Allesandra ca’Vorl
Allesandra watched Sergei pace in front of the portrait of Kraljica Marguerite. The portrait’s stern eyes seemed, to Allesandra, to track the Ambassador’s limping progress from side to side. Commandant cu’Ingres didn’t watch at all; his gaze was fixed determinedly on the small fire in the hearth, intended to take the evening chill from the room. A’Teni ca’Paim sat near the table of pastries, with a full plate on her ample lap.
Allesandra had no appetite herself. The carnage she’d seen during the funerary parade had stolen that. Her hands still trembled, remembering. So cowardly, the use of the black sand. Such an awful death… There was still a faint ringing in her ears from the blast.
“We can’t permit another incident like this, Kraljica,” Sergei declared as he passed beneath the portrait yet again. “The message this sends to the populace; the message this sends to the Faithful.. . We can’t allow it.”
“There was no teni-magic involved in this,” A’Teni ca’Paim declared sternly. “Morel understands the consequences if he would use the Ilmodo. That’s why he used black sand-though one of his followers probably set off the black sand with a spell as the bier passed over it.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Sergei answered. “He was able to disrupt a solemn ritual of the Holdings without the Ilmodo. Without magic. The use of black sand was a message: that the Faith is useless and weak, that the Holdings can be held hostage by anyone who can create black sand, that the Numetodo are more dangerous than any teni. That’s worse than if he had used the Ilmodo.”
Ca’Paim’s face wrinkled in a moue of disgust. “The Faith is not weak,” she responded primly. “The Faith is stronger than it has been in decades. Archigos Karrol has seen to that.”
Allesandra noticed that ca’Paim pretended not to hear Sergei’s audible sniff of disdain at that statement. “You think that Morel isn’t intelligent enough to understand the symbolism of his actions?” Allesandra asked her. “It seemed clear enough to me. That blasphemous puppet of Cenzi was staring directly at the bier when the black sand exploded. I think Morel would have used the Ilmodo to the same effect-except that he was obeying the laws of Faith. Apologies to you, A’Teni ca’Paim, but the man believes he follows the tenets of the Toustour and the Divolonte far more closely than any of the a’teni and Archigos Karrol.”
“His message may be read differently by different people, Kraljica,” Sergei persisted, “and that’s even more of an issue. Yes, to the Faith he is saying ‘Look, I obeyed your rules even though I find them supremely foolish.’ To the Numetodo, he says ‘I find your beliefs vile and heretical.’ But I think the general populace-who is neither teni nor Numetodo-takes away an entirely different statement. I think some of them might look at what happened and think ‘I can do that. Why, anyone could do that.’ That’s dangerous. That’s not what we want the people to believe, especially those who might have reason to oppose us.”
Ca’Paim bit savagely into a pastry, chewing furiously. Cu’Ingres watched the dance of the flames. “So what would you have me do, Sergei?” Allesandra asked.
“We must find Morel. We must execute him savagely and publicly,” Sergei answered. “Then your answer to his message is: ‘If you try this, you die.’”
“Is that what Varina would tell me to do?” Allesandra asked.
“No,” Sergei admitted. “It’s not. But I’m your adviser, not the A’Morce Numetodo. My loyalty is to you, Kraljica: to Nessantico, and to the Holdings-as it always has been. I tell you what will best serve those loyalties. We need to deal harshly with Nico Morel and his followers.”
“I agree with the Ambassdor entirely,” ca’Paim said. She rose, still holding the plate of pastries. “My people will aid you in that in any way we can. I can begin by questioning those suspected of having Morelli sympathies…” She gave the sign of Cenzi, one-handed, to Allesandra and the others. “Do you think Talbot could have someone wrap these up for me, Kraljica?” she asked, holding up the plate. “I hate to see them go to waste…”
A’Teni ca’Paim made her exit with a parcel of sweets, and Commandant cu’Ingres accompanied her from the room. Talbot-who had insisted on returning to work despite the cuts and scratches he’d sustained-sent in a trio of servants to clear the tables and take the trays back to the kitchens.
