“I know this is difficult for you, but I can’t make it easier for you to believe. All I can do is tell you the truth, and hope you come to believe one day, as I do.”
Cinzia wished she believed in Jane. It would make everything easier. But it went against everything she had known.
And yet… there was what she had experienced on the roof of an inn, in Roden. Facing the expanse of her own despair and inadequacy, amplified by the presence of the Nine Daemons, she had come within a hair’s breadth of ending her own life. But then the sweeping hollowness that threatened to devour her had disappeared, and suddenly she had felt peace. She saw that, while the Sfaera and everything in it was vast, she nevertheless had a place in it. The ease with which she forgot that revelation disturbed Cinzia. Overshadowed by Kovac’s death, overshadowed by the Rising of the Nine Daemons and what they had learned from the Nine Scriptures later that night, but it was there. It was so easy to forget.
Cinzia knew she needed to do what she could with what was given her. Perhaps these strangers who had been drawn to their family’s estate were a gift. Jane’s question echoed in her mind. Why did she think she had to feel it?
“We need to work to stop the Nine Daemons,” Cinzia said finally.
“That’s first on the list of many things Canta has in store for us.”
“Will I ever be privy to these plans?” Cinzia asked.
Jane took a deep breath, but before she could answer, the door behind them opened. Cinzia sensed a soft green glow, and for a moment was back in the inn in Roden, was seeing Kovac’s eyes.
“You two need to do something about these damn followers of yours. Bloody Odenites. For Canta’s bloody sake.”
“We were just discussing that exact issue,” Jane said.
Cinzia stood to face Astrid. Sure enough, Astrid’s eyes glowed a soft green in the twilight. Cinzia no longer shuddered at the sight, but the hairs on her arms stood on end. During the day, there were moments that Cinzia almost forgot what Astrid was, what she was capable of. At night, however, it was impossible to forget. The darkness made the girl’s eyes bright green that reminded Cinzia, oddly, of the stars.
“Something’s got to be done,” Astrid said. “These people are already at each other’s throats. They’re finding ways to segregate, and the tiellans naturally fall underfoot. Is that how your goddess runs things?”
It was a good question. The Cantic Denomination claimed that tiellans were equal to humans in most ways, and it had done since the King Who Gave Up His Crown emancipated the tiellans. But, while it claimed to treat tiellans and humans equally, the ideal was poorly executed. Cinzia wondered what Jane’s version of Canta would say.
“I’m not sure Canta runs things,” Jane said.
That was not the response Cinzia had expected.
“Um… okay?” Astrid did not seem impressed either.
“She allows us to govern ourselves, for the most part,” Jane said. “We are not puppets on strings.”
“Look, if I’d wanted a history lesson, I would have—”
“You’re right,” Jane said. “All of Canta’s children are loved in her eyes.”
“So you’re for equality, then?” Cinzia asked. This interested her. She had long thought that tiellans were treated harshly, but had only dabbled in the idea of equality academically. In Triah, she had rarely had occasion to associate with many tiellans. They mostly kept to their own parts of the city, far from Cinzia’s jurisdiction.
“I don’t know if it is necessary to take a political stance,” Jane said. “But yes, equality is the ideal. As we saw with Winter and Lian, there is nothing humans can do that tiellans can’t. No intellectual or physical feat that is impossible for one but not the other.”
“Blah, blah,” Astrid said. “What are you going to do about it?”
“We are going to reform Canta’s religion,” Jane said.
“You’re going to what?” Astrid asked.
“We are going to reform.” Jane paused. She cocked her head, for all the world as if she were listening to someone who neither Cinzia nor Astrid could hear. “No,” Jane said after a moment. “We are going to revive Canta herself, through Her religion that once existed when She walked the Sfaera, but has since died.”
“And here I thought you two would do something sensible,” Astrid muttered. “Instead you’re going to start a religion exactly like the one that caused all your problems.”
“It will not be like the Denomination,” Jane said patiently.
“If you say so,” Astrid said, “but a stone’s a stone, and a religion’s a religion.”
“Is that a saying?” Cinzia asked. She had certainly never heard it before.
