He seemed to swallow something else that he might have said, and she wondered if he realized the other feelings she had for Erik. “As Ambassador to the Coalition, I expect you to support me, however I tell you to do so,” she answered sharply, and he inclined his head; mostly, she suspected, so she could not see his eyes.
“Forgive me, Kraljica-that is, of course, my duty. I will be seeing your son in a few days. But I would like to offer him an olive branch rather than a naked sword.”
Allesandra was already shaking her head before he finished. “You’re becoming predictable, Sergei,” she told him. “And you’re getting soft in your dotage.”
“Then you’ve decided against my proposal to reconcile with him?”
“I appreciate the thought that went into it, Sergei. And your intent.”
“But?”
“I don’t intend to capitulate so my son can take the Sun Throne.”
Tap, tap… Sergei took a few shuffling steps toward her. His quilted face was earnest, and she could see the reflection of the hearth’s fire flickering in his polished nose. “You wouldn’t be capitulating, Kraljica, only naming your son as your heir upon your death.”
The laugh she gave was more of a cough. “I fail to see the difference, Sergei. If I name Jan as heir, I lose my power as Kraljica. Everyone will start to look east to Brezno and the Hirzg with any proclamation I might make, to see if he agrees. The Council of Ca’ here will be more concerned with how their rulings are perceived by Jan than by me. I intend to live a long life yet, Sergei. What did you tell me the other day-that I have decades yet to match Kraljica Marguerite?” She rose from her seat- let him see that our conversation is done. She spoke now distantly and sternly, as if giving an order to Talbot. “Well, I intend to do exactly that. You will support me, or someone else will be my Ambassador.”
She watched his face, though Sergei’s expression rarely betrayed his private thoughts. It did not do so now. He bowed a bit awkwardly and stiffly, but his face was bland and his eyes seemed to hold nothing but respect for her. “I will always serve Nessantico and whomever sits on the Sun Throne,” he said. “Always.”
She nearly laughed again- so carefully said. “Then tell my son that he toys with black sand and fire, as you said, with his recent border excursions, and that my patience is ebbing. Tell him that I expect them to stop immediately, or that I’ll be forced to respond in kind. Remind him that West Magyaria is his only because I failed to send the full Garde Civile to support Stor ca’Vikej-that’s a mistake I won’t repeat.”
His face showed nothing as Sergei bowed. “As the Kraljica wishes,” he answered.
“Good,” she told him. “I’ll have Talbot draw up a list of demands for your meeting, and my responses to the questions that you’re likely to receive from the Hirzg.”
The Hirzg. Not “my son.” Allesandra had a sudden memory of Jan: holding him as an infant, watching him suckle at her breast and the close, intense pleasure of feeling her milk come; his first words; his first staggering steps; the times he’d come to her crying because of some injury or perceived slight and she’d held and comforted him. Where did that change? Why did I let that happen? She sucked in her breath. Sergei was watching her, his rheum-touched eyes on her face. “We’re done,” she told him. “I’ll send Talbot with my instructions.”
“Yes, Kraljica,” he said, and she hated the sympathy he allowed to pass over his face, hated that he had noticed the emptiness inside her, that made her cry sometimes alone at night, that troubled her dreams. He bowed his way out, but she was no longer paying any attention to him. It was Jan she saw, as he was when she had last seen him. She wondered what he was like now, what her great-children might be like, whom she had never hugged or kissed or dandled on her knees. So much you’ve missed. So much you’ve lost. Her vision wavered, the tapestry-lined walls going briefly liquid, and she wondered whether Sergei might be right. Perhaps it was time.
There was a soft knock on the door, and she blinked, wiping at her eyes quickly with her sleeve. “Come,” she said, and Talbot stuck his head in the doorway.
“The Ambassador said you would want me, Kraljica.”
She sniffed. “Yes,” she told him. “Come in, but first have one of the servants bring parchment and ink. And if Vajiki ca’Vikej has arrived, tell him that I will be with him shortly.”
“I was terrified when I heard, worried that you might have been injured…”
Erik was pacing back and forth in front of the windows of the apartment. Their lunch steamed on the table untouched. Allesandra watched him from her chair at the table, staring at him: at the worry in his face, at the way the muscles lurched on his bald skull.
It’s real, the concern he has for you. It’s not faked, it’s not based on his own agenda: it’s genuine. She hoped she was right in that. She also realized that she’d made a decision, all unbidden and unasked for. It was wrapped in her own loneliness, in her estrangement from Jan, in the mistake she’d made with Erik’s vatarh, in the intense grief she felt when she was with Varina, in her anger with the Morellis. She hoped her decision was the right one.
“I’m fine, Erik,” she told him. “I was shaken but not injured. The attack wasn’t directed at me.”
He nodded fiercely. “Had you been hurt, I would have gone out myself and found this Nico Morel, and…” He stopped, turning away from the windows to look at her. His face and his voice softened. “My apologies, Kraljica. It’s just that I was so worried…”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “And here, while we’re alone, I would prefer you call me Allesandra.”
“Allesandra,” he said, as if tasting the name. He smiled. “Thank you. But don’t underestimate these Morellis. They’re a danger to you, whether you believe it or not. They’re fanatics, and they threaten anyone who doesn’t believe as they believe.”
“Are you a fanatic, Erik?” she asked him gently. She gestured to the chair next to her right.
He sat before he answered. “About West Magyaria, you mean?” His hand cupped his wineglass, shivering the ruby liquid in it. “No, not about that. In politics, I’m more of a pragmatist than my vatarh. I believe that West Magyaria would be better off as part of the Holdings. I believe that I would be a good Gyula, if Cenzi desires that to happen. I’m willing to work as hard as I need to make that happen, but I also know that sometimes sacrifices and compromises must be made to accomplish things, and that sometimes the best result isn’t the one you would like to see. So, no, I’m not a fanatic but a realist.” He lifted the glass and set it down again. “That’s not to say that there aren’t things that I care deeply about or that I’m not a passionate man, Kralji-” A breath. “Allesandra. When I come to love something, or someone…”
His hand left the glass and lay on the linen tablecloth. She reached out her own hand and put it on top of his. She heard him draw in his breath. His lovely pale eyes held her own gaze, unblinking, almost as if in challenge. His fingers opened, then laced with hers.
“I am passionate,” she told him softly. “Nessantico and the Holdings are my passion. And I am also dangerous because of that. So this…” She pressed his fingers lightly. “… would not be a decision to make lightly. Or, if you prefer, we can eat the dinner that’s set here for us.”
He nodded. He lifted his hand, still holding hers, to his mouth, and kissed the back of her hand. His breath was warm on her skin, the touch of his lips soft and exciting. “Are you hungry, Allesandra?” he asked.
This is what you want… This is why you asked him here today. .. “I am,” she answered. She rose from her chair, still holding his hand.
She led him away.