I had lost track of Valentino and Quirino, which was just fine with me, since without them I could try to fade into the paving-stones. I started for the edge of the crowd, but someone else grasped my arm. This time, it looked like a genuine man. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, signora?” he asked. His velvet tenor was oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it. Perhaps he was a noble that I'd played for.
“But of course, signore,” I said. “I am always happy to dance with a gentleman.” I took his arm as awkwardly as I could, and he spun me back toward the center of the dancers.
My new partner was an excellent dancer; he danced rather as I imagined Michel would, if I had ever danced with him. He was confident enough to lead me in a complicated series of twirls and flourishes, and skilled enough to ensure that I never stepped on his feet. I worried, as we danced, that I should be more clumsy than I was, dancing the woman's part—but to deliberately misstep in the hands of such a skilled partner seemed like it would be more suspicious than decently competent dancing. Besides, I had danced both a girl's part and a boy's part, learning to dance at the conservatory. Undoubtedly the boys had done the same in their classes.
My partner wore a red sash with a black tunic, and a mask that covered almost his entire face. He was short and a little stout, with boxy shoulders. But he was unquestionably a nobleman; his hands were even softer than Mira's. I wondered suddenly if he might be a mage. Well, if he were, I'd give him the slip as soon as I could.
“Would you care to rest for a bit, signora?” he asked some time later. I nodded; I wasn't out of breath yet, but my legs were tired. He steered us through the crowd to one of the less-crowded streets. “You play the violin, do you not?” he asked me.
“Yes, signore,” I said.
He held up my hand and brushed my fingertips lightly with his own. “I could tell from your calluses.”
I gave him what I hoped was a boy's imitation of a girl's flirtatious smile. “You're very observant, signore.”
“Sit and drink with me,” he said, so I followed him to a quiet spot off the main street, and we sat down in the shadows. He gave me a flask of wine and I took a cautious sip. It was excellent wine, some of the best I'd ever had. I took another swallow, then another, then passed it back.
“I love Mascherata,” he said. “It's my favorite night of the year.”
“You love to hide, then?” I said.
“I hate to hide,” he said. “It's only with the mask on that I can be my true self.” He turned his head to look at me. With the mask that covered his whole face, I couldn't see whether or not he was smiling; it unnerved me.
“Strange,” I said. The wine was strong; just the little I had drunk was making me light-headed. “My mask makes me feel exposed. I'm afraid of what I might reveal.”
“What does it matter?” he said. “With your mask on, no one will know who you are.”
I smiled at him and shrugged.
He clasped my hand and bowed to me briefly. “Dance with me, signora.”
I stood up again and we danced slowly in the alleyway, moving to the pulse of the now-distant drums, as I had once danced with Mira. “Tell me who you are not,” he said to me.
“I am not a Fedele priest,” I said. “Nor am I gentle-born. Who are you not?”
“I am not a mage,” he said. “Nor am I a musician.” He traced my face with one hand. “Come with me,” he said, and so I followed him again, as he led me through the alley, and through another alley, and another. We were alone in the darkness. He stroked my arms, running his hands along the velvet. “Tell me what you are,” he said.
“I am a musician,” I said. “Tell me what you are.”
“I am a man who loves other men.” He laid his hand on my face gently. “Are you as I am?”
I froze. “I think,” I said, and my voice squeaked, “that I am not as you think me.”
He dropped his hand and turned away. “Refuse me without fear,” he said. “I'm a fool.”
“No—” I said. The sadness in his voice was heartbreaking. “It isn't that. I find you very—” I paused. “I actually really am a woman.”
The alley was dead silent for a long moment. Then witchlight flared in the man's hand, as he turned to study me. I couldn't read his expression behind the mask, and began to feel frightened. With the hand that wasn't holding the witchlight, he reached up and in one smooth motion pulled my mask off. “Daniele,” he said. “I was right, it is you.”
Someone knows. Someone knows my secret. My mind soared into panic, and I did the first thing that occurred to me. Ripping my knife from its concealed spot under my skirt, I launched myself toward the man. He was drunk and unsteady already, and I knocked him flat on his back in the alley.
“Wait—” he said, his words garbled with fear. “Wait, Daniele—”
Holding my knife to his throat, I tore his mask off.
And stared into the face of the Emperor.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Knock, and the door shall be opened.
—The Journey of Gèsu, chapter 4, verse 26.
My stomach lurched. “Oh my God,” I said. My words came back to me a heartbeat later and my stomach lurched again. Now I had really done it. My knife was trembling, and I couldn't tell if it was Travan or me that was shaking. I couldn't kill the Emperor; he was the one that I had desperately hoped for an opportunity to get on my side. But I couldn't let him live. He knew everything.
I held the knife-edge at his throat, paralyzed by fear.
“Wait, Daniele,” Travan said. “Don't you know me?”
“You're the Emperor,” I said.
Travan stared up at me desperately, shaking his head. “I am one of you.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
Travan licked his lips and his voice sank to an even fainter whisper. “I am Redentore. You spied on the Mass when I was there. I kept the others from killing you.”
