“She’s good at that,” said Seb. “But I’m told my eyes look a great deal like hers.”
“They do,” said Ilona. “But your eyes aren’t cold, Lord Sebastian. They’re…” She thought for a moment. “They’re sad. Like you’ve lost someone.”
“Everyone loses people, my lady,” said Seb, thinking of Katrina.
“Have you?” said Ilona.
“My wife,” said Seb. “A long time ago.”
She inclined her head. “My mother. The Temnoti murdered her when I was a girl. It set me on the path I am on now.”
“I am sorry,” said Seb.
“And I am sorry for you.”
“And I do hope,” said Seb, “that talking about death with a half-dressed woman is the strangest experience I shall have today.”
Ilona laughed at that. Seb tried to stop himself from looking at her chest and failed. “Is that so strange, Lord Sebastian? At least you know I am honest with you. It’s hard to lie when you’re naked.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” said Seb.
Ilona smiled. “Theodosia is at the inn. If you’ll excuse me, Lord Sebastian, I’m rather chilly.”
“Yes,” said Seb. For a brief moment, he was tempted to suggest that he could warm her up, but then sanity reasserted itself. “Thank you, madam. Though I suggest that you close the door in the future.”
Her smiled widened. “Maybe I wanted to talk to you.”
He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so Seb offered her a polite bow and left the theater.
###
Two hours later Caina followed Theodosia, Ilona, and Kylon to the Voivode’s Castle.
Her newly blond hair had been pulled back in a tight tail, which allowed her to don one of the heavy fur hats favored by the Ulkaari. The cylindrical hat did look vaguely ridiculous, but it was warm enough that Caina did not care. Theodosia had an excellent supply of clothing for the theater company, and Caina had donned a blue Ulkaari dress with black sleeves, heavy boots, and a fur-lined blue cloak. Between the hat and the cloak, she was as warm as she was likely to be.
Ilona walked at her side. She had spoken little since they had left the theater, though from time to time a small smile played on her lips. Caina wondered why she was in such a good mood. Ilona wore a blue dress cut similar to Caina’s, another one of those fur hats perched on her head.
Kylon walked alongside Theodosia, wearing chain mail and leather, the jeweled saber they had taken from the undead ardivid hanging at his belt. If Caina and Ilona were playing the part of Theodosia’s maids, then Kylon played the part of her mercenary guard. He did not have to feign suspicion and watchfulness.
Theodosia, of course, played the part of the leading lady of the Grand Imperial Opera.
In other words, she acted like herself.
She had donned a dress and cloak of brilliant gold fabric, the collar and hem of the cloak trimmed with black fur, and she stood out against the cold streets and the stark gray sky. Many people stopped to stare at her in surprise as they passed. Theodosia herself gave no acknowledgment of the stares but instead walked with the aloof serenity of an empress deigning to show herself to her adoring people.
A short time later they came to the Voivode’s Castle in the outer wall.
It lacked the engineering skill that Caina had seen in the stone castras raised by the men of the Imperial Legions. For that matter, she suspected that one of the Emperor’s Legions could take the place in short order. Nevertheless, the Legions were far away, and the Voivode’s Castle was a strong fortress. The curtain wall joined the city’s outer wall, and a grim drum keep rose from the center, standing nearly two hundred feet tall. Guards patrolled the ramparts of the curtain wall and stood watch over the gate in the barbican. Caina had broken into any number of fortified buildings over the years, but she would not want to try her luck against the Voivode’s Castle, not without sufficient preparation first.
Four guards in crimson tabards adorned with the black hawk and spear sigil of the Voivode stood at the gate to the courtyard, and they straightened up at Theodosia’s approach.
“Good sirs,” said Theodosia in Ulkaari in a clear voice, “I, Theodosia of Malarae, have come to sing in honor of your noble Voivode. Please let him know that I have arrived.”
“And your companions, madam?” said one of the guards, blinking in bemusement at them.
Theodosia drew herself up. “Surely you do not expect me to sing for the Voivode without the assistance of my maids, sir. What if my hair is in disarray from this icy wind, or I spatter mud upon my dress? I would not bring such dishonor to the Voivode.”
“And the Kyracian?” said the guard.
