He recited to Sable: “Suppress the enemy’s abilities, foil his plans, and then command him directly.”
“Yes, but how?”
Orson stared at her while he considered. His features appeared harsh and critical, but Sable was unconcerned by his expression of concentration. She loved when he focused his wits on the fight. She pushed against his mind to feel the ordered timing of a deadly battle as he played each move in advance, predicting his opponent’s reactions, guiding them to their fall. Sable could feel the certainty of his moves but could not guess the actions.
After much time had passed in silent deliberation, Orson finally spoke. “For as long as possible, you must keep secret from the mothers what you have done, how you have destroyed their plans. This will prevent them from formulating new ones while you set them on a new path.” Taking both her hands, he said firmly, “You must go back into the convent and lead them directly.”
Sable tried to pull away.
“With Master Aidan gone, you are the head of the Cloitare, the sole and uncontested oracle. You can determine the Cloitare’s future. Your position should be stronger than any, but you are weak because you will not use it.”
“Remy won’t allow it,” Sable gave as an excuse.
“Nonsense. You are in Sierra,” he offered as proof. “You will convince him.”
The General growled disapproval.
Orson ignored him to ask Sable, “In the future shown to you, as your young daughter trained in the convent, who were the Council of Regents?”
Sable frowned unaware.
“You must learn this to control them.”
Knowing he was right, Sable sagged forward at the prospect before her. “United, the mothers are now stronger than me. I accepted the title of Queen Mother and allowed them passage through my mind. It was foolish to think I could deceive them. I thought I could elude them, leave them lost in the broken spaces, but instead,” Sable winced at the memory while trying to find the words. Her accent changed to the street, “Those bitches went cold and froze a path to travel. Their commands no longer slip through the cracks. I lost the one small advantage they’d given me.”
“And what did you gain?”
“A grander title and easier access to the one mind.”
“Learn to use them. You must accomplish far more than was initially required. You need to win over the young, divide the mothers, and set out a definitive, clear, and accessible new objective to occupy the clergy. You have much to reclaim.” Thoughtfully he traced the X on her palm with his thumb. “More than reclaiming lost territory, you have moral authority to reclaim.” Sable clinched her hands into fists. “Mother Vesna gave you a valuable gift.” She yanked free her left hand but Orson held tight to her right. “A gift you can bestow upon the most loyal and faithful of your followers.” And while Sable began to turn her head no, Orson finished, “You will divide the Cloitare with the mark.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” she repeated in a whisper until it was little more than a mumble of breath while she twisted in Orson’s grip.
“You will start with Amele and the three other sisters,” Orson explained calmly as though he were not grappling now to still both of Sable’s hands. “Cut wide so their hands scar like yours, but do not wait for them to heal. While they are fresh, take the four sisters into the cloister so that every nun understands the new division.”
“Ok, father, let her go.”
Orson took no notice of his son. “Play an active role in the ceremonies, and the young will be eager to wear the sign of your most-trusted followers.”
Wrists held against Orson’s brace and laced with his good hand, Sable was becoming frantic. “Why? Why would I do this?”
“It will utterly fracture the Cloitare. The few mothers whose pride will allow them to be cut will wear the scars as an admission of wrong-doing and the young will wear them proudly as a sign of devotion to you.”
Sable thought back to the soldier on the train, falling apart when he pulled the blade from her hip. She had been familiar with the reaction, had even expected his emotion; she could sympathize, but, at the time, she could not empathize, had no understanding of what caused his distress. Trembling against Orson’s direction, Sable felt certain Vesna had succeeded in expelling her from the Cloitare. She shook her head, saying, “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. I have taught you well how to use a blade.”
“No. It’s a profane desecration of the flesh.”
“Yes, exactly, and tonight you will stop hiding your scars of innocence.”
“Not Amele.” Sable was sinking. “Not Ava, Chloé, or Evie. Name anyone else, but not those four.”
“What about me?”
“Oh fucking hell no.” She was dizzy with revulsion because Orson was already shouting behind him into the lodge, “Marie, bring me a boning knife and salt.”
Dropping her head onto their hands, Sable cursed and pleaded, “Blackest night, please don’t do this to me.”
“You’re going to do it to me.” Orson was cheerful. “You will see it is very simple. I will consider it a gift, a way for you to honor me for all I have done for you.”
“Ok, hold the madness.” Pressing across the table, Theo signaled an end. “This has gone far enough.”
“This, my son, is between the Destroyer and me, so you can just sit back and finish your damn drink.”
“No, father, this is now between you and the Queen’s guard.”
Orson laughed roundly. “So now you’re her guard? You can’t protect both her and the King this evening. If you want your king to live, Sable has to take control of the Cloitare. I’ve just told her how. Now did you hear a weakness in my strategy?”
The General looked at Sable still pressed as if in prayer to their combined hands. “I haven’t heard the final plan, where all this,” his gesture whipped across the two of them, “cutting of palms leads.”
“And you won’t. Tell him why, pet.”
