by A K Fedeau
“I’m not. I’m just saying.” Livia rolled over. “I know it won’t always be the same.”
Livia curled up on Marcus’ back and tucked her chin against his neck, and when she draped her arm around him, he clutched her hand to his chest.
“Do you really think this is going to work?” Marcus asked.
“Oh.” Livia’s face went flat. “That’s what this is about.”
“Is anyone even going to look at that letter, or will they just tear it down?”
“What choice did we have?” Livia ran her fingers up and down his ribs. “It’s the truth, right there in front of them. Ciacco even signed it.”
“True.”
They lay in silence for a minute, until Marcus spoke up.
“Can’t Hector just pick out some other pontifex who’ll prop him up?”
“Mira’s blood, Marcus.” Livia pressed her nose into his back. “You know how long it takes the council to vote on a new pontifex. It’s going to be weeks, even if Hector sticks his hand in the pot.”
Marcus didn’t answer, so the room fell silent again. Livia bent her leg up, so her knee cradled Marcus’ thigh.
“Marcus?”
Marcus tilted his head off the pillow. “Hmm?”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Marcus looked bewildered. “About what?”
“For you.”
“Oh.” Marcus dragged Livia’s hand up to his collarbone. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Ask me again in the morning.”
Livia closed her eyes. “All right.”
•••
The next morning, Marcus and Livia ate their breakfast in the garden again, with a chessboard between their plates and the juice pitcher pushed to the side.
“So.” Marcus stroked his chin, then moved his white pawn up two squares. “I ran into our friend again this morning.”
“Lady Camilla?”
“That’s right.”
“What does she want with you now?”
“The same thing, I guess.” Marcus cut off a bite of pie with the edge of his fork. “I think she’s figured out that insulting me isn’t going to work. She asked me how long I was staying and put her hand on my chest.”
“I hope you know how much I appreciate it that you tell me these things.”
“Of course. I tell you everything.” Marcus dug a piece of onion out of his pie. “I said it was sweet of her to worry about me, but I didn’t know.”
“Ooh. Kill her with kindness. That’ll infuriate her.”
“Why won’t she leave me alone?”
“You’re prestigious. Unavailable. You’re a challenge.” Livia’s fork clinked on her plate. “She probably sees you as a conquest.”
“And you don’t?”
“Oh, the best.”
Livia took a sip of her juice, then set her goblet down, and moved her black pawn to the diagonal and took Marcus’ off the board.
“That woman is such a study.”
Marcus captured her pawn with his knight. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, look at her.” Livia moved her knight up and captured his right back. “She’s rich. She’s from a good family. She can play the harp. She’s chesty, which’ll do it for most men…”
“Not me.”
“I know, that’s why I like you - and she could have any friends she wanted.” Livia picked up an orange wedge. “And yet she spends all her time homewrecking and making other women miserable. What’s missing?”
“Don’t look at me. I’m not a cognitive alchemist.”
Marcus studied the board for a minute, then captured Livia’s knight with his queen.
“By the way.” Livia dabbed her fingers with the napkin in her lap. “I wanted to ask you something else.”
“Uh oh. Another mystery?”
“No, no.” Livia moved her remaining knight to the front. “I was wondering…” she leaned in and hushed - “do you think I should write to our… friend?”
Marcus checked over his shoulders, then moved his knight to match hers.
“A letter trail? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“See, that’s what worries me.” Livia dragged her rightmost pawn up. “She has to at least know what’s coming. I can’t keep her fully in the dark.”
“You’re right.”
“I couldn’t use a courier, either. It’d have to be pigeons. They don’t talk.” Livia watched Marcus tuck his pontifex behind his queen. “I wonder if the country house has…”
Before she could finish, a distant bell cut her off.
Marcus and Livia fell silent. Their ears pricked up. They sat very still. A second bell rang, and then a third one, barely audible on the wind.
Marcus set his fork down. “What is that?”
“Are those the bells from the Grand Temple?”
“They are.”
In the hallway above them, a door opened, then two more. Confused courtiers shuffled out, turning their heads and tying their dressing gowns.
“It’s not the Moonlight Festival yet,” Livia said.
“No. Not for a couple weeks.”
“A noble wedding, or something?”
Marcus frowned. “I don’t think so.”
The bells kept ringing and ringing, in their deep, discordant tones - and as Livia stared at Marcus, he swore under his breath.
“Oh, gods.”
•••
Livia elbowed her way through the marketplace and yanked Marcus by his arm, and he bumped into the throngs of merchants and onlookers and prefects.
Nobles and their servants tripped over each other to get out of the way, and the sellers scrambled to save their wares before they could fall to the ground. The more Marcus and Livia ran, the louder the bells became, a deafening chord above the stomping feet and screaming crowd.
“General Incipio?” A prefect grabbed Marcus’ tunic. “You’ve got to get out of here!”
Livia stumbled into a fleeing merchant. “Why?”
“They’ve got the pontifex!”
Marcus wrestled the side of his tunic out of the prefect’s hands, and as they drew closer to the temple, they heard a bloodthirsty cry. The crowd wriggled and squashed each other, waved their fists, and craned their necks - a snatching, swearing sea of arms and legs and sweat and noise.
