Flavia waved her hand dismissively. “Mira knew what she was doing. Bella was the first one of us to really convert, but don't try to tell me that any of us were just playing the music. Anyway, I told Clara that, and her face—well, it was like I'd just given her a present. Eliana, I have a terrible feeling that I gave her just what she was looking for.”
She probably had, I thought, but I shook my head. “She would have found out from somewhere. You were right; if you hadn't told her I knew a mage at the conservatory, she'd have found out from somewhere, and then she'd have figured that I had something to hide, and that you were hiding it.”
Flavia shook her head. “Yeah, but I thought about it later, and who else would have told her? Celia's moved back to her family's farm, Demetrio and Nolasco went back to the conservatory, and I don't think Clara would have gone all the way down to Verdia to question them. I was afraid she already knew, but clearly she didn't. I wish I'd talked to you, before I talked to her.”
“Would you have had time?”
“Not really. But—oh, I should have come over here when I first heard the rumor. I should have guessed that Clara—”
“How were you supposed to know?” I said. “Was that all she asked you about?”
“Then she wanted to know if you had any special connection to Mira. And I told her no, you didn't. I figured if she didn't already know you two were roommates, I wasn't going to be the one to tell her.” Flavia paused, and sighed. “She had me swear that on the cross. I did it. I figure Gèsu probably understands about lying to human scorpions like Clara.”
Valentino was the next of my friends to give Clara a piece of the puzzle. I heard about it from a thoroughly disgusted Quirino, who couldn't believe Valentino would have actually volunteered this information. “To Clara, of all people,” he snarled, flinging himself into the chair by my fireplace. “Valentino! After all the times the Servi went after Valentino, I would have sworn that the only way Clara would get information out of him would have involved hot irons.”
“Maybe that's what he was afraid of,” I said.
Quirino rolled his eyes. “He might have at least waited until they were heating them instead of spilling everything he knew as soon as Clara had him alone.”
“What did Clara ask him about?”
“The story about you, of course. Valentino fell all over himself trying to convince her that you never, ever would have freed Rosalba. ‘She was the one who turned Eliana in to the Fedeli,’ he said. ‘Eliana never would have freed her.’ Never mind that Rosalba was dead by the end of the war; if I know that, Clara certainly knows it and Valentino ought to have known it.”
I nodded. “Did Clara leave it at that?”
“Of course she didn't. This is Clara. She wanted to know how Valentino thought you'd escaped from the Fedeli. He said that he'd heard that after you vanished, the Circle said it was a priest—someone like Rosalba— and the Fedeli said it was a member of the Circle. And Clara pounced on that. ‘A member of the Circle, Valentino? Think carefully: did you ever see Eliana meet with a mage?’”
I thought back—somewhat frantically—over my months in the enclave. Could Valentino have known about my meetings with Mira?
“Valentino said no, of course not. So then Clara asked about the priestess, and he said that she wouldn't have been the one who freed you, since she was the one who turned you in in the first place.” Quirino sighed. “I think that was basically the end of the conversation. Valentino said that the thing that really worried him was that Clara seemed so pleased.”
I lowered my eyes.
“Eliana?” Quirino said. “How did you escape from the Fedeli?”
I poured Quirino some tea, to give myself time to think about whether I should give him the honest answer, then took a sip from my own cup. “Well, you know, I think Rosalba rather regretted turning me in.” I remembered her prayer, her shaking voice, and her pale face.
“Was she the one who helped you, then?”
I shook my head. “No. Valentino was right. It was a mage, Mira.”
“Why would a mage have freed you?”
“The Circle ordered her to. They were afraid the Fedeli wouldn't be able to break me, so they planned to follow me back to where the Lupi were wintering.”
“But that didn't happen.”
“No. Mira warned me. And she told me how to defeat magefire.”
Quirino shook his head. “A mage told you that? Why?”
“That's a long story,” I said. “The short version, I guess, is that we were friends.”
Quirino went a little pale, and swallowed hard, but he nodded, and drank the rest of his tea in silence.
