The Fall of Ventaris

by Neil McGarry

  For the first time, the facet broke her pose of icy stillness, reflexively raising one hand to her collar. She’d seen that nervous tic before, at the Sanctum last summer, and in her sister, long ago. Her stomach twisted at the confirmation of her wild guess. “It is you,” Duchess whispered, tears coming unbidden to her eyes. “How?” she whispered, “How can you...”

  The facet’s fidgeting worsened. “They didn’t know what to do,” the woman whispered in the voice of a scared girl, a girl Duchess knew from long ago. “They. We. We were waiting that night. At the party.”

  “For what?”

  “For Justin. They. We knew. We thought. We couldn’t see.” Even masked, the woman’s — the girl’s — uncertainty was awful to watch.

  “See?”

  “Father. Justin. You. We were. I was. There. Here. Then. Now. All one.” The hand at her collar stopped its restless fidgeting and dropped to her side. “We saw nothing, and knew a pattern by the absence. We followed it by what we did not see. We knew where it would begin and end. A thread is added, leading to unknown glories. We knew what we did not know.”

  Her heart clenched. “Knew what?”

  “That Justin was not there, and that you were. That he had gifted you with what he once received.”

  Duchess frowned. Only the night before she’d refused this...inheritance. “Justin never gave me anything,” she whispered.

  The facet – Marguerite, there was no way to tell now — touched Duchess’ wrist with a tentative finger. “It is something you carry here” – she pointed to Duchess’ head — “and here” — she pointed to her heart.

  Duchess shook her head sharply. “I don’t want it,” she spat. “I don’t want it, whatever the damned thing is.” She found herself repeating the words she’d told Terence. “That life is over. That girl is dead. And I am not Marina Kell.” She turned to leave.

  The facet snatched her hands in her own, and in that moment Duchess’ fear and anger vanished.

  And then that flesh cooled, as if the blood that ran beneath had changed to ice water. The facet drew back, no longer Marguerite, perhaps no longer human. Only a facet. She regarded Duchess with the inscrutable gaze of her kind and said nothing.

  Duchess opened her mouth — in promise or protest, she was uncertain — but before she could speak, the bells began to ring. One, two, three...the bells of the city sounded through the imperial palace. Echoed by the dome they were nearly deafening. Each toll fell like stones between them, seeming endless, and yet no more than nine.

  Nine strokes of the bell. She remembered the dress, and the Atropi, and the empress. She backed away from the sheltered green nook, into the noise and pageantry of the party. As she went she kept her eyes on the masked figure until it was out of sight behind a corner of the crowd. It never once moved.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: The fall of Ventaris

  The partygoers had split into two groups, flanking the flower-petal-strewn aisle that led to the stairs and the terrace where Violana sat in state. For once, social status had been forgotten, and the guests simply formed up as time and circumstance allowed. Duchess wandered numbly through the crowd, scanning for Tremaine, feeling shaky and near tears. She did not understand what she had just witnessed nor what she had been told, only that she’d found her sister, or what remained of her.

  A hand reached around a clump of blue silk and ruffles and clamped on her arm like iron. She turned to see Gloria Tremaine, eyes bright with tension. She pulled Duchess close. “Where have you been? The first gifts have already been presented,” she hissed. Moving with hurried elegance, she glided through the guests with Duchess in tow, muttering excuses through a frozen smile, until they stood at the border of the crowd. They watched as Violana was presented with a traditional gift from the Farmers’ Fellowship: rare fruits from across the sea, imported at great cost and unaffordable to any but the wealthiest Rodaasi. The blunt-faced man she’d seen at the guildmasters’ table backed away from the imperial presence, as Violana favored him with a tight smile and her attendants whisked the gift away. At the foot of the stairs he made a hasty obeisance and stepped back into the crowd.