“Might be.”
“A religion is a religion, and yes, we may have similarities to the Denomination. They did, after all, begin with the truth. But ours will also be very different. In all the ways that matter.” Then, Jane did something Cinzia did not expect. She stepped toward Astrid, knelt down before her, and placed her hands on the vampire’s shoulders. “Did you not listen to what I said earlier? All of Canta’s children are loved in her eyes. All of them, Astrid.”
Astrid seemed quite speechless. Cinzia did not know what to think. What sort of love did a creature like Astrid deserve? And if Canta loved such a thing, that meant she might have to as well. Such a thought did not sit comfortably.
Jane stood. “We have much research to do. Cinzia and I need to continue translating; there must be some useful information in the Nine Scriptures. As for you… can you read, Astrid?”
Astrid scoffed. “I’ve been around for a few hundred years. I can read just fine.”
Jane smiled. “Our family’s library is relatively intact. You might want to start there.”
“Library?” Astrid asked, a light sparking in her eyes that made her normal green glow seem dull in comparison. “I… I suppose I might help, if you need it.”
The girl looked no older than nine, but she had seen things that Cinzia had only read about. She was on the Sfaera when some of the most incredible events of the past centuries had taken place, Cinzia realized. The Emancipation, the King Who Gave Up His Crown, the end of the Thousand Years War. Astrid may have even been eyewitness to some of them.
Canta rising, what a treasure trove of information this girl must be.
Cinzia did not know why the idea had not occurred to her before. The things she could learn from this girl…
“Of course you can help us,” Cinzia said. “We’ll need every bit of help we can get.”
10
Castle Mandiat, Izet, Roden
DAVAL AMOK WALKED INTO the keep of Castle Mandiat, Captain Urstadt close behind him. He shook water from his cloak, removing it and handing it to a young servant. He then straightened his Ceno robes and turned to face his welcoming committee.
A committee of one, in this case, not including the servant. There, waiting to greet Daval, was Kirkan Mandiat, fellow High Lord of Izet, and the First Counselor to the late Emperor Grysole. He was younger than Daval by at least twenty summers, and nearly as tall as Urstadt. Mandiat was broad, too, but it was broadness of muscle that had not degenerated into the fat that many men allowed with age. Mandiat wore his house colors proudly, violet stripes on a gold field, although he was not armored. A good sign. If Mandiat had worn his gilded armor, it would have all but destroyed any potential negotiations between the two of them. Unarmored, Mandiat must be willing to consider Daval’s proposition.
“Lord Amok, my friend,” Mandiat said, a broad smile splitting his face. Gray streaked the man’s thick brown hair and beard, only making him look more handsome. “Or should I call you Tokal?” Mandiat bowed, ever so slightly. “You have many titles these days, Daval.”
Daval bowed more deeply in return. Such humility was necessary. It was a lesson learned long ago.
“I suppose Tokal is the more appropriate title, now,” Daval said with a sigh. “Not a name I would have ever chosen for myself, but one I�
�m stuck with, nonetheless.” The statement was only partly true. When he was a young man, he would never have dreamed of choosing the title of Tokal for himself—the religion had been long dead then.
“And stuck with it you are,” Mandiat said, smiling. “Although it seems a difficult position to hold for any extended amount of time.” Mandiat’s words doubled as both a threat and a dismissal. Whether he meant either or both, Daval was not sure.
“Things change, after all.” Daval nodded to Urstadt behind him. “You remember Tirelle Urstadt, captain of my guard?”
“Of course,” Mandiat said, nodding in Urstadt’s direction. “Welcome to my home, Captain. We are honored to host a warrior of your prowess.”
Urstadt bowed her head. “Thank you, my Lord.”
Mandiat turned. “Come,” he said. “Accompany me to the smoking room, we can converse more earnestly there.” Mandiat turned, and Daval and Urstadt followed. “You may leave your captain,” Mandiat said over one shoulder. “My servants will see to her needs.”
