Canticle

least those who are here. I’ve instructed them to find a bird and pass the word home to Hanric’s kin.”

Rudolfo’s eyebrows raised. “Do you think that prudent so soon after?”

She stared at him. “Prudence does not enter into matters where love is concerned.”

Rudolfo smiled, then signed to her in the House language of Xhum Y’Zir. Prudence especially enters into matters where love is concerned. “Your life has changed, Lady. You may need to think in different directions now.” He remembered those early days, the days when Aerynus, Gregoric’s father, had briefed him secretly so that Rudolfo might command with experience beyond his years. And he remembered the first man he’d ordered beneath the salted knives of the Physicians his father left to him. Their penitent torture was a knife he chose not to pass forward to his own son. But they had served their purpose, even if the redemption they drew out in blood was not true penitence. The single insurrection in the Ninefold Forest Houses-the event that had cost Lord Jakob and Lady Marielle their lives-was met by young Rudolfo with ruthless, merciless atonement.

She swallowed at his words and nodded.

He looked at her, small and frightened, and saw himself so many years ago. He leaned toward her. “You have my kin-clave, Lady Winters. The Ninefold Forest Houses will plumb this treachery. You have my assurance of assistance in all matters.”

Her eyes met his. “I am grateful, Lord.”

Rudolfo reached for the bottle of firespice on the table and raised his eyebrows toward an empty glass. “What will you do?”

Winters nodded, and Rudolfo poured a small portion of the liquor for her. “I will declare myself,” she said. “It’s early, but perhaps it’s supposed to be.” She looked perplexed now, her eyebrows furrowing. “Only. ” Her words trailed off, and she reached out for the glass, lifting it to her lips and sipping. She looked up again. “I did not see this in my dreams.”

Rudolfo poured himself a drink. “How could you?”

Winters shrugged. “I saw Neb in my dreams. I saw Windwir fall. Neb and I have seen our promised home. And many of our Dreaming Kings have seen these days, too, and written them in their Book.”

“Perhaps,” Rudolfo suggested, “these dreams are not always reliable.”

“And yet,” Winters answered, “the moment before we went into Third Alarm a premonition took hold of me.” Rudolfo leaned forward as she quickly recounted it.

“A wind of blood?” he asked. He whistled and the door opened. A Gypsy Scout poked his head in. Find out what manner of blades the assassins carried, he signed. The scout nodded and closed the door. He looked to Winters. “I’m not given to superstition, but this bears inquiry. I will ask Isaak to look into it. Perhaps it is something referenced in the library’s holdings.”

A night of inquiries, he thought. He still had the matter at the Keeper’s Gate to resolve.

There was a knock at the door-this time, firmer. Rudolfo looked up. “Yes?”

Aedric stepped into the room. “I saw Neb on the landing. I’ve sent him to pack for tomorrow.”

Winters looked up at this, and Rudolfo noticed the surprise on her face. It alarms her that he is leaving. But of course, Rudolfo knew she would not ask where he went.

“I do not think I will be joining you,” Rudolfo said. “I’m needed here.”

Aedric nodded, closing the door. He looked to the girl now, as if seeing her for the first time. The First Captain looked surprised and then suddenly uncomfortable. You may wish to hear this news alone, he signed.

Rudolfo saw Winters following his hands, but saw no comprehension on her face. “You truly meant what you told me?” he asked her. That you mean to announce yourself? he added in the Wizard King’s sign.

“Yes, Lord,” she said in a quiet voice.

Rudolfo motioned to a chair across from them. “Sit, Aedric, and pour a drink.” He inclined his head toward the girl. “Things are not what they seem.”

Aedric sat and poured firespice into a cup. “They are not, indeed,” he said.

Rudolfo nodded. “This is Winters,” he said.

“Yes, our young lieutenant is quite taken with her.”

“Well, she is more than she appears. May I present Winteria bat Mardic, the Marsh Queen.” Rudolfo offered a tight smile as Aedric’s eyebrows shot up. “Hanric was her. ” Rudolfo reached for the word but couldn’t find it.

“Shadow,” Winters said, her voice heavy. “He was the image we needed to convey to the rest of the Named Lands until I reached my majority.”

Aedric paled, looked to Rudolfo, then back to the girl. He looked troubled.

“What is it, Aedric?”

Aedric looked away. “We are in pursuit of the attackers. The Gypsy Scouts are magicked and trailing them at a distance. Half-squads are searching every structure in the town and every room in the manor. And the River Woman is here to tend Lady Tam. When she’s finished, she will autopsy the dead assassin and look for traces of the magicks in his organs.”

Rudolfo nodded. “Summon the Chief Physician for the cutting.”

Aedric inclined his head. “I’ve done so already, General.”

Winters interjected here. “Where is Hanric?”

Aedric glanced to Rudolfo and he nodded his assent. “He lays where he fell. We did not wish to offend your custom.”

Winters nodded. “Thank you, First Captain.” She looked to Rudolfo. “Would you honor us by hosting Hanric’s rest?”

Rudolfo knew little of the Marsher ways. Until the war, he’d encountered them infrequently. Most notably, his father had once captured Winters’s father and brought him before the Physicians of Penitent Torture to teach him respect for the Forest Gypsy’s borders. He knew what most did-that the Marshers wore dirt and ash, did not bathe and scratched out lives of violent subsistence in the infertile north. They were mystics, caught up in ecstatic utterances and prophecy, bellowed out with magicked voice by their king in his long-winded War Sermons. He knew of their promised home. And he knew that they buried their dead immediately-and buried their dead enemies as well. To not do so was a grievous insult.

“Certainly,” he said. “His rest may be anywhere you choose.”

She inclined her head to him. “I am grateful, Lord.”

Aedric cleared his voice, and Rudolfo looked to him now. “There’s more, General.”

Here it is. Here is what troubles him. “Go on,” Rudolfo said, glancing towards Winters.

“We brought the axe down to get a look at one of the bodies.” Aedric looked both to her and then to Rudolfo. He signed the words first. They were Marshers, he said.

Rudolfo looked at the girl.

This is where your heart is broken. The weight of this, of learning that the one you loved as a father was cut down by your own kind. Images flashed across his mind. Memories of fire and Fontayne the Heretic-the seventh son of Vlad Li Tam-shouting at the mob as it beat Rudolfo’s father to death. He studied the last traces of Winters’s innocence and then spoke the words to condemn her.

“Tell her, Aedric,” Rudolfo said.

And then he closed his eyes so that he would not see her change.

Vlad Li Tam

Vlad Li Tam met his sixth daughter when she stepped from the long-boat that brought the first load of children. He extended a fresh mango to her and she accepted it with the slightest inclination of her head.

“Thank you, Father,” she said. She’d aged gracefully, her once-red hair now white as she neared her own sunset. She wore the saffron robes befitting her rank in his House.

He returned the slight bow and turned to the boatload of children. “And how are you all this morning? Did you sleep well?” He tried to make eye contact with as many of them as he could, trying just as hard to hear them as they talked over one another in their enthusiasm. “Good, good,” he said, clapping and smiling. Then, he pointed to