Marcus’ head snapped left, then right. “Where is he?”
Livia stood rooted in place. “Oh, gods.”
Just then, a group of workmen hoisted Florian out the doors, bruised, disheveled, delirious, and bleeding from his nose. Florian tried to struggle free, but two others grabbed him by his arms, and a third squeezed in behind his back and shoved him down the steps. One of the sandals fell off his feet, and he lurched headfirst down the steps - so they held him by his robes and carried him, like a kill from a big game hunt.
“Stop it!” He roared.
A woman clawed at him. “My boy’s blood is on your hands!”
An initiate sister shoved her aside and tried to tear the mantle off his back.
“I said stop!” Florian cried again.
“You’re not fit to wear it anymore!”
And Marcus and Livia just watched with stunned, silent horror in their eyes, as the bells tolled over their heads and the crowd swallowed Florian up.
CHAPTER 9
Mother Clementia,
Since it concerns church business, I thought you might want to know: Pontifex Florian’s career has come to a grisly end. Someone found proof that he was using church taxes to pay for the war in the north, and nailed it to the door of the Grand Temple. The townspeople took care of the rest. It’ll be a hot day in Jormunthal before his reputation recovers, if at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if he slips off to the countryside and drinks himself to death.
I don’t know how well you knew him, or were fond of him or not. But the near future is going to be interesting, regardless. I wonder who they’ll replace him with.
Artemisia,
this second part of the letter is for you. At some point, as you learn what’s going on, you might feel like a pawn in strangers’ plans. All I can say is that I’m sorry. I think it’s for the best. You seem like a nice girl, based on what little I’ve seen and heard of you. It’s good to know the vipers are out there, but you don’t have to become one yourself. Stay strong. Stick to your principles. If you have any, you’re on the right path. If the sisters have any books about it to offer you, you might want to read up on the relationship between church and state and ethical taxation of the people. It bores me just to write it out, but you may thank yourself later if you do.
Oh, and by the way - when all this is over, what would you like people to call you? Artemisia, or your given name? Give it some thought. You don’t have to answer now.
Lady X
Livia set her pen down on her bedroom dresser and yawned, and stretched her arms under the gray morning light from her window. Her hunting outfit lay at the foot of the bed - her red cloak and a dark blue dress, with long, pinned sleeves and a split front so she could ride astride a horse.
As soon as the ink dried, Livia folded the letter and grabbed her sealing wax. Good, she thought. Now if anyone comes in, they won’t see who I’m writing to.
But as she pressed her seal to the parchment, she heard footsteps down the hall - and soon two courtiers’ voices, a man and a woman, angry and hushed.
“What are you thinking?” The man hissed.
“What am I thinking? I’m trying to pull us out of the fire!”
Livia scooted her chair back and tiptoed across the room, and pressed her ear to the crack in the door so she could listen to them.
“We have hundreds of other things to sell for him. Heirlooms. Paintings!” The man spat. “And you pick the one that could get us killed?”
Livia frowned, but kept listening.
“Do I need to remind you what happens if we don’t keep Hector satisfied?” The woman asked.
“Do I need to remind you which one of us is the reason we’re here in the first place?”
“Oh, come on. You called Sibyl a coward too.”
“I didn’t say it where the judex could hear!”
Livia’s frown deepened, and she hung on every word.
“Listen. Hector can lie all he wants. He’s one bad winter away from losing the war.” The woman’s voice grew tense, like she was talking through gritted teeth. “And a good deal of that may be his fault, but…”
“Mira’s tits, Isidora, shut up!” The man whispered. “Do you want to get us kicked out of Histria, too?”
“No one’s listening, you idiot!” Isidora scolded him, then went on. “A good deal of that may be his fault, but he’s going to want to blame someone else. And while he’s looking for someone else, we need to keep him comfortable.”
Livia’s eyes widened, and she squished her whole cheek against the wood.
“Now. There’s an auction house in the city that fences high-end goods. We sell it. Make it look like charity. We get it off our hands.” Isidora dropped to a whisper again. “I’ll…”
“Shh!”
The voices fell silent, and Livia clapped her hand to her mouth.
“Did you hear something?” The man asked.
“No…”
A long silence fell over the hall, and Livia breathed through her nose.
“All right,” the man finally whispered. “We’ll talk more about this later. Come on.”
Isidora’s skirts rustled as the man’s boots clacked on the marble floor, and their footsteps faded as they beat a hasty retreat down the stairs. Livia stayed still for a second longer, then uncovered her mouth - and as she slipped away from the door, she wondered, selling what?
•••
Squawk!
A cool, gentle mist rolled over the grass of the palace grounds, and the pheasants echoed through the ash and holly oak trees.
The nobles’ dogs roamed through the hills with their noses in the moss, until someone called here, boy in the distance, and they turned tail and fled. A breeze tickled the branches and chilled the early autumn air, and sent leaves fluttering and acorns tumbling into the soft, dark dirt.
And Marcus and Livia meandered on horseback down the wooded path, with hoofbeats crunching beneath them and their bows mounted on their backs.
