by Kat Ross
Kasia heard the metallic clink of manacles and struggled wildly.
“Let go of me,” she spat. “Let go!”
The card lit with lines of blue fire, blindingly bright. There was a single shout of surprise and the hands holding her let go. Kasia stumbled back, a black afterimage floating before her eyes. Five mailed bodies thudded noisily to the ground.
Oh fog it. What had she done?
A quick examination of the women revealed that they were breathing normally and didn’t seem hurt. Kasia picked up the Knight of Wards. Sometimes called The Dreamer.
She stepped over the sleeping bodies and continued on, this time following the current of ley. It led her through a second gallery and up a broad, gently curving staircase to the top floor of the palace and along a corridor with painted panels depicting the Five Virtues. When she reached the end, Kasia peeked around the corner. A white-haired woman in purple robes sat at a desk positioned next to a pair of tall, heavily carved doors, jotting notes in a ledger.
It was not the Reverend Mother. Kasia knew Feizah’s face almost as well as her own since it hung in every establishment in the city. She fanned the deck, searching for the Dreamer again, and threw the card to the stone floor. Nothing happened. Kasia focused her will. Make her sleep.
The vestal didn’t look up from her ledger.
Kasia reviewed the little she knew about the ley. Only mages could control it directly, and even then, the power was unpredictable. Intent and need—those were the key ingredients. Perhaps she was going about it wrong. The cards only gave a true reading when they were drawn randomly, and it was likely they worked the same way for the ley.
She closed her eyes and let her fingertips dance along the edge of the deck until they touched a card poking out slightly farther than the rest. Kasia tossed it down, holding firm to the idea that she did not want to cause harm, only pass by unmolested. The Six of Storms floated on the surface. An instant later, lines of violet light traced the card. She’d tapped the liminal ley. Kasia peeked around the corner.
The vestal went to dip her quill pen and sneezed violently, knocking the inkpot into her lap. Kasia heard a muffled oath. The vestal rose to her feet, brushing at her cassock, which only turned her hand black. Another oath. She lifted the telephone on her desk, paused, then laid it back in the cradle. “It’ll only take a moment,” she muttered.
Kasia realized the woman was about to head her way and took off running in her stocking feet. She ducked into a side corridor and pressed against the wall. Footsteps approached, then paused at the juncture of the corridor. “What’s this?”
Fog it. She’d left the card lying on the floor and the woman had noticed it. Ten seconds later, the vestal strode past. When she’d gone, Kasia hurried back to the vestibule. The Six of Storms was gone. How that might affect the ley, she had no idea, but she couldn’t turn back now. She drew a deep breath and knocked on the carved doors.
“Enter,” a gravelly voice commanded.
The doors were broad and heavy but unlocked. She opened the one on the left and stepped into a large bedchamber, closing the door behind her. A woman in half-moon glasses and beige satin pajamas sat propped against a mountain of pillows on the largest bed Kasia had ever seen. It rested atop a platform with three steps leading up to the bed itself. Curtains could be drawn on either side, although these had been left open. Papers covered the quilt. The Pontifex’s hair was white and closely shorn, her skin the color of age-darkened walnut. A gold signet ring adorned her left hand, which was not gloved.
“Don’t be afraid, Reverend Mother,” Kasia said. “I’m not here to harm you.”
The Pontifex Feizah regarded Kasia impassively. She raised her hand. A terrible wind rose, scattering the papers. Kasia flew backwards across the room, toes dragging on the carpet, and found herself plastered against the far wall.
“How did you get inside the palace?”
“Through a window,” Kasia grunted, eyeing Feizah sidelong since her cheek was also pressed to the wall.
“That’s impossible.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Feizah’s white brows drew down. The force hauled Kasia upwards until her feet dangled three feet from the floor. “Show some respect, girl! What do you want?”
“To seek your help with a priest.”
“If he got you with child, that is your business,” the Reverend Mother said tartly. “I do not intervene in affairs of the heart.”