I dropped the knife. Gathering my skirts around me, I climbed off of the Emperor. “Your Imperial High—”
“Shhh,” he said. “There are people about, and anyone might overhear. Call me Travan.”
My mouth was dry. “I'm so sorry—”
Travan sat up wearily and leaned against the building. With one hand, he clasped my skirt and tugged, urging me to sit again. I sat down beside him.
“I've been watching you since before you visited the Mass,” Travan said. “I knew who you were when I approached you in the piazza. I'd thought for some time that you might be like me.” He formed a light and studied me again, then flicked the light away. “You make a rather attractive boy, you know.”
I swallowed hard and tried to convince my head to stop spinning long enough to let me speak. “Travan,” I said. “You have the courage to defy the Fedeli, to follow your conscience and the true God. Do you have the courage to defy the Circle? If it's not for nothing?”
Travan turned toward me. “You're one of the Lupi,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. Travan was silent, so I took a deep breath, then another, and started talking. “You know that your father was murdered by his political enemies. And you know that could happen to you; both the Circle and the Fedeli are looking for ways to force your hand. You're caught between them but you don't have to be. You could rule in truth, and not just in name. You could take revenge on those who arranged the death of your father. If you have the courage to join us. If you have the courage to defy the Circle.”
Travan met my eyes, and I saw fear in them, but also trust. “Who are you?” he asked.
Please, God, let this be the right thing to do, I thought. “Eliana,” I said. “I'm Eliana.”
“If you're Eliana, what are you doing here?” he said. “Why aren't you with the Lupi?”
“The opportunity presented itself to send a violinist,” I said. “I was a conservatory student, once. And— before I left, the Circle had nearly destroyed my army.”
“I had heard that,” Travan said, and looked away. “So
why should I join a losing cause—even one that offers me a true throne?”
“With you on our side, everything would be different,” I said. “The army is loyal to you. And the Circle fears them—for good reason. Without soldiers for protection, mages are vulnerable. We could make this work.”
“If I take your side,” Travan said, “the Circle and the Fedeli will cooperate in my murder.”
“You'll have to leave Cuore,” I said. “Tonight, if you're willing. I have people here who can slip you out.”
Travan hesitated. “And if I'd like to think this over?”
“You are the Emperor,” I said. “I will await your decision.”
Travan was silent again for a few moments. Then, “Tell me this,” he said. “Would the Lupi truly support me against the Circle?”
“I swear in Gèsu's name,” I said. “We would support you.”
Travan nodded. “Then I'll do it.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The tavern where I normally met with Michel would be closed for the evening's revelries, but with luck Michel would not have gone far. Travan and I tied our masks back on and made our way through town. My head was still reeling, and I knew that both my wig and my false breasts were askew.
The streets seemed to be full of Lupi, but if my soldiers had ever gotten this drunk, I'd have tossed the lot of them into the stockade. I kept seeing familiar people in the featureless crowds. Three times, I was certain I saw Lucia. Twice, I thought I saw Felice. And once it was my mother I saw, dancing with a young man in the street that ran past the tailor's shops. I nearly cried out, but then she turned and I realized that it was a man.
When we reached the streets near the university, I feared that Travan was losing his nerve. “Just a little farther,” I whispered. “Wait here while I find Michel.”
Travan nodded and slipped into a shadowed doorway. I could drag Travan out of the city myself, but Michel and Placido could provide us with horses, which we'd need to have Travan a safe distance away by morning. I realized with dismay that my violin was still back at the enclave. Well, if I didn't have a chance to go back for it, I'd leave it. The Emperor was more important than any instrument, and besides, my old violin was with Lucia.
Michel was nowhere to be found, but I spotted—of all people—Ulisse. “Ulisse,” I hissed. He stumbled over, flask in hand, giggling at the sight of me. “Shh, this is serious,” I said. “I need to talk to Placido. Do you know where he is?” Michel would probably be close by.
“Yeah, maybe,” Ulisse said, looking vaguely around the crowd. “That's right, he's the next street over. Least he was a little while ago.”
“Thank you,” I said, and started to pull away.
“Hey,” he said, pulling me back toward him. “Don't you have a kiss for the gentleman?”
I gave Ulisse a swift kiss on the cheek. “I'll see you later, Ulisse.” Someday, Ulisse would find out who I really was. The thought made me smile.
The university reformers seemed to be celebrating Mascherata together. More than a few had jumped at the opportunity to dress as Lupi, with red-tinted masks like Quirino's. They were dancing to drum music, with some music provided by a violinist who was having trouble keeping up with the beat. The dancers had formed a circle, as if they were celebrating Mass, but they weren't dancing in unison.
Even masked, Michel was easy to recognize; no one danced like him. He had gleefully dressed as a Lupa, a wig of long dark hair held in place with red ribbons. I clasped his shoulder and he did a double-take. “El— Daniele?” he hissed.
“Yeah, it's me. Michel, you're not going to believe this, but I've got an ally who needs to get out of Cuore tonight, on the fastest horse we can find.”
“Why wouldn't I believe it?” Michel was much less drunk than his companions. I drew him back toward where I'd left Travan.