“You’re not going to shoot with the others?”
“No. I changed my mind.” Livia let the horse carry her under tree after tree. “I’m not really in the mood for hunting. I came out to be polite.”
“To Hector?”
“To you.”
“Oh.” Marcus broke into a self-conscious smile. “That’s kind.”
A rousing cheer echoed from down the hill.
“Huh.” Livia peered into the fog. “Hector must’ve caught something.”
“For once.”
“I know.” Livia laughed and shook her head. “Last time, he had the guards put out dead birds for his dogs to find.”
Another applause echoed from down the hill, more sedate this time.
“Listen.” Livia inched her black horse closer to Marcus’ side. “While we’re alone, I have something new on Hector.”
“What?”
“The people funding him.”
Marcus leaned in and hushed. “Who is it?”
“Oscar and Isidora Beauregard.”
Marcus scratched his cheek in thought. “Have I met them?”
“Probably.” Livia sat back and smirked as she surveyed the grounds. “They’re a Carpathian earl and countess who cuddled up to Hector a few years ago. They came here after someone stole half the paintings in their ancestral house.”
“I know that smirk.” Marcus raised his eyebrow. “Don’t tell me. You robbed the house yourself.”
“No, Hamid did. He’s still living off the gold he made from that.”
Marcus stayed silent for a minute, then slowly shook his head.
“There has to be another layer there.”
“With the Beauregards?” Livia tilted her head. “You think?”
“If I were robbed, I’d hire protection.” Marcus frowned. “I wouldn’t leave the whole province behind.”
“Well, we’re lucky. There is.” Livia glanced back and forth. “I found out before they left, they’d been criticizing Queen Sibyl about the war.” She adjusted the strap on her shoulder, then the cloak around her neck. “They said she was a coward for not getting involved on Histria’s side. They were going to be in serious trouble if they didn’t lay low for a while.”
“So they leaped into Hector’s arms.”
Livia tugged the reins to slow down. “More or less.”
“If they go back to Carpathia while Sibyl’s still alive, they’ll be arrested.”
“Yes, they will.”
They passed under another crop of trees that dropped round golden pods, and Livia’s horse stopped, let out a quiet snort, and sniffed the bark.
“It’s the perfect deal. They support Hector, Hector lets them keep their heads down.” Livia kept an eye on her horse, but let it amuse itself. “I’m guessing they have a vested interest in staying here as long as they can.”
“And that means keeping Hector in the lifestyle he thinks he deserves.”
“That’s right.”
A pheasant squawked in the distance, the bushes rustled, and the dogs yelped.
“I’m sure they only hoped to hang around until things cooled off.” Livia patted her horse’s side to distract it from the tree. “But they’ve been here for a while now, and Sibyl’s not going anywhere.”
“Everyone’s fortune has a limit.”
“Not theirs. They’re some of the richest people in Carpathia. We can’t touch them the way we did Florian. We’ll have to watch them for a while. And plan.”
“So we wait,” Marcus muttered. “Again.”
“I know. There’s a lot of waiting in this line of work. It took him eight years to get here. We’re not going to bring him down
overnight.”
Livia stared down the hill and watched the hunters ride through the fog, until she heard another squawk as the pheasants flapped out of the trees.
“You know…” Marcus reached in his saddlebag and fished out a spyglass - “while we’re alone…”
Livia listened.
“One of the last times I was abroad, I spoke to Kiri.”
“High General Antipov?” Livia asked.
“That’s right.”
“You’re on a first-name basis?”
“Nickname. We used to play chess when I was young.” Marcus raised the spyglass to his eye and peered back and forth. “He agreed that there was…” he squinted - “only one way that this would ever end.”
Livia turned one ear toward Marcus and the other toward the road.
“He said if anyone was crazy enough to do it, they’d have Severin’s support.” Marcus pulled the spyglass away from his face and folded it up. “Consider it returning the favor for the Cherry Orchard Revolt.”
Livia gave him a sidelong, skeptical look. “Why are you bringing this up?”
Marcus spurred his white horse and started down the road. “Just thinking out loud.”
•••
“Mira’s grace, is the coast always dreary this time of year?” A duchess asked.
“I know, I hate it.” The woman beside her sulked. “It’s like living in Jormunthal.”
Later that morning, the hunting party’s pheasants steamed on their plates, covered in herbs and a white wine sauce with mushrooms and tomatoes. The guests chatted and ate around the long table in the palace solarium, and a thin-faced, red-haired couple pushed their food onto their forks with their hands.
“Marcus.” Hector sawed another bite off of his pheasant breast. “I notice you didn’t shoot anything.”
“No, Your Majesty, I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“I see enough dea…”
“He’s a little out of practice.” Livia cut in. “He didn’t want to waste the arrows.”
“Oh?” Hector planted his elbow on the table. “That time down at the archery range didn’t help?”
Marcus and Livia shot each other looks that said he knew we were at the range.
“No.” Marcus gulped down a mouthful of juice and took Livia’s lead. “Livia can be, uh, distracting.”
“Is she?” Hector asked.
