears, a cheerful gesture to the crowds detached from any true awareness. On the nearest of the fields where the army was to encamp, a tent had been erected, flying both the banners of Nessantico and Firenzcia, blue and gold mingling with black and silver. As Brie’s carriage approached, the flaps of the tent opened and a crowned figure appeared flanked by Garde Brezno in the uniform of the Holdings, and Brie saw Sergei ca’Rudka standing just behind the crowned figure. Brie recognized the woman immediately from the paintings she’d seen of her: Allesandra. The Kraljica strode forward with her arms wide, her own smile nearly as wide. Sergei limped after her. “Where is my marriage-daughter?” Allesandra said as she approached Brie’s carriage. “Where is the Hirzgin?”
Soldiers hurried forward to open the doors of her carriage and place a step below for her. Brie took the offered hand and stepped out into the sun, blinking and keeping her own smile fastened to her face. She allowed Allesandra to fold her in her embrace, kissing her on one cheek, then the other. Allesandra smelled of rose and pomegranate; her grip was surprisingly strong and surprisingly genuine. “This moment should have come years ago,” she whispered in Brie’s ear. “I apologize for that; it was my fault. I have wanted to know you and your children for so long…”
Her voice trailed off. Brie held Allesandra’s hands. She gazed at the older woman’s eyes, at the folds that cushioned them, at the powder dusting the skin and the blue shadows under her painted and plucked brows. She could see Jan in the shape of those eyes and in the lines of her face; she could see a reflection of Elissa, Kriege, Caelor, and Eria as well. Even that voice, taken down in pitch…
“I’ve wanted this moment myself,” Brie told her. “For longer than you might imagine, Kraljica. We have so much to talk about.” She knew that Jan would scold her for saying what she said next, but she didn’t care. She had looked into Allesandra’s face and she had seen no monster there. ‘I want my children to know their great-matarh-as she is, not as Jan has portrayed her.”
Brie saw pain pass over Allesandra’s face at that. “I believe it’s Venerable Carin in the Toustour who advises us that the distress of truth is always preferable to the balm of lies,” Allesandra answered. “Still, there are times when I think we all prefer the lies. I’m certain that Jan, in his mind, spoke what he believed to be the truth about me. I’m afraid I’ve not always been a good matarh to him, and I have done things-”
Brie hurried to cut off whatever admission Allesandra intended to make, squeezing Allesandra’s hands. “You have done, I’m sure, what was necessary for you to do as Kraljica. I believe that Venerable Carin is also the one who admonishes us that the past can’t be changed, only the present. Let’s grasp this moment, Kraljica, you and I, and make the present good.”
Allesandra smiled again. “I hope my son appreciates the wife and counselor he has in you,” she said.
Brie only returned the smile, perfect and practiced. “He appreciates me as much as he is able,” she answered, “and as little as he can get away with.”
Allesandra laughed. “Isn’t that the way of things?” she exclaimed. She hugged Brie again, then took her hand. She raised it in the air, turning to the soldiers and chevarittai around them. “This is Hirzgin Brie,” she proclaimed, “and I welcome her to Nessantico as my marriage-daughter, and as the wife of the next Kraljiki and the matarh to his heirs.”
Cheers erupted from the ranks around them, and Brie bowed and waved to the assembly. She wondered if they would still be cheering in a few days. “Are you hungry?” Allesandra asked. “I have dinner waiting for us in the tent…”
Brie let Allesandra escort her to the tent. As she passed Sergei, she stopped and gave the man the sign of Cenzi. “Hirzgin,” the Silvernose said. “It’s good to see you again.” He leaned closer to her then, his voice a harsh, bare whisper. “And I have things to tell you as well.”
With that, he leaned away again, smiling at her, and waving her into the tent in Allesandra’s wake.
“You’re certain the girl was Rhianna?”
“Rochelle is her real name; at least that’s what she claims. But yes, it was the same young woman. I’m certain of it.”
“And she also claims to be the daughter of the White Stone and Jan?”
Sergei nodded silently. Brie sat back in her chair, shaking her head but not knowing how to respond. She wanted to protest, wanted to cry, wanted to scream in rage.
This explains so much. He’s still in love with her, after all these years.
Allesandra had returned to the city; Sergei remained behind after their dinner, telling Allesandra that he would escort Brie to the palais himself as soon as she was ready. The table that had held the dinner still lay between them, though the servants had cleared it of everything but a flagon of wine and some bread and cheese. Brie leaned forward and tipped the flagon into her goblet, watching the wine splash into the bottom. She leaned back again and sipped.
“I think it’s quite possible she’s telling the truth,” Sergei continued. “I’m fairly certain of it, in fact. I know that’s not what you wish to hear, Hirzgin, but we have to acknowledge that-given the history we both know-it’s plausible.”