“If the mothers thought you knew, they’d tear through your head to find it.” Sable lifted her attention to him. “I drank a bottle of anodyne so they wouldn’t discover any more of my secrets, but they had already learned that Orson Feridon trained me and they could guess why. They know he still lives on the island where he buried the last two mothers who approached him because I revealed it, yet I never opened my mouth to speak. I can’t go anywhere without a pocket full of pills to drown them in nightmares should they come into my mind again, and at some point, to advance their objective, they must. You can’t know the final plan because you don’t know how to hide.”
At his mother’s unsuspecting entrance with knife and salt, Theo rose to turn her away, but Orson called, “Bring it here, Marie.”
Sable became instantly dire, warning, “I will drop every last one of you to the floor.”
Orson single-mindedly matched her, “If the Mawan will not honor me, then I will take my own life in disgrace.”
Marie demanded in wild alarm of both Theo and Sable, “What is happening?”
“Give me the knife, Mother.”
Skirting the outside of the room as Sable had done, Marie kept the knife close to her chest to avoid her son’s approach, saying, “Your father does not threaten.” To Sable, who was locked in a combative stare with her husband, she urged, “Whatever he wants, do it.”
Cloitare cold, Sable agreed, “I will mark the sisters. I agree to your strategy.”
“You will honor me first with proof of your commitment.”
The struggle had flipped so that Orson now tried to free his hands from Sable, requesting, “The knife, Marie,” but Theo was also insisting, “Give it to me.”’
Sable’s face was inscrutably neutral making Marie rage with the order, “Honor him as he says!”
“Mother, I have this under control, just give me the knife.”
While Theo spoke, Sable stopped fighting Orson and instead put emotionless eyes on Marie, signaling her to retreat with her son to th
e fire.
In the manner of a nun, Sable bent low to show respect while her hand went to his jacket pocket. She paused with grief to find the knife where she expected. As she rose to the task, Orson said, “I wish you did not insult me with the Stare.”
Head still bent, Sable explained, “It’s either your blood or my tears. You can’t have both.”
“You have learned how to cry?”
“I have.”
It was unexpected. He watched his son overtaking his wife, promising, “I will fix this,” and lifted Sable’s face to ask, “Who taught you? The mothers?” He was relieved to see her expression turn sardonic with denial. “Remy?”
“Yes.”
Orson’s smile broke into a private laugh. “I would never have wished the curse of love on you, but now that you’ve got it, I might as well train your demon to fight.”
Theo had claimed the kitchen knife from his mother, but when he turned to deal with his father, Orson’s manner was dedicated to instruction.
“If you wait until the King is under threat to take control of the Cloitare, it will be too late. You cannot waver. With unrelenting resolve, and without mercy, you must act fast and strike hard.”
Resting his hand over his pocket to keep Sable’s fingers on the knife, he said, “If you show mercy to the sisters, to Amele or any one of them, you are choosing their lives over the life of the King. Above all else, you must decide firmly where your loyalty lies. Be resolute that every action reflects it.”
Before allowing her to release the knife and sit back, he waited for Sable to assent, “I swear it; I will mark them.”
“Master Aidan has trained you to defend the King, but you cannot afford to fall into defensive habits. To defend is to allow the enemy to lead. Your every action becomes a counter. You must never allow the enemy to lead. You will lose.”
Sable could see it clearly. “I will return to the Cloitare and direct its path.”
“Attack strongly and calmly. Feign fear, anger, or boredom to lure your enemy into position, but on no account relinquish your serenity or balance.”
Sable blinked away the Stare.
“Advance steadily, never retreating, never allowing the clergy to rest or recover. When they fight back, deflect it with an attack so they cannot strike again. If they falter, attack stronger. Do not relent. You must completely cut them down.”
~~~~~~
The night wore on as Orson fleshed out the strategy and reinforced tactics Theo hoped were merely analogous with the blade. Theo had guided his mother out of the room with assurances he would prevent the lesson from descending into bloodshed, then slowly he paced between the fire and entrance hall to stay alert, listening to his father guide Sable into war with the Cloitare.
Theo could find no fault with his father’s plan, other than he was familiar with the people involved. He did not care to imagine Sable cutting Amele’s hands. He did not want to hear Remy refuse Sable’s request to return to the Cloitare because he did not want to think what it meant when Remy agreed. Laudin was going to pop like an overcharged battery when Sable extended her authority into Sierra, and Girard’s PIT was about to get taught a lesson in conspiracy theories.
He was jumpy from hearing his father repeatedly put illusory blades in Sable’s hands, instructing, “Strike before they have a chance to look around.” Reminding, “One cut serves as both attack and defense.” And tersely correcting, “Chase. Chase them into disarray and then cut them down.” But overshadowing every ill feeling was the complicity of the evening of which Remy could never learn.
Theo watched the time stretch into the small hours after midnight while his father chided Sable for not knowing how to keep the Cloitare preoccupied. “Modernize the temples,” he offered. “And the convent. Hell, update the Basilica with electricity,” Orson laughed. “Increase the number of recruits. Round up every delinquent, angry, unstable, attention deficit, and otherwise troubled child to keep the mothers continuously busy with unacceptable initiates. Maintain constant disorder with no hope of recovery. If they look even slightly complacent, announce you are allowing men back into the clergy. Chase them. Relentlessly chase the mothers with change.
