by Cate Glass
“… but they are only the one being,” I said, “and you can neither unsee their eyes nor deny the desires roused by their voices.”
Donato’s trembling slowed and his gaze locked to mine as if he were seeing me for the first time. As he was, in a way. He nodded.
“What would you have us do?” asked Dumond.
“As soon as it is dark tonight, help me enter the Villa Giusti without being seen. You seem quite good at that. Once there, I will show you the source of my connection with the monster, a place where we use its own power to fight it. If you could discover the mechanism of what goes on in there and help me find some way to subvert it, then I might be able to hold on to myself long enough to root out the corruption that makes such horrors possible. My father’s corruption.”
Intriguing. Perhaps this was the battleground where Macheon’s growing power could be weakened, and Teo’s people given more time. That would be worth a risk or two.
“Once we are out again without anyone in the villa the wiser,” Donato continued, “you must then enforce your demands on my family, that is, deliver me—and Livia, if she consents—back to them in whatever fashion your ransom message demanded.”
“The ransom exchange?” said Dumond. “Why in the name of sense? Much safer if you walk up the Academie steps.”
“Absolutely not. We must maintain the fiction that this has been a true abduction. I cannot appear to be complicit in any fashion—or anything but a restrained captive since the hour I was removed from the villa. If my father believes for an instant that I have cooperated with my captors, I will be given to the Executioner of the Demon Tainted, who will throw me, chained, into the sea as he does every sorcerer—only I will not die, but drown and be healed over and over. Forever, I fear, unless the monster sets me free.”
He took a deep, shaking breath. “My father—and he alone—knows I bear the demon taint. It serves his purposes. He does not know about … the monster … or its influence over me. He just assumes I am weak and afraid, which, of course, is true.”
Not weak, I thought. Not at all weak. I had heard that seductive voice only a few times and near walked off a cliff.
“You’ve just made a very dangerous admission,” said Placidio. “You trust us that far? And what of afterward, when you are safe at home amongst your own people and praetorians are set on our trail? There is no guarantee that what you suggest is even possible.”
Then he did look directly at us, bewildered. “I presumed—perhaps wrongly. You didn’t attempt to drown me when I begged it. You imply that you see these same visions, yet you remain the people who saved me from madness, who risked your lives to prevent my father’s attempt to corrupt Cantagna’s steward. Certain, that was and is his plan. Though it’s hardly credible, your friend who lies in this house is somehow also the mortal foe of my tormentor. You offered help, so I presumed you knew enough and were willing to exchange trust. But if not, you may leave and do as you will. My adjutant will see the lady and me returned to the city with the best story we can devise.…”
… and what would happen to Donato the next time anger or fear drove him out of control?
Placidio’s gaze drilled into Donato as if trying to pry out all the things he was not telling us. “The praetorians who dragged us here know our faces.”
“He hid them down below,” Neri volunteered. “I heard him telling them that Cavalieri sorcerers had marked them and the only way to keep them safe was to lock them up behind bars of iron for the night and then send them away, each one to a different place—Invidia, Mercediare … all over. Forever, never to return.”
“Dispersed,” said Placidio. “With a fat purse and solid reasons to stay away. Clever. Still, you ask a great deal—for us to walk into that house using magic and to believe you won’t call us out. And then we risk our lives again to send you back to a life devoted to our destruction? You believe we should be dead.”
“Show me I’ve been wrong about sorcerers. I’ve heard their curses, their threats to unleash the monster. The danger is real. Even you don’t dispute it. So show me a better way. You set me free of the monster last night. On this night, we could take a further step. My father has stripped the last honor from the Confraternity and will not stop until he controls Cantagna. Only a dutiful son, one he believes dedicated to the Confraternity, can stop him.”
“I cannot walk away from this,” I said, turning to the other three of the Chimera. “Speak now if you want out, and go with my blessings.”
“And miss the excitement?” said Neri. “Pssh.”
