The Towering Flame

by Robert I. Katz

  The orchestra, which had momentarily fallen silent, resumed play. The crowd began again to mingle. Couples swirled across the dance floor.

  Irina frowned. She shook her head. “Dance with me,” she said. Terence, no longer gawky and having grown into his height, knew how to dance. He took her in his arms and they swirled across the floor. Irina seemed a bit stiff. During the pause between one dance and the next, Terence became aware of a presence at his side. He turned. Thierry Jorge Garcia stood there. He looked at Irina. “May I have this dance?” he said.

  Irina seemed to sigh. She glanced at Terence’s face, then turned to Thierry. “Of course,” she said, and held out her arms.

  Terence watched them for a moment, then wandered over to the buffet tables. Damien Hurst stood there, his round, plump face screwed up in concern. His eyes flicked to Irina and Thierry, circling the dance floor, Irina small against Thierry’s very large form. “They dance well,” Damien said.

  Terence didn’t answer.

  Damien glanced at Terence’s face, seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. “The food is good,” he said. “You should eat something.”

  “I should,” Terence said, but he didn’t.

  Damien grimaced.

  “I don’t like him,” Terence said.

  “No,” Damien said. “I can’t imagine why.”

  The next day, when Terence called, he was informed by a servant that Irina was indisposed and had returned to LeClair. She had a headache (a lot of headaches, Terence thought) and would be taking to her bed. He left, worried and dissatisfied.

  Terence spent the morning at odd-ends, wandering through the improvised streets of the Summer Fair by himself. He nodded occasionally to a face he recognized but had no desire for conversation. He felt lost in the midst of the crowd, curiously alone. His surroundings passed him by in a haze. He barely noticed where he was or what he did, stopping once to purchase a cup of coffee from a vendor, which he sipped while walking, later stopping to sit for a few minutes on a bench, for what reason he could not say.

  After awhile, his feet carried him to the Colliseo. The sound of swords clanging through the air, the smells of earth and heat and metal penetrated his awareness. He grimaced and walked under an arch, up a flight of covered stairs and out onto a row of seats. Only a few feet below, perhaps twenty men circled on the Colliseo floor, sparring with dulled practice swords. One of these, Terence saw, was Thierry Jorge Garcia. Another was the nameless ronin who had challenged him the night before.

  Garcia was bare to the waist. His shoulders were broad, his chest taut with muscle. He moved with swift economy, his eyes focused on his much smaller opponent, who was clearly tiring. Garcia moved, almost delicately, feinted to the left and swept his sword to the right. The opponent stumbled, fell, rolled to his back and suddenly, the point of Garcia’s sword was at his throat.

  The opponent coughed. “I yield,” he said in an aggrieved tone. He reached up with a finger and pushed the sword away from his throat. Garcia grinned, reached down and helped the smaller man to his feet.

  The nameless ronin grinned when he saw Terence and raised his sword in a mock salute, then went back to sparring. Terence ignored him. Thierry Jorge Garcia may also have seen Terence. Terence thought that he had. If so, he did not acknowledge him.

  Three rows up and a quarter of the way around the circumference of the Colliseo, Jergan Archer, Irina’s oldest brother, sat next to an elderly man dressed in the clothes of Fomaut. Jergan Archer did see Terence. He frowned and looked away, then leaned toward the other man and said something inaudible. The man frowned in his turn, shook his head, and stared down into the bowl of the Colliseo. He bit his lip, then after a moment, turned back to Jergan and nodded stiffly. Jergan seemed to deflate. He drew a deep breath, rose to his feet, said something that might have been agreement, glanced once in Terence’s direction, and walked swiftly away.

  Terence stayed for a few minutes longer, staring at nothing.

  At dinner that evening, the mood seemed grim. Terence’s parents ate without speaking. Even Isabel and Peter, Terence’s younger siblings, were silent and subdued, sensing that something was amiss. The servants brought each dish to the table in its turn and took them away half empty.