“My bodyguard, of course,” said Theodosia. “In these dangerous times, surely you do not expect me to travel anywhere without protection and safeguards? Why, there are bandits on the road from Risiviri to Vagraastrad!”
The guard only grunted. “This way, madam.”
He led them into the courtyard. Hard-packed dirt, frozen for the winter, rasped beneath Caina’s boots. Her eyes flicked over the courtyard, the outbuildings, and the central keep, seeking for weaknesses and finding very few of them. This would be a hellish building to break into. The castle also had a magnificent-looking eight-sided Temple in the Ulkaari style, its domed roof covered with copper. Caina wondered if the Voivode maintained Brothers and Sisters to keep up the illusion that he was a pious son of the Temple, or if he had desecrated the place and allowed the Temnoti to practice their necromantic rites there.
The thought bothered Caina more than she expected. Perhaps it was because her experiences in Istarinmul and the visions that the Knight of Wind and Air had shown her had turned her mind towards the Iramisian view of religion, that there was a single Divine who had set the world and the tapestry of fate into motion. Or maybe it was the hypocrisy of it that disgusted Caina. Gregor Vagastru had sworn as Voivode to defend and protect his people, and instead, he permitted Libavya Jordizi to prey upon them and the Temnoti to work their evil in secret.
She kept her emotions from her face, her expression the calm mask that would be expected of a serving maid.
The guard led them through the double doors of the keep and into a small antechamber. There was a hearth in one wall, for which Caina was grateful. The guard bade them to wait and then disappeared through another set of double doors. A moment later he commanded them to follow him.
The great hall of the Voivode’s Castle was a peculiar mix of architectural styles. At first glance, it looked like the basilica halls common in the Empire. Yet the pillars that supported the ceiling were octagonal in the Iramisian fashion, and the ceiling overhead rose to an onion-shaped Ulkaari arch. Four hearths stood on the walls, roaring with flame and throwing heat into the drafty chamber. The Voivode’s Castle had to spend a fortune on firewood. At the far end of the hall rose a dais, and atop the dais stood a throne holding Gregor Vagastru.
The Voivode wore gleaming black boots, black trousers, and a magnificently tailored coat of crimson and gold that almost but not quite managed to conceal his paunch. His gray hair had been oiled and slicked back, and his bushy gray mustache masked the hard, unsmiling line of his mouth. Several of the boyar’s szlachts stood guard near the dais, along with two Umbarian magi in their dark greatcoats, the winged skull medallions of their Order glittering against their chests.
Their eyes moved over her without interest and then settled on Theodosia. Caina felt a surge of relief. She had hated dyeing her hair blond, but given how well-known Talmania Scorneus was among the Order and how much Caina resembled her aunt, changing her hair color had been a good idea. They couldn’t sense the presence of the Ring of Rasarion Yagar so long as she carried it, and unless she or Kylon summoned their valikons, the Umbarians would not be able to sense them.
“Voivode Gregor Vagastru,” said Theodosia with a sweeping bow, and Caina and the others followed suit. “It is with great honor and humility that I, Theodosia of Malarae, present m
yself before you and petition for the honor of celebrating your birthday at Lady Libavya’s masquerade ball.”
Gregor grunted. He looked irritated. “A tedious affair. Matters of state demand my attention, and Lady Libavya insists upon her masquerades. Well, one must keep the good opinion of one’s vassals.”
“Permit me to sing you one song, my lord,” said Theodosia, “and I shall lay the matter upon your wisdom.”
Gregor made an impatient wave of his hand, and Theodosia started to sing. The griefs of the last few years had done nothing to weaken her voice, and she was still the best singer Caina had ever heard. Her voice rolled through the hall, ranging from soft to melodious to rich and thunderous, and Gregor started to lean forward in his chair.
Then Caina understood the lyrics.
Theodosia was singing in Ulkaari, and while Caina could now understand Ulkaari reasonably well, she had a harder time following the language when it was sung aloud. Nonetheless, Caina realized that Theodosia was singing the Ulkaari version of a popular Caerish tavern song. Since the song dealt with the misadventures of a young wife, her husband’s three apprentices, and a pair of whores, it was incredibly ribald. It was not the sort of song performed at the Grand Imperial Opera in front of an audience of Nighmarian lords. The Umbarian magi looked scandalized, and Ilona had to lift a hand to her mouth to hide her smile.
