week from now, or spread out to infest the entire area.” The commandant plunged his fingers into the soft earth around the plant, pulling it out of the ground with its roots intact. “You, my man!” he called to the nearest of the garden workers, who came running over at the summons. “Take this and put it in a small pot for me.” The man took the plant in cupped hands and hurried off.
“Dhaspi ce’Coeni has been executed,” ca’Rudka said without preamble as he wiped dirt from his hands. His dark eyes seemed to probe Karl’s face.
He forced himself to show nothing. “That’s as I expected, Commandant. Nessantico is well known throughout the Holdings for its. .”
He allowed himself the slightest of hesitations. “. . quick justice,” he finished.
Muscles pulled at the corners of ca’Rudka’s mouth. “It
“It wasn’t the Ilmodo, Commandant,” Karl said. “It was what we call the
“Call it whatever you like,” ca’Rudka answered. “That’s only semantics.” Ca’Rudka continued to stare, unblinking even in the bright sun.
Karl found the man’s gaze disconcerting, but he couldn’t look away. “I should tell you that ce’Coeni signed a full confession before he died.”
“And that was of his own free will, no doubt.”
“I understand your skepticism, Envoy, but it happens often enough.
Some criminals wish to ease their souls by admitting their guilt before they go to meet Cenzi’s soul-weigher. I find it difficult to believe that ce’Coe was acting entirely alone, Envoy. I suspect there were other Numetodo involved.”
“Am I to be arrested, then, Commandant? Did his confession name
me as an accomplice? If so, I appreciate that you brought me here before taking me to the Bastida so I could sign my own confession for you.”
The gardener approached, and the commandant turned away for a moment to take the small clay pot from him. “Here,” ca’Rudka said to Karl, handing him the pot. Karl accepted the plant, and ca’Rudka reached toward him to stroke the leaves with a forefinger. “A garden can accept many plants: if they prove their own beauty, if they provide the right accents for the gardener’s taste, and if they can safely coex-ist with all the other plants. So-weed or flower, Envoy? Which is it, I wonder? Take care of that plant, water it and give it sun, and you’ll learn.”
“But you already know which it is, do you not, Commandant?”
Ca’Rudka’s eyes glittered. He smiled again, with a flash of teeth. “I do indeed, Envoy. But you don’t, and that’s what you need to decide, isn’t it?”
Ana cu’Seranta
When they were ushered into the Kraljica’s presence by Renard, the Kraljica was seated on the Sun Throne. There were perhaps three or four dozen other people in the long Hall of the Throne, gathered near the doors: chevarittai, cousins, diplomats, supplicants, courtiers; all waiting for their tightly scheduled moments with the Kraljica, to be seen in her company, to ask for favors or promote their pet causes. Their various conversations-Ana overheard a circle of young women talking about what they would wear to the
by several strides, with a painter daubing his brush on a canvas before her, though none of the courtiers were close enough to see the painting well. There was an odd black box on a table next to the painter.
“That will be all for now, Vajiki ci’Recroix,” the Kraljica said, her voice sounding sleepy and tired as Renard closed the doors behind Ana and the Archigos. Everyone stared at the newcomers. Ana felt herself being examined, weighed and measured in their gazes. “If you would leave us. .” the Kraljica said to the room, and the courtiers bowed and murmured and left the room in a fluttering of bright finery. “Archigos Dhosti,” they said, nodding politely to the dwarf as they passed.
“Good evening, O’Teni. So pleased to meet you, O’Teni,” they said to Ana, and they also smiled to her. She could see annoyance behind some of the expressions despite the careful social masks-irritation at the schedule and routine being disrupted, at their own appointments being set back or perhaps lost entirely. But Ana smiled back, as was expected, and her smile meant as much as theirs.
The painter had spread a linen sheet over the canvas so that the work was hidden. Then he, too, turned, and his gaze went to the Archigos and then to Ana. He held Ana too long in his regard for her comfort, as if she were a scene he was considering sketching, before he began bustling about cleaning up his pigments and brushes. As he did so, the Kraljica pushed herself up from the chair and gestured to them as she walked to the balcony of the room. She moved like an ancient, Ana noticed, with her back bowed much like the Archigos’. She took small, careful, shuffling steps.
“You’re not feeling well, Kraljica?” the Archigos asked with obvious concern in his voice as they went out into the sunshine. Below them, in the courtyard, the gardens were bright with colors set in orderly squares and rows.
“My joints are all a bother today, Dhosti; I suspect it will be raining tomorrow, the way they’re aching. And I’ve been sitting too long and talking to too many sycophants.” She grimaced, taking a cushioned seat on the balcony. Inside, they could hear the painter gathering up his case and leaving, the sound of his boot soles loud on the tile. “Please, Dhosti, I know your aches and pains are easily as bad as mine. Please sit.”
She gestured to another chair, and the Archigos sat. The Kraljica made no such offer to Ana. She remained standing, trying to appear composed and calm as the Kraljica gazed openly at her, with lips pressed together into an appraising moue. Ana kept her eyes properly lowered but glanced at the Kraljica’s face through her lashes, a face she’d glimpsed only from a great distance on those occasions when the Kraljica appeared in public. She wore a gown of dark blue silk liber-ally embroidered with pearls, an emerald set at the center of the high bodice; her hands, arthritic in appearance and pale, lay unmoving in her lap. Her throat was covered by lace, but underneath the thin fabric Ana could see loose skin hanging under the chin. Her pure white hair was trapped in a comb inlaid with abalone and more pearls. Her mouth, puckered in reflection, was set in a spiderweb of wrinkles, but the eyes-a thin, watery, and delicate blue-were gentler than Ana had expected, lending mute credence to the Kraljica’s popular title as “Genera a’Pace.” For the last three decades the delicate fabric of alliances she’d spun had kept the various provinces and factions within the Holdings from erupting into open hostilities. There’d been the inevitable skirmishes and attacks, but open warfare had been avoided.
To Ana, the Kraljica seemed impossibly regal, and Ana kept her hands clasped together in front of her to stop their nervous trembling at being in her presence.
“How has your sleep been, Dhosti?”
“As it is always, Kraljica. I’m too often. .
That hasn’t changed. The herbs from the healer you sent me helped for a bit, but lately. .” He shrugged.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Then the Kraljica’s gaze was on Ana again.
“She’s so
Ana saw the Archigos shrug in the corner of her vision. “We forget, Kraljica. They all look too young to us now. But when I was her age, I was also already a teni. When you were her age, you took the throne and married. She’s adept with Ilmodo, that’s what matters. A natural talent, as strong as I was at her age.”
“I understand her matarh was. .” The Kraljica hesitated, and she lifted her chin, still staring at Ana. “. . blessed by Cenzi when you anointed her.”
The Archigos smiled at that. “Your sources are very good, Kraljica.”
“They’re also concerned.”
“I know which of the a’teni to watch, Kraljica.”
A nod. “You know, of course, that the Archigos’ life was never in real danger, not from that fool Numetodo.”
Ana started, realizing belatedly that the Kraljica was addressing her, not the Archigos. She cleared her