Ulisse was the next of my old friends to come by for a visit. He had avoided me since our victory; apparently time hadn't significantly eased his humiliation at discovering that his old drinking buddy was actually the lady he longed for, in disguise. Still, today, he seemed to have regained a little of his old confidence. “Clara was asking me questions about you,” he said as I poured him some wine.
“She's been asking lots of people questions,” I said.
“Yeah, well, she asked me—” Ulisse lowered his voice to barely above a whisper “—about Mira. Miriamne. The renegade mage. She wanted to know if you and Mira had had any contact while you were spying in the enclave.”
Ulisse had carried a message for Mira once—a sprig of winter jasmine that had meant, meet me. I knew, looking at him, that whether or not he'd known at the time, he knew now who he'd carried the message for.
“I told her no,” Ulisse said. “Absolutely not, you hadn't.”
I felt my face go hot and then cold. How would Ulisse have known for certain that I hadn't had contact? He was a student—he hadn't even lived in the enclave. To make such an emphatic denial, he had to be lying, and I knew Clara would reach the same conclusion.
“Thank you for being such a loyal friend, Ulisse,” I said softly, and let him out.
Late one afternoon a few days later, I heard Clara's voice in the corridor outside my room, and stiffened, expecting a knock. But she was not coming to see me; a moment later I heard Lucia's voice and realized Clara was speaking to Lucia, in the room next to mine. “Good day, Priestess Clara,” Lucia said, her voice very clear. “What a pleasure to see you. Please come in.”
After a moment's hesitation—Lucia, at least, was my friend—I pressed my ear against the wall, straining to overhear their conversation.
They exchanged mutual pleasantries for a few minutes over tea, then Clara got down to business. “I'm afraid I need to ask you some questions about Eliana,” Clara said. “I realize that she's a good friend of yours, but your first duty, as I'm sure you're aware, is to God, and your second is to Emperor Travan.”
“Oh, of course,” Lucia said so implacably that I shivered. “I'm happy to help you however I can.”
Clara paused for a moment—surprised by Lucia's willingness to cooperate, perhaps—and then asked, “What can you tell me about Eliana's feelings toward the mage who called herself Mira?”
“Nothing at all,” Lucia said, her voice distinct and perfectly courteous. “I'm terribly sorry.”
There was a sharp clink as Clara set down her tea. “Excuse me, Priestess Lucia. I'm sure you know a great deal about the subject.”
“Perhaps. But as you mentioned, my first duty is to God. As Eliana's spiritual counselor, all our conversations on that subject are privileged. It says in The Journey—”
“I don't need you to quote The Journey to me,”
Clara said, her voice sharp. “Perhaps you can enlighten me as to Eliana's feelings toward Emperor Travan.”
“Again, anything Eliana has told me about this subject is under God's seal. I would, however, point out that Eliana did put him in power.”
“The Imperial Army and the Lupi put him in power,” Clara said.
“Perhaps you should ask the Emperor who he credits—or blames.” I could hear the hint of a smile in Lucia's voice.
<
br /> “While serving the Lupi in Cuore, did Eliana meet with Mira at all?” Clara asked.
“Oh, my goodness, you must realize that I wasn't there. But Michel was. Have you asked Michel?”
“I have.” Clara's voice was stony. “He refused to talk to me. Why do you suppose that was?”
“I couldn't imagine,” Lucia said.
“How did Eliana escape after her arrest by the Fedeli?” Clara asked. “Is it true that Mira was the one who freed her?”
“Again, I wasn't there,” Lucia said. “I think you'd better ask Eliana that question.”
“Rest assured,” Clara said, and I could hear a rustle as she stood up. “I will do that.”
I expected a knock on my own door next, but instead she knocked on Giovanni's. His room was on the other side of mine, and I went to listen without hesitation. He swung his door open at the first knock. “Oh, good afternoon, Priestess Clara,” he said. “Please come in.”
Again, I listened to slightly strained pleasantries. Clara made herself comfortable and Giovanni poured wine. Giovanni broached the subject first. “I'm quite sure I know why you're here,” he said, “And I'm very glad you came to me, because I can straighten all of this out.”
