by S L Farrell
“She told me that also.”
“She told you? When?”
“When she took Matarh’s knife from me. It was her parting volley as she fled.” He ran his fingers through hair newly dampened by a quick bath. “She killed Rance. I knew it, even then. She looks so much like El-” He stopped and glanced at Brie. “Her matarh,” he finished.
“So is it possible she’s telling the truth, that she’s your daughter?”
Jan’s shoulders slumped. Now his hands were plowing nervously through his hair. “I suppose so. She’s about the right age.”
“Did you ever… With Rhi… Rochelle?”
He shook his head angrily, his hand making a sweeping denial that swept air across her cheek. “No! I swear it, Brie. She never allowed me to-” He exhaled loudly. “For good reason, evidently.” He paced the dressing room in the apartments that Allesandra had given them in the palais, snatching up the padded undertunic of his Garde Civile uniform. “Brie, I’m sorry, but I can’t worry about this. Not now. I don’t know why Sergei didn’t clap her in the Bastida when he had the chance.”
She went to him, pushing his hands aside as he fumbled at the ties of the undertunic. “Here, let me do that. Is that what you want for her?” Brie asked. “The Bastida? Judgment for the deaths she’s caused?”
She felt his chest heave under her hands. “Yes. And no. I don’t know what I want, Brie. If she’s my daughter, by the White Stone.. .”
“Not your daughter. Just a bastarda you fathered.” She’d finished tying the laces and stepped away.
“Back then, I would have married Elissa.” This time he said the name without hesitation, and Brie found that it hurt to hear it, to hear her own daughter’s name attached to that woman. Jan’s word stung her. “I would have married her without hesitation and without my parents’ permission if they wouldn’t give it,” he continued. “The girl wouldn’t have been a bastarda. I’d already asked Matarh to open negotiations with Elissa’s family-or at least the family she claimed to be part of. Oh, I’ll bet Matarh is finding this a most wonderful jest.”
She was certain that Jan had intended the words to hurt; she forced herself to show nothing of it. “Your matarh was doing what she thought she needed to do to protect her family. As I do also, when I must.”
“Yes, that’s undoubtedly why Matarh hired the White Stone to kill Fynn; to protect her family.” He finished putting on the rest of his uniform, sitting on one of the chairs to pull on his boots. “Brie, I need to meet with ca’Damont and ca’Talin within a mark of the glass. You need to be careful-I don’t know what this Rhianna or Rochelle might be after. Cenzi alone knows who the White Stone might go after next. I’d be far more comfortable if you were out of the city entirely.”
Where you’d be free to do whatever you want. Brie would have been more pleased if she felt that his concern was genuine and not just self-serving. Like his matarh-his needs always come first. “I’m staying, my husband,” Brie told him firmly. “You have your duty; I have mine. Allesandra will be directing the southern defense; I’ll help her.”
“Brie…” He stood up, buckling on his sword belt and adjusting it.
“No, I mean it, Jan. I’ve trained with my brothers and can hold my own with them with a sword. You know that. My vatarh’s schooled me on military strategy and has even consulted with me many times in the past, when raiders came over the border from Shenkurska. Allesandra has directed armies herself-I’ve heard you screaming in frustration about some of the tactics and strategies she’s used over the last several years. I’m no less safe here in Nessantico than I would be traveling on the roads, even with an escort.”
He was shaking his head. “I know that face you’re wearing now. There’s no use talking to you.”
“Then why are you still arguing?” she asked him. She wasn’t certain whether he was irritated or whether it was simply the stress. “I don’t want to argue with you, my love. We need each other, and I only want you to be as safe as you can be. You’ve a destiny, Jan-to be the next Kraljiki. I want to see that happen; I intend to sit next to you on the Sun Throne.” She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders and smiled up at him: the practiced smile, the required smile. “Now. .. Go on-meet with the Starkkapitan and the Commandant. You and I will worry about Rochelle later, when the Tehuantin are no longer a threat.”
“And you?”
