The cesia. Kassia glanced about to see how she might reach it, and saw, to her right, a break in the balcony’s balustrade. She hastened in that direction and was rewarded with a flight of steps by which she reached the garden. Her first impulse was to hurry up the tree-lined path, but her sense of wonder in the sheer beauty and holiness of the place arrested her. She moved as a dreamer up the slope, savoring the softness of the dewy carpet, the fragrance of cedar on the cool breeze and the shimmer of the pale stones of the cesia above.
At length, she reached the double circle of cut and polished pillars and stood in awe before an altar of such brilliant white that she thought worshipers at a mid-day observance must not be able to look directly at it. It was an ornate altar, too, carved and polished, as were the fluted columns that embraced it. Behind the altar was a magnificent tree—an evergreen with gracefully sweeping branches and a nodding top. Almost without thinking, Kassia performed her nine genuflections, then took to the altar a gift of fire and knelt in meditation at its gleaming base.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been there when she realized she was being observed. She knew intuitively that the watcher was not someone known to her, and so tried to push the awareness aside and concentrate on her meditation. She concentrated so well that it was only a whiff of some spicy fragrance on the breeze and a shadow mingled with hers on the grass that alerted her to the person kneeling beside her.
Solitude shattered, she turned to see a man of perhaps thirty years, on his knees in the grass. He wore a fine but plain linen tunic the color of cream, and a small, shapeless velvet hat the same green as the cesia’s border of trees. Beneath his finely trimmed beard—dark brown with warm red lights—he was smiling, and his pale gray eyes regarded her with friendly curiosity.
“You’re shai,” he said. “And in Apprentice’s garb. That means you must be Kassia.”
She nodded, having no idea what words might be appropriate.
He glanced toward the altar. “What do you think of our cesia?”
“It’s beautiful. Probably the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Ours . . . has not been this green for a very long time.”
The gray eyes clouded slightly. “The Great Fires. They took even your place of worship?”
“Yes. And the Tree. We planted a new one, of course, as soon as we could, but, well, the old one was quite ancient. It will be a time before the new one manifests the full glory of Itugen.”
“As it is with your Tree, so it is with Polia as a whole. But the glory of Itugen is obviously manifest in you, or you wouldn’t be here as an Apprentice to Master Lukasha. He has written of you. So far, you have exceeded his glowing words.”
Kassia flushed, unsure of how to take the stranger’s praise. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You seem to know me, but . . .”
“I am Mishka,” he told her and, after affording her a last appraising look, he rose and inclined his head. “Until we meet next.”
She watched him stride down the hill and return to the palace the same way she had exited it. After a moment, she rose and followed suit.
She breakfasted with Lukasha, Zakarij, Antal and Joti in what they referred to as a “small dining salon.” It was twice as large as the refectory at Lorant. After breakfast, Zakarij went with Master Antal and Joti to the Mateu residence just north of the palace on the opposite side of the cesia, there to receive an accounting of the recent happenings in Tabor, and to collect the endowments gifted to Lorant by the city’s generous donors. Kassia and her Master, meanwhile, were led to a small chamber off the royal council hall where Antal had collected a number of the Emperor’s household items and personal possessions. Lukasha examined each one, considering in what way it was used and when, and how close it might be kept to the king—considering also which might make the best demonstration of the Web spell.
Finally, he picked up a glass candle holder and held it out to Kassia. “This should make a good subject. Come, Kassia, start by setting the spell on this.”
She took the candle holder and turned it in her hands. It was quite an extraordinary object, obviously meant to do more than merely hold a candle. It was in the form of a fantastic beast—a dragon or griffin—that seemed to be riding the crest of a frozen wave. Atop its head was a crown of silver and within the crown was the well in which the taper sat. Holding the glass beast in both hands, Kassia stared at it until it she saw nothing but the gleaming griffin. She invoked Itugen and Mat and the spirits of wind and light and the rainbow. She called upon Chanan the Spider. She wedded the spell to the glass.