  From the top of the dais, Her Majesty’s herald, a young man dressed in imperial livery, raised his voice. “From the Magnificent Order of Tailors, Seamstresses, Weavers, Dyers and Haberdashers, the sisters of House Atropi!” The women emerged from the crowd, accompanied by a White carrying the cask Duchess had seen in the tower at Meadowmere Manse. All three were dressed sumptuously, in gowns of green and gold and ivory, with matching embroidery, and as one they mounted the steps to stand before the empress. The White followed and placed his burden before Violana’s tiny, slipper-clad feet.

  Still shaken from her encounter with the facet, Duchess felt sudden doubt clutch at her heart. This mad scheme could upend the imperial court, and for nothing more than her fear for her reputation. What had she been thinking? But Tremaine’s eyes were upon her, and even if she had been able to elude the guildmaster she could not escape her responsibility. She’d gone too far to stop now. Surrounded by innumerable nobles and noteworthies, there was nothing to do but watch the unfolding of the play she’d helped to write.

  One of the players stood out, there across the aisle. Keeper Jadis had a place at the front of the throng watching the imperial dais. She didn’t want to think what that meant.

  The Atropi curtsied, which Violana acknowledged with a polite nod. Then Green, which Duchess thought had been Brown the previous night, spoke. “Your Imperial Majesty,” she intoned, in a voice stronger than Duchess would have expected. “It is a great honor for us to stand before you, on this day of all days. As Ventaris — ”

  Tick.

  The sound rang out loudly in the quiet chamber, the clack of wood on wood, and Green hesitated, looking confused. Then she composed herself. “As Ventaris begins — ”

  Tick.

  “ — His long twilight struggle against the darkness, we His children wish nothing more than — ”

  Tick, tick.

  Now Green’s speech trailed off, and she turned to look at the cask, clearly the origin of that strange clacking noise. Her sisters exchanged glances, the herald looked mortified, and even Violana blinked and leaned forward in her chair to see what was the matter. Two of the Whites on the dais stepped to her side, hands on sword-hilts, cat-like in readiness.

  Tick, tick. Tick, tick tick.

  The sounds from the cask increased in frequency and tempo, while Violana’s brow furrowed and the Atropi drew back in alarm. The gathered crowd pressed closer to see, the High Lambent and his attendants first among them, and the Whites pulled their steel as one. Duchess shot another glance at Jadis, but he continued to watch the dais as if nothing else existed. Tremaine clutched her arm. “What did you...?” Duchess shook her head, at a loss. What in Mayu’s name had Jadis given her, that day in the Gardens?

  The ticking from the cask came now like the drumming of rain, and a woman in the crowd shrieked, while a tall gentleman in a red jacket called upon the gods to protect them all. One of the Whites strode forward and, with a mighty kick, sent the cask tumbling down the stairs. It clattered end over end to the white marble floor, where the lid broke open and spilled out a pile of black and red cloth, riddled with holes. With the cloth came a small cloud of flying black beetles, tick-ticking away. One of them alighted on the stairs, and Duchess could clearly see the white spot on its back. A deathwatch beetle.

  With no clear enemy to strike the Whites hesitated while the Atropi wailed in horror, and those in the fore of the crowd drew back, stumbling into those behind. Tremaine’s face was white as milk, and her grip on Duchess’ arm tightened painfully. Only Jadis smiled, and now his gaze moved to settle triumphantly upon Duchess. She felt dull shock mingled with understanding. Minette had warned her that the First Keeper played at least two games at once. The man had helped further Duchess’ revenge while at the same time preparing his own final, devastating move. A master player, indeed.

>   As the death watch beetles settled back on the ruin of the Atropi’s dress, Violana pushed slowly to her feet. Her eyes burned like pale fire, and her voice was like the stroke of doom. “What. Is. This?”

  The Atropi shrank away from her ire, the crowd gaped, and the herald seemed unable to reply, hands fluttering and mouth drawn into an O of surprise. The Whites cast about for some target and found none, while the beetles, heedless of all, continued their noisy feast.

  First Keeper Jadis alone kept his composure, and he stepped before the dais and plucked one of them from what was left of the Atropi’s dress. Belatedly, the herald cried in a voice that trembled only slightly, “First Keeper Jadis!”