The Voivode Gregor Vagastru, however, looked increasingly amused and started to chuckle. When Theodosia reached the song’s chorus, which featured the young wife’s aged husband finding her and the three apprentices in the hayloft of a local barn, the Voivode roared with laughter and struck the arm of his throne a few times for emphasis.
Theodosia finished the song and offered a sweeping bow, and the Voivode clapped with approval.
“Aye, by the Divine, now that was a song!” said Gregor. “It would have made the old Iron King himself blush!” He laughed again. “And it will amuse me to see the look on Lady Libavya’s face when she hears it! Aye, madam, you are more than welcome to sing at my masquerade ball! If Lady Libavya or her seneschals give you any trouble, tell them that the Voivode commands it!”
“The lord Voivode is most gracious,” said Theodosia with another bow. “A letter to that effect might be helpful.”
Gregor grunted. “You!” He jabbed a thick finger at a szlacht. “Find one of the scribes and write up an invitation. Theodosia of Malarae, two of her maids, and her bodyguard. Understand?”
Caina supposed that was beneath the dignity of a szlacht, but the noble hurried to obey.
“I look forward to singing at your ball, my lord Voivode,” said Theodosia.
Gregor all but leered at her. “Yes, I look forward to that, too.”
###
“Better not let him get you alone,” said Ilona as they walked back through the freezing streets to the Szlacht’s Sword. Kylon had extended his arcane senses to watch for any attackers or spies, and so he felt Ilona’s emotions. She was full of wariness and cold planning, and a good measure of disgust directed at Gregor Vagastru. Kylon suspected that she had not approved of the Voivode’s interest in Theodosia’s song.
Theodosia waved a dismissive hand. “Fear not, my dear. That’s what you are for. And Lord Kylon, of course. He’ll be standing nearby directing his formidable glower at anyone who disrespects me.”
“Glower?” said Kylon.
“It is formidable,” said Caina.
“And while I sing and Lord Kylon glowers,” said Theodosia, “Caina will have a quiet look around the sanitarium. Let’s see what secrets Lady Libavya has hidden away.”
Chapter 11: The Lady’s Ball
The night of the masquerade ball in honor Gregor Vagastru’s birthday came, and Seb supposed their plan was logical enough.
Theodosia had been invited to sing for the Voivode, and Caina and Ilona would accompany her to serve as her maids and Kylon as her bodyguard. While Theodosia sang, Caina would take a quiet look around the sanitarium’s rooms, seeking for evidence of Libavya Jordizi’s necromantic crimes.
A Temple to the Divine stood in the Old City a few blocks from the sanitarium and the shadow of the Lord’s Castle. Seb, Sophia, and Teodor would wait there with Basarab and Calugar and the witchfinders that the High Brother had under his command. If Caina found the proof, Basarab and the others would storm the sanitarium and arrest Lady Libavya. Undoubtedly, she would try to resist, either with her necromantic powers or her reveniri servants.
If she did resist, they would kill her. Once she had been exposed as a necromancer and a Temnoti cultist before the nobles of Vagraastrad, they would have no choice but to denounce her. The cult of Temnuzash was strong in Vagraastrad, but not strong enough to allow the Voivode to openly declare his allegiance to it.
It was a good plan. Seb suspected it was the kind of plan that Caina and Theodosia had carried out before, the sort of scheme the Ghosts used to discredit enemies of the Emperor.
But he kept envisioning all the things that could go wrong.
“Why is it called a masquerade ball?” said Kylon. He frowned. “There aren’t going to be costumes, aren’t there?”
Seb stopped himself from laughing. The thought of the grim former Archon wearing a costume was an amusing one. “No. It’s an old Ulkaari custom. One of the grislier ones, as it happens.”
He stood with Kylon near the stage in the theater. Theodosia, Caina, and Ilona were finishing their preparations in the rooms behind the stage. After his previous experiences walking in on Caina and Ilona, there was no way Seb was going back there unless the building caught on fire or the entire Umbarian Order crashed through the front doors.
“Grisly?” said Kylon. “You expect violence, then?”