Before her eyes could quite come into focus, before they saw the detail of beast and wave, the glass pulsed with a pale blue wash of light. The blue pulse was followed by a brighter one of brilliant red, and that, in turn gave way to a chaotic tumble of colors—shades of anger, distrust and fear. Astonished, she turned to Master Lukasha and saw, standing in the doorway behind him, a tall, golden-haired man wearing a robe of white silk encrusted with gold and jewels. On his head was a soft conical hat that rose from a jeweled diadem. His eyes were blue as deep winter ice and infinitely colder; Kassia shivered when they met her own. She did not need the invested piece of glass to tell her that this stranger felt the deepest distrust of both herself and Lukasha.
Her Master had turned now, too, and bowed slightly to the other man. “Your Grace,” he murmured.
Golden eyebrows rose. “Master Lukasha. I was seeking the king. Since the door was ajar, I thought he might be here.”
“As you can see, he is not. If you will excuse us . . . my Apprentice and I have some rather important work to do.”
The man’s eyes returned to send more chills up Kassia’s spine. “Your Apprentice.” He came further into the room, rounding the table to come face to face with her. “Her presence here is . . . inappropriate.”
“Her presence is required, Your Grace.”
“For what?”
“For the protection of the king.”
“All that is needed for the King’s protection is his belief in our Lord.” He made a gesture with one hand that Kassia took to be ritual in nature. His voice—gentle and musical—was at odds with the vehemence in his eyes. There was an almost-smile on his lips; it reminded Kassia jarringly of Zakarij.
“In a spiritual sense, you are no doubt correct,” said Lukasha mildly. “But would you have him go into battle weaponless? Or throw open the palace gates to any and all? There are other forms of protection you would not have him eschew.”
“I would have him eschew this. This is not protection. It will endanger his immortal soul.”
Kassia dared to speak. “You don’t even know what ‘this’ is. How can you judge its danger?”
“I know it is pagan magic—demonism. That is all I need to know.”
“You forget, Your Grace,” said Lukasha, smiling, “our king is also ‘pagan’, as you call it.”
“I do not forget, Mateu. But perhaps he is not so pagan as you think. He has come often to mass.”
Lukasha nodded. “I have attended mass, myself. All worship rises to the same Throne.”
The other man shook his head. “There is only one God.”
“We are in agreement, then.”
“You give Him a wife.”
Lukasha’s brow furrowed. “Do you not also give Him a wife—a mortal wife—and a son?”
The jeweled man made the sign again—forehead to heart, shoulder to shoulder. Kassia stiffened, thinking he set a ward, then relaxed when she felt no magic, but only the anger he tried to conceal.
“Our God has no wife,” he murmured.
“Ah, a consort then,” suggested Lukasha.
Now, His Grace’s cheeks suffused with color, but his voice never lost its reasonable tone. “You twist a spiritual reality to the material. Hence, we have no ground for understanding.” The cool, pale eyes moved back to Kassia, sending a shiver across her shoulders. “I will say again that a woman has no place in the King’s council chamber. Most especially t
his woman.” He turned from them, then, and left the room.
Kassia expelled a captive breath. “Master, who was that man?”
“That was the Bishop of Tabor. Benedict is his name. ‘Good words’ it means.” He glanced at Kassia.
“An odd name for someone who has so little good to say,” observed Kassia, and felt rewarded when her Master chuckled.
A moment later someone else was at their door—a servant who let them know that King Zelimir was ready to receive them. Lukasha gathered up several of the items Antal had left them—a ring, a bracelet, a small mirror—and followed the servant from the room. Kassia trailed him, still clutching the candle holder.
“Excuse me, Master, but shouldn’t we vest the rest of these items before we take them to Zelimir?”
“There’s no time. Besides, he may enjoy watching you do it.”
They were ushered across the vaulted audience hall in which the king usually held court, and into a long, windowless room with a massive fireplace at either end. Kassia stared at everything, almost unable to take in the size and opulence of it all—the cavernous rooms, the paneled walls, the mirror-like floors, the rich tapestries and curtains.
