more, no less, but only very rarely in the history of Celebre had the elders overruled the dead man’s wishes. Piero had made no testament because he did not know which, if any, of his children still lived. He shook his head, unable to speak. His skull face shone with sweat. The pain was back already, tearing at him.
She rose and went from the room, almost running into the young Mercy in the corridor, waiting for the call. He hurried over to the bed, clasping the patient’s hand even before he sat down. In a few moments Piero was sleeping peacefully again.
In a few more moments the Nulist was able to glance around at Oliva, who stood by the door.
“I am sorry I spoke harshly,” she said. “Your name?”
“Luigo, my lady.”
“Thank you, Brother Luigo. Whatever you were doing made him very happy. Please continue.”
“I will try, my lady.”
“Twelve blessings on you.”
“He’s not dead, then?” Stralg said.
The voice behind her was unforgettable-deep and sonorous, but also imperious, very masculine. Like a war horn.
She gasped with shock and spun around so hard she staggered.
She looked up. He seemed taller every day. Still bony, all feet and hands and a boy’s loincloth like a linen flute. On his way to being very big. Gold bracelets adorned his wrists and a weighty pelf string laden with silver wisps encircled his neck. He had dark Florengian coloring, but the fierce eagle-beak nose was developing fast. Since his voice broke, Chies had sounded exactly like his father, and now was undeniably starting to look like him, too.
“You sent for me. I thought he must be dead.”
“No. Come.” She pushed past him and did not speak until they had passed through the sanctuary. She nodded approvingly to the senior Mercy and went out into the corridor with her willow-tree bastard slouching behind her.
They walked together with her little lamp throwing bizarre shadows on the high walls. Typically, Chies had not bothered to bring a light. Perhaps young eyes saw better in the dark.
“I wanted to tell you that Master Dicerno is pleased with your progress. He says you are trying very hard. I am happy to hear this, Chies.”
Grunt. “That’s all?”
Her mind groped for the right answer. Was there ever a right answer when dealing with adolescents? She had no experience. Dantio had been only a child when her first brood was stolen away. She was very old to be learning. Deep breath…
“It is a sign of maturity. As a reward, and as long as you continue to progress, I will let you wear a dagger. You can choose-”
“Why not a sword?”
You could never score when the target kept moving.
“Not until you know how to use one. You’d be a gift-wrapped prize to the first street thug you met.”
“I’d still have my guards with me,” he said sulkily.
“And if you run into trouble, you’ll just stand by without drawing and let them defend you?” But apparently the absence of a dagger was no longer the most important thing in the entire world, no longer a source of eternal shame. It no longer justified suicide, as it had a sixday ago. “Is there something you would rather have?”
“Take girls to my room.”
She needed several deep breaths for that one, but Master Dicerno’s strongest advice had been “Be just, be fair, and encourage him any chance you get.” Better his room than under a bush somewhere.
“Have you taken girls to your room already?”
Pause. “Maybe.”
She knew he had tried twice and the guards had blocked him. But he had not told her a direct lie. Encourage him, the preceptor had said.
“As long as you continue to be discreet I won’t mind. I’ll give you a key to the private door.”
She stole a glance. He was pleased. Very pleased. Probably quite pink, although it was hard to say in this light. How long before he started giving away palace silverware? How long before the first little hussy cried rape or pregnancy?
“You are almost grown up. At New Year, you’ll start wearing a seal and I shall take Master Dicerno’s teeth out of your leg. You may find your girlfriends’ brothers and fathers coming after you with cudgels, but that will be your problem.”
“By then I’ll be doge.”
“What!?” The echo of her cry rolled away along the concourse.
He smirked down at her. “It has to be a man of the royal house and I’m the only one. Who else can they choose?”
“Chies, Chies darling… I’ve never lied to you. You know that Piero is not your father.”
“But you lied to everyone else.” Sneer. “He accepted me as his. Didn’t want to tell people his wife balled other men.”
Piero could have handled this with a few quiet words. She couldn’t. She warned herself not to start screaming. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
He laughed. “The Werists call me ‘the Little Fist’!” Even more than dagger-wearing, his chumminess with the garrison had been a source of family friction. Practicing his Vigaelian, he’d called it. She’d thought they were just loose company. So now she knew better. If the ice devils saw him as the bloodlord’s son they might even start taking his orders, and then Chies would be dangerous.
“It’s the council that matters.”
“Piero never denied me!” Chies shouted and stopped walking. “They won’t!”
She turned to face him, feeling as if she were drowning. Why had she never guessed he would aspire to the coronet? Was that why he had been on his best behavior lately?
“The last time Stralg…” She began again. “ Your father carried me away by force and kept me for seven sixdays as his prisoner and plaything. He raped me, abused me, even stole the babe from my breast. The day he released me he told me that the seers said I was carrying his child and it was a boy. He said he still had my four children as hostage and I was to carry you to term and Piero was to raise you as his own, or else he’d send orders and all four would die.”
Stralg’s son shrugged. “So he hadn’t any choice.”
Why should the boy be grateful?
“Piero? Yes, Piero had a choice, because I never told him what Stralg said. He knew you weren’t his, but you were mine, and you were innocent of the crime, so he let you live. He reared you and loved you. When you were lovable.”
At once she wished she hadn’t said that last thing, but it was too late to take it back. If anything, Chies had been too lovable. With the others gone, he’d been all they had, and they had spoiled him horribly. Now their weakness was about to bear terrible fruit.
A stray gust puffed out the flame on her lamp.
“But you just admitted,” Stralg’s voice resonated in the darkness, “that the Fist made me because he wanted me. Obviously he wanted me so I can be doge and rule Celebre for him.”
No. Stralg had just wanted to show his contempt for Piero by sending her home bearing his bastard, but she could never tell Chies that.
He said, “The council knows what’s good for it. They’ll do what my real father tells it to do, just like that milksop husband of yours always did.” The hated voice suddenly turned squeaky. “My real father will tell them to elect me! And if you really try hard and behave yourself in future, I may let you take men to your room!”
While she was still floundering to find a suitable retort, any retort, she remembered that she was on her way to meet with Marno Cavotti. If Chies Stralgson caught the merest hint of a suspicion of a rumor that the Mutineer was in the palace, he would be across the road to the Vigaelian barracks to claim the notorious reward, faster than a thunderbolt.
Without another word, he turned and ran. She caught a brief glimpse of his gangling form against a glow at