  Jadis held up the beetle for all to see. “If it please your Majesty, there is no harm in them,” he assured, as the insect crawled over his fingers and down to his wrist, “but they herald change. Mayu, the mistress of birth and death, and the changing of the seasons, is their mother, as she is the mother to us all. Change is never easy, but it has arrived.”

  Duchess thought of the scroll the facets had given her, and she nudged Tremaine. “Now’s the time, or everything we’ve done is wasted.” Tremaine tightened her lips, took a deep breath, and stepped out to join the First Keeper. Violana’s eyes fixed upon the elegant woman as she made graceful obeisance.

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” she said, her voice betraying none of the fear she’d shown but a moment before. “If it please you, I agree with the First Keeper, and I respectfully remind that this change was prophesied. In summer, Anassa spoke of a new thread in the tapestry, one that would lead us to unknown glories. I humbly propose that what we have seen here today is another sign of that change.” She beckoned, and a servant in imperial livery – the Atropi’s shop was evidently not the only place the guildmaster had placed a spy – stepped forward, bearing a simple wooden box. Tremaine turned back to the dais. “If Your Highness will permit?”

  Violana gestured impatiently to the herald, who descended the stairs, circling wide around the ruined dress and the beetles that gnawed noisily at it. No one dared try to remove the insects, Duchess noted, as if they feared to incur the wrath of Mayu. They never guessed this was the work not of a goddess, but of a scholar’s daughter turned thief.

  The man opened the box and his eyes went wide. He turned back to the empress, who nodded impatiently, then reached in and removed the dress that had been folded neatly inside. He shook it out gently and held it up for all to see. It was all the Atropi’s dress she had imagined was not. Where that dress had been severe, in black and red, Tremaine’s was a gentle plum, embroidered in flower patterns with delicate silver thread. Tremaine’s dress was more youthful and lively than its ruined counterpart, while still appropriate for a septuagenarian. The garment would fit snugly, and yet clever folds of cloth would obscure a thickened middle, and a sweeping collar hide any imperfections. The crowd murmured its appreciation, and Duchess released a pent-up breath; her guess, made from the absence of evidence, had not led her wrong.

  Violana was silent for a long moment, then she gestured for the herald to approach. He did so, holding the dress up for her inspection. She reached out a gnarled hand and stroked the fabric, and her gaze softened. “What is this cloth?” she asked, turning back to Tremaine. “Soft as silk, though not quite so smooth.”

  Tremaine bowed her head. “Wool, your Majesty, like none other. It was woven by the newest member of my guild and donated to me for the express purpose of honoring you. This fabric will kiss the skin like silk, yet protect against the chill damp of autumn.” She bowed her head. “The same wisdom that moved my guild to embrace change kindled in me the desire to make you this dress. I hope it pleases you.”

  “And this new member?”

  “A Domae named Jana, your Highness.” Tremaine replied.

  Violana’s eyes went distant, as if she were occupied with some inner calculation. She did not resume her seat, and the Whites flanked her, sliding their swords back into their sheaths. “A most unusual omen, and a most unusual dress,” she mused aloud. “We are pleased to accept it, Guildmaster Tremaine, and we heed the wisdom of Anassa, as we heed the winds of change blown by Mayu.” The Atropi blanched, but the empress paid them no heed. She regarded the remains of the dress at the foot of the stairs. “Take this from our sight,” she commanded, and servants rushed to clear away the cask and the partially eaten cloth. They seemed fearful of the deathwatch beetles, until Jadis nodded reassuringly.

  Then a murmur passed through the chamber as Violana stepped forward on unsteady legs, alone. The Whites at her side moved to accompany her, but she waved them away. She steadied herself and stood silent, her back perfectly straight. The whispers stuttered to a halt as she glanced about the room.

  “Anassa has claimed a change is come, and Mayu has borne it upon the wings of her children. Ventaris has left us for yet another year,” she said, her voice echoing in the chamber. “And with him go the tattered remnants of the summer, and all that time has known. No one may say what the gods have in store for us, nor what the new year shall bring, but here, in this moment, in the dying of days, we declare that we shall now plant the seeds for the next harvest. We shall sow what is to come.”

