“Talbot can reach out to your aide for procedural details and to decide how many of my own staff we need to assign to ensure everything goes smoothly. We’ll use palais staff and the Garde Kralji for crowd control. And you can tell Archigos Karrol that I bullied you into accepting this by threatening to withhold the final payment on the building funds.”
“Would you do that?”
Allesandra brought one shoulder toward her cheek. “Is it necessary?”
One of ca’Paim’s fingers stroked the golden summit of another scone. The woman sighed. “No. I suppose not, though I still don’t like it.”
“Good,” Allesandra said. “And you’ll be there, Soleil? Seated next to me?”
Another sigh. “You’ve become shameless as you’ve aged, Allesandra. Absolutely shameless. I will attend since you insist, but I won’t speak. I cannot.”
“That’s understood.” Allesandra leaned forward and patted the woman’s hand. “Thank you, Soleil. I’ll tell Varina what you’ve done; she’ll appreciate the gesture.”
“What about Nico Morel’s followers?” ca’Paim asked. “He’s the one you should be worrying about. You know how deeply that man hates the Numetodo. They are sure to protest, and demonstrations by the Morellis have turned violent before. Have you read the proclamation he and his people posted all over the city yesterday about the Ambassador’s death? They’ll be railing against any display of support for the Ambassador, and there might well be worse trouble with them.”
This time it was Allesandra who frowned. “Ambassador ca’Rudka showed me the proclamation, and it was vile and disgusting. You’re probably right. Perhaps Commandant cu’Ingres might give Vajiki Morel and his local troublemakers free lodging in the Bastida for a few days, assuming we can find them before the ceremony. In any case, I’ll make certain the Commandant’s posted sufficient gardai in case there is an issue. And if you would have your teni tailor their Admonitions today and tomorrow against the Morellis…”
“Fine,” ca’Paim told her. “That much I’m happy to do. But I have to tell you, Kraljica…” ca’Paim frowned sternly. “There are teni here, especially the younger ones but even those high in the Faith, who have an unhealthy amount of sympathy for Nico Morel and his philosophy. Far too many of them than I like.”
“I know,” Allesandra told her. “That infection is among the populace as well, I’m afraid. The man’s influence is is becoming increasingly dangerous. Soleil, I appreciate your cooperation in this. I know it’s not what you want, and I know that it will cause you grief with Brezno, and for that I’m genuinely sorry.”
Ca’Paim nodded to that and plucked another scone from the plate. “Archigos Karrol and Brezno I can deal with,” she said. “I only hope this turns out to be what you want, Allesandra.”
Nico Morel
Nico stared at the young man who had brought the news. “You’re certain of this?” he asked. “Certain?”
The man-an e’teni of the Concenzia Faith, still wearing his green robes-bowed. “Yes, Absolute Nico. A’Teni ca’Paim announced it to the staff this afternoon.” His gaze kept skittering away, as if he were afraid that Nico’s temper might erupt and leave him a charred husk. Nico took a long breath-the news did burn in his gut, furious and hot. It was an outrage, an insult to Cenzi to have Ambassador ca’Pallo’s funeral at the Old Temple. A Numetodo, resting in that sacred place, being praised there… But he managed a grim smile for the e’teni. “Thank you for coming to tell us,” he said. “And may Cenzi’s Blessing come to you for your efforts.” He gave the man the sign of Cenzi.
The e’teni smiled quickly at that and bowed his way from the room, closing the crooked wooden door behind him. Nico turned to the window: between the gaps of the warped shutter, he looked down on an Oldtown alley, the central gutter clogged with waste and trash. The house they were using was on a street with two neighboring butcher shops, and the offal and stench from the carcasses was sometimes overpowering.
It was nearly dusk; the light-teni would soon be setting alight the famous lamps of the Avi A’Parete, the wide boulevard that ringed the old confines of Nessantico. He saw the flash of green as the e-teni emerged from the house and scurried back to his duties at the Old Temple, dashing between two whores walking toward the taverns on the next street. Nico could smell the piss and shit on the streets below: the scent of corruption.