  Finally, over dessert, Terence’s father, Lord Marcus sighed. He turned to Terence, rose to his feet and said. “Walk with me.”

  Night had fallen but torches and lanterns lit the streets of the Fair and the crowd was scarcely smaller than it had been at noontime. Terence’s father seemed to know where he wanted to go. He moved briskly along, Terence following, until they came to a small, isolated garden. Fireflies flickered over a stretch of grass. They were alone. Terence’s father sat on a bench and looked up at his son. “Sit.”

  Terence did so. Lord Marcus sighed and looked away. Then he grimaced. “Malachi Archer came to see me today.”

  Irina’s father.

  Terence swallowed. “Yes?” He seemed to have difficulty getting the word out.

  “Did you know that the Archer family’s finances have suffered reversals?”

  Terence stared at him. “No.”

  The Archers were an old and noble family, whose wealth, like that of all the great houses of the seven nations, was based primarily on ownership of land. The Archers’ land contained some of the most prized vineyards on the continent. The wine that they made sold for exorbitant prices.

  “Aside from the vineyards, most of their land is mountainous, good for raising goats and a few sheep, but not much else. They used to have a gold mine, but the gold is long since exhausted. You remember the drought, three years ago?”

  Terence nodded.

  “The harvest that year was small. The year after, a plague of migrating insects decimated half the vines. This past year, there was too much rain and the grapes acquired a fungus. Most had to be discarded. In addition to these misfortunes, cheaper wine from Vallensia and Cortes has been entering the market.” Terence’s father shrugged.

  “I didn’t know. Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m afraid there is no easy way to say it.” Lord Marcus sighed and shook his head. “The Archers have received an offer for Irina, from the Garcia family.”

  Terence stared at him. Lord Marcus seemed to have difficulty meeting Terence’s eye. He looked out at the garden, his face grim. “They have reneged on our contract. Irina Archer is no longer your fiancée.”

  Terence felt something catch in his throat. He tried for a moment to speak but nothing came out. Finally, he said, “Is a contract so easily put aside?”

  “No. Not easily. Not if we wish to dispute it. The penalties are severe. The Garcia family, however, has enormous resources. They have guaranteed reimbursement, if it comes to that.”

  “Why wouldn’t it come to that? Aren’t we going to protest?”

  Terence’s father frowned. “Such contracts are rarely enforced, but then, they rarely need to be enforced, since they are rarely broken. They are meant to publicly declare the two party’s devotion, along with the alliance of their houses. They are a part of the ritual, a social requirement, if you will, but one party or another does sometimes change their mind, and a family’s circumstances may change, as well. If we were to dispute this, we would look petty, vengeful, even ridiculous.” His father looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Our social standing—your social standing—would certainly suffer. The best way to deal with this, is to be gracious.”

  “I see,” Terence said. “I am to be a smiling cuckold.”

  His father winced. “That was not gracious.”

  “But I’m not feeling gracious.”

  “Then lock yourself in a room until your feelings change, or until you are able to pretend that they have.”

  “And Irina? What about her feelings?”

  Lord Marcus sighed again and a pained expression crossed his face. “She has agreed to this. We must assume that her agreement was both willing and enthusiastic.”

 
; “We must?”

  “We should.” Lord Marcus shrugged. “Women are not bought and sold like cattle. Whatever her feelings, she did agree. It would not be proper for us to question this.”

  Terence felt himself about to say something that he would regret. He stopped and drew a deep breath. His father sat there, his face bleak. None of this, Terence told himself, was his father’s fault. Terence’s breath huffed out. He rose to his feet and walked away. Behind him, Lord Marcus remained sitting on the bench, staring at nothing.

  Chapter 5

  The Allen and Archer families were both old, respected and well known in the city. Neither family, however, was considered ambitious. Their ancestors had been ambitious and both families were now content to live on the fruits of those ancestors’ labor, happy to till their fields, collect rent from their tenants and live peacefully with their neighbors, leaving the decisions of State to those who found the pursuit of influence and power an intoxicating game.

