Marija had found the spell tucked beneath a bench-top in the cesia. Kassia’s yearning to return home increased tenfold, for she suddenly realized where the spell was at this moment. She had held it in her hands not that long ago and felt its energies surge through her fingertips before Master Lukasha had returned it to a leather bound folio and locked it away in his warded cabinet.
oOo
Two bride candidates arrived the next day. One was from the eastern darugha of Silesia, the second was the Duchess Fiorella Orsini of Lombardy. She had both a name and a title, but to Master Antal and Chancellor Bogorja she was merely The Lombard or The Orsini. She was installed in a wing of the palace far from the one Zelimir and his more favored guests inhabited and, according to Joti Subutai, who made it his business to know, she was almost immediately ushered into the presence of the Bishop who then escorted her to their sanctuary.
Later that day, Bishop Benedict himself came before the king and asked to present his ward. The king politely but firmly put the Bishop off. When all the candidates were assembled, he told him, they would all be received as equals. They were still three candidates short of that goal.
This did not dissuade the Bishop. The duchess strolled the lawns below the windows of the King’s private wing, visited the stables at the precise time he prepared to take his morning ride and was seen briefly on an upper gallery as the king passed through the audience hall on his way to supper. Kassia, trailing behind him at Master Lukasha’s side, had the impression of a childlike woman, petite and rounded with a heart-shaped face and large solemn eyes. Whether Michal Zelimir noticed her at all, she had no idea.
The morning after the duchess’ arrival, Kassia steeled herself against her discomfort and accompanied her king to morning devotions at his invitation. She was beyond surprise when they came upon Fiorella Orsini strolling the perimeters of the cesia. Michal acknowledged the woman’s presence with the most polite of nods and, wrapping Kassia’s fingers about his arm, escorted her up to the altar. He said nothing as they knelt in prayer, but Kassia could feel the turmoil within him. It troubled her so much that, when they rose to leave sometime later, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, hoping he would accept it as a sign of her empathy.
His smile was eloquent with hope for more, but when he turned and saw the duchess watching with her huge, hazel eyes, the smile fell. “Duchess Orsini, you are welcome to offer your prayers in our cesia. It is a most peaceful place in which to seek closeness with God.”
The words, spoken in lyrical Frankish, brought an expression of fleeting surprise to the delicate face. “You speak my language. How kind of you to learn it.”
“I speak several languages, my lady. Language is the mother of diplomacy. If you will excuse us—Kassia and I have not yet dined this morning. Again, I invite you to worship here. I believe you will find the cesia . . . inspiring.”
“I fear it would not be appropriate for me to worship here. However, you are forever welcome within the precincts of our church. All souls may find forgiveness and release there.”
“Not appropriate to give praise to God where heaven and earth meet? To meditate beneath the Tree of Life? I’m afraid I don’t understand your concept of propriety. I have visited your church. It is quite beautiful, but does not allow one to see the sky.” He gave her no opportunity for further comment, but whisked Kassia into the palace.
Moments later, when they passed by a window, Kassia glanced out into the gardens. The duchess had gone to the root of the cesia’s tree-lined approach and stood there, peering up toward the circle of gleaming pillars.
Following her gaze, Michal said, “The Bishop has evidently forbidden her to enter.”
“Would you also allow him to forbid you?” The question left Kassia’s lips before she could think better of it. She felt him tense and pressed on, driven. “That cesia is your heart of hearts, Majesty. Could you let anyone bar your entry to your heart of hearts?”
“An alliance with Avignon—”
“Is not worth your soul. Don’t wed her if it means you must lose your self.”
“I could pretend to believe as they do and keep my heart of hearts to myself.”
“That would be a lie, a lie that would dishonor your beliefs and theirs. Please, Majesty—Mishka.” She clutched his arm tighter than she meant to, surprised at her own sudden desperation. “Please don’t be manipulated. Not by anyone.”
He peered down at her, his dark brow furrowed with thought. “Do you care about my soul, Kassia? Do you care about me?”
“Of course I care,” she said, nearly choking on the confusion the words evoked. “You are my king . . . and my friend.” Could he not be more?