“We’ll need our weapons,” said Placidio. “The good ones, not the decoys. Not praetorian shite. Not sure how much we can help without our friend in the other room.”
“I’ll need my paint case,” said Dumond. “It was in the cart. Where exactly inside Villa Giusti did you have a mind to go, segno?”
Donato took hold of himself and attempted a smile—with only momentary success. “The pérasma,” he said hoarsely. “The chamber where we transform human men into sniffers.”
25
THE FEAST OF THE LONE PRAETORIAN
VILLA SOLITOR
AFTERNOON
Had Donato asked us to fly him into the sun, I could have been no more astounded. And what other bargain could address so many of our concerns: not simply the threat to Cantagna posed by the marriage contract, but the mystery of sniffers and the Confraternity’s despicable connection with the Cavalieri? Understanding Donato’s relationship to the Enemy could shed light on my own. And Teo … if Donato was right that the Enemy was growing stronger, Teo needed to hear it.
Livia heard him out and thought the bargain reasonable, but was not yet ready to declare what she might agree to. “You are all entirely mad to do all this sneaking in and out. I see no point in negotiating until we two are back in that house without anyone dead or having a murderous fit.”
And so we prepared as best we could.
Donato insisted that the best opportunity to breach Villa Giusti would come just after sunset. “I’ve a way to bypass the city gates. If you can get us inside the villa, no one there will heed us.”
I was instantly skeptical. “Why is that?”
“It’s the feast day of the Lone Praetorian. From sunset till midnight, all but the gate guards will be in the main courtyard. There are rites and ceremonies to honor both living and dead. Readings from history. Songs. Everyone who lives at the villa or the Academie—praetorians, administrators, proctors, students, servants—will be there and well occupied. All others will be sent home or posted to duties in the city.”
“Aye,” said Placidio. “I’ve heard of the custom.”
I was little familiar with Confraternity history and customs. My interactions with philsophists had been limited to individual tutors Sandro brought to his house for me and his occasional social evenings with Bastianni. I’d had no desire to spend more time with anyone who might uncover my secret.
Dumond persisted. “What of sniffers? Are they allowed a holiday?”
“They’ll be deployed in the city or outside the villa gates. Their presence would … defile … the rites.”
Dono sketched out our route. His way to bypass the city gates was promising, but he needed us to breach the villa walls. He knew a relatively secure section of the villa wall that would fulfill Dumond’s requirements both during his work and after our passage.
“Inside the pérasma are two chambers. The upper is a workroom. The lower holds a pool … a hot spring,” he’d said. “That’s the heart of the matter.”
Only when he tried to explain what he wished to show us in the pérasma did he falter. “You must experience the place for yourselves. To describe the rite and what I perceive as it unfolds, I—I don’t have the words. I know trust is difficult. It is for me as well. But I’ve no recourse.”
I believed him. My partners did too.
While the others began hurried preparations for our journey, Neri and I looked in on Teo. Neri took it h
ard when I told him he couldn’t come with us right away, griping that his fever was gone and his arm almost useful.
“If we didn’t need Dumond to paint us into the villa, I’d leave him as well,” I said as Gaspar vanished down the stair, leaving us outside the chamber where Teo slept. “You must see to Teo.”
“Nursemaid, then?”
“More than that,” I said. We closed the bedchamber door behind us. “You’ve got to protect him. I’ve no idea how safe this house will be with Donato gone. Gaspar seems stout enough, and loyal to Donato, but who knows?”
They had laid Teo on a sling bed, and someone had covered his face with a linen sheet. I pulled it back. His eye patch had been twisted out of place, revealing the mark around his eye. The lacework twists were a dull gray. The gleam of silver I had spied at Perdition’s Brink must have been my own wishing. Either that or it had faded again. Bindings of fear tightened about my chest.
I untangled the patch and settled it in place, then examined his arm. His ink marks might have been streaks and blotches of ash.
Neri touched one of them. “Atladu’s balls, he still feels dead.”