That odor defined Nessantico to him.
Strangely, these weren’t the smells he remembered from his time in Nessantico before the Tehuantin. In those childhood memories, Oldtown was warm and comfortable, tasting of spices and the perfume of his matarh and the sweet odor of her sweat when he hugged her on hot summer days. It was the scent of the herbs his Westlander vatarh had used in the brass bowl he’d always carried. That Nessantico was bright and colorful, alive with hope and promise.
That Nessantico was utterly gone. That Nessantico had died when he’d been snatched away from his matarh.
“Absolute?” The call came from Ancel ce’Breton, one of the few Morellis he trusted implicitly, and one of the two people in the room with Nico. Ancel was gaunt, with a hollow-looking face patchworked with a scraggled dark beard, his long fingers scratching at his cheap linen bashta with cracked, dark fingernails-even more than Nico, he had the appearance of an ascetic. “What are your thoughts?”
“I think, Ancel, that this is a slap to Cenzi’s face,” he said without turning from the window. “I think that A’Teni ca’Paim’s soul will be torn and weighed by the soul-shredders and found wanting when she dies-and I hope that day comes soon. I think that once again the Concenzia Faith has shown its weakness and its degeneracy.”
He felt a gentle hand brush his shoulder: Liana. She pressed against him from behind and he felt the swell of her belly against his spine. “What do you want us to do?” she asked him. “Will you preach against this? Will we act?”
“I don’t know yet,” he told them. “I have to think, and I have to pray.” He turned away from the window. The anger was still there in the pit of his stomach, like banked coals that would never go out, but he smiled to Ancel and reached out to brush the hair from Liana’s wonderful face. “I will spend the night in meditation, and hopefully Cenzi will come to me with His answer by tomorrow.”
Ancel nodded. “I’ll let the others know, especially the teni who are with us. They’ll be ready to do whatever you ask of them, Absolute.”
“Thank you, Ancel. Without you, I don’t know what I’d do.” Nico saw the compliment lend momentary color to the man’s pale face. His eyes widened slightly as he bowed his head and gave Nico the sign of Cenzi.
“I am your servant as you are Cenzi’s,” Ancel said. “I’ll send in one of the others in a turn of the glass with your suppers.”
Nico inclined his head as the man closed the door behind him. He heard Ancel call out: “Erin, bring the Absolute and Liana their meals, please…” Now that they were alone, Liana rubbed her rounded stomach and finally came closer, pressing her body against his; he wrapped his arms around her body and kissed the top of her head and the glossy, dark-brown curly strands there. Not as dark as Rochelle’s hair, which was as black as midnight, but the same tight curls…
He shook away the memory. It was no good thinking of his sister Rochelle. She was lost, along with the rest of his past. Nico tightened his embrace on Liana, and could feel the nagging pull of healing ribs from where the Garde Kralji had kicked him two days ago: he’d been preaching to a crowd near Temple Square. They’d shoved him down on the soiled flags and circled around him, their booted feet lashing out as he covered his head and his followers screamed invectives and tried to pull the gardai away from him. “No!” he’d shouted to them. “Don’t worry! Cenzi will protect me!”
He’d wanted to use the Ilmodo then. He’d wanted to call down a storm of lightning on them, or set them afire, or sweep them away with a howling wind. He could have done any of those, easily. But he dared not-not in public, not with the teni watching. If they saw Nico use the Ilmodo, the magic of the teni, they would have invoked the laws of the Divolonte, the code by which the Concenzia Faith lived. By that code, as a defrocked teni, Nico was subject to the harshest penalties if he used Cenzi’s Gift again: he would have his hands cut off, his tongue ripped from his mouth so that he would never again use the Ilmodo. Only the teni were permitted to call upon the magic of the Second World.