He nodded, patting her hand. If he was disappointed at not drawing from her a declaration of passion, he hid it well. She parted from him trembling, and did not know why.
Over the next several days, the last three bride candidates arrived in Tabor. The Byzantine—a girl still in her teens—arrived last, in the company of the Imam Sadiq, a handful of mullahs, a mujtahid and an elderly female companion. There were thirteen noblewomen in all—one from each of the ten darughas, one from the neighboring Teutonic Order, the Orsini and the Byzantine. Their number complete, the would-be queens were invited at last to attend the King Michal Zelimir at a feast the evening following the arrival of the delegation from Constantinople. They turned Michal Zelimir’s banquet hall into a garden of color and beauty. In a veil of dancing radiance that fell like false sunlight from myriad candles, they were a feast for the eyes. Jewels glittered, rich fabrics of every hue vibrated the air. Perfumes, subtle and exotic, tickled the nose.
Kassia, more splendid than she had imagined ever being, sat between Zakarij and Master Lukasha watching the pageantry, but feeling disconnected from it. The ladies were presented, one and all, by Chancellor Bogorja, his tone giving none favor or disfavor. They came forward on the arms of darughachi or ambassador or clergyman, or flanked by maids-in-waiting to bow before the throne of the Zelimirs. The King’s eyes scanned each one expressionlessly, as his lips mouthed well-worn platitudes. He was determined, Kassia thought, nearly smiling, not to be impressed with any of them.
The women watched each other, they watched Zelimir, and they watched Kassia, who was the only woman seated on the King’s dais. Kassia, for her part, did not gloat, though she acknowledged with some chagrin that it was within her nature to do so. The women intimidated her more than anything she had yet experienced since coming to Tabor and the King’s fondness for her was a shield against that intimidation.
The evening passed without incident. In fact, Kassia found she was soon bored by everything but the music, the food, and the conversation about spell balls taking place between Zakarij and Joti Subutai. But when the guests had begun to retire to their rooms and she had risen to do the same, the king beckoned to her from the doorway that led away to his private wing. Kassia glanced about for Zakarij; he was nowhere to be seen, and her Master was in close conversation with Chancellor Bogorja. As greatly as she feared being virtually alone with Zelimir, she realized she couldn’t disobey him, and so she came to him, praying Mat would take hold of his tongue.
He did not, as she feared he would, usher her out of sight of the great hall, but only smiled at her and took her hand and leaned his head close to hers and asked, “Did you enjoy the evening, Kassia?”
She could not quite bring herself to lie, and so replied, “I found the food exquisite and the music wonderful, as always.”
His eyes crinkled humorously at the corners. “You were bored, weren’t you?”
“Your Majesty! I—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “Majesty? Is that any way to refer to your friend Mishka?” He shook his head. “You were bored, as was I.”
She smiled. “A little.”
“Can you stand a little more boredom for your friend Mishka?”
“Of course.”
“Tomorrow I am to have a more . . . intimate gathering w
ith the . . .” His mouth twisted wryly. “ . . . the candidates. They will present themselves and their particular talents and gifts and I and Chancellor Bogorja will question them most thoroughly about their qualifications.” He lowered his head still further and looked directly into Kassia’s eyes. “I would like you to be there to . . . to help me assess them.”
Kassia was dumbfounded. “Me? Why me?”
“You’re my friend. My adviser. The Apprentice of a most admired Mateu and old family friend. I value your opinion and your gifts. I think perhaps you could tell me things about my would-be brides that even this could not.” He held up his hand, the bespelled bracelet flashing on his at the wrist.
Kassia gazed at the presently green stone. “What has it told you of them so far?”
“That they are all afraid of me. Except, perhaps for that red-haired girl from Bytomierz. I don’t believe she’s afraid of anything. I’m glad you’re not afraid of me, Kiska.” He raised her hand to his lips, then let it go to bow and slip into the corridor beyond.