“And more appearances. Speak weekly at the Basilica. Randomly revise the meanings of the prophets, your role as Queen Mother, the function of the Cloitare. Be unpredictable. Upset every routine. All of these changes will draw out the proposed Council of Regents. Those with the highest authority will be forced forward to resist your alterations. Identify the mothers with the largest influence and then attack the greatest threats. Divide them. Concede to the wishes of the weakest; steadfastly refuse the strongest. Completely shift their balance of power. Cut away every advantage and leave every hindrance.”
From the beginning and through every lesson, his father kept pulling Sable’s marred hands before her eyes, prompting, “Mother Vesna gave you a valuable gift which you will share,” forcing her to focus on the scars and then making her affirm, “It is a gift.”
Theo could not tell if it was rage or if she was about to sob on the words, but the statement remained incomprehensible until the emotion was concealed behind an impassive Cloitare Stare. Hours later, his father told her, “You have hidden long enough,” and Sable reemerged to speak with stiff compliance.
When she hesitated, Orson would tap, glance, or rest his hand on his pocket until Theo finally realized the importance. It was late and he was desperately tired. He berated himself for not seeing it sooner. He idly came to sit on the edge of the chair to their side, trying to appear casual, as though he were merely observing. For his trouble, he was reminded you could not beat a master strategist who from one thing knew a thousand, who could see the real intent of every action and defeat it before it started. And for his trouble, he was also reminded you could not trick a Cloitare who could see plainly what others felt as a subconscious doubt. He had barely moved his hand for his father’s pocket when he was effortlessly blocked and then lightly slapped across the cheek with his own hand, and before his father had even begun to laugh, Sable had already moved under their conflict to snatch the blade away from his attempted confiscation.
Deferentially offering it back to the master to threaten her with, she assured the General, “It’s fine. The knife won’t be used. I’ve got this.” Then to Orson, “I swear, I’ve got it.” She lifted her palm in front of her face and smiled. “It’s a gift. A goddamn lovely fucking why-didn’t-someone-give-it-to-me-sooner gift. It’s so splendid, everyone gets two.”
Corroboration
The King had only just come from surgery when Girard released the details of the attack at the lithium mine to her Propaganda and Information Team.
“President Pavlović tried to assassinate the Queen Mother,” was the story emerging from the PIT. “If King Remius hadn’t shielded her with his own body, Sable would be dead.”
“Your PIT monster has rather overexcited the herd,” Laudin told Girard.
Since Sable and the General flew off to retrieve Lieutenant Fallon, Girard had barely lifted her head from the assortment of tablets and laptops on her desk, and she glowered now to be informed of the obvious.
The day following the attack, while the King recovered under sedatives unaware, the religious had taken to the streets, surrounding not only the Basilica in Jenevuede, but the Erentrude embassy in Sierra, President Pavlović’s house, and the King’s palace. Not wanting the foothill military base encircled as well, the PIT reported the King was at the Royal Jenevuede Hospital in the capital, and to support the idea, Girard and Laudin demanded of the colonel who was acting in command while General Berringer was absent to place troops at the site.
The Cloitare mothers steadfastly refused to speak and calm the congregants, flatly informing both Laudin and Girard they were lying when they said Sable was beside the King; but still this was the excuse given to those who gathered appealing for proof the Queen Mother was unharmed and the Chosen King alive. Knowing it was going to settle very little
, Girard released a much-edited version from the surveillance cameras outside the pump house showing the moment Remy turned Sable, covering her to the ground, and then Remy sheltering her against the pump house wall until their escape in the remaining car. A palace spokesperson read a statement from the Queen Mother calling for patience until the King was stable enough for her to leave his side.
A full day after they left, with the sun again lighting the horizon, Berringer called.
Sable had installed encryption on the phone but warned it didn’t match Catherine’s, so the General was still speaking vague, “The three of us will be back around sunset.”
Catherine, like Sable, was going on her third day awake, and the General didn’t feel as though his first night under Sable’s nightmarish influence had been restful either, so when Catherine asked, “Can you make it sooner?” the General was less than pleasant with his reply, “Not unless we’re throwing the laws of physics to the wall as well.”
Catherine kept her eyes on the live news video while typing instructions to a Sierran station chief. She asked the General, “Will you be bringing back the proof I need?”
While it was still dark, the phone texting the Count’s location had been pushed on him by Sable, and he had endured her demands that they leave his father’s house immediately to make contact at the hotel in Jenevuede. The General had been eager to depart before the sun rose and the winds came to the island, but it was to get Sable back to Remy. Only taking control of Lieutenant Fallon again had silenced her, and the General knew if he left himself open at all, Catherine would be the next to start. He would only offer to her question, “That’s uncertain.”
The long pause before he spoke told Catherine he was being stubborn. She said, “Let me talk to her,” and in the second extended gap of silence, she expected to be denied, but then Sable was saying, “Good morning, kitty.”
Sister Sable (The Mad Queen Book 1) Page 29
