“Are you saying that Valentino is being targeted?” Clara said, her bright eyes widening slightly.
I raised my hands in a calming gesture. “All I'm saying is that Valentino is a boy who is skilled at raising the ire of powerful people. Not that anyone would mean to target him, of course, but perhaps in Valentino's case, there might be someone who genuinely doesn't realize that they're motivated by personal dislike?”
“Perhaps,” Clara muttered.
“Well. I'm sure you can resolve it. There's no need to bring this to the attention of the Emperor.”
Clara's head jerked toward me. “I'm sure you don't really think it's so serious?”
“Servi misusing their power for personal gain? I would think that would be serious, don't you? But so long as this doesn't come up again, I'm sure we can assume that's not it.”
“Of course,” Clara said. Her voice could have frozen hot tea. “Was that all, Eliana?”
“Yes,” I said. “That was all.”
“Then perhaps you might take a moment for me,” Clara said, her manner becoming ingratiating again. “People have noticed … well, as you said, it's been two months. Yet you continue to dress in men's clothing.”
I looked down at my wine-red tunic and hose. I'd traded in the trousers and rough tunic that I'd worn as a soldier for soft fabrics in rich colors, but I had indeed continued to wear men's clothes. “Yes,” I said.
“I was wondering if you might like the name of a good dressmaker? Mine is excellent, and …”
I laughed out loud, and quickly controlled myself. “Excuse me. No, Clara, I don't think that's necessary. I'm really quite comfortable in these.”
“I only raise this because it's begun to cause a little bit of trouble,” Clara said.
This was new to me. “What sort of trouble?”
Clara considered her words carefully before she continued. “Some twenty of the younger ladies of the court have taken up your fashion.”
I'd heard rumors about these women, but nothing clear. I stifled a smile. “How is this trouble?” I asked.
“They are refusing to wed,” Clara said stiffly.
I raised one eyebrow. “Show me where Gèsu says marriage is required,” I said. “He never married.”
“That's what these young women say.”
“I'd say they've got a point,” I said. “If they don't want to marry, well, I hate to disappoint you, Clara, but I'm behind them all the way. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm meeting some people for lunch.” I headed back toward the palace.
There was a low chuckle from the shadows as I rounded the edge of the garden, and I turned to see Giovanni. “You'd better watch your tongue around her, Eliana,” he said. “Just think how much it would please Clara to have you prosecuted if you ever say ‘Lady's tits.’”
I glared at Giovanni. “She wouldn't dare.”
“If she thought she could get away with it, she'd do it in a heartbeat,” he said.
“Are you coming up for lunch?”
“Of course. I came looking for you and was fortunate enough to overhear your conversation.”
My room in the Imperial Palace looked out over the gardens. I arrived just as the servant brought up our lunch: a tray of cheese, bread, and cold roast mutton. Lucia helped herself to bread and cheese while Giovanni sliced the meat. I looked out at the gardens; they were still crowded, despite the heat of the day.
Lucia finished her lunch and leaned back in her chair, fanning herself with a fan of woven palm fronds. “Did you get Valentino out of trouble again?”
“Yes,” I said. “This time.”
“Thank God we have the Servi to protect us from threats like Valentino, eh Lucia?” Giovanni asked.
Lucia shot Giovanni a bitter look. “Not all the new Redentori religious orders are like the Servi. Flavia's order is nothing like them.”
“The Cantatori,” I said. Flavia and some of the other musicians and dancers who had served with the Lupi had started a religious order of their own.
“Well, maybe if Flavia ran the Servi they'd be less of a pain in the ass,” Giovanni said.
“Much less,” I said. “Flavia would tell them that as committed Redentori, they should dance the Mass at least once every day, and not worry about what everyone else was doing.”
“Would they even be the Servi if they weren't sticking their nose in everyone else's business?” Giovanni asked.
“Not for long, and I think that would be a good thing.” I pushed my chair back from the table. “Is summer in Cuore always this hot? I could swear it never felt this hot at the conservatory.”