“No, no, he’s in the jail below the Arx.”
Shrewd brown eyes studied her. “What is his name?”
“Fra Alexei Vladimir Bryce.”
The force eased enough that Kasia’s toes touched solid ground again.
“Bryce?” She seemed surprised, which Kasia took as a good sign.
“Do you know him?” There were hundreds of priests in the Eastern Curia.
“I Marked Alexei Bryce myself,” Feizah said. “Eighteen times. The most Marks I’ve ever given to anyone below the rank of bishop.”
“Cardinal Falke told me he had nineteen.”
Feizah’s gaze sharpened. “Falke is correct. Fra Bryce’s first Mark was bestowed by Bishop Bartolomes.”
Kasia recognized the name. In a rare burst of initiative, she’d gone to court to fight a parking ticket—unjustly handed down since the towaway zone sign was blocked by scaffolding—and Bartolomes presided over her case. He’d taken her side, ruling against the official from the Historic Preservation Council on the basis that the scaffolding had been erected two years prior with little or no activity at the site since, and constituted a public nuisance.
“I’ve heard Bishop Bartolomes is a very wise man,” Kasia said.
“Never mind Bartolomes,” Feizah snapped. “Why is Fra Bryce in the cells?”
“There is a plot afoot, Reverend Mother.”
“A plot?” A shaggy brow lifted. “By whom?”
“Cardinal Falke conspired to falsely accuse Bryce of murder in a bid to cover up his own wrongdoing at the Batavia Institute.”
“That’s quite an accusation. Do you have proof?”
“No.”
The Pontifex shook her head in disgust. “Then I shall summon the guards and throw you in a cell for trespassing.”
“But I’ve seen the proof, Reverend Mother. Take it from my mind.”
The Pontifex blinked. “A sweven? Do you know what you’re offering, girl?”
“I’ve heard of them. It can be done, da?”
“It can. But once you let me in, I can see anything I want. All your secrets. Do you understand that?”
Kasia stared at her. “I have nothing to hide, Reverend Mother.”
“Everyone has something to hide. Sometimes we conceal it even from ourselves. It’s not a choice to be made lightly.”
“Let me down first. I feel like a blinchiki.” Both she and Nashka adored the thin pancakes rolled up with strawberry jam.
Feizah lowered her hand. The force pressing Kasia to the wall disappeared.
“How did you do that?” she asked, wiggling her toes, which had gone all pins and needles.
“A unique ability and none of your concern. Now, what is this proof you claim?”
“Letters. I no longer have them in my possession, but I recall them verbatim.”
“Well, your word will not suffice, girl. So what will it be?” The tone softened slightly. “I do not believe you mean me harm. Perhaps you are just flighty and lovesick, with an overactive imagination.”
Kasia’s gaze narrowed.
“So if you choose not to share the sweven, I won’t hold it against you. If you are charged with trespassing, I will be required to give an official statement and I haven’t the time. So go, if you wish. The incident will be forgotten.” She waved a hand at a silver tea service. “You may take that to the kitchens on your way out and tell them to bring me a fresh pot.”
Kasia considered the offer—she’d be a fool not to—but Kireyev would reveal her secret if she didn’t
cooperate, which she’d already decided she wouldn’t. And she did not like to think of Alexei in that dripping, clammy dungeon. She just hoped she didn’t end up next to him.
“I will share the sweven,” she said firmly.
“Then disrobe, girl.”
“Pardon?”
“I won’t have you within arm’s length until I examine your Marks.”
Kasia swallowed. “I’m not a nihilim.”
Feizah was unmoved. “So you say.”
“Must I?”
“No. You can leave.”
She sighed and stripped to the skin. Her cheeks burned under Feizah’s gaze. Kasia liked herself well enough, but the expanse of bare skin . . . . well, no one had seen her so since she was a child.
“Why do you not wear the gray?” Feizah demanded.
“Take the answer from my head,” Kasia replied defiantly.
“Oh, I will.” The Pontifex’s tone was not reassuring. “You may dress.”