“I have my own meeting with Allesandra.”
“Not with Sergei, too?”
She shrugged. “He said he had other business this evening.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Go,” she told him.
“You can’t wear the green robes,” Rochelle told Nico, and he favored her with an indulgent smile that touched his lips and vanished a breath later. It seemed his lips no longer remembered how to truly smile. Joy had vanished from life, when before it had filled him.
“There’s a large difference between ‘not permitted to’ and ‘can’t,’ ” he answered. “I’m a teni, and it’s my right to wear the robes. More than a right; it’s my obligation. I follow Cenzi, not that half-dead fool who calls himself the Archigos. It’s time for me to make that statement fully and to stop hiding like a criminal.”
“You are a criminal in the eyes of the Holdings and the Faith. They’ll kill you if they can.”
“They can try.” He tried to smile at her again, but it collapsed. “And there’s a large difference between ‘try’ and ‘will,’ too. You needn’t look so worried, little sister.”
She shrugged. They were on the second floor of one of the Morelli safe houses in Oldtown; the owner-a draper-had been visibly distressed to see Nico there, but had dismissed his apprentices for the rest of the day, sent his family to visit cousins two streets over, and had agreed to send out the word to the remaining Morelli sect that the Absolute desired to meet with them.
Nico had also learned that Ancel had been among those captured and executed after the storming of the Old Temple-another soul laid at his feet, another death for which he must atone. There were so many, and they weighed so heavily on his shoulders that he wanted to fall to his knees under them.
Liana, Ancel, I promise you-I will find peace for you…
He could still see the face of his and Liana’s daughter snuggled in Varina’s arms. He could feel Sera’s fingers wrapped around his, clutching him as if she knew she belonged to him. That memory, and the memory of Liana and Ancel and all of those who had died for him caused tears to gather in his eyes again, and he wiped them away.
Downstairs, among the draperies hung on wires waiting to be arranged into folds, Nico could hear the buzz and rumble of conversation through the floorboards: several of the war-teni had slipped away from the temple to come here; there were also, he was told, many of Brezno’s war-teni present as well, who had entered the city over the last few days following after the train of the Firenzcian army. He’d already talked to some of them-Archigos Karrol had declared that all war-teni would be sent to the battlefield with Hirzg Jan tomorrow.
“We won’t go, if that’s what you tell us, Absolute.” They’d all told him that. They’d all sworn that they would follow him rather than the Archigos, if he asked them. Their loyalty gratified him at the same time that it added to the guilt he bore.
How can you follow me after what I’ve done, after my failures? How can you still have faith when I struggle with it?
Nico still wasn’t sure what he intended to tell them. He would leave that to Cenzi. But he suspected he already knew. The choices had narrowed with the arrival of the Westlanders, and he had spent the night before praying to Cenzi for guidance while Rochelle watched him, her face more curious than devout. She reminded him of Elle, her matarh and Nico’s adopted-matarh. What did you do to her, Elle? Did you twist her beyond saving?
But he couldn’t worry about Rochelle now. Not yet. His followers, those who were left, waited for him, and the words of Cenzi burned inside him. “Let’s go,” he told Rochelle, holding out his hand to her.
“It’s time.”
He let her descend first, then followed her down the stairs. The astringent smell of dyes and the stiffeners for the fabric was strong in the single large room below, a room that also functioned as a store and showroom for the draper.
There were at least five double hands of people crowded into the space, packed so tightly that the air was heated with their presence. No greetings split that atmosphere as he appeared; everyone seemed as somber as Nico felt himself. He gave them the sign of Cenzi, and bowed to them meekly as they returned the gesture. A few lamps set on the draper’s walls provided the only light, but he could see many green robes like the one he wore, even though their faces were largely unfamiliar. He could feel their stares on his bruised and battered face, on the purple blotches that covered his forearms, at the way he limped as he descended the stairs. He saw them gazing curiously at Rochelle.
