by Cate Glass
“Be serious, Neri! You need to choose a signal to let us know if you’re in danger. A hawking whistle or a smoke plume—no, that’s ridiculous—but something.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m off to meet Placidio at the wool house. Says he needs someone to beat on since he’s not dueling today. I’ll ask him what might work for a signal. Maybe there’s some magical thing.”
He stuffed the last of his dumpling in his mouth and leapt to his feet.
“Naught’s going ill with your web, lady spider,” he said. “I walk into the palazzo, stick the statue in the corner you said, tumble something around that will draw their notice, then get out. Easy.”
I wasn’t superstitious. So why did I feel the need to weave a wreath of prickly juniper to lay on his bed or spend an hour formulating even more ways the night could go wrong? What if Fermi and Boscetti never found the damnable statue?
My pen yet sat idle when footsteps halted in front of the shop. The rasp of sliding paper brought me to my feet. It surely came from box number six. Though any box could be unlocked from inside the shop, I grabbed my keys and stepped into the street. A flash of mustard yellow darted through the press of Beggars Ring browns and grays. Gallanos livery was the deep green of Cantagna’s cypress trees, trimmed in mustard yellow.
It required only moments for the brief note to send me racing down toward the river. I caught Neri just outside the riverside gate. “Tell Placidio that Professoré di Guelfi is asked to deliver his antiquity to the Shadow Lord at his townhouse at mid-morn tomorrow.”
Neri clapped me on the shoulder so hard I stumbled over a rock. Happily, he caught me before I rolled down the steep bank into the sluggish river. “Well done, Romy. Well done. Certain the biggest fly is snared in your web!”
DAY 3—NIGHT
A flowing scarf the hue of ripe plums wrapped Vashti’s black hair and neck as she drew Neri and me inside two hours before midnight. Tea was already steeping, though something stronger than the jasmine we’d had before. We were the first to arrive for the night’s venture.
“Where’s Placidio?” asked Neri, who popped back up again the moment he’d sat down. “And the statue’s not here yet!”
My brother had grown increasingly jumpy as we made the long hike around the city from Lizard’s Alley. I couldn’t blame him.
“I’ve not seen the sainye as yet,” said Vashti, “and I sent Cittina to check on her papa. Our little ones are long asleep.”
“Sainye?” Neri sat again as Vashti pushed a plate of pale white buns his way. “Does that mean mule or battering ram?”
He’d come home from his practice session with a split cheek, purpling arms, and Placidio’s promise that he’d figure out an alarm signal before Neri breached Fermi’s walls.
Vashti rounded her arms, raised them high, and swept them all the way to the floor. “It means the supporting things to hold up roofs—tall, big, not breaking. Can be plain or beautiful art, but underneath”—she rapped on the stone floor—“not bending. I always forget the word.”
“Pillar,” I said, and approved the name for Placidio. I was annoyed he wasn’t here yet. Even after most of a year, it was easy to assume the worst. “He didn’t stop in at the Duck’s Bone this afternoon, did he, Neri?”
“Don’t know.” He was up again, circling the small room. He’d taken one of Vashti’s buns, but left it on the table untasted.
“You have a most commendable bravery, Neri-zhi,” said Vashti. “To use your magic in this service does not daunt you?”
“Been waiting my whole life to do something useful. Romy’s always serious or yelling at me, but it seems a decent notion to keep her alive.”
He paused long enough in his circling to drain the teacup, then moved on.
Concerned creases scored Vashti’s brow. “This warring among rich families threatens you particular, Romy-zha?”
Neri interrupted before I could soothe her worry. “The chit what stole the statue swore to blame Romy for the swipe if Romy didn’t put the thing back. She’d have us both lop-limbed or dead for her mistake.”
“But preserving and strengthening Cantagna’s alliance with Riccia is the important reason for this scheme,” I said. “If we manage that, then I’ll survive with the rest of the city.” Omissions weren’t lies—but they could leave you with the same sour feeling. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain everything. I didn’t want you to think Dumond was risking himself for my safety.”