“Really. Well, I must say, I'm delighted to hear it,” Clara said.
“Eliana did help someone escape during the fall of Cuore, but it wasn't a mage, nor was it a priestess. It was a musician who panicked under fire, a friend of hers from the conservatory.”
“Really.” Clara set down her cup with a faint click. “Why didn't Eliana simply tell me this when I first began investigating?”
“Eliana is quite loyal to her friends,” Giovanni said. “The musician who fled would be deeply shamed if her cowardice were known. Eliana has a great deal of confidence in your honor and fairness; she knew that you would investigate the rumor, find nothing, and close your investigation, her friend's honor intact.”
“What was the name of this friend?”
“I'd really rather not say,” Giovanni said.
“I'm afraid I must insist.”
“Well …” Giovanni hesitated for a moment. “Giula,” he said finally. “It was a young lady named Giula.”
“Perhaps,” Clara said, “she saved two people during the battle.”
Giovanni laughed out loud, an easy, casual laugh. “You think she smuggled out the musician, then ran back into the burning enclave, found a mage, and smuggled her out, too? I spent much of the battle at her side, and take my word for it, she didn't have that kind of time.”
“But she saved Giula out of friendship. Mira was a friend too, wasn't she?”
“Once she was,” Giovanni said. “Eliana knew her at the conservatory. But she never forgave her for leaving— or for destroying the Lupi.”
“Not even after Mira freed her from the Fedeli?”
“If it was Mira who did it, she did it on the orders of the Circle.”
“So she wouldn't have saved Mira out of sentiment?”
“Eliana is not a sentimental person.”
“Interesting.” There was a pause; I thought Clara had probably picked up her cup again. “You see, I have an eyewitness—a servant from the enclave—prepared to swear that he saw Eliana smuggling the mage Miriamne, also known as Mira, out of Cuore.”
“Impossible. As I said, it was Giula.”
“Giula can ride a horse?”
“Obviously, if that was how she got out of the city.”
“Was Giula the sort of friend with whom Eliana might exchange a passionate kiss?”
“They were old friends.”
“Just as Mira was an old friend.” The cup clicked down again and I heard a rustle as Clara stood up. “But of course, Eliana is not a sentimental person. If she did smuggle Mira out of the city, you have made it clear that in your opinion, it would not have been a gesture of friendship. Thus, the theory that the purpose of saving the mage was to create her own Circle— Oh, don't shake your head at me, Generale Giovanni, and leave your sword where it is. I will overlook your blasphemy in considering a physical attack on a Priestess of God, given your fondness for Generale Eliana. Thank you, Generale. You've been most helpful.”
The door clicked shut. There was no knock on my own door. Through the wall, I heard a glass shatter against the floor.
The snare was closing around me. I decided to go to the Emperor—to confess to him that I had freed Mira, but not to challenge his power. I had done it because I loved Mira and knew that we could trust her. Surely, I thought as I paced the floors of my room, Travan will understand. Surely he has loved the wrong person— and surely, he will understand that for those like us, sometimes there is no right person.
The corridor outside my room was empty, and I hurried down the stairs and through the courtyard to Travan's quarters. But I was met at the door by Michel. “He won't see you,” Michel said.
I stared at Michel; for a moment, I couldn't quite believe what I'd heard. “Why?” I asked, finally.
Michel shook his head. He didn't answer right away, and I realized after a moment that he was almost in tears. “I don't know,” he said.
“Does he believe—the stories that Clara has been telling?”
“I don't know,” Michel said again.
“You have to let me in,” I said.
Michel shook his head. “I can't,” he said. “Please, just go. I can't let you in.”
Clara was waiting when I returned to my room, with Placido and three Servi—witnesses.
“Eliana,” Clara said, and her face was grave with a hint of triumph. “We need to ask you about Mira.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” I said.
“Then you will be charged with treason,” Clara said. “Don't you at least want to defend yourself?”