“May Cenzi bless you all,” he told them, spreading his hands wide. He could feel their affection for him, and he returned it; the room was filled with a pale glow that emanated from nowhere and everywhere. “I’m humbled that you would come, and even more humbled that you would still listen to what I have to say.”
“You’re still Cenzi’s Voice, Absolute,” someone called out from their midst. “We follow you. We saw Cenzi perform the miracle in the square. We saw you vanish without casting a spell; we saw the empty chains.” The others murmured their agreement, and the sound made Nico want to embrace them all, to try to burn away the grief and loss in the heat of their approval and support.
He clasped his hands together in front of him as if in prayer. “Yes,” he told them. “Cenzi came to me as I stood before the Kraljica, and He released me from the poor shackles this life placed on me. But
…” He stopped, shaking his head. “Cenzi has also shown me that I’ve let my own pride lead me away from His path, and He has punished me for that. He’s taken into Himself too many of those whom I loved, He has sent others into pain and misery, and He has filled me with grief and sorrow. Their pain came because they followed me. I realize now that I must become entirely Cenzi’s vessel, that I must give myself over completely to Him and must accept whatever He gives me to bear. I realize that I am nothing.”
He brought his head up and lowered his hands, his gaze sweeping over them, making eye contact with each of them in the room. “You must also understand that,” he told them. “This is your task as well, as it has always been for the teni-to perform the will of Cenzi and nothing more.”
“What is it that Cenzi wants us to do?” someone asked. “Tell us, Absolute.”
Nico hesitated even though he felt the words filling him. Am I right this time, Cenzi? Am I hearing You and not myself? Is this truly what You want me to tell them? The words remained in his mind, and he could rid himself of them only by speaking them.
“Our Faith is being directly threatened,” he said. “We have the Westlanders ready to overwhelm Nessantico and the Holdings, and if that happens, then the Faithful will suffer greatly. I have prayed, and I have opened myself to Cenzi and listened to Him, and this is what He tells me.” He paused and took several breaths, looking at each of them. “Now is the time to set aside our struggles with the false leaders of the Faith-not forever, but for a short time. We must first beat back the heathens and heretics who threaten us before we can look to the heresy within the Holdings and the Coalition.”
He paused, nodding to them. “I said this the other day on the plaza, and I tell you again here: for now, you should obey the Archigos. War-teni, go to war. Teni, perform whatever duty is given you. For the rest of you, do what you must. Obey the authorities that are over you. For now.”
He waited. The glow in the room increased. “Do this for the moment,” he told them. “And afterward… Afterward, we will again look inward. Afterward, we will turn our attention to reforming the Concenzia Faith. We will take the glory we have earned, and we will shape the Faith as Cenzi intended it to be, as the Toustour and the Divolonte demand, and we will listen to the commands of no one, no one, who is not with us. That is all I have to say tonight.”
The glow in the room faded, and the lamplight seemed dull in comparison. They shuffled, they hesitated, they stared. Then someone opened the door; one by one, they gave him the sign of Cenzi and shuffled from the room. Nico returned the sign to each of them, murmuring a blessing to each. When they had all gone, he felt Rochelle’s hand on his shoulder.
“They weren’t happy,” she said. “You didn’t give them what they came to hear. They were disappointed.”
“I know,” he told her. “But it’s all I had.”
Rochelle nodded. “You’re tired.”
“Exhausted,” he admitted. He looked at the stairs leading to the second floor. “But there’s still one more meeting before I can sleep.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. He said nothing, only gestured for her to follow him. He trudged up the stairs, his feet heavy on the treads. There was lamplight coming from the rear bedroom, where there had been no light before. He heard Rochelle’s knife blade slide from its sheath, and he shook his head at her.
“You won’t need that. Not yet.”
He walked easily down the corridor to the room and pushed the door open. “Did you hear what you wanted to hear?” he asked the person in the room.
“Did you hear what you wanted to hear?” Nico said, and Sergei shrugged.
“Overall, yes,” he answered. “You just saved yourself, and saved the war-teni along with you.”