“He felt like this the first time,” I snapped, though the cold surged through my blood and I knew this was different. Indeed, his stillness was profound. I could detect no breath at his mouth, and a seeming eternity of listening at his chest produced but a single weak heartbeat that could have been my own.
“Go after Gaspar,” I said, struggling to stay calm. “Get him or the maidservant to make up the salt-and-ginger tea. See that they taste it first, but bring it quickly. And send Placidio up here.”
While Neri hurried off, I whispered in Teo’s ear, telling him of Donato’s confession and our bargain with him. “Whatever Donato shows us, we’re going to need you to solve it,” I said. “Hold on, my friend. Live. The world needs you.”
Placidio burst into the room. “What’s happened?”
My fear spurted out of me like lifeblood. “He’s dying.”
“Boundless Night.”
Kneeling at the bedside, Placidio did as I had done. Examined the marks. Checked for breath and heart, pressed his fingers at Teo’s neck … his wrists … his ankles. He pressed Teo’s hand to his own brow for a very long time, as if he might read the pulse of life there. Then he lowered it and tucked the soft blanket around our friend’s arm.
His eyes remained closed; his face grim.
“I’ve sent Neri to make salt-and-ginger tea,” I said, as if my babbling might reverse the report of his stony silence. “It helped before. Certain, you know more of his people than you’ve told us. You must know something else we can do.”
My swordmaster’s long exhale was the sound of vanishing hope. He would not look at me. “There’s naught I know of to help. It’s up to him.”
“Spirits, what have we done? This is my fault.” My fear and guilt had grown so huge, it spilled out on its own.
“Nay. You know better. We’d be dead or worse without what he did for us at the Brink. He knew that. He chose. His duty is to contain the Enemy, but when he said he was unready, he meant that, too. He was vulnerable. Couldn’t replenish—couldn’t protect his human state, while using the other. We must ready ourselves to go on without him.” He glanced up at me at last, bleak and weary. “And we need to go now. They’ve food for us down to the kitchen. You must eat something. I’ll wait here for Neri.”
“No, no, no…” Cracks spidered through what strength I had left.
“Maybe he can yet find a way.” But my swordmaster didn’t believe his own words. “Before you leave here, you should tell him whatever you want to say, and that … it’s all right to let go. To hold himself this way so long—to keep trying—is a torment. I do know that.”
“I’ll be back as quick as I can.” I was not at all ready to tell Teo goodbye. I’d think of something.
Though it seemed impossible, I was ravenous. It didn’t take long to devour my portion of Gaspar’s bread, figs, olives, and roasted fowl, and join in the other preparations. Half an hour and all was ready. Placidio had joined Donato in the stable, but I returned to Teo’s room. Neri had propped him up with pillows and was trying to get him to drink. To no avail.
“Spoon it down him,” I said, “a few drops at a time. If it’s like before, he’ll relish the taste and swallow, even while he’s insensible.”
But that didn’t work either. As at Perdition’s Brink, the droplets dribbled out of his mouth. My eyes prickled. His marks were unrecognizable. Some had completely vanished.
“What do I do?” Neri’s grief echoed mine.
Denial did no good. This must not be for nothing.
“Give him a little time. Try again. But after a while—a couple of hours—you should take him back to the city. Not through the gates, but to the woolhouse—whether he’s better or no. We need you with us, but I won’t leave him here to die among strangers.”
There, I’d said it. How in the Night Eternal could we unravel any mystery of the Enemy without Teo’s advising? Yet we had to be prepared to do just that. We were on our own.
“Donato’s left the cart and cart horses for you. Even if Teo’s awake, I’m not at all sure he knows how to ride a horse. But Livia does, and she’s agreed to help. Don’t let her drive Teo crazy with questions.” My voice was near breaking. “If you get to the woolhouse and he’s not yet speaking, and the marks are still gray…”
I didn’t know what to tell him.
“Swordmaster said if the marks all fade, I should give him to the river.”
“Give him— What?”
