He watched her face, finding her harder to read in this instance, now that the reading went deeper than food and drink. “I am intrigued by my father’s choice of strategy,” she finally said.
Rudolfo stroked his beard. “Your father studied with the Francines as a boy, yes?”
She nodded. “He did.”
“His move to humiliate Sethbert by so quickly aligning with his enemy-and so quickly endorsing our betrothal-shows that he learned well from them.” One of probably hundreds of actions Vlad Li Tam spun into his web in order to influence outcomes to his advantage. “I have always admired his strength.”
Jin inclined her head slightly. “My father has spoken highly of you and your house, as well.”
“Then you are not displeased with his decision?”
Her words were careful again. “My father is a brilliant man. I trust his judgment implicitly.”
Rudolfo refilled their cups. Back in the Ninefold Forest, they called this liquor Firespice. It was a blended spirit his people had brought across the Keeper’s Wall when the first Rudolfo settled the Prairie Sea. It was strong, and if the night went where it could, he thought it might help prepare them.
He sipped it and put down the cup. He looked over to Isaak, who sat at the table, humming quietly as he read Rudolfo’s stack of notes. The mechoservitor looked up and their eyes met for a moment.
Jin Li Tam followed his eye. “He is a wo›822/p›nder to behold,” she said.
Rudolfo leaned forward. “He is amazing, to be sure. But truthfully, Lady Tam, you are the only wonder in this room.”
She blushed, then went redder when she realized it. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat, her poise lost for just a moment. But she recaptured it, and her blue eyes narrowed. “You flatter me, Lord Rudolfo. And yet you do not need to. I can assure you that I will-”
He raised his hand and she went quiet. “It is not required,” he said in a quiet voice. Her eyes narrowed even further. “I recognize,” he said, “that you are well versed in the rites of kin-clave and the highest machinations of statecraft. But these are dark days upon us, and your father’s strategy is sound. We do not need to invoke our flesh in these matters.”
Her mouth opened but he continued. “I am fully aware of the expectations upon you as a daughter of House Li Tam. I am fully aware of the Articles of Consummation in the Fourteenth Overture of Kin-Clave by Betrothal. You do not need to bring those to bear in this conversation. It is the two of us,” he gestured to Isaak, “and a metal man. If you wish it, we can go into the bedchambers, close the door to Isaak and let the world believe what it will. We need do nothing but sleep, yet we can both claim it to be the most rewarding and exhausting night of passion either of us have ever known.”
He did not think it was admiration on her face. It might have been surprise or perhaps even uncertainty. But for the slightest moment, he thought he saw relief there. Then it became amusement, and she smiled. “You are a kind man to ask after my feelings on the matter.”
He inclined his head. “I believe some journeys are best taken slow. The Desolation of Windwir has changed us all. It has changed the world and we do not know what will come of it. It is enough; I would not add more change to it, strategy or no.” He paused. “Though, I must tell you that I am pleased with your father’s work so far.”
Jin Li Tam stood and walked to him. “Change,” she said, quoting the Whymer Bible, “is the path life takes.”
Rudolfo stood, and when he did, she bent down and kissed him softly by the side of his mouth. He placed his hands on her hips, feeling the solid warmth of her, and stretched up on his tiptoes to return her kiss. “A fortuitous undertaking,” he said quietly. Pressing his fingers into her hip, he sent her another message, and she blushed again.
Then, because he knew that it was important to her that it be her own idea and that she lead in this particular dance, he let her take him by the hand and guide him into the waiting bedchamber.
Closing the door, they left Isaak to his work and he left them to theirs.
Neb
Brother Hebda haunted Neb’s dreams that night.
They were in the Androfrancine Cemetery, near the high, ornate gates that led to the Papal Tombs. His father met him there and they walked. Overhead, the sky looked like a bruise-green, purple, blue, shifting and sliding like oil on water.
“It’s going to get worse, son,” Brother Hebda said, putting his arm around him.
“What do you mean, Father?” Neb asked. Somehow, in his dreams he was able to take that leap, to give that title to this once large, once jovial man who visited him occasionally.
Death was unkind to Brother Hebda. He’d lost weight and his features had sagged with the weight of despair. He pointed to the south and then the west. “A Lamentation for Windwir has been heard across the Named Lands… and beyond, even. Armies converge here to grieve and rage with their eyes upon our bones. They ride east from here to avenge us upon the wrong house.”
Neb scanned that direction, but in his dream, the Great Library and the Office of Expeditionary Unction blocked his view. Of course, this part of his dream made sense-just before bed, Petronus had told them all the Gypsy Scout’s news. He felt a bony hand on his shoulder, felt the steel in Hebda’s arm as he steered Neb and pointed to the north.
“Curiosity is stirred in the north; the Marsh King brings his army into play, honoring a kin-clave older than our sojourn in this land.”
This piqued Neb’s curiosity. Petronus had not mentioned this. He realized suddenly that they had stopped walking, and he looked around. Now they stood at the foot of Petronus’s tomb. His name stood out from the rest, being the only Pope in the last millennium or better to take his given name as his holy name.
Hebda ran his hand beneath the name. “He will bring justice to this Desolator of Windwir and will kill the light that it might be reborn.”
Neb felt his stomach lurch. “Father, I don’t understand.”
Brother Hebda leaned down. “You do not have to. But you will play a part in this. When the time is right, you will stand and proclaim him Pope and King in the Gardens of Coronation and Consecration, and he will break your heart.”
Those gardens were a memory now. Of course he’d never seen them. They were opened only during the Succession. But he’d walked by›217ime them and he’d seen their design drawings in the library. They were smaller than he thought they should be.
He didn’t know what else to say. Something grabbed his heart and squeezed it. He felt his throat closing. He was afraid. He stammered but could not find his words.
“Nebios,” his father said, invoking his full name, “you came into this world a child of sorrow, destined to be a man of sorrow.” His father had tears in his eyes. “I am sorry, my son, that I have no hopeful word for you.”
Neb wanted to say that he’d gladly accept sorrow just for the hope of seeing his father again, but before he could open his mouth, he fell awake and realized he was shouting.
Petronus was by his side in an instant. “Dreaming again?”
Neb nodded. Not just shouting, but also sobbing. His hands went to his face and came away wet. His shoulders were still shaking. He caught his breath. There was something he needed to tell Petronus, something that seemed more important and more urgent than anything else from his dream.
Looking up at Petronus, he said the words slowly and carefully. “The Marsh King brings his army into play.”
And Petronus winced when Neb said it.
Petronus
Petronus cursed all the way back to the northern edge of camp.
He had no idea why the boy’s words had resonated so true with him, but they had. And Petronus may have been the Pope of the Androfrancine Order, but he was a fisherman at heart, and despite decades of Francine training still gave credence to the dead who spoke in dreams.
