“Does Jan know?”
Rance shook his elongated head. “No, Hirzgin. I came to you first. After all…”
“Yes,” Brie sighed. “It’s not the first time.” She stared at Mavel through the sheer fabric of the curtain between the rooms. The woman was younger than Brie by a good ten years, dark-haired as most of Jan’s mistresses tended to be, and Brie envied the trim shape of her, though she imagined that she could see the slight swell of her belly under the sash of her tashta. After four children, Brie struggled to keep her own figure. Her breasts sagged from years of feeding hungry infants, her hips were wide and her stomach was crisscrossed with stretch marks. She was still holding much of the weight she’d gained with Eria, her youngest from almost three years ago. Mavel had the litheness that Brie had once possessed herself.
She wouldn’t keep that long. Not now.
“The cu’Kella family has some land holdings in Miscoli. She could stay with her relatives there during her confinement,” Rance said. “I’ve had dealings with her vatarh; he was supposed to be on the list to be named chevaritt, but now…” He shook his head. “That will have to wait. We’ll see if one of the minor Miscoli families might have a younger son they need to marry off, who would be willing to call the child his own. I’ll make the usual offer for the girl’s silence, and draw up the contracts for her vatarh to sign.”
Brie nodded. “Thank you, Rance. As always.”
He gave her an awkward half-bow. “It’s my pleasure to serve you, Hirzgin. Send Vajica cu’Kella to my office, and I’ll talk with her. She’ll be gone by this evening. I’ll give the staff some convenient reason for her absence to counter the gossip.” He bowed again and left her. Brie took a breath before the curtain then entered the drawing room. The women there rose as one, curtsying to her as she approached, while Elissa grinned widely and ran to her. Mavel rose slowly, and Brie thought she saw a hesitation in her curtsy, and a cautious jealousy in her eyes. The young woman’s hand stayed on her stomach.
Brie crouched down to hug Elissa and gather her up in her arms, kissing her. “Are you enjoying yourself, my darling?” she asked Elissa, brushing back the stray strands of gold-brown hair that had escaped her braids.
“Oh, yes, Matarh,” Ellisa said. “Mavel and I have been embroidering a scene from Stag Fall. Would you like to see?”
“Certainly.” Brie kissed Elissa’s forehead and put her down on the floor. She glanced at Mavel, who dropped her gaze to the rug, with its black-and-silver patterns. “But I was just talking to Rance, and he has asked that Vajica cu’Kella come to his office. Some family news.” That brought the girl’s head up again, and now her eyes were large and apprehensive. “I’m sure you’ll excuse her,” Brie said to Elissa.
There was a moment of silence. Brie could see the other ladies of the court glancing at each other. Then Mavel curtsied again, hurriedly. “Thank you, Hirzgin,” she said. “I’ll go immediately.” She gathered up her sewing, and left the room, brushing past Brie with the scent of almonds and flowers.
“Well, then,” Brie said to Elissa. “Let’s see that embroidery.. .” She smiled as she let Elissa take her hand, and the other women of the court smiled in return. Brie wondered, behind the smiles and idle talk, what they were really thinking.
But that, of course, she would never know.
Allesandra ca’Vorl
Allesandra attended the Third Call Service at the Old Temple, as was her usual pattern while in the city. The Admonition, delivered by A’Teni ca’Paim herself, was pleasingly stern, though Allesandra noticed that several of the teni attendants seemed to frown at her rhetoric against “those who would follow the teachings not of the Archigos of the Faith, but of self-styled disciples of Cenzi,” an obvious reference to Nico Morel and his followers.
She also found herself pleased to see Erik ca’Vikej at the service, seated several rows behind the royal pew reserved for the Kralji. Despite knowing that Sergei would be upset, and that A’Teni ca’Paim would undoubtedly include the incident in her weekly report to Archigos Karrol in Brezno, she had one of her attendants go back and invite ca’Vikej forward to sit in the pew with her. He bowed to her as he took his seat near her. His smile dazzled, his eyes sparkled. Allesandra felt again the pull of the man-the people she’d set to checking his background had already told her that he was one of those individuals that people would easily follow-a natural leader.
They had also told her that he was a widower, whose wife had died birthing the last of his three children, who were currently living with relatives in exile in Namarro.
He would be a fine Gyula, should the Moitidi who governed fate ordain that for him. And if that happened… well, Allesandra, like Marguerite before her, believed that marriage was a fine weapon to wield. And if one’s spouse was at least pleasant to be with, that was a bonus.
After the service, she allowed ca’Vikej to take her arm as they proceeded first from the temple, Allesandra nodding to those she knew as she passed them. “A stern warning from the A’Teni,” he commented. His voice was warm and low, his breath smelled pleasantly of some eastern spice. “Thank you, Kraljica, for allowing me the privilege of sitting with you.”
“I was surprised to see you there, Vajiki,” she said.
“I once thought of becoming a teni myself,” he told her. “My vatarh talked me out of it, but ever since…” She felt him shrug. “I still find great comfort in the Faith. And besides, I knew there was a good chance you would be attending.”
“Ah? And why would that be important, Vajiki?” she asked.
He laughed at that, deep and throaty and genuine. She liked that laugh, liked the way it deepened the lines around the man’s eyes. “I never had the chance to properly thank you for the dance at the Gschnas, Kraljica.”
“That’s all? Are all Magyarians so aggressively courteous, Vajiki?”
Again, the laugh. They were approaching the doors, and the teni there opened them wide. The western sky above the buildings that fringed the plaza was touched with red and orange, as if the clouds were afire. They entered out into a cool evening. A crowd of citizens had gathered-some who had come out of the side doors of the temple to see the Kraljica, as well as the usual curious tourists. Allesandra’s carriage was waiting several steps away, the driver already holding open the door for her. They cheered as she emerged from the temple, and Allesandra lifted her hand to them. “No, I’m afraid not,” ca’Vikej answered as the crowd roared. “But they don’t have the incentive of your beauty. As you can see, even your subjects are overcome.”
Now it was Allesandra who laughed, stopping momentarily. “You’ve inherited your vatarh’s golden tongue, I see, but I don’t flatter that easily, Vajiki. Forgive me if I say that I suspect your motives are more political than personal.”
“In that, you’d be-” he began to reply. But a shout from the front of the crowd interrupted him.
“Don’t be a traitor to your own faith, Kraljica!” a male voice shouted. His voice was strangely loud, as if enhanced by the Ilmodo, and all heads turned toward it. The gardai holding back the crowd were suddenly shoved aside as if some invisible, gigantic hand had pushed them sprawling to the flags of the pavement, and a green-clad teni, the slash of his rank on the robes telling Allesandra that he was an o’teni, stepped through the gap. She recognized him, though she didn’t know his name; his was a face she’d glimpsed among A’Teni ca’Paim’s staff. “You defile Cenzi if you bring the body of a Numetodo heretic into this sacred place. Cenzi will not allow it!” The o’teni stalked closer. Allesandra felt ca’Vikej’s arm leave hers. “Those who are truly faithful will stop this travesty if we must!” The man’s face was twisted as he shouted, and now he began to chant, his hands moving in the pattern of a spell. But Allesandra heard the whisper of steel being drawn from a scabbard, and ca’Vikej had rushed from her side. One muscular arm was around the teni’s head and a dagger in his hand was pressed against the man’s throat.