  There were many loaded glances exchanged, for what reason Duchess could not quite make out. However, the High Lambent had gone pale, and even Jadis seemed taken aback.

  But the empress was not finished. “It is momentous that it has taken an outsider” — she gestured to Tremaine’s dress — “to show us what we should have known all along. We have slept too long,” she muttered, almost to herself and Duchess found herself uncertain whom she meant by we. Then Violana’s voice sharpened. “But whatever the signs, and howsoever the winds may blow, I say there is one thing that is eternal. Our empire. Rodaas shall stand until man is gone from this earth and all else is dust. Here between the seasons, between the fall of the sun and its rise, between death and wisdom, I stand before you and say that we shall see our empire outlast the stars themselves.”

  And with that, she slowly made her way down the steps and along the aisle, attended by her daughter, her servants, her guards. As she went, she looked left and right, as if daring any to meet her gaze. None did. The assemblage went to one knee as she passed, and remained there as she clicked across the suddenly quiet courtyard. Before she passed from view she turned and scanned the crowd, her gaze sweeping over noble and lowborn alike. Her mouth was twisted into an angry frown, as if she did not approve of what she saw. Then she was gone.

  The herald, still standing upon the dais with Attys and the mortified Atropi, lifted his voice. “The Fall is concluded,” he said simply. He seemed about to say more, evidently decided against it and moved after the imperial procession, leaving the guests to mill and murmur in his wake. Attys did not join him, but rushed to the High Lambent, who leaned close, lips moving furiously. The Atropi stepped away from the dais as well, and the guests gave them a wide berth, as if their disgrace might be catching. Their eyes were empty and their faces ashen. Duchess had won.

  * * *

  With the departure of the imperial contingent, chaos held reign. The courtyard was filled with shouts and whispers and everything in between. The radiants were largely avoided, but the keepers were the recipients of many smiles and nods, and the First Keeper himself was surrounded by well-wishers. Around them, intrigue swirled like incense. In moments alliances were made, broken, and reforged. Messengers hurried from one end of the hall to the other carrying promises, assurances, threats. As far as Duchess could tell, the only consensus was confusion. Had this been a move by the keepers, the facets, or both? Was this a sign that the faiths were in league with the guilds? Or just with Guildmaster Tremaine? A hundred theories were discussed and discarded, and as she moved through the crowd to find Tremaine, Duchess heard them all.

  Although she was relieved to note that none of those theories included her, she was far from complaisant. Though much had transpired that evening, she alone had b
een the catalyst, the pebble that starts the avalanche. Even now word was no doubt racing down the hill faster than the water that had once borne her from House Eusbius. That current had dropped her in the harbor; where would this one take her? The tiger stalked a pace behind, gnawing at her worries.

  She found Tremaine clearly in her element. Nobles who’d started the evening paying her veiled insults were now showering her with rapt attention, following in her wake as seeds behind a dandelion. She engaged them all with cool courtesy, accepting compliments and deftly turning aside any request that might commit her to anything. This was how a lowborn woman became guildmaster. Tremaine seemed pleased with the day’s work, so Duchess hoped she would be spared any more disdain, at least for as long as their journey back to Scholars District.

  Tremaine caught Duchess’ eye as she approached, then politely but firmly dismissed her well-wishers with a nod and a muttered word. Duchess fell in step with her as the older woman strode calmly towards the exit and the waiting line of carriages. “Well played,” the guildmaster murmured, her tone rich with pleasure.

  A compliment from Gloria Tremaine? “I got a job done,” she replied, “nothing more.” The yard was crowded with others waiting for their own carriages, so she kept her voice down.

  “Was the plot entirely yours, or did it originate in the Gardens of Mayu?”

  She took a breath, trying to keep her rising panic under control. “There was no plot, or at least not what you’re thinking. I needed something to deal with the dress....discreetly, and the keeper was the best source.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know precisely what was going to happen.”