“Were there more circumstances you didn’t tell me? When a brave young man ventures a dangerous trial, all must be taken into account.”
I thought back to my late-night storytelling with Vashti. I’d told her—and therefore Dumond—of those things I’d hidden from the smith at our first meeting: my history with il Padroné, my horror of magic, and how Neri and I had survived the ruination of our family. I’d told her that the thief was the Shadow Lord’s wife who had recognized her idea of helping him could be his downfall, but as to my scheme to avert that …
“I might have skipped a few details I’d already told Dumond. I suppose I wasn’t sure you would be interested.”
She gave a sly smile. “It is true I am old enough to be your own naihi, young Romy-zha. But I know a great deal more than stitching, just as you know much more than copying the words of others. Basha sometimes forgets that, too.”
My cheeks heated.
“Let me see if I am clear,” she said. “Tonight your brother uses his magic to put Basha’s copy of this statue into the very house where the true-made one was stolen, yes?”
“Yes, and—”
She held up a finger. “Before you explain, first decide if I know of what I speak. It might save you words.”
I folded my hands in my lap. Neri actually sat down and did not jump right back up.
“You wish these wicked gentlemen to find the false artwork and believe it is the true-made one never stolen.”
“Yes.”
“And it is necessary that they find it before the birthday feast tomorrow afternoon. When they bring the false one as a gift to this noble duc, your Shadow Lord will have the true work in hand, and will expose the false one as … false.”
“All of that, yes. Exactly.”
“And the danger to your brother in this adventure has you worried because so much is unknown. This I read in your face every time you look at him, which is quite frequently. Your worry makes his own stomach flutter like moths near flame, which, naturally, makes his risk the greater.”
Neri and I glanced at each other and grimaced.
Vashti took that as a spur to continue. “So I will ask, where do you think to place Basha’s statue so that all will fall out as you wish?”
We told her about Lucrezia di Fermi’s receiving room where Gilliette had thrown her fit and smuggled out the statue, and about the graceless sculpture of the Five Graces that had adorned the chamber the last time I was there.
“Which was how long ago?”
I grimaced again. “Perhaps four years. I was going to have Neri knock over a plant or a stool to expose the statue, as if someone put it there when Gilliette fell ill.”
“And what will he say if someone catches him at it? And what will you do if no one visits that room in that very large palazzo tomorrow morning?”
Vashti’s brow rose at our silence, and her pointed gaze held steady, speaking all that was needed. Lady Fortune herself would scoff at our error-prone scheme.
“That is not such a terrible plan, Romy-zha, but your own doubts prove you hunger for one more certain. I’ve an idea—more dangerous on its surface, because you are not yet thinking how the talents of your friends mesh. As you found with the sainye Placidio last night, a weaving is much stronger than a thread. You each brought your wit and talent to your venture, and so were able to meet the challenges of the unexpected.” She interlocked her fingers and pulled, demonstrating the strength of their knot. “And so it could be with tonight’s venture. Dumond should join you. He
had a very fine sleep while you and your swordmaster were having such a success with il Padroné, and he will not rest again until this thing is done. But this plan would require him.”
Truly I had underestimated Vashti. “What is your idea?”
“Consider. Perhaps the problem is that brave Neri is trying to replace the statue, when he should be trying to steal it.”
“Steal it?” Neri and I echoed in unison.
She tilted her head and poured more tea.
My brother and I turned to each other, our understanding growing in unison. The clarity … the simplicity … and the danger … all made perfect sense. It was much easier to make sure you were seen than to keep yourself hidden.
“Are you willing?” I said.
Neri’s handsome face eased into a smile—pleased, while yet mindful of the risk. But this would be a risk that was clear and could be planned for, rather than one lurking in uncertainty. “To get me rescued Dumond and Placidio will have to know each other’s secrets,” he said. “But if they’re willing, I’m game.”
THE HOUR OF THE SPIRITS
Placidio and I crouched behind a row of cypress trees. Squinting into the starlit night, I tried to make out the black smudge that would be Neri creeping around the bordering shadows of the grassy lawn. Each motion that set my heart racing proved to be but the interplay of shrub and thyme-scented breeze. He could be anywhere, already in danger. Dread snaked up my limbs.