“Other than the violence we will start ourselves, no,” said Seb. “But the custom dates to the time of the Iron King. Rasarion Yagar turned many of his szlachts into mavrokhi, and he called them his Hounds. The Boyar’s Hunt was one of the customs he instituted for them.” Kylon nodded. “A masquerade ball was another. Both his Hounds and his normal szlachts would wear masks, and sometimes the guests would have to guess whether or not the man behind the mask was a normal man or a mavrokh or a vyrkolak.”
“And if the guest chose wrongly,” said Kylon, “he was eaten?”
“As the main course,” said Seb. “After the Warmaiden defeated the Iron King, the custom persisted, though in rather less bloody fashion. The masks became smaller as well. They’re more decorative now than anything else and are useless for disguise. They just cover the area around the eyes and nose, and are usually adorned with feathers or jewels.”
“Feathers,” said Kylon with a shake of his head. “The Ulkaari seem to enjoy their grisly customs. I suppose some boyar will reintroduce a milder form of the Boyar’s Hunt where the guests can choose from seven naked women, and the boyar will think himself enlightened because the women aren’t eaten alive at the end of the night.”
“Their customs are a bit mordant,” agreed Seb. “Conversely, their faith in the teachings of the Temple is just as strong. I suppose it comes from living in a land where the barrier to the netherworld is thin, and horrors regularly enter our world to attack mortals.” He hesitated. “Do you think Caina can pull this off?”
“Pull what off?” said Kylon.
“Pretending to be a maid,” said Seb.
Kylon shrugged. “Why would that be difficult?”
“She is so obviously a noblewoman and accustomed to giving commands,” said Seb. “She took charge at Kostiv, and she’s already got Theodosia and Basarab doing what she wants. Do you think she can pretend to be servile for…why are you laughing?”
“Because I know better,” said Kylon. “She’s perfectly capable of disguising herself as anyone she wants to be for as long as she wants, and she’s so good at it that she’ll fool nearly anyone. In Istarinmul, there was a price of two million Istarish bezants upon her head, and so she disguised herself as a man for nearly a year and a half. You heard her change he
r voice. She did it so effectively that some of her closest allies didn’t realize the truth until…”
“Until?” said Seb when Kylon trailed off.
“Long story,” said Kylon.
“Undoubtedly,” said Seb. “But she is a Scorneus woman, and it is hard to imagine a Scorneus woman acting servile for any length of time.”
“She doesn’t think of herself as a Scorneus woman,” said Kylon. “She didn’t even know anyone from her mother’s family until a few weeks ago.”
“If she doesn’t think of herself as a Scorneus woman,” said Seb, “what does she think of herself? A noblewoman? The Balarigar? The Liberator of Iramis?”
“Herself,” said Kylon.
Seb snorted. “A non-answer if there ever was one.”
“Non-answers are usually true,” said Kylon. “Why does this bother you so much? We had this conversation before that fight with the mavrokhi in Kostiv.”
Seb shrugged. “Because we are gambling a great deal on her ability to pretend to be someone else convincingly.” He sighed. “Calvia can do that, too. Disguise herself as someone else. Usually while in the process of stealing something. And right before leaving her associates to take the blame while she escapes.”
“Ah,” said Kylon. “It reminds you of your twin sister, which alarms you.”
“If you had met my twin sister, it would alarm you too,” said Seb.
“All right,” said Kylon. “You weren’t sure the plan at Kostiv would work, and you aren’t sure this plan will work. Why are you still here?”
Seb shrugged. “Maybe I’m a fool.”
“No,” said Kylon. “A fool thinks too little. You think too much. Somewhat like Caina. So why are you still here? You would be within your rights to leave, travel to Risiviri on your own, and make your way to Artifel, and you have the skill and power to survive a journey like that.”
Seb hesitated, wondering why it bothered him. Did the plan trouble him? It did, but battle plans always troubled him. No plan ever went completely right. Was it the fact that Caina was his half-sister? She had the same sharp beauty and brilliant mind as the other women of House Scorneus, but other than that, she was nothing like them. Calvia and Talmania and Rania would have cared nothing about a lost girl like Sophia Zomanek, and Caina had wiped out Razdan Nagrach and all his szlachts to save her and the town of Kostiv…
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