Kassia tried to flee without seeming to, her steps measured, her heart hammering, her eyes flicking about to see if anyone had witnessed their exchange. Someone had. Lukasha stood just inside the great main doors of the banquet hall, observing unabashedly, while high up in the bridge-like gallery that looked down upon the hall, a woman watched, cloaked in shadows and deep blue velvet. Whether she was concubine or bride candidate, Kassia couldn’t see, but she recalled that the Lombard had worn blue velvet that evening.
oOo
The following day, Kassia deliberately eschewed the finery of the royal court for an Apprentice’s tunic and leggings. It was a warm morning, so she pinned the sleeves up to the elbows, bound her hair into a braid and put aside her ankle boots in favor of a pair of soft leather slippers. She looked, to her own eyes, like no one a king would favor. Master Lukasha would not approve, but she wanted none of the assembled women to mark her as a dog in the manger.
The gathering was a bizarre combination of competition and informal interview. One by one, the ladies spoke of their lives and families and answered questions put to them by Zelimir and his assemblage of advisers, which included Lukasha and Bogorja. While Lukasha questioned them on matters of faith and the Chancellor inquired about what resources they would bring to the union, Zelimir asked about their home villages or cities, their education, their personal hopes and aspirations.
This last puzzled a number of them, who expressed the idea (perhaps with coaching from the companions who watched from an upper gallery, unable to intercede) that wedding their king and giving him heirs must surely be any sane woman’s highest aspiration.
The woman from the Teutonic Order—speaking through an interpreter—stated baldly that she had had no higher hopes than to wed a local lord, a lord to which, Kassia sensed, her affections were already bound. While she was pitying the girl, the Orsini duchess, in halting Polian, expressed the desire to take vows that would marry her to the Church. However, she said diplomatically, if God had other plans for her, she would acquiesce.
“What of you, Kassia Telek?”
Kassia, her mind occupied with trying to imagine any of these women at Zelimir’s side, was caught completely off guard. “Your Majesty?”
“What are your aspirations? Share them with us.”
Kassia glanced at the faces of the other women and saw puzzlement, curiosity, disinterest, hostility. Good Goddess, what was he thinking? What did her aspirations have to do with anything? She looked to Lukasha, hoping for release, but received instead a nod of encouragement. A tiny flame of obstinacy flared in her breast.
“I aspire to be a Mateu, my lord.”
He smiled. “Not to wed a king?” He didn’t wait for an answer to that, but said, “You’ve been wed already, haven’t you? And borne a child to—what was his name?”
“Shurik, my lord. Shurik Cheslaf.”
“Shurik Cheslaf, a potter.”
She nodded, feeling disapproval from every side. Why was he doing this?
“What is a Mateu that you should aspire to be one?”
“A Mateu is dedicated to the service of Mat and Itugen and the beneficial use of their forces—the forces of heaven and earth.”
“So, like the Duchess Orsini, you would go into a monastery and take vows of celibacy?”
“No, my lord. As you know, the Mateu do not remove themselves from the world. Their duty is to the world.”
Zelimir only nodded and turned his comments elsewhere. Several of the women had cultivated talents as performers of music, verse or dance. He requested that they perform. This they did for the next hour or so, displaying their artistic abilities. At the end of that time, as the polite applause died away after Fiorella Orsini’s sweet rendition of a liturgical song, Zelimir once more turned to Kassia.
“What talents have you, Kassia?”
If she had been caught off guard before, now she was dumbstruck. Again, she glanced at Lukasha, but he merely inclined his head toward the king as if to say, “Obey him.”
“Come, Kassia. Don’t be intimidated by us.”
“I am not intimidated by you, my lord,” she said without thinking how that protestation would sound.
Michal Zelimir only chuckled and gestured at her to continue.
“I have the ability to call upon the forces of Mat and Itugen.”
“You can work magic,” translated Zelimir.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Your Master explains to me that you can perform something called a Square. Please, demonstrate this.”
Heart pounding in her ears, Kassia turned to Lukasha. He only smiled at her. “Please, Majesty,” she murmured, “are you certain you wish me to—?”
“Intimidated or not, remember who it is that makes this request.”