  The ancient friendship between the two families might be strained but it would not be broken, not by the dissolution of an engagement. Neither family wished it. They would dance warily around each other, however, for a little while, at least.

  “I heard,” Damien said.

  Terence frowned at his old friend, whose plump cheeks quivered with concern. “What exactly have you heard?”

  “That Irina has broken your engagement, that a contract has been entered into with the Garcia family.”

  “A contract…” Terence muttered.

  Damien nodded.

  “It’s true.”

  “I thought she loved you.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “What does she have to say about this?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her.”

  Damien stared at him.

  “I imagine,” Terence said, “that she is sacrificing herself for the good of her family. It appears that they need the money.”

  “You should speak with her,” Damien said.

  “What would be the point?”

  “The point,” Damien said, “would be to determine if she is doing this of her own free will. We do not sell each other like toys in the market.”

  Terence sighed. “Actually,” he said, “we sort of do.”

  “I still think you should speak with her,” Damien said.

  Terence sighed again. “Maybe,” he said.

  That afternoon, Jergan Archer, Irina’s brother, called on Terence. He was admitted by a servant. Tea, and a platter of small pastries, was served. Terence’s father and mother both greeted Jergan Archer with courtesy and quickly left the two men alone in the tent’s main chamber.

  Jergan frowned at Terence and quickly glanced away. “I imagine that your father has informed you of my sister’s changed circumstances,” he said.

  Short and to the point. Terence clicked his tongue once against the roof of his mouth. He placidly sipped his tea, toying with the notion of throwing it in Jergan’s face. He smiled instead. “Yes,” he said.

  “We want you to know that we do not consider you to be at fault in any way. We bear you no ill-will and we hope that you bear none in return. All of us value our relationship with the Allen family.”

  “Of course you do. We are neighbors and old friends.” Terence felt his smile grow thin. “It is apparent, however, that you value your new relationship with the Garcia family even more.”

  Jergan grimaced.

  “The Archer family has been wealthy for many years,” Terence said. “The Garcia’s can assure that this happy condition continues, until the next drought, at least.”

  Jergan winced. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Probably not,” Terence said. He held the tea-cup near his face and released it. It hovered in the air, then floated back to the low table. Jergan stared at the tea-cup, at which Terence felt absurdly pleased.

  “I would like to hear what Irina has to say,” Terence said.

  Jergan had been carrying a small leather briefcase. He opened it and retrieved a sealed envelope. “She does not wish to speak with you,” he said. “She has asked me to give you this.”

  Terence held out his hand. The envelope floated from Jergan to Terence. He weighed the envelope in his palm. “Shall I read it, now?” he asked, “So you can take back a reply?”

  “No,” Jergan said. “She doesn’t want a reply. She wants you to realize that your relationship is at an end.”

  “Then I’ll read it later.” Terence smiled. “After you’re gone.”

  Jergan sighed and rose to his feet. He seemed about to say something, then his shoulders sagged and he walked off without another word. As soon as Jergan’s footsteps had faded away, Terence slit opened the envelope and carefully unfolded the letter.

  Dear Terence,

  When I left the Viceroy’s city, so many years ago, I was a child. I became a woman in Cathay. Thierry Garcia is not a stranger to me. Thierry was fostering in Cathay, with the Doge’s family, while I was there. I met him, shortly after my arrival. We attended the Scholium together. I knew him well. We grew close. How close, I did not entirely realize, until I saw him again, a few days ago at the Fair.

  I have no desire to hurt you. My feelings—and my regard—for you were and are sincere. I find, however, that my feelings for Thierry Garcia are of an entirely different order.

  I realize that this change in our circumstances is sudden and will be hurtful, but there is nothing to be done for that, except to make our break as final and decisive as possible. I wish you well, but please do not try to contact me again.

  Irina

  “So much for vineyards,” Terence said to himself. He slumped back in his chair, the tea forgotten.