“Go get yourself a fan,” Lucia said. “There was a boy selling them just outside the gate yesterday.”
From a distance, I could hear bells striking the hour. “Maybe later,” I said, standing up. “Council meeting today.”
“Oh, lucky you,” Giovanni said. “You get to talk to Clara twice in one day.”
“And Placido; don't forget Placido.”
“You can have my fan if you'd like,” Lucia said. “I can go get another one.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “I think it would be too tempting to use it to swat Placido.”
The Imperial Council was a council of advisors; the Emperor did not have to take our advice, which was just as well since we never agreed on anything. I had come to really hate Council meetings. Clara was on the Council, of course. So were Demetrio and Placido; there were also three others who I hadn't met before the war ended: Romolo, Manlio, and Benvenuto. Benvenuto was a scholar from the university, but much older than Placido; he was reedy, with thin lips and white hair. Manlio was from a merchant family on the coast, and Romolo was from some noble family that had supported Travan early on. Clara and Placido were by far the most vocal Council members, and I felt outnumbered and outargued. Half the time I suspected that Travan agreed with me but didn't have the backbone to stand up to Clara and Placido. The person I most often found myself agreeing with was Demetrio, but Demetrio was married to Clara, and his initial agreement often turned out to be part of her strategy.
The Council chamber was lavishly furnished, with a thick patterned rug on the floor, velvet-covered chairs, glass windows, and a long table topped with inlaid marble. Today the windows had been propped open, but the room was stiflingly hot, and I immediately wished I'd accepted Lucia's offer of a fan. Clara was already there when I arrived, still looking perfectly composed. She had a fan of jet-black feathers, and she fanned herself gently, lost in thought. I pressed my damp palms against the cool marble, wishing I could just lay my whole face down on it.
Demetrio arrived just after I did. I sat to the Emperor's left; Demetrio sat to his right. Clara sat at the opposite end of the table. Demetrio greeted me politely and then sat down with a barely suppressed yawn. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It's the heat.” Benvenuto came in, deep in conversation with Manlio, and Romolo came in a few moments later, carrying a fan like Lucia's. Placido arrived last, his face so red from the heat he looked sunburned. There was a rustle at the door: Emperor Travan. In unison, we stood; Travan came in, sat down, and nodded, and we all sat back down again.
Most of the day's business was tedious beyond words: a pair of noble houses in Varena were squabbling over something involving restrictions on certain imports. I barely understood why these imports were restricted in the first place, though Placido seemed to find this deeply interesting and had a long argument over it with Manlio. Demetrio, at least, looked as bored as I felt. I wished Giovanni were on the Council; he would actually have some understanding of the trade issues we discussed, and he could back me up against Clara and Placido.
Watching Travan as he listened to Placido arguing with Manlio, I thought that he had aged in the last two months. I wondered if the privilege of leadership had been more appealing in the abstract than in reality. I had to duck my head and compose my features at the thought. Travan wasn't the first person to discover that leadership wasn't always as much fun as it looked, and he proba
bly would not be the last.
A fly was buzzing around the room; it kept trying to land on my sweaty head. When it buzzed around the Emperor's head, he made a gesture of annoyance and a servant came in to try to swat it. At least this gave me something more entertaining to watch than Placido's increasingly red face. The servant chased the fly around the room twice before finally shooing it out a window. Of course, a new fly found its way in moments later. I wondered if Travan was going to order the windows shut, but to my relief, he didn't.
My legs itched from my hose, and I found myself thinking longingly of the looser clothes I'd worn as generale of the Lupi. I wondered if maybe I should have taken Clara up on her offer of a dressmaker; a dress, today, sounded rather more comfortable than what I was wearing. I glanced toward the other end of the table. Clara's feather fan had sped up slightly, and her face and hair were starting to look damp.
The argument over the squabbling noble houses petered out, and Travan looked down at some papers of notes. “Demetrio,” he said. “Did you have an issue you wanted to discuss?”
Demetrio nodded. “Vesuvia.” He looked around the table. “We haven't heard any rumors about them moving toward the border, but we can't assume our luck will hold.”