I pulled myself up as straight as I could stand. “Mira saved my life twice,” I said. “She saved me from the Circle; when they came to take her back, they used me as a hostage against her. And she saved me from the Fedeli. Mira was the first person I knew who dared to speak against the Circle—who dared suggest that I could have a future that didn't require me to play the tunes they called. Mira was one of the Lupi, even if she didn't wear a red sash.”
“One of the Lupi?” Clara said. “Mira was one of the mages sent to destroy the Lupi, was she not?”
“Mira volunteered for that mission to protect as many of us as she could,” I said.
“So she told you.”
“Mira saved my life,” I said again. “When she saved me from the Fedeli, she saved us all—including Placido, since I knew he led the university reformers. I couldn't have held out against the Fedele torturer forever. Mira was the person who told me about the power of the Redentori dances against magefire.” I stepped forward. “Mira renounced magery once. I knew she could renounce it again.”
“That doesn't matter,” Clara said. “What you knew— or you thought you knew. Mira was a mage—condemned by God.” Her fingers touched the jeweled cross she wore.
I felt my face go hot and cold, and in a single furious gesture, I yanked the cross from the chain around Clara's neck and threw it to her feet. “How dare you decide for God whether Mira is condemned?” I demanded. “What have you risked for your faith? What have you sacrificed? You don't love God. You love your position, your comfort, your power. If God condemns anyone, it's you.”
A faint smile flickered on Clara's lips. “On my authority as the head of the Servi,” she said, “I place you under arrest, Eliana, on suspicion of treason.” She glanced at the cross on the floor; one of her assistants quickly picked it up. “And blasphemy.”
“You can rot in hell, Clara,” I said. “To be accused by you of blasphemy is the highest honor I can imagine.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Because of my stature—and perhaps because Giovanni threatened to kill anyone who tried it—I was not imprisoned in the dungeon, but placed under house arrest and confined to my room. Wary of giving me a public forum for more outbursts
, Clara decided that my trial would be closed. I would not be invited. Neither would Lucia and Giovanni.
“We have to get you out of here,” Giovanni said.
“How?” I said.
“There are Lupi still in Cuore,” Giovanni said. “We could break you out. Then run—head north, far enough away that it's more trouble than it's worth to come after you. I have family in Varena; my father owns ships. We could get you across the ocean if we had to.”
“Along with the Lupi?” I said. “All the Lupi who'd helped break me out?”
“Sure,” Giovanni said, though I suspected he wasn't as confident of that as he wanted me to think.
“And everyone else that Placido and Clara would go after? You know this isn't just about me, Giovanni. If I run, it will be taken as proof of what Clara claims— proof that I saved a remnant of the Circle to help me make my own bid for power. What would be the logical thing to do then? Purge Cuore of every person loyal to me, from Valentino and Quirino to the young women who dress like me.” I looked at Giovanni in the candlelight. “Can you tell me this wouldn't happen?”
Giovanni was silent.
“It would happen,” Lucia said.
Giovanni's head snapped up to glare at Lucia. “You aren't helping,” he said.
“I don't think Eliana would want us to lie to her,” Lucia said.
“No,” I said. “I wouldn't.”
Giovanni picked up a wineglass, took a swallow, then hurled the glass in frustration at the fireplace. It smashed against the stones, and Lucia closed her eyes and pressed her hands against her forehead, blocking him out. “Eliana, Clara wants you dead,” Giovanni said. “And she thinks she can get away with it. She's sure she can get away with it, or she wouldn't have let it go this far.”
“Why is Travan allowing this?” Lucia said. “Eliana, do you have any idea?”
I shook my head. “He wouldn't see me,” I said. “I tried to go talk to him, but Michel turned me away.”
“Then you have to run,” Giovanni said. But after what Lucia had said, I couldn't do it. No matter what the price.
Lucia and Giovanni spent the night of my trial in my room. As dusk turned to darkness, Giovanni napped in a chair, and Lucia, at my insistence, took the bed. I took the cushions in the window seat for myself—not that I expected to sleep. Very late, as I stared into the wispy light of the candle, there was a very soft tap at the door. I opened it: Michel. “Can I come in?” he whispered.
Turning the Storm Page 29