As Mandiat spoke, two more servants, dressed in violet, emerged from a side corridor. Urstadt looked to him, and Daval nodded. Bringing Urstadt was a formality in this case. There was no need for her fighting abilities in the Mandiat smoking room. Better she attempt to pry bits of gossip from the servants.
Mandiat and Daval turned a corner to see Hama Mandiat, Kirkan’s wife, walking towards them. Hama had not aged quite as well as her husband, but she was still beautiful. Daval could remember when Hama’s frame had been less voluminous and more curvaceous, but five children and the weight of years had changed her. As such things did for all people. Daval did not mind; while he had admired Hama as a young, beautiful woman, he could now admire her as a formidable, older one.
“Ah, Hama,” Mandiat said as the woman approached. They embraced. “You know Lord Daval Amok—er, the Tokal, as he likes to be called, now.”
Hama bowed before Daval, showing significantly more respect than her husband had. While Kirkan was a well-intentioned, relatively intelligent man, everyone knew who the real mind behind House Mandiat was, and it was not the man who wore the circlet.
“I’m pleased to see you, Tokal,” Hama said, a bright smile on her face. “I offer both congratulations and condolences. The latter on the recent attacks that have befallen your house, the former on your new appointment. It must be a cumbersome load to bear in addition to your many other responsibilities.”
Daval breathed out slowly. “You’re right, my Lady. But by the grace of the Gods I believe I will do what I must.” No need to mention the attacks from House Farady. That business was over and done with as far as Daval was concerned, although it was good to see the results were still in effect.
“Of course,” Hama said. “Such is the prayer in each of our hearts.” She bowed once more to Daval, then turned to kiss her husband. She whispered something into Kirkan’s ear. Kirkan nodded, and then Hama swayed past them.
“Very well,” Mandiat said, nodding to Daval. “Shall we?”
* * *
The Rodenese smoking room was a tradition among nobles, although it was really nothing more than an excuse to socialize, and to discuss politics and business. Mandiat’s smoking room was just as Daval remembered. It was both cozy and expansive—every lord in Izet could fit in the chamber with room still to spare. Oil paintings decorated the walls, sculpted busts rose from half-columns, and large stuffed sitting chairs were scattered about. Daval had been here many times, years ago, when the two men conspired to put Grysole on the throne.
In many ways, Daval longed for those simpler days, with so much less at stake. And yet what he had now was far too valuable to give up.
“I have traditional gradiant, very high quality from the western planes,” Mandiat said, “or more local stuff, grown on the Burly Peninsula. Got something of a kick to it; it’s what I prefer, personally.” He leaned in close. “Of course, I’ve got stronger stuff, too. Devil’s dust, hero. Even some frostfire, if you’re interested, old friend.”
Daval snorted. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll take the local gradiant. I haven’t touched any of the stronger stuff since I was a lad.”
Mandiat shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He nodded to the servant who waited at the doorway. Mandiat smiled at Daval. “Since you were a lad, eh? I find that hard to believe. Hama says she saw one of your people seeking frostfire just the other day.” Mandiat laughed. “Can’t imagine that was for your staff.”
Daval waited for Mandiat to seat himself, then sat down in a large chair opposite him. Daval smiled back at Mandiat, although inside he kicked himself. Of course such activities would have been noticed. He needed to be more careful when it came to providing faltira for the tiellan woman. Psimancers were rare in Roden; the Ceno order had enlisted the few that were known. “I like the feel of it, from time to time. You’re still young, Kirkan. You’ll understand when you get to be my age.”
“Still young?” Mandiat barked. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to. If I didn’t know any better I’d think I was catching up to you.” He leaned in close, grin widening. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t take a hit of frostfire myself every once in a while. That stuff can really kick, no?”
“Indeed,” Daval said, glad he had deflected the issue. Mandiat obviously had no notion of how much faltira Daval had been buying. Good.
The servant entered the room carrying two trays, each piled high with gradiant, which he placed on a table between Daval and Mandiat. Daval reached into a pocket of his robe for his pipe. Soon, the room was full of the comforting smell of pipe smoke, swirls of it reaching towards the ceiling. This particular batch had a sweet, almost sugary casing, and Daval breathed it in deeply.