She glanced at him sharply, but his eyes were kind. It was Mishka who made this odd request. She fought down her dread and rose, choosing a circular pattern in the tiled floor of the hall in which to perform the spell. She picked up a crystal goblet from a tray at her right hand, moved into the circle, and held the goblet up in her cupped hands, closing her eyes against the invasive stares of her observers.
It took every ounce of concentration under the circumstances, but when she once again opened her eyes, she saw her audience through a veil of fire and water, each tiny droplet of mist blazing with the light of its antithesis. The goblet in her hands overflowed with the mixture of antagonistic elements, the air that bound them feeding one and repelling the other. The blaze of liquid glory poured over her hands and cascaded to the floor where it eddied into invisibility. Kassia’s heart exulted, but only for a moment.
Hearing their gasps and cries of surprise and fear, Kassia was unable to look at the other women. Equally unable to look at the one who had asked her to do this thing, she fixed her eyes on her Master. He smiled and nodded, pleased with her performance. She did not understand why, for it seemed to her that the room around her was disintegrating into bedlam. Desperately, she wished to be elsewhere, anywhere, and thought longingly of Lorant, of Shagtai’s workshop and her own sweet son.
Suddenly, it seemed she could see him—could see them both; Beyla exclaiming and crying “Mama!” and putting out his arms to hold her, Shagtai at his workbench, turning to see why the child had called out. His smoky eye widened, his mouth opened. A scream rent the air.
Kassia gasped and let the spell collapse. She was once more in the King’s banquet hall awash in anger and fear that was not her own. She felt hands on her—Michal’s hands—directing her faltering steps to a place distant from the chaos into which she had surfaced. In a moment she was in the Council Chamber, seated in a high backed chair and Lukasha was with her, his eyes alight, his lips quivering with questions.
“What did you do, Kiska? What spell was that?”
She shook her head, uncomprehending. “It was the Squared spell. The one I showed you. Why? What happened? What did I do that frightened everyone so?”
; Lukasha laughed. “You really don’t know, child? While you were in the heart of your marvelous ball of fiery water, your form . . . shimmered as if you were made of light. And then, before the eyes of all, you seemed to disappear.”
oOo
After Kassia’s display, the numbers of the bride candidates dwindled. The Teutonic woman was soon gone. So were several candidates from the darughas, whose experience (or that of their guardians) did not run to seeing a shai mishandle a Squared spell. Well, perhaps mishandle was too strong a term. Kassia was aware, if no one else was, how close she had come to discovering her own travel spell. Or had she discovered it? She had seen the work of Pater Honorius, had read its alien characters. Even if she had no conscious realization of their significance, did that necessarily mean she could not have absorbed it in some other way?
After frightening away half of his would-be brides, Kassia hoped Zelimir might be encouraged to send her back to Lorant, but he seemed more inclined than ever to seek her out. She knew, beyond any doubt, that a request for her to stay in Tabor could not be long in coming. Her uneasiness was quelled somewhat by the splendor and revelry of Solstice Fest, but with every entertainment they laughed at together, with every gleaming firework they shared, with every dance he escorted her to perform, Kassia knew Mishka had not lost his attraction to her. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. The occasional waves of response she felt continued to disturb her, for it was a strange, unwilling attraction she felt, and she was afraid of how it might affect her life and her son’s.
In the end it was Master Lukasha who saved her from her misery. Directly after the Solstice celebration, he bid Kassia and Zakarij pack up their things and be ready to travel at daybreak. He told Zelimir of his plans only after Kassia had retired for the night, and reminded him that distance and time alone would prove whether he truly loved her or only imagined that he did.
The were at the stables just at daybreak. The air was cool, but promising warmth, and Kassia savored for a moment the smells of horse and hay and nearby river. She would have gladly saddled her own animal, but there were royal servants to do it for her, and so she wandered to the stable’s rear court to gaze up toward the palace cesia. She could see only the topmost branches of the Tree from where she stood and closed her eyes to recall the velvety grass, the stately sentinel cedars, the gleaming white columns. She did not suppose that she would ever see them or their master again. It was a sad thought, but did not break her heart.
The Spirit Gate Page 23
