“Exactly what I said. He did not just go into danger himself, he took you and his children as well, because he had to. Most rulers would have long since fled. I have never seen such dedication. It was duty beyond the limits of courage!”
“You were there?” She felt her face flame scarlet. To mention that day of her shame was unspeakably cruel. She had not thought Purque was that sort of Werist. Bah! All Werists were scum, animals, dregs.
“I was the Fist’s driver that day. I know what happened after, too. I helped guard your prison. You were not without courage yourself, my lady.”
She turned her back on him. Chies was what had happened. Now even Chies had gone.
They were alone in the great chamber, and yet Purque dropped his voice. “What you asked me earlier… I have had no official word, but my scouts report a column of chariots approaching the Meadow Gate.”
“Stralg?” she whispered.
“It could be, my lady. The force is about the right size to be his bodyguard. It may bypass the city, of course. He never forewarns of his coming.”
She nodded her thanks, her skin crawling at the thought of seeing the monster again. He had visited Celebre twice since his conquest, but the last time had been almost ten years ago. Both times he had publicly mocked her, reminiscing about her days of slavery. Surely she need not endure that again, and on the very day of Piero’s death? Intolerable! As soon as these last formalities were completed, she would flee to the Refuge of Nula. Even the Fist’s seers would not find her there.
More movement and voices, this time at the south door. The chief herald led in a parade: the justiciar, the high priest, a blindfolded Witness, two scribes with their satchels, the chamberlain… and Berlice Spirno-Cavotti! What right had that awful woman to be here so soon? Certainly the elders would assemble to pay their respects before anyone else did, but why should that sour-faced woman have precedence over all the rest of them? And she had even had the gall to bring an attendant with her, a girl in servants’ dress carrying what looked like a bundle of laundry.
The priest went to the bier and covered his eyes to pray.
Speaker Quarina frowned at the Werist, then extended the frown to include Oliva. “Stand back, please.”
Oliva took a few paces backward. So did Purque- thump, thump — deliberately ignoring the hint that he should withdraw completely.
The justiciar bit her lip, but did not comment. She began the ritual. “Witness, who is that?”
The seer was male, surprisingly-a youngish man wearing a simple black robe and a white blindfold. When he spoke the formal reply, his voice was high-pitched and quavered with emotion that Oliva had never heard from a Witness before.
“This is our doge and he is dead.”
Quarina turned to the herald. “Let the trumpets sound.”
The scribes were already sitting cross-legged under the candles, producing clay and boards and styli.
It was finished. Oliva could leave. But when she turned to go, her path was blocked by scrawny Berlice Spirno-Cavotti wearing a strangely sly expression. Oliva and the Mutineer’s mother were definitely not on intimate terms and never had been, yet now the woman moved as if to embrace her. Oliva was too startled to dodge.
And even more startled by the whisper in her ear. “We bring wonderfully good news, my lady!”
Oliva recoiled. Good news? On this day, of all days?
“Oh, what is that stupid girl doing?” Spirno-Cavotti said loudly, gripping her arm and turning her. “Do go and speak to her, my dear.”
Her dear? Her servant was furtively heading for the columns and the rain-washed darkness beyond, still clutching her washing. Speaker Quarina was dictating something utterly incomprehensible to the scribes. The Werist was watching the proceedings. Berlice’s eyes were urging: Do as I say!
Too bewildered or battered to argue, Oliva said, “You, girl! Where are you going? Come here!” She strode toward the girl, who edged away from her instead of responding to the summons. Oliva caught up with her in the shadows near the columns and found herself looking at eyes full of tears, set in a face strangely familiar. Her long- dead sister Pina? No. Just a chance resemblance. It could not possibly be-
“Mama!” A whisper. Then brazen trumpets began to wail from the palace roof, strident screams in the night. Echoes rang back from the temples and mansions of Celebre. The air in the hall seemed to tremble as the city itself cried out its loss. Now the girl could speak louder. “I’m Fabia, Mama! The Witness is Dantio. Chies is safe. Benard is well, but chose to stay in Vigaelia. He’s a wonderful sculptor. And Orlad, I mean Orlando-he’s probably out there in the grounds, but he’s a Werist, so that ice devil mustn’t see him. I must go and warn them, er, him!”
Fabia? Chies? Benard?… Werist? Now Oliva recalled Piero’s strange rambling discourse on the night Marno Cavotti had broken into the palace: Remember we used to say Orlando was the fighter? he had said. And that Fabia had looked just like her. Had the gods been speaking through the dying doge? The Winner. He had said that much later. Their children had been returned to her, but not to him.
It seemed to Oliva then that the hiss of rain swelled to a roar and the floor tilted under her feet. The Witness sprinted across the hall and caught her before she fell. The candles faded for a moment, then came back. She stared in disbelief at the two young people holding her. The girl, so like her younger self. The boy had lifted his blindfold and was smiling, yet his eyes were bright with tears. She knew him now.
“Dantio! My son!”
“We’re back. We’re all well, all your children.”
Too late! she thought. Just a pot-boiling too late. No, half a year or more too late. Piero would not have known them had they come even in late summer. Their arrival now would do little good, but at least they were home, safe. The priest and the herald arrived to help. Dantio replaced his ritual blindfold. They carried her to the black-draped throne and sat her on it, ignoring her protests. The priest went back to mumbling prayers. Berlice smirked surreptitiously from the far side of the catafalque: what sort of double game was she playing? Trying to find the winning side? Quarina was still dictating her gibberish to the scribes, but she kept flicking amused glances toward the group around the throne. She must be in on the secret too; she had brought the Witness.
“Must go and warn Orlad,” Fabia whispered.
“No,” Dantio said. “They’re watching from the bushes. That Werist is suspicious. They won’t come in while he’s there. He’s worried, too. Why is the Werist so worried?”
“Stralg,” Oliva said. “He thinks Stralg is on his way.”
Dantio groaned. “Oh, is that who I keep seeing on the periphery?”
CHIES STRALGSON
would never have found the Eligio place by himself-not without going to cottage doors and asking directions, and he was very reluctant to do that with Aunt Saltaja at his side. She was too memorable, too unpredictable, too unscrupulous. There would be dogs, perhaps even the sort of violent men who would kill strangers to steal their chariot, and he certainly did not trust his chthonic powers to defend him. Not yet, at least.
As it turned out, Saltaja knew exactly where to go. “How do you do this?” he demanded. He had much to learn.
“I asked the Mother, of course. Sleep on the cold earth or near it, and pray Her to send you the right vision. Shed a little blood first, if it’s important. She will teach you. Turn left after the ford.”
It was dark when they arrived. He did not see the buildings until he almost drove into a rail fence. He reined in with a yelp of surprise. No dogs barked.
“You’re not trying,” the hag grumbled. “Chosen can see in the dark. Go and fetch the man. Control him and bring him.”
Chies squeaked, “I can’t do that! I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do. You’ll never learn until you try. I’ll hold the reins. Go!”
He peered down at where the ground must be but saw nothing. It was a murky night, with rain beating on trees overhead, black as tar under them. Chosen could see in the dark? Not this Chosen. He tried a quick prayer. Holy Mother Xaran, let your servant see in the dark. Still nothing. So that I may serve you? Please? Ah, that was better! He did not understand. No spooky goddess-light shone around him, yet he could now see the ruts and