I glanced past Michel's shoulder, then over mine, and leaned closer to him. “The ally is Emperor Travan.”
“Tr—you're not serious!”
“I am.”
Michel's face lit. “This will change everything.”
“Only if we can get him safely out of Cuore and hide him well enough that we can keep him safe. I want to take him to the wasteland. We don't have to fear the Circle there, and the Emperor commands the army, so—”
“I don't know how you do it, Daniele,” Michel said. “A horse? That's what you said you need? For this kind of support, I'd get you horses if I had to steal them from my grandmother.”
“Can we just get some from Placido? We'll need six horses—two for each of us—or else three horses and money to buy three more.”
Michel nodded. “Yeah. Placido's an ass but I think I can get him to do this. Stay here for a minute.”
I leaned against the rough stone wall of a shop as Michel vanished back into the dancing crowds. My legs were aching, I realized, from too much dancing. What time was it? How many hours till dawn? Probably quite a few.
Michel was coming back with Placido at his side. Placido was dressed in a black velvet tunic with a flame-red velvet sash. Instead of a simple white mask, he wore a stylized mask made to look like the face of a wolf. It was probably the most impressive costume I'd seen all night, but I found myself suppressing a laugh. If this was how he imagined the Lupi, how did he imagine Eliana? Michel caught my eye as he led Placido toward me. “Daniele, I've told him that you're our contact.”
Placido's beady eyes glared at me from behind his mask.
“Have you told him what I need?” I asked Michel.
“Yes,” Michel said. “He says he's willing to provide horses, but he wanted to meet you.”
I turned back to Placido. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, signore,” I said.
“I'd like to see your face, if I may,” Placido said.
I took off my mask. He stared at me a moment longer.
“And your face, signore?” I said.
Grudgingly, Placido untied his elaborate mask and took it off. His face was flushed red from wine and dancing.
“Since you're leaving so soon,” Placido said, “would you be so kind as to inform me your real name? I may find myself needing to seek out your assistance myself, sooner or later.”
“Ask for Daniele, if you need our help,” I said.
Placido gripped my arm, shaking his head. “That's not good enough.” His face was close to mine, and I could smell his dank breath, and feel the faint spray of his spit on my forehead. “If you wish any further assistance from us, you will tell me exactly who you are.”
Michel had reached for his knife, and I shook my head at him. There was no point in alienating Placido, and my identity hardly mattered at this point; I was leaving Cuore as soon as we got horses. And I didn't think Placido was a spy. “I am Eliana,” I said.
Placido's grasp sagged, then tightened again. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe it or not; your choice,” I said. “It's true. Now,” I jerked my arm free and straightened up, “go get our damn horses before someone comes to investigate.”
Placido flinched back slightly, and his eyes narrowed. With careful precision, he tied his mask back on. “Six horses will be waiting for you at the southern edge of Cuore in one hour,” he said, and walked away.
“Can we trust that?” I asked Michel.
Michel hesitated, then nodded. “Whatever else you can say about Placido, he's on our side. Even if he really doesn't believe you, he won't screw this up for us.”
“Come on, then,” I said. “Let's get Travan.”
To my relief, Travan still waited where I'd left him. He was masked, so it was hard to guess his expression, but his eyes seemed relieved to see me again. “Is everything arranged?” he asked.
I nodded. “Horses will be waiting. We'll take you to where the Lupi are wintering, then down to the wasteland, where the mages can't attack us. Let's head for the edge of the city; it will take us close to an hour just to walk there.”
“Your violin?” M
ichel asked me.
I shook my head. “Leave it. It's too risky to go back in.” I glanced over my shoulder and lowered my voice, so that just Michel and Travan could hear me. “Where are the Lupi wintering?”
“Lucia and Giovanni are in Montefalco,” Michel said. “It was destroyed during the war, but it's not actually in the wasteland. It'll be a little out of our way to go there, but not too much.”
“Maybe we should just go straight to the wasteland, and then I can double back,” I said.
“That might be a good idea,” Michel said. “So long as one of us has coin enough to buy food. There isn't going to be any down in the wasteland.”
The streets were less crowded now; wine and exhaustion had claimed many of the dancers. The costumes changed as we made our way through town. In the university district, we were surrounded by drunken, velvet-clad Lupi. Beyond that, we found ourselves in a crowd of beggars clothed in scraps of red and purple. Then came a mass of Maledori; there were masks of hook-beaked birds and strange hybrids of dog and cat.
“Daniele!”
Michel and Travan fell back a step; from the corner of my eye, I could see Michel draw Travan into the shadows of a doorway, but I didn't dare look. The person who'd called to me wore ragged red robes and a mask with swirls of color painted on it. I wouldn't have known her by sight, but I recognized her voice: “Rosalba?”
“What are you doing here?”
There was only one answer to that. “Looking for a good party,” I said.
Rosalba laughed, a light crystal tinkle. “You've found one!”
From behind the mask, I could see her eyes start to stray past my shoulder. Oh no, I thought. If she recognized me, she could recognize the Emperor. I dodged in front of her and clasped her shoulders to keep her still. “Actually—to tell the truth—I was looking for you.”
Turning the Storm Page 15
