Atl shook his head, obviously not willing to let go of the argument. “Taat, I have the gift of far-sight also. You know that. You can fool most of the other nahualli, but not me. You’ve seen something that you don’t want me to see. What is it? Do you see your death, the way you did that of Techutli Zolin and Talis? Is that what it is?”
Niente wondered whether that was fear or anticipation he heard in Atl’s voice. “No,” Niente told him, hoping the young man couldn’t hear the lie. “You’re mistaken, Atl. You haven’t learned the far-sight yet enough to know.”
“Because you won’t let me. ‘Look at me,’ you always say. ‘The cost is too high.’ Well, Taat, Axat has given me the gift, and it would be an insult to Her not to use it. Or are you afraid that I will want to be Nahual in your place?”
The salt wind ruffled Atl’s long, dark hair; the canvas above them boomed and snapped. The captain of the Yaoyotl called out orders and sailors hurried to their tasks. “You will be Nahual,” he told Atl. “One day. I’m certain of that.” I’ve seen that… He thought the words but would not say them for fear that saying them would change the future. “Axat has gifted you, yes. And I’ve… I’ve been a poor taat and a poor Nahual for not teaching you all I know. Maybe, maybe I’ve been a bit jealous of your gift.” He saw Atl’s face soften at that: another lie, for there was no jealousy within him, only a slow dread, but he knew the words would convince Atl. “I would like to start to make up for that, Atl. Now: this evening after I’ve talked to Tecuhtli Citlali. Come to my cabin when they bring me my supper, and I will begin to show you. Will that do?”
In answer, Atl hugged Niente fiercely. Niente felt him kiss the top of his bald head. He released him just as suddenly, and Niente saw him smiling. “I will be there,” Atl said. He started to turn, then stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Niente nodded, and gave his own lopsided smile in return, but there was no passion in it, no joy.
He wondered how long he could keep Axat’s vision secret. He wondered-if Atl came to realize what that vision meant-if he would be able to achieve that vision at all.
Sergei ca’Rudka
The fields along the Avi A’Firenzcia were bright with the tents of the Coalition army. “On maneuvers,” the aide from the Brezno Palais staff who escorted Sergei from the border to Brezno told him, but both of them knew what it really was: a mustering and a direct threat. A communique had come to Sergei from Il Trebbio before he’d crossed the border, informing him of the incursion of a battalion under control of Starkkapitan ca’Damont into Il Trebbio territory. The battalion had withdrawn, but it had obviously been probing to see what response it might provoke.
And now this massing of troops near the border of Nessantico…
Jan, what are you up to? Do you really want to poke at the Holdings with this stick?
Sergei knew already, as his cane tapped along the marbled flags of Brezno Palais on his way into his meeting with Hirzg Jan, how it would end. The strap of a small diplomatic pouch was looped over his shoulder, and he had gained enough skill over the years to have opened the sealed letter inside and read what Allesandra had written there. The Hirzg’s aide Rance ci’Lawli bowed as Sergei approached the outer reception room of the Hirzg’s apartments. His face was pleasant, but underneath, there was a disdain: Sergei knew that Rance was one of those advising the Hirzg to keep the Coalition intact and to refuse any compromise with the Holdings. “The Hirzg is just inside,” Rance said, “but he begs the Ambassador’s indulgence, as he’s with the Hirzgin and his children. A mark of the glass…”
“I would love to see them myself,” Sergei told Rance, “so I could bring a report to their great-matarh on their appearance.”
Rance shrugged and favored him with an insincere smile. “A moment, then, and I’ll inform the Hirzg,” he said. He turned to one of the hall servants. “If you would escort the Ambassador into the outer room and fetch some refreshments for him.” Rance bowed again and vanished down the hall. Sergei followed the servant into one of the waiting rooms, accepting a glass of wine and a plate of sweet cheese retes. Not long after, Rance returned and escorted him down a short hall to another door. On the other side, Sergei could hear several voices and the laughter of children. Rance knocked twice firmly, and then opened the door.