Sergei had made no motion to leave. Allesandra watched him, his attention seemingly on the servants as they went about their tasks, one hand behind his back, the other leaning on a silver-knobbed cane that nearly matched his nose. A stripe of the candle later, the last servant bowed and left the room, closing the door behind her. “What, Sergei?” Allesandra asked then. “I have Erik ca’Vikej arriving for lunch in a half-turn. He wants to discuss how the exiled West Magyarian government might respond to the Morelli issue.”
Sergei turned to her. She saw his eyes close briefly and his lips press together, as if the movement pained him-or as if the mention of ca’Vikej bothered him. “You’re toying with black sand and fire there, Kraljica,” he said. “As Ambassador to the Coalition, I have to caution you against appearing to openly support the man.”
He seemed to swallow something else that he might have said, and she wondered if he realized the other feelings she had for Erik. “As Ambassador to the Coalition, I expect you to support me, however I tell you to do so,” she answered sharply, and he inclined his head; mostly, she suspected, so she could not see his eyes.
“Forgive me, Kraljica-that is, of course, my duty. I will be seeing your son in a few days. But I would like to offer him an olive branch rather than a naked sword.”
Allesandra was already shaking her head before he finished. “You’re becoming predictable, Sergei,” she told him. “And you’re getting soft in your dotage.”
“Then you’ve decided against my proposal to reconcile with him?”
“I appreciate the thought that went into it, Sergei. And your intent.”
“But?”
“I don’t intend to capitulate so my son can take the Sun Throne.”
Tap, tap… Sergei took a few shuffling steps toward her. His quilted face was earnest, and she could see the reflection of the hearth’s fire flickering in his polished nose. “You wouldn’t be capitulating, Kraljica, only naming your son as your heir upon your death.”
The laugh she gave was more of a cough. “I fail to see the difference, Sergei. If I name Jan as heir, I lose my power as Kraljica. Everyone will start to look east to Brezno and the Hirzg with any proclamation I might make, to see if he agrees. The Council of Ca’ here will be more concerned with how their rulings are perceived by Jan than by me. I intend to live a long life yet, Sergei. What did you tell me the other day-that I have decades yet to match Kraljica Marguerite?” She rose from her seat- let him see that our conversation is done. She spoke now distantly and sternly, as if giving an order to Talbot. “Well, I intend to do exactly that. You will support me, or someone else will be my Ambassador.”
She watched his face, though Sergei’s expression rarely betrayed his private thoughts. It did not do so now. He bowed a bit awkwardly and stiffly, but his face was bland and his eyes seemed to hold nothing but respect for her. “I will always serve Nessantico and whomever sits on the Sun Throne,” he said. “Always.”
She nearly laughed again- so carefully said. “Then tell my son that he toys with black sand and fire, as you said, with his recent border excursions, and that my patience is ebbing. Tell him that I expect them to stop immediately, or that I’ll be forced to respond in kind. Remind him that West Magyaria is his only because I failed to send the full Garde Civile to support Stor ca’Vikej-that’s a mistake I won’t repeat.”
His face showed nothing as Sergei bowed. “As the Kraljica wishes,” he answered.
“Good,” she told him. “I’ll have Talbot draw up a list of demands for your meeting, and my responses to the questions that you’re likely to receive from the Hirzg.”
The Hirzg. Not “my son.” Allesandra had a sudden memory of Jan: holding him as an infant, watching him suckle at her breast and the close, intense pleasure of feeling her milk come; his first words; his first staggering steps; the times he’d come to her crying because of some injury or perceived slight and she’d held and comforted him. Where did that change? Why did I let that happen? She sucked in her breath. Sergei was watching her, his rheum-touched eyes on her face. “We’re done,” she told him. “I’ll send Talbot with my instructions.”
“Yes, Kraljica,” he said, and she hated the sympathy he allowed to pass over his face, hated that he had noticed the emptiness inside her, that made her cry sometimes alone at night, that troubled her dreams. He bowed his way out, but she was no longer paying any attention to him. It was Jan she saw, as he was when she had last seen him. She wondered what he was like now, what her great-children might be like, whom she had never hugged or kissed or dandled on her knees. So much you’ve missed. So much you’ve lost. Her vision wavered, the tapestry-