Kasia turned her back and pulled her clothes back on.
“Come closer, girl. Take my hand.”
She climbed the three steps to the massive bed and sat on the edge. A huge bouquet of flowers gave off a cloying scent from the end table. Ley swirled around them both. “Think of what you wish to show me,” Feizah said. “Hold it in your mind.”
Kasia wound her memories back to the night of the dinner party when she offered to take Natalya’s place and stood outside her own flat, hand raised to hail a taxi.
“Do you permit me to enter your mind?” Feizah asked.
A frisson of nervous energy. “Yes.”
“Answer in the old tongue.” The flinty decree reminded her of Tessaria.
“Verum,” she said.
Feizah’s grip was firm and warm, the palm slightly rough. The bedchamber receded and she was back at Massot’s house, except that this time she knew what would happen and was powerless to stop it. Scene after scene unspooled, faster and faster, like a panicked rat running through a maze. The sweven reached the end, the very moment when Feizah commanded her to disrobe, and began anew. Fragments spun through her head like shattered glass, of other places, other things. She could not escape. Could not . . . .
A choked gasp tore from her throat. Kasia opened her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her fingers gripped the bedsheet, the knuckles white. The hands of the clock next to the flowers had not moved far, only a few minutes, though it seemed much longer.
The Pontifex was staring at her with a stunned expression. “It cannot be,” she whispered. “And yet . . . .”
“What, Reverend Mother?”
“Hush! I’m thinking.”
Kasia wiped her face. She felt drained.
“I’ve never seen memories like yours, girl,” Feizah muttered hoarsely. “Always, the edges are lost to mist. Key elements remain, those things that stood out, that made a strong impression, but the finer details are lost. Not with yours.” She scowled. “You are Unmarked. And yet you use the ley.”
“The ability only came to me recently, Reverend Mother.”
“Nonetheless, I do not like it.” Each word was bit off.
“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Kasia protested.
“You are devious and a liar. Still, you risked much by coming to me. I suppose that counts as a sort of courage. I only hope it’s not too late.”
“Too late, Reverend Mother?”
The Pontifex strode to a telephone and dialed a number. “Find Archbishop Kireyev. Bring him to me. Immediately.” She listened for a moment. “No, I’ll tell him myself.” She slammed the phone down and stood gazing into space, one hand twisting the gold signet ring.
“Will you pardon Fra Bryce?” Kasia asked.
“Bryce is the least of my problems, girl,” she snapped.
“But you will let him go?”
“Pushy, aren’t you? We’ll see.” She picked up the receiver and dialed another number. It was answered within two rings. “Captain Demyov? Dispatch three units to the Batavia Institute. Keep it quiet, no sirens. There’s a patient I need secured. Number 9.” She listened. “Saints no, don’t bring him out. Just make sure the Wards are active and bar the gates. Escort all the staff from the premises. Knights only.” The Pontifex hung up.
“Who’s Patient 9?” Kasia asked, curiosity burning inside her.
“That’s not your concern. Make yourself useful and pour me some tea.”
“I won’t tell a soul, Reverend Mother.”
“Of course you will. And he’s no one.”
“Then why—”
“Tea, girl!”
Kasia lowered her head and made a face. She was filling one of the thin porcelain cups when the tray began to vibrate. Tea splashed on her stocking feet. Something swept the room. It wasn’t tangible, more a sensation of some unknowable force arising and subsiding. Distant shouts echoed in the corridor outside. The flow of the ley grew stronger and more turbulent.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
The Pontifex didn’t answer. She stood with one hand still resting on the telephone, her gaze distant.
“Is it the Nightmage?” Kasia pressed.
“Nihilim cannot break Wards.”
“What then?”
“A surge of the ley.”
“How long will it last?”
“The Wards self-repair, but it could be hours before they return. The ley has been rising for weeks. I should have opened the stelae sooner.”
“So it’s a coincidence?”
“Perhaps.” The Pontifex sounded unsure. “But in case it isn’t, help me push this desk in front of the door.”