But I answered my own protest. Though I’d near forgotten it, on the way back to Cantagna two nights past I’d dreamed of plunging into the sea, into a forest of color and life and darting creatures. Sure enough, Teo had been waiting for me. That exemplified the connecting thread I’d felt between us all summer.
“The sea is Teo’s home,” I whispered. “He dreams of it.” But to put him in the river … My chest near seized to consider it.
“Only if he’s truly dead, Neri. Only if you’re sure. Otherwise, if we’re not at the woolhouse when you get there, make him comfortable and then get yourself into the villa. Dono says Dumond can hide in the loft of the praetorian stables while we do whatever we’re going to do with him. That’s where we’ll meet you.”
“I can do that.”
The responsibilities seemed to encourage him, the prospect of using his magic even more so. But his bleak face when he turned back to Teo told me what he believed.
And so I knelt at Teo’s side, held his cold hand to my forehead, and told him to let go when he could fight no longer. “It’s all right, my friend. I’ll hear your voice forever, and heed your teachings.”
I touched Neri’s cheek before I left. I hoped I’d see them both again. Trust was hard, but giving up was unthinkable.
Four of us—Dumond, Placidio, Donato, and I—rode out within the hour, fed, armed, and dressed in dark-colored clothes that had no white skulls sewn on them. Dumond’s paint case was looped over his shoulder. Fortunately, Gaspar had brought Teo from Perdition’s Brink in the cart where Dumond had stashed the case.
“Live, my friend,” I whispered, as we threaded the golden hills north of the city. “Heal.”
Though I poured all my will into the wish and opened the reservoir of magic inside me as if to give it wings, I felt no answer, no warmth. The thread between Teo and me had vanished.
In half an hour from Via Solitor, the sun had set, our horses were tethered, and we were creeping through a graveyard outside the city’s north wall. A Confraternity graveyard.
“The Bastiannis have always believed themselves above the law,” said Donato as we picked our way through increasingly monumental gravestones. “My great-grandsire disliked submitting to searches or questioning at the city gates, so he built himself a mausoleum long before he died. And inside it, he dug himself a tunnel.”
The white marble mausoleum gleamed in sunset’s af
terglow. It was a magnificent little edifice, octagonal, with a graceful column at each of the eight corners to support its bronze dome. Seven of its walls were adorned with life-sized sculptures of scholarly men and women. A bronze door, etched with the book, flame, and lance of the Confraternity, opened from the eighth. Donato retrieved a key from the mouth of a carved frog lost somewhere in a sculptor’s vision of nature’s abundance, unlocked the door, and showed us inside.
The place smelled of dry leaves, dust, and incense. A lantern hung ready for any Bastianni who wished to bypass the city gates. As Donato fumbled with flint and steel, Dumond lit the lantern with a dollop of flame from his hand.
Donato took a sharp inbreath. “By the Night Lords, you do these things so casually. Have you never—? The monster…”
“Not every sorcerer has the kind of magic that lures the Enemy,” I said. “Evidently Dumond’s does not.”
In the open space beyond four marble catafalques, Donato moved a woven mat aside and hauled open a trapdoor. As we descended a ladder into a narrow tunnel lined with stone and timber and waited for Placidio to help Dumond down, I gave him Teo’s description of the Singular Wall and the kinds of magic that might or might not create a breach in it.
“You move things without carrying them, yes? When the magical act is done, it doesn’t rebound. The world is different. You make the lie into truth.” Unlike Dumond’s passages that were always closed. And Neri, who was back where he started.
Donato dragged open an age-blackened door. “When I was small, I thought a demon must live in our house, moving things at random. Then I realized the demon lived inside me, and that it moved things when I was angry or fearful or overly curious, so I taught myself to be none of those things. When the Cavalieri attacked us—such a disgusting, brutish assault after I so stupidly thought I’d outwitted them—a cyclone of anger rose inside me. Then the cyclone was outside, too, everything in the keep spinning, flying. I didn’t—couldn’t—make it stop. I didn’t want to make it stop.”