My companion held motionless, naught but a solid warmth at my side. A stubborn sainye, indeed. He had resisted any notion of revealing his magical talents to Dumond and Vashti, until Dumond painted a black circle on the stone floor, infused it with his magic, and jumped through it into his cellar. Placidio had jumped through it, as well, to convince himself it was no illusion. I’d thought Vashti and I would never stop laughing when the swordsman poked his astonished, cobweb-bedecked face back out again, because the ceiling in the rest of the dusty cellar was too low for him.
To get us into the palazzo grounds, Dumond had worked his portal magic on the wall behind this small yard, shielded by the cypresses. Both nerves and muscles were wound tight. I’d not expected we would have to crouch here more than two hours even to begin …
In spring, while cool rains and early sunset postponed summer pleasures, most great houses were dark soon after the Hour of Contemplation. But to our dismay, Palazzo Fermi had blazed with torchlight and music until an hour past midnight.
Shifting slowly, I eased my knee and thigh.
Once a few guests had ridden out, the Fermi watch had made rounds and settled into their guardposts. Last to depart were the matched white horses of the Secchi, and a carriage blazoned with the Malavesi boar—two families of the rebellious old guard. The house itself had taken longer to settle. Neri had made his move just as the last candle gleams were snuffed, no more than half an hour since. We didn’t want everyone asleep.
Placidio’s hand gripped my bare wrist, loosing a lance of fire into my veins. Neri’s magic.
Just before Neri left us Placidio had nicked my brother’s arm and his own, then pressed the wounds one to the other. Their mingled blood would bind their magic together, he’d told us. The connection would last no more than an hour or two, but during that time he should be able to detect whenever Neri worked magic. With Placidio holding my wrist, I would as well. If he was right, Neri had just walked through a wall.
The palazzo stayed quiet. The fire cooled. Placidio held fast.
A nightingale whistled and trilled over our heads. I whispered my petition its way. Sweet Virtue, daughter of the Unseeable, show your favor on this fair youth and our enterprise …
Another lancing fire. Then a third and fourth in rapid succession. Another. Another. I imagined my brother dashing across the darkened galleries, up stairs, through the walls of silent public chambers. A longer lapse before the next. That might mean he’d reached the palazzo’s great hall … or that he’d gotten lost. Unsure of guard schedules and numbers, we had to wait until we were sure Neri wasn’t coming back this way before moving farther into the palace grounds.
Another lance. If I interpreted correctly, my brother was almost to his destination, not Lucrezia’s receiving room and some artist’s dross that might have been discarded over the years, but a landmark that would stand until Palazzo Fermi crumbled—the thrice life-sized bronze of Enzo di Fermi, Rodrigo’s grandsire, who with Sandro’s own grandsire had laid the foundation of the Cantagnan Independency. Enzo’s looming effigy stood on a platform overlooking the great hall of Palazzo Fermi. The location itself wasn’t important, only its use as an easy target for Neri’s magic, and its proximity to a clear exit. Once he was in position—
“There it is!” Placidio’s command accompanied three sharp cracks of explosive power from inside the palazzo. Neri’s signal. Not magical power, but a smoldering fuse applied to a finger-length roll of parchment packed with nitre powder. A startling noise that could alert the palace to the presence of a thief. And three bursts which meant no emergency, but all going according to plan.
The duelist’s hand propelled me to my feet just as shouts rang out. A horn blared the alarm. My blood pounded, though we expected it. Planned it. Now we had to put ourselves in position to aid Neri’s escape.
Grateful for the months of running practice, I matched the duelist’s stride. We raced through a small gate and onto a graveled path that led through the palazzo gardens, past a fish pond, up a few steps. Neri’s magic had led him straight through the honeycombed palace. We would meet him on his way out.
“This way.” I motioned Placidio onto a narrower path and through a fountain court. Sandro and I had once explored these gardens to avoid a tedious entertainment. I knew exactly which paths would lead us to the palazzo’s expansive forecourt, sprawled between the outer gates and the grand entry doors.