“Don’t you have guards?”
“If the nihilim comes, they will do me no good.” She barked a mirthless laugh. “They will try to kill me themselves if he lays his hands on them.”
Kasia hurried over. She rolled up the carpet and dragged it out of the way. They braced their hips against the short side of the desk, straining for every centimeter.
“What kind of wood is this?” she panted. “It’s heavy as cast iron!”
“Lignum vitae,” the Pontifex replied, pressing a fist to the small of her back. “Holy wood. This piece is more than six hundred years old.”
Kasia’s legs were trembling. They still had several meters to go. “I don’t think—”
“Just push, girl,” the Pontifex snapped. “On three!”
Kasia gritted her teeth and heaved. The telephone rang. Feizah ignored it. They were both red-faced and sweating by the time they’d maneuvered the monstrous desk in front of the door. Kasia slumped down, catching her breath. She crawled over to the teapot and poured a cup. It was cold and bitter.
A sudden pounding. “Your Eminence?”
“I’m well, Sor Dvorak,” Feizah called through the door.
The phone started ringing again, a shrill buzz that made Kasia want to yank the cord from the wall.
“There’s a car waiting out front,” said a muffled voice that sounded like the same aide who had spilled the inkpot. “The Archbishop strongly suggests you evacuate while we determine the cause of the surge.”
“Kireyev,” she muttered with a scowl. Then louder: “I will not flee, and neither will the Archbishop. Gather the guards and seal the palace. No one is to pass. No one!”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
The phone stopped ringing, then started again seconds later. Feizah picked it up, still a touch breathless. “How many escaped?” A pause. “All of them?” She exhaled through her nose. “Set every pack to hunt. And release Fra Alexei Bryce immediately. The Interfectorem will be hard-pressed as it is.” A muffled voice. “I don’t care what he said. Just do it!” She slammed the phone down.
“What’s happened, Reverend Mother?”
“Unmitigated disaster, that’s what,” Feizah snapped. “You should have come to me sooner.”
Kasia stared back, anger welling. “If I’d been Marked, I would have,” she retorted. “But I had no reason to think you’
d believe me. I was useless to you before. A stain on society, to be swept under the rug. Forgive me if I didn’t expect a warm reception.”
The Pontifex shot her a baleful look. “So Bryce discovered your secret. Well, he’s tenacious. He would have made a decent diplomat, but he turned down my offer of a post in Nantwich.”
“Diplomat? I thought he was a knight.”
The Pontifex stared at the door, as if judging its sturdiness. “Before joining the priesthood, Fra Bryce was a defense attorney,” she replied absently. “A good one. But like many young men of his generation, he was also a patriot. When we issued an open call for recruits, his conscience compelled him to answer.”
It explained why his first Mark was from Judge Bartolomes. Kasia suspected Alexei the lawyer had no trouble sleeping at night. “Why did you give him so many Marks?”
“Because I knew he didn’t want them, which made him worthy.”
“Isn’t that cruel?” Kasia said, adding a belated, “Reverend Mother.”
“Sometimes one must be cruel to lead.”
“Really?” she said innocently. “But that’s precisely the sort of utilitarian logic that caused me to fail your tests.”
The Pontifex scowled. “Don’t bandy words with me, girl. Fra Bryce was an exemplary knight. I needed him. Marks are an honor.”
“Well, you messed him up!” The words came out angrier than she intended, but Kasia saw no reason to take them back since the statement was patently true.
“In what way?”
“You saw it yourself. He can’t sleep.”
The Pontifex strode to the window and closed a set of heavy shutters, sliding a bar into place. “That is none of my doing.”
“I think it is.”
The women traded a glare of mutual dislike.
“I don’t know who you really are, girl, but I intend to find out,” Feizah said at last.
“I showed you who I am.”
“No. There is a block in your mind, either placed there or self-imposed, but I will break through it.”
Block? “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Your memories begin at age six. Rather late, don’t you think?”