The council chamber was similarly opulent. Beneath a huge chandelier of wrought brass sat a long, black lacquered table flanked by a dozen or more chairs, also of lacquered wood. The beauty of the room was echoed in a series of large mirrors placed at intervals down the walls. At one end of the table, before the impressive maw of one of the fireplaces sat an especially elaborate chair—a small throne.
She was still studying the room when a door beside the fireplace opened and a man entered, dressed in the invariable green and cream of the Zelimirid house. It was Mishka. But his green hat had been replaced by a circlet of gold set with emeralds. Before Kassia could make sense of that change, he moved to the head of the black table and seated himself in the throne.
Kassia was unaware of what happened after that for a full minute. She thought Lukasha bowed, and that she might have mimicked him. Then the king spoke, and in a moment, Lukasha was introducing her to him.
The king smiled, enjoying her obvious confusion. “Kassia and I have already met,” he said.
Master Lukasha regarded Kassia with surprise. “She didn’t mention it.”
Kassia started. “I . . . I didn’t . . .”
“I don’t think she realized it,” the king said, still smiling. “I wasn’t wearing a crown or a robe. Without those things, I fancy I look like any other man.”
What was the appropriate response? Kassia wondered. Did she protest that, of course, no Zelimir could look like any other man? Did she testify to her own lack of perception? Was there an appropriate response?
Zelimir saved her from further comment. “I introduced myself merely as ‘Mishka’. I hope she will forgive me the masquerade.”
His eyes were on her, warm, amused. She suddenly realized that the bespelled candle holder was still in her hands and broadcasting her embarrassment to anyone who saw it. She refused to glance down to see what color embarrassment was.
Lukasha continued his introduction. “I have brought Kassia to court, my lord, that you might see two things. One is her extraordinary talent. The other is what her appearance means to our future. She is shai, lord, and she is empowered. I bring her to you as proof that the realm has recovered in the hands of the Zelimirs. I also bring her to offer you such protection as no other man could claim.”
“Protection?” the king repeated. “What sort of protection? I have guards. I have my loyal servants and counselors.”
Lukasha’s expression was one of fatherly concern. “Mishka, they may not always be so loyal. Men of politics have their own agendas in life; men of religion, their own missions. Kassia has brought you something by which you can know the thoughts and feelings of those around you.”
“A candle holder?”
“Not the candle holder, but what is in the candle holder—a spell that will catch the thoughts of the person at whom you direct your eyes. Or which will determine the strongest emotions in a room, be they your own or another’s. Place the candle holder before the king, Kassia.”
She did as told, delivering the warded object to the table before the royal throne. Zelimir glanced at it, then at her. The glass griffin glowed a ruddy violet. That was the color of embarrassment. She suspected her face was a similar color.
Zelimir was fascinated. “You’re suggesting I could set such a thing on the council table and thereby be able to see what is beneath my counselor’s words? But how can I keep others from also seeing? Eventually, they might be able to understand the message in the glass.”
Lukasha laid his objects out upon the table. “Any of these things might be turned into a web for the thoughts of others. Choose something. Kassia will give it the power to do this.”
“But Master,” she murmured, “I have always had Zakarij before to help me.”
Lukasha smiled at her. “You need no help, Kiska. You can do this yourself.”
She did do it herself, riding the tide of Lukasha’s confidence in her. Zelimir chose the bracelet—a much more discreet object than the ornate candle holder—and Kassia imbued it with the power of the web. He placed the bracelet on his right wrist and, smiling, ventured into the audience hall. He visited with several of the people there—servants, counselors, the Bishop of Tabor, who lingered, awaiting the call for the King’s Council to be convened. Then, his face showing bemusement, he returned to the council chamber to stand face to face with Kassia.