Torches blazed from the buildings ahead of us. Speed was our first priority; silence and invisibility the next. Black scarves covered our hair, masking all but our eyes, and we’d no weapons drawn, lest reflections give us away.
An arbor led us from another courtyard garden into the grand arcade that circled the forecourt. We headed away from the outer gates toward the entry doors. Disciplined guards held their posts on either side of the wide steps; others—likely more than the two we could see—flanked the outer gates. None must spy our movements. Hugging the elaborately carved wall of the arcade, we darted through the voids where the columns could not mask us.
Sainye. Beneath the mask, I smiled approval at the dark, sturdy form twinned with the pillar behind me. He thought the name silly. I tapped a toe that the way was clear for him to join me.
We slipped forward across another gap. If all went well, we would remain in the shadows and retreat alongside Neri.
My stomach lurched when four or five figures erupted from the palazzo entry doors and spilled onto the broad steps, a single dark figure in the lead. My heart screamed, Run, Neri! My mind yelled, Hold! Not too fast. Let them close, then drop their prize and run like the gods themselves.
They must believe he was reluctant to leave the bronze behind. That he was a thief, not a spy.
They caught him halfway down the steps. He didn’t go easy, sending one of his assailants tumbling down to the forecourt where the fellow lay as still and heavy as a sack of grain. In the scramble of lunging bodies, the bundled bronze tumbled out of Neri’s hands.
One of the guards posted at the steps yelled, “Get him!”
Neri’s fists toppled a second man, who crabbed his way backward to avoid his comrade’s fate. Neri kicked him flat and darted down the remaining steps. But two more pursuers shoved him to his knees, twisted his arms behind him, and pressed his shoulders forward as he writhed and wriggled.
The fifth pursuer whistled loudly, then retreated through the doors—carrying news of the thief’s capture, no doubt. The two from the guardposts hurried toward the fray. One joined Neri’s captors, while one paused to examine the bundle Neri
had dropped. Dumond’s bronze.
One of the captors yanked Neri’s head sharply backward, and the other two grabbed his arms until he could not move. We would have to fight him loose.
“As we planned,” whispered Placidio. He detached a bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow, and let fly. The missile flew swift and silent, until it struck the steps beside Neri and the guardsmen and exploded in a shower of smoke and blue-and-green fireworks—true fireworks, like Neri’s signal.
“Now fast,” he snapped, discarding the bow in favor of sword and knife.
We sped across the forecourt with the ferocity of a black vulture diving for a nestling swan.
Though sword and knife hung sheathed at my belt, my blade skills were too limited for open combat. But Placidio’s weapons flashed with the sparks and torchlight, and without slowing, he slashed one of Neri’s captors on his shoulder and drew him away from the others.
“Give it back!” Neri screamed at the guardsman who had just drawn Dumond’s statue from the bag. “The Antigonean belongs in a temple!”
I raced up the steps through the smoke and plowed straight into the fellow’s back. The bronze clanged on the stone steps. The man stretched out beneath me peered over his shoulder through the smoke and glare to see what had landed on him. Making a fist, I shoved my sharp knuckle into his eye. Then I rolled him over, slammed the heel of my hand under his breastbone, and left him half blind and breathless. We’d no intent to kill anyone.
With his first opponent writhing in pain on the steps, Placidio drew off another of Neri’s captors. My eye could not follow the speed of Placidio’s arm. I imagined I could feel his magic flowing through my own veins, anticipating the flustered guard’s every move. He’d have him in moments.
Not too fast, though. This was a battle we must not win. We had to get free, but Fermi must be convinced of our determination to take the statue.
Pinned by the remaining guardsman’s firm grip, Neri writhed and twisted, still cursing those who trafficked in “holy works.” The smoke had cleared enough to expose me, so I moved in on them slowly, arms extended, knife in my left hand. The guardsman dragged Neri backward, keeping my brother between us. The man’s gaze flicked constantly to his comrade and Placidio’s clangorous duel.