“What would they gain from attacking us?” Romolo asked.
“Well, revenge, for one thing,” Demetrio said. “There was a great deal of bitterness over the last war, and it was our Circle that started it.”
This was news to me and to Romolo; no one else seemed surprised. “What about the villages?” I blurted out. “The villages in Verdia that were burned?”
Demetrio's face was impassive. “There were burned-out villages in Vesuvia, as well. It's hard to say who started the raids, but the first major blow was struck by our side.”
I sat back, remembering Mira's flare of anger when I said the whole war had been over a perfume ingredient. I wondered if she'd known that our side started it. All that suffering, I thought, for something so trivial, and we were the ones who started it.
Demetrio was speaking again. “Without mages to defend us, they will assume we are easy prey. So far as I know, they still have a Circle.”
“We beat our own Circle, we can beat theirs,” I mumbled.
“They must have heard stories about what our faith can do,” Clara said. “Don't you think their mages will be too frightened to approach us?”
“I don't think we can count on that,” Demetrio said.
“They'll have to cross the wasteland first,” I said. “Our Circle was terrified of the wasteland; I can't imagine that their Circle feels differently.”
“Now, if we could just make the wasteland a bit harder for their army to cross,” Clara said, thoughtfully.
“What are you talking about?” I said. “The wall? It was nowhere near complete.”
“Our ancestors built far more complex roads and canals,” Placido said. “Certainly if we wished to complete the wall, we could see it done.”
“Are you volunteering to go build, Placido?” I asked. Everyone laughed, even Clara; Placido's red face turned purple and he forced out a laugh as well. Then he shot a look at Travan.
“Tell me more about the wall,” Travan said. “How close is it to done?”
I spoke before anyone else could answer. “It's barely started,” I said. “Seven short lengths have been constructed. There are miles and miles between each length. The slave camps were at work for about half a year. It would take a very long time to complete at that rate. If the Vesuviani move against us any time in the next ten years, it will not be sufficient protection.”
“It couldn't hurt to try to complete it,” Placido said. “If we devoted more resources to the construction, we could move up the timetable significantly.”
“It wouldn't hurt whom?” I said. “Who, exactly, were you thinking of sending?” I remember Mario's comment, back in Ravenna—that if the Circle wanted a wall, they should hire laborers to go build it. With a high enough wage, I had no doubt that they would get volunteers. However, after war, famine, and civil war, the Empire's treasury was not exactly filled with piles of glittering gold.
“I realize that this is a painful subject for you, Generale Eliana,” Clara said cautiously. “And of course the wholesale enslavement of the farmers on the border was entirely wrong. However, the war against the Circle has left us with a certain population of people who find themselves with very little to do …” She paused and tapped her fan against the table thoughtfully. “I think some time in the wasteland, where the futility of depending on the Lady can be fully contemplated, might be deeply beneficial to certain people.”
“You're talking about re-creating the slave labor camps, but enslaving the priests and priestesses who served the Lady,” I said. Clara smiled and began to fan herself again. “And anyone else who refuses to convert, no doubt. And when that's not enough, anyone who fails to embrace the Redentori faith at your level of orthodoxy.”
“If we need to imprison people, I see no reason that we shouldn't get useful work out of them,” Clara said. “Do you, Your Highness?”
I turned to the Emperor, biting my lip to resist the urge to interrupt. He saw my agitation and nodded, giving me permission to speak.
“Highness, it may begin with the priests and priestesses of the Lady, but there won't be enough of them to complete this task. There won't be enough open Della Chiese to complete this task. Sooner or later, she will be sending down people like—like the Priestess Lucia.”
Clara laughed out loud “Oh, be serious, Generale Eliana. The Priestess Lucia and I have had our disagreements, but I hardly think it's fair to say that I would send her into exile.”
Emperor Travan shrugged and turned back to me. “So how would you propose that we protect ourselves from the Vesuviani?”
“Well, first, I think we need more current and accurate intelligence than a suspicion that they might want to take revenge on us,” I said. “I think someone needs to go down there.”