“But not certain.”
He smiled under the silver nose. “No, not certain. I have people out making inquiries and checking some of the references she gave to me, but it will be a long time before I hear from them given the current situation, and who knows if they will ever uncover enough to prove things one way or the other.” He shrugged. “Regardless, that is what Rochelle believes, true or not.”
“And she’s here.”
“She is.”
Brie pondered that. Did she and Jan plan this? Or is it just coincidence? “Does Jan know? Does Allesandra?”
Se
rgei shook his head. “Allesandra definitely doesn’t, nor have I spoken to Jan. I wanted to tell you first. But they also need to be told.” Sergei took in a long breath through his metal nose; the sound whistled slightly. “The girl is dangerous, Hirzgin. She has taken the mantle of the White Stone to herself. She says that it was she who killed Rance-hired by a man whose daughter you’d sent away for some reason.”
“Oh.” The statement was like a blow to the stomach. Brie set down the wine. Her hand went to her throat. “By Cenzi, no… Mavel cu’Kella-she was with child. Jan’s child. I had to remove her from the court and send her away. It must have been her vatarh. He had been petitioning to be a chevaritt, but after that…” She looked at Sergei, distraught. “ I caused Rance’s death,” she said. “It was because of me.”
“It was because of the girl’s vatarh,” Sergei answered. “Not you. You’re not responsible for his actions.”
“And Rhianna, or Rochelle… She was in the palais all that time, taking care of me and my children, and Jan…” She went silent. Sergei said nothing. She could feel him watching her. The woman in my nightmare. Could that have been Rochelle? “I feel sick,” she told Sergei. “That girl, Jan’s daughter, half sister to my own children…”
“She’s a bastarda. She has no real claim to the throne.”
“I know. There have been enough of those,” she answered with a wry, self-deprecating twist of her lips. “Still, she was the first, and Jan…” She stopped, looked at Sergei. “I’m told you once met the woman who was the White Stone.”
“No,” Sergei answered. “I didn’t. But I came to Brezno not long after she, well, after she assassinated Hirzg Fynn. From what I remember, Rochelle must look much as her matarh did at the time.”
Brie felt her heart pounding hard in her chest. She felt the wine and her dinner churning in her stomach. Again, the realization rose up inside her: Jan still loves this Elissa, has never stopped loving her. “Elissa,” Brie said. “That’s what the White Stone called herself then. I didn’t know the history when Jan wanted to name our daughter. I just thought it was a name he liked…” She gave a bitter laugh. “I didn’t find out for another year or more, when it was too late to change. I’ve never quite forgiven him for that.”
“Do you want me to tell Allesandra and Jan about Rochelle?”
Brie shivered with a sudden chill. “You may inform Allesandra. But I’d like to be the one to tell Jan. I’d like to see his face when he learns.”
Sergei inclined his head. He rose from his chair. “Then I’ll leave the Hirzg to you,” he said. “I’ll get our carriage ready, Hirzgin. The Kraljica will be wondering what happened to us.”
“Yes,” Brie said. “Do that. I’ll be along in a moment.”
Sergei bowed and left the room. Brie poured herself another goblet of wine. She sat there for several breaths, just staring at the red liquid shimmering against the golden surface. I want to see his face. ..
She wondered how she could tell him.
Niente
Niente had begun to believe that they might come within sight of the great city’s walls uncontested. The Tehuantin army was descending from the hills into a lush valley, green and fragrant with the strange trees of the region, dotted with pockets of farmland and vineyards carved from the forest. It was land that Niente remembered, land that Niente had often recalled in his dreams. The army had split into three arms, as Atl had seen in the bowl-the southern arm crossing the river, a northern arm moving north to the higher road, and the main bulk continuing to follow the road that paralleled the river.
That’s where Tecuhtli Citlali was ensconced; that’s where Atl, as Nahual, and Niente followed.
They knew that the Easterners were pacing them. There had been the occasional strange and brief skirmishes with their horsed warriors, who would come shouting challenge and then plunge madly into their ranks-even the High Warriors were talking about the undoubted bravery of the Easterners, while at the same time shaking their heads at the foolhardy and useless tactics. There were occasional flurries of arrows from the heights as they passed through the winding valleys, but the shields of the warriors took most of them, and the nahualli used their spell-staffs to great effect. Of the Easterner spellcasters, their war-teni, there was no sign at all.
All of the Easterner attempts to impede their progress were little more than the buzzing of flies to the army.