“This is an amazing thing, Apprentice. You are indeed a messenger of hope.” He raised her hand to his lips momentarily, allowing her a glimpse of the bracelet before he lowered his own hand to his side. The stone flashed pale green, then a muddy aqua, reflecting the emotions of its wearer and then, as he directed his thoughts, Kassia’s sudden confusion. “The council will meet soon, and I must prepare. Thank you, Apprentice Kassia. Master Lukasha, how may I learn the language of this jewel?”
“Practice, Majesty, with your own emotions. What it tells you of yourself, it will tell you of others.”
The king smiled at the jewel, which reflected a pale golden light into his gray eyes. “Thank you, Master Lukasha. I’ll see you in chambers?”
Lukasha inclined his head. “Of course, Majesty.”
“Your counsel is always appreciated.” The king reciprocated, inclining his head to the Mateu in a gesture of respect, and left the room.
Kassia turned to her Master. His eyes were alight with obvious pleasure . “You are pleased, Master?”
He stepped to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I am very pleased, Kiska. He has accepted the ward. He will wear it upon his person. Do you know why he will do this? Because of you. He accepts your magic because he has first accepted you. You heard him—you are a beacon of hope for Polia. A symbol of her renewed vitality. He will come to trust you. That may serve to save him from others that he trusts.”
There was nothing in what he said of Damek’s horrid insinuations about a fleshly liaison, which seemed, at this moment, a perfectly absurd idea. Who was she that the King of Polia should even contemplate such an association? Yet, she felt that whatever Michal Zelimir’s station in his own realm, in the spiritual realm she had found a friend.
Chapter Ten — Bishop of Tabor
The council meeting was unexceptional, to outward appearances. Subjects ranged from the trivial to the critical. The upcoming Solstice celebration was discussed, which Bishop Benedict pointedly referred to as the Feast of the Annunciation. When he proposed a far more somber observance than the traditional Polian festival, the king countered by asking how the announcement of his Lord’s impending birth could possibly be a somber occasion. He ultimately decided that if the Bishop wanted a solemn mass, he could certainly hold one; the rest of Tabor would celebrate as was its custom, with feasting, dancing, costumed plays and a festival of kites and balloons outside the city walls.
A petition was read
expressing the desire of Odra province to separate from Polia in favor of becoming part of the Empire that now pressed its western borders. Protection from aggression was the reason given for the request. It was presented by the signatory darughachi and a handful of dukes and magnates. A second petition from two small principalities along the kingdom’s southeastern flank, meanwhile, also begged protection—in the form of admission to Zelimir’s kingdom. One of Zelimir’s ministers wryly suggested that two for one was not such a bad deal and ought to be considered. To the second petition, the king and his advisors were favorably disposed, the first was tabled, pending further inquiry of the provincial governor and his lords. Throughout the council, Zelimir glanced at his web-spelled bracelet with eyes that never betrayed his own thoughts or feelings.
Inevitably, the subject of suitable wives was raised and a handful of new candidates introduced by means of portraiture. Michal Zelimir viewed them all with the same bland disinterest. The only emotion he showed during the entire proceeding was when Bishop Benedict announced that the Lombard candidate, the duchess Fiorella Maria Orsini, would be arriving in Tabor within the week. Above his dark beard, Zelimir’s face reddened perceptibly and, with a voice brittle with irritation, he asked the Bishop why the daughter of a Lombard noble should travel all the way to Tabor on a whim.
“No whim, Majesty,” Benedict replied. “She has a brother attached to my offices as a cleric. It is not so strange that she might wish to visit him.”
“How convenient,” said Zelimir pointedly, “that her visit is timed so perfectly. She’ll be able to celebrate the Solstice with us—or the Annunciation, as you prefer.”
“Yes, it is rather a happy coincidence,” Benedict countered mildly. “Perhaps, you will cause her journey to be doubly blessed.”
“She must be supremely confident of her charms,” said Fedor Ziemovit, darughachi of Sandomierz, “to travel to Tabor before even receiving an invitation.”
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