After a few moments, Daval coughed. “You’re right about the local stuff,” he said, eyes watering. “It does have a kick.” Normally gradiant had a soft, slow burn of a taste that warmed one’s entire throat. This batch from the Burly Peninsula had a harsher burn, but a sweeter taste.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Mandiat said, leaning back in his chair and casting his eyes upwards. “Hope it isn’t too strong for you?”
“Not at all,” Daval said. “I rather enjoy it.” He’d have to inquire about Mandiat’s supplier.
The two men sat in silence for a few more moments. This was all part of the game; to start talking about business before lighting the pipes would be rude. It was a tradition Daval considered ridiculous, but necessary.
“Very well, Daval,” Mandiat said, when the pleasant buzz of gradiant reached all the way to Daval’s toes, “what is it you’ve come to discuss?”
Daval smiled. “Betrothals.”
Mandiat nearly choked on the next draw from his pipe. Daval smiled.
“Betrothals?” Mandiat repeated. He sat up straight, staring at Daval through the haze. “What of them?” Mandiat was trying to look casual, but the way he crossed one leg over the other—such an unnatural position for Mandiat, something he only did when he was nervous—told Daval all he needed.
“You’ve been discussing a betrothal with Hirman Luce between his daughter and your eldest son Girgan. I’ve come to make you a better offer.”
Mandiat slowly relaxed back into his chair. Daval smiled. The man was open to offers, at least. Mandiat took a long drag on his pipe. “I may or may not have been entertaining such discussions.”
Daval leant closer. “I’ll make it simple, Kirkan. My daughter is younger than Andia Luce, smarter, and I think you’ll agree that she’s far more beautiful.”
“You think I care what my son’s wife looks like?”
Daval grinned, raising his hands. “Of course you don’t. But my daughter has another quality that Andia Luce lacks.”
“What’s that?”
“Ambition.”
“Andia Luce was betrothed to an emperor,” Mandiat said slowly.
Daval laughed. “And Cova is the daughter of the Tokal-Ceno. Tell me true, Kirkan, which matters more? A nullified
betrothal to a dead emperor, or the living daughter of one of the most powerful men in Roden?”
Mandiat grunted. “Don’t give me that power shit, Daval. You may be Tokal, but you’re also a High Lord, same as me.”
Daval wanted to point out how that made the match all the more appealing, but refrained. He should have realized that referring to himself as one of the most powerful men in Roden would put Mandiat on edge.
“But you make points worth considering,” Mandiat said. “Such a match may have merit. But what do you gain? You’ve never been keen on betrothals, Daval. We all know this. Most of your other children married whomever in Oblivion they wanted to marry, sensible offers be damned. Why play the game now?”
“I play it because I must,” Daval said. From Mandiat’s view, Daval had everything he needed: he was the leader of the Ceno order, was a powerful High Lord. What more could he want? Mandiat clearly suspected Daval had something else up his sleeve. To his credit, Mandiat was right.
“Let us speak frankly,” Mandiat said. “Why do you not just take the throne now, Daval? Why not become emperor tomorrow? You could do it. We all know you could.”
Daval nodded. “If you prefer we speak frankly, then we shall. Yes, Kirkan. I could vie for the throne tomorrow, and likely have it by the end of the year, if I was fortunate. But such a thing would lead to war between the noble houses of Roden. Many people would die. The nobles would betray one another a dozen times over. Blood would flow freely, and I can’t have that.”
Mandiat laughed out loud. “Since when does Daval Amok care for betrayal? For avoiding bloodshed?”
Daval bowed his head. “Since I learned that there is much at stake. Far more than I ever realized.”
“The throne, you mean?”
Daval shook his head. He needed to bring Mandiat in to the circle. “No, Kirkan. Far more.”
* * *
Daval left a bewildered Kirkan Mandiat in the smoking room. Bewildered, but recruited to Daval’s plans nonetheless. Mandiat had agreed to the betrothal between his son, Girgan Mandiat, and Cova. He had agreed to do whatever was necessary to see that Daval was put in power.
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