“Are you volunteering?” Placido asked.
It was a measure of how much I hated court that for a moment, that prospect sounded appealing. But Travan shook his head. “No, Eliana is too recognizable to go as a spy. But it's not a bad idea. What if we find out that yes, they are massing against us?”
I paused to think about it. “When I was in Ravenna, I played for the funeral dance of the two executed reformers, Beneto and Jesca. This was before I knew the full power of the dances, but I remember the energy; to avert a riot, I pulled the energy down into the ground under my feet. That night, I realized that I could make a witchlight again—barely, with effort, but I could do it.” I looked around the Council. “I think that the Empire should create some permanent installments in the wasteland, but not prisons. Create communities for dedicated Redentori; so long as they're housed and fed, I think you'll find volunteers.” It occurred to me that Flavia's order, the Cantatori, would probably like this idea. “They can dance each day to restore the wasteland; over time, perhaps plants will flourish again. And in the meantime, they can keep watch on the border and fend off enemy magery. They would need detachments of soldiers as well, of course. A few communities like this, dotted along the border, would be far more protection than a wall.”
“What do you think of that idea, Clara?” Travan asked.
Clara opened her mouth. “I think it's a terrible idea,” she said immediately. She paused to gather her thoughts—or, I rather suspected, to dredge up some reasons. “It's a terrible risk for the Redentori, living right on the border like that.”
“These would be volunteers,” Travan said. “Your protective feelings are admirable, of course. Go on.”
“You're talking about the creation of an entire religious order,” Clara said. “A new one.”
“Or the expansion of an existing one, like the Cantatori,” I said.
“I don't think that's a good idea.”
“Because they might challenge the power of the Servi?”
> “Of course not!” Clara was pricked into vehemence for a moment, then sat back and summoned her kindest smile. “The proliferation of orders was something that weakened the Della Chiese. I think we can learn from their mistakes.”
“To be sure. Why do you think it weakened them?”
“There were rivalries,” Placido said, coming to Clara's rescue. “Factionalism. Precisely the sort of problems that the Servi were created to prevent.”
“God forbid that any of us should disagree, after all,” I said.
“Well, exactly,” Placido said. “I don't think God wants us to disagree.”
I shot a look at the Emperor, wondering if he saw how self-serving Clara's argument was. I thought he probably did. Lowering his eyes, he plucked at the braid on his sleeve. “Priestess Clara, I understand your concerns, but Eliana's idea seems to be so beneficial in so many ways I can't possibly disregard it.”
I was hoping that Travan would appoint someone like Flavia or Lucia to create the wasteland guard posts, but Clara immediately said, “Well, though I disagree with the idea, of course I obey your command, Your Highness, and the Servi will begin setting up communities of Redentori immediately.”
Travan's eyes flickered to me; I wanted to protest, to say that the Cantatori were far better suited to the task than the Servi, but he said, “As you wish. Demetrio, I will ask you to find someone who can spy out the territory of the Vesuviani. In the meantime, I think this meeting is concluded.”
We rose as the Emperor left, then made our own way out. As I straightened my tunic and fought the urge to pluck at the hose, which were sticking to my legs in a really awkward way, I noticed that Clara was looking at me. It was not a venomous glare, of course; Clara would never have been so careless. It was a cool look of veiled patience. Like a cat, I thought. Stalking her prey. I bit my lip and looked away.
∗ ∗ ∗
I couldn't sleep that night, and after a while I got up and lit a candle. I was very careful not to use witchlight in Cuore, though it was tempting sometimes. The ceiling of my room seemed very high at night, with only candlelight to flicker into the vaulted corners. The darkness frightened me when I woke from dreams full of blood and fire; I found myself wanting to summon witchlight, to see my room in a pure steady light that shone in every corner and didn't dance in the breeze of my breath. Since I couldn't do that, I stumbled out of the huge soft bed and went to sit in the window, instead. The moonlight comforted me, along with the knowledge that the garden was there.
Turning the Storm Page 27