They followed the curve of the river, with the spires of a village just visible over the tops of the trees. They rode through a pastoral landscape, though the ordered fields had been emptied of crops and livestock. That was undoubtedly so that the Tehuantin army would have to forage farther afield to provision themselves, which they did-raiding parties were sent out wide from the arms, taking cattle and other livestock and stripping the fields as bare as if locusts had descended on them, all the food sent back to feed the demanding stomachs of the warriors. The occasional farmhouse or mansion they encountered was abandoned and silent. The sounds of the army drowned out the sounds that Niente imagined they might have heard had they been riding unaccompanied along the road: the calls of the Easterner birds, the wind rustling the leaves, the lowing of cattle.
But even so, this land felt too quiet. Niente began to peer around, uneasy; he noticed Citlali and the High Warriors around him doing the same, and he realized that the vanguard riders, who should have reported back some time ago, were still absent.
There was movement on the low ridges around them: in the afternoon sun, bright stalks of men rose from the ground. “Atl!” he said warningly, grasping for his spell-staff, but the warning was already late.
Fireballs arced in the sky toward them, fuming black smoke trailing behind, and the air was feathered with the shafts of arrows. They fell, hissing, and warriors snapped up shields against them; still, Niente saw several warriors fall even as he sent counter-spells toward the fireballs. The nearest exploded far above them, with a boom that made him want to clap his hands over his ears. Atl was also chanting release words, and another of the fireballs careened wildly to one side, plowing into the meadow and spewing mud and grass and liquid fire where it landed. But another was streaking too fast toward the banners of the Tecuhtli; Niente slammed a counter-spell against it, but it was already too close. He could feel the heat as the war-spell erupted into sticky gouts of flame, and the concussion washed over them. Niente was thrown from his horse as screams came from the closest warriors. For a moment, Niente was pinned under his horse as the beast tried to scramble up again. The grass was afire on either side of the dirt road. Easterner trumpets shrilled a rising sequence of notes, followed by the roar of their soldiers charging and the shouts of the High Warriors as they tried to restore order to the the startled and shattered ranks.
Metal clanged against metal as Niente struggled to rise, using his spell-staff as a cane. A hand took his arm and pulled: Atl, his face sooty and stained.
All around him was chaos. There were scores of dead warriors near the road, where the fireball had struck, but Tecuhtli Citlali and High Warrior Tototl were yet alive, shouting and gesturing to the left, where a full-scale battle was underway between the Easterners and the Tehuantin forces. I have never seen this attack, Niente realized. This is new… Bellowing, his spear out, Citlali was seating himself again on his horse, held by two warriors. “Nahual Atl!” Niente heard Citlali shout. “To me! To me!”
Atl’s hand left Niente’s arm. He leaped astride his own mount. “Nahualli!” Atl called, “to the Tecuhtli!” Citlali and Tototl already galloping toward the front line of the fray, and now Atl yanked at the reins of his horse in pursuit. Niente looked for his own horse, saw the animal standing with head down a few paces away. He went to the creature-limping, feeling muscles pulling angrily all along his side. The horse shied away as he approached, and he saw that its right foreleg was broken; it could put no weight on it. Niente cursed. He began a shuffling run, joining the rush of warriors toward the battle line halfway across the meadow. Ahead, he c
ould see the nahualli casting their own war-spells toward the enemy ranks, and he lifted his own spell-staff to join the barrage even as he ran, shouting the release words.
Fire and lightnings flickered down from sudden, low clouds. They slammed to the ground well up the ridge and in the midst of the charging Easterners. The warriors roared-a war cry to Sakal, calling down the wrath of the sun-god-and surged forward. Niente could see the banners of Citlali flying up the rise with the Easterners already fleeing before him, their front lines broken, their wounded being dragged ignominiously away. The retreat was humiliating and complete. Citlali called a halt to the counterattack as the Easterners melted away into the forest and the strips of wooded area between the fields. Easterner trumpets shrilled a falling sequence. The banner of the Tecuhtli fluttered briefly at the top of the rise-Niente could see Atl alongside him-then Citlali began to canter down the hill toward the road again, Tototl following behind him. Niente couldn’t see his face past the red eagle tattooed on his face and the blood spattered over it. Niente pushed forward through the milling warriors to where Citlali was dismounting. The Tecuhtli’s sword blade was covered in gore.
Now he could see the expression on Citlali’s face: he was furious as he gazed at the dead and injured warriors, as healers scurried forward to care for the living and the priests to give rites to the dead. Citlali bent down to several of them, touching faces that he and Niente had known for years. The smell of burnt flesh was strong, and the grass of the meadow was still afire around some of them.
Atl was standing not far from Citlali and Tototl. His spell-staff hung from his hand as if it were exhausted. His head was shaking, as if in denial. “I didn’t see this, Taat,” he said to Niente as he approached. “I looked, but this was hidden. Why didn’t I see it?”