The two oldest children, Elissa and Kriege, were playing at a chevaritt board set on the table, with the Hirzg looking on; the younger son, Caelor was watching from behind his brother’s shoulder. The youngest, Eria, was sitting on her matarh’s lap near the window, toying with the knitting piled there, while a nursemaid folded diapers and clothes on a bench near one of the doors leading out of the room. “The Ambassador ca’Rudka,” Rance announced as Sergei stepped into the room, the sound of the cane muffled by the thick rug there.
Elissa turned to look. “Vatarh, it’s Old Silvernose!”
“Elissa!” Jan shot Sergei a look of apology. “That’s terribly rude.”
“Well, that’s what Starkkapitan ca’Damont calls him,” she answered, her face twisted into a scowl, her arms crossed over her chest. One of the game pieces, a war-teni, was still clutched in her hand.
“You still need to apologize to the Ambassador,” Jan told her, but Sergei coughed gently, interrupting him.
“That’s not necessary, Hirzg. I’ve been called far worse, and at least both parts of that nickname are true. By the way, there are presents for the children from their great-matarh in my rooms at the embassy; I’ll have them sent over this afternoon.”
“Presents!” The shout came from all three of the oldest children at once, and even Eria glanced up from her efforts to tangle Hirzgin Brie’s knitting.
Sergei laughed-in truth, Jan and Brie’s children did amuse him. They were bright, engaging, and healthy. It was a shame that Allesandra didn’t know them as well as he did. “If you go tell Rance, I’d wager he’d send a messenger over to fetch them for you now-if that’s all right with your parents.”
“Vatarh? Matarh?” Elissa immediately shouted. “May we?”
Brie smiled indulgently, glancing at Jan. “Go on,” she told them, giving Eria to the nursemaid. “And wait for them in the playroom, please. Don’t keep pestering Rance.”
The children went out with their nursemaid, calling for Rance. “They’re lovely children,” Sergei said as they left. “The two of you have been very lucky.”
“That’s what people say who aren’t parents themselves,” Brie told him, smiling.
“I’m certain that all of your children are perfectly behaved all of the time.”
Both Jan and Brie laughed at that. “We’ll lend them to you while you’re here, Sergei,” Jan said. “That will change your mind.” Then the smile collapsed, and he waved Sergei to one of the chairs at the table. Sergei saw his eyes glance down toward the diplomatic pouch at Sergei’s hip. “But I’m certain you didn’t come here to compliment us or to deliver presents. What has my matarh to say? The last time you were here you said that you hoped to broker a compromise and have her name me as A’Kralj. Has she agreed to that?”
Sergei glanced at the chevaritt game in progress before him before answering. They were playing two-sided, and the number of pieces still on the board were about equal. Yet Sergei saw a flaw in the way Kriege’s pieces were set: if Elissa moved her vanguard three spaces, she could be behind Kriege’s lines. He would have to bring three of his chevarittai over to protect himself-and that would leave two of his keeps open to siege from the other flank.
He wondered whether Elissa had seen that, also. From the positions of the pieces, he suspected she had.
“Elissa always wins,” Jan said, evidently noticing Sergei’s attention to the board. “I like to think that, in the game at least, she is demonstrating her heritage.” His fingers spread, Jan moved the pieces of her vanguard: three spaces forward. Sergei looked up, stroking the side of his nose.
“Ah, then you see it also.”
Jan smiled. “In the same way that the fact that you haven’t answered the question I asked you also tells me how the Kraljica has responded.”
Sergei reached into his diplomatic pouch, removing the resealed letter. He placed it on the table, his forefinger tapping the thick paper near the red wax seal. “The Kraljica has tendered a… counteroffer.”
Jan glanced at the letter without reaching for it. “Then let’s hear it. I assume you’ve read it already, even