  The next day, Irina returned from LeClair, if she had ever really been gone. Terence saw her among the crowd at the Fair, walking with Thierry Garcia. She smiled at Thierry often, and clung to his arm. If it was an act, it was a convincing one. Thierry smiled back.

  Terence hadn’t meant to spy on them. He hadn’t planned on seeing them at all, but once he did, he could barely look away. He saw them first from a distance. The crowd obscured his view for a moment, and then the crowd parted and they were still there, laughing together, her hand on his arm.

  Night was falling. The torches had just been lit. They stopped, and unseen by either Thierry or Irina, Terence stopped as well. Thierry had a wry smile on his face, the sort of smile that Terence had often smiled himself, when walking with Irina Archer.

  They strolled along, stopping now and then to wander into various booths selling merchandise from all the seven nations, once to watch an acrobatic display, once more to peer with amazement at a sword-swallower. Terence, almost in a trance, wandered along behind.

  Finally, they came to a small, wooded park at the edge of Gladden Field. The sun had set and the only light came from torches in the distance, the stars and the three racing moons overhead. Terence, peering from behind a tree, heard Irina say something in a voice too low for the words to be distinguished. She laughed softly and tugged on Thierry’s arm.

  They seemed to vanish. Terence hesitated. He should leave. He knew that, but the idea of simply leaving was unthinkable. His heart pounded. Despair filled his soul. He had to see. He waited for perhaps five minutes, then crept forward through the shadows. Around a thick stand of trees lay a small, grassy clearing.

  Peering through the shadow of a low bush, Terence could barely make out Irina lying on the ground, her skirts around her waist. Thierry Jorge Garcia lay between her legs. Irina’s heels drummed into the small of Thierry’s back as his thighs flexed. Small cries came from Irina’s throat. Finally, she gave a gasp and seemed to relax. Thierry groaned, breathing hard, then collapsed on Irina’s prone body. Her hand idly caressed the back of his neck.

  They lay there for over a minute, until Thierry said, “Have I made you forget that boy you were engaged to?”

  Irina laughed. “He’s a nice boy,” Irina said, “but he’s still a boy. He’
s not you.”

  “No,” Thierry said, his voice thick with satisfaction, “and he never will be. You should never forget it.”

  Irina laughed again.

  Terence slunk away.

  The first time Irina Archer and Terence Allen made love, Terence had been mildly surprised to discover that Irina was not inexperienced. She was far more experienced, in fact, than himself. Irina was young, but not, apparently, too young. This bothered Terence a bit. He had been hoping to be her first, but what Irina Archer might have done, and with whom, before her relationship with Terence Allen, was not his business. Society was firm on this point.

  Irina, like most of the gentry, had at least some minimal ability at manipulating soul-stuff. She could scour her womb. Conception was not an issue until she chose it to be so. The father of her future children would not be in question. This was all that mattered.

  Irina Archer had known Thierry Jorge Garcia in Cathay, where she apparently became a woman.

  A woman.

  Chapter 6

  On the night preceding the last morning of the Summer Fair, the Viceroy hosted a farewell dinner for the leading families of Varanisi and their visiting dignitaries. This was a less elaborate affair than the welcoming ball, since tomorrow, after the closing ceremony and awarding of the final prizes, most of the guests would be travelling. The Archer and Allen families had been invited, as they always were.

  Terence had spent much of the previous week by himself, brooding. Once, Damien Hurst called. “You’re missing all the fun,” he said. “Thierry Garcia has made quite a name for himself. He came in third in the archery contest and he’s beaten all challengers with a sword.”

  “And how does this interest me?” Terence said.

  Damien seemed about to say something, then looked at Terence’s face and seemed to think better of it. He left soon after.

  His family gave Terence a wide berth, even his younger siblings, for which he was grateful. In the morning before the party, Terence rode into the city and returned a few hours later. That evening, Lady Emily looked at him, concern on her face. “You don’t have to go,” she said. “You’re young. Most of these people won’t notice you’re missing and the rest will understand.”