“My safety isn’t in your hands, Silvernose,” Nico said, but the bravado in his voice was tired and unheated.
“Ah, but actually it is,” Sergei answered. He glimpsed movement behind Nico and saw a face. “Rochelle. Please, why don’t the two of you come in and sit down? There’s no reason we can’t have a civil conversation, just the three of us.”
Nico entered with a shrug and sat on the edge of the bed in the room. Sergei saw him glance at the far door on the rear of the house. Sergei had left it open, displaying the stairway leading down to an alley behind the draper’s. Rochelle entered and immediately put her spine to the wall to one side of the corridor doorway, remaining standing. She stared at Sergei, her eyes intent and dangerous. Sergei lifted his own hands from the arms of his chair, his right holding his cane. He imagined he could feel Varina’s spell hidden within the wood. “There, you see. I’m no threat to either of you at the moment.”
Nico’s mouth twitched with the ghost of amusement. “And neither of us believe that.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” Sergei told him. In his mind, he repeated the release word for the spell Varina had placed on his cane so it would be clear if he needed to use it. He wondered how effective it might be against Nico-not as much as he might hope, he suspected.
“You have a better information network than I thought, Sergei.”
“I was lucky. A few of your Morelli teni had guilty consciences. After the debacle in the Old Temple, they’re not all quite so trusting of you anymore, Nico. They came and told me where you’d be.”
“I can’t say I blame them.” Nico leaned back on the bed. “I don’t trust myself either. What would you have done had I not told the war-teni to obey the Archigos?”
“There were enough gardai, loyal teni, and Numetodo spellcasters in the streets outside to have arrested twice the rabble you managed to cobble together tonight, even with the war-teni.” Sergei closed his eyes, imagining the scene. “Let me tell you what would have happened. They were waiting for my signal. I would have all of you taken immediately to the courtyard outside the Kraljica’s Palais, driving the pack of you down the A’Parete like a herd of pigs being taken to slaughter, so that everyone could see you. By the time we reached the palais, there would be a huge crowd of citizens there to watch the spectacle, and I would set you and your people at the front. I would drag you forward, Nico, with tourniquets tied hard around your forearms. I would tell the citizens that you and the war-teni who f
ollow you would rather see Nessantico burned to the ground and all of them dead rather than fulfill their oath to Cenzi, the Faith, and the people. I would have handed a volunteer from the citizenry an executioner’s ax-and I would have many volunteers, Nico. I’d have that person strike your hands from your arms. Your screams would rebound from the walls of the palais, so loud that you’d think that all of Nessantico could hear them. Then I’d have another citizen pull your tongue from your mouth and slice it off with red-hot scissors, so that the wound would be immediately cauterized. I wouldn’t want you to die. Not yet. I would tell them all-the citizenry, the war-teni watching-that this was the Faith’s punishment, and that now I would show them the punishment of the Sun Throne. I would bind you to a post, and have one of the Bastida garda open your stomach and pull out a loop of your intestines. I’d tie that to a windlass, and have the garda slowly extract your guts, the windlass creaking as it turned. If you were still alive, afterward, then I’d have you flayed, the skin stripped from your living body. When you finally died, in misery and torment, your body would be put into a gibbet and displayed, with your hands and tongue nailed to your skull.”
Neither had spoken during his long tale. Sergei opened his eyes. Nico still watched him from the bed, but his face was an inscrutable mask. Rochelle appeared horrified. Her mouth hung slightly open, and she would not look directly at him. “You enjoy that fantasy,” she said angrily.
“I do, indeed,” Sergei admitted, glancing at her before returning his attention to Nico. “Then, when it was all over,” Sergei continued, scratching at the base of his metal nose with a forefinger, “I would tell the war-teni that they have two choices set before them. One is to renounce you, obey the Archigos, and serve Nessantico, and they might live. The other is to immediately suffer your fate. I would give each of them the choice. How many do you think would have followed you into martyrdom, Nico?”
