“Yes,” Audric said before any of them could voice an objection. “I called this meeting to discuss the Regent. I won’t waste your time with diversions and small talk. For the good of Nessantico, I am asking for two rulings from the Council of Ca’. One, that Regent ca’Rudka be immediately imprisoned in the Bastida a’Drago for treason-” the uproar nearly drowned out the rest, “-and that I be elevated to rule as Kraljiki in truth as well as title.” The clamor of the Council redoubled at that statement. Audric sat back and listened, letting them argue among themselves. “Yes, use the opportunity to rest, and to listen…”
He did that. He watched them; he especially watched Sigourney. Yes, she kept glancing over to him as she spoke to the other councillors. He could see her weighing him, judging him. “This is what I desire,” Audric said at last, when the hubbub had died somewhat, “and it is what my great-matarh desires as well.” He gestured to the portrait, and was gratified to see her smile in return. They stared, all of them, their gazes moving from him to the painting and back again. “The Regent is a traitor to the Sun Throne. Ca’Rudka wishes to sit here where I am sitting now, and he is plotting to do so even at the expense of our success in the Hellins and against the Coalition.”
Aleron cleared his throat noisily, glancing at Sigourney. “Councillor ca’Ludovici has mentioned to all of us here your concerns, Kraljiki, and I wish to assure you that we take them seriously,” he said. “But proof of these accusations…”
“Your proof will come when ca’Rudka is interrogated, Vajiki ca’Gerodi,” Audric said, and the stress of speaking loudly enough to interrupt the man sent him into a spasm of coughing. They watched him, silent, as he regained control. “ Don’t worry. This works to your advantage, Audric. They’re all thinking that with the Regent gone, and you ill, that perhaps the Sun Throne will be quickly vacant, and one of them might take it. Sigourney, Odil, and Aleron had all heard the outlines of what you’re asking already, so they know what you’ll say. Look at Sigourney-see how eagerly she regards you? See how she’s assessing you for weakness. She has ambition… use it!” Audric glanced over gratefully at his great-matarh, inclining his head to her as he wiped his mouth.
“I am convinced,” Audric told them, “that Regent ca’Rudka was responsible for Archigos Ana’s assassination, that he intends to abandon the Hellins despite the tremendous sacrifice of our gardai, and that he is conspiring with those in the Firenzcian Coalition against me, perhaps intending to place Hirzg Fynn here on the Sun Throne if he cannot sit there himself.”
“Those are serious accusations, Kraljiki,” Odil ca’Mazzak said. “Why isn’t Regent ca’Rudka here to answer them?”
“To deny them, you mean?” Audric laughed, and Marguerite’s amusement rose twined with his own. “That’s what he would do. You’re right, Cousin: these are serious accusations, and I don’t make them lightly. It’s also why I believe that the Regent must be removed from his position. Let those in the Bastida rip the truth from him.” He paused. They watched him as he smiled at his great-matarh. “Let me rule as the new Spada Terribile as my great-matarh did, and bring Nessantico to new heights.”
“ See? They look at you with new eyes, my great-son. They no longer hear a child, but a man…”
They did watch him carefully, appraisingly. He sat up in the chair, holding their gazes regally as he imagined his great-matarh had, looking at the shadow of himself the gleam of the throne cast on the walls and ceiling. “I know,” he told her.
“You know what, Kraljiki?” Sigourney asked him, and he shook himself, his hands tightening on the cold arms of the Sun Throne.
“I know that you have doubts,” he answered, and there was a susurration of agreement, like the voices of the wind in the chimneys of the palais. “But I also know that you are the best of Nessantico, and that you care as deeply as I do for her. I know that you will discuss this, and you will come-as you must-to the same conclusion that I have. My great-matarh was called early to the throne, and so am I. This is my time, and I ask the Council to acknowledge that.”
“Kraljiki…” Sigourney bowed to him. “A decision this important can’t be taken easily or lightly. We… the Council… must talk among ourselves first.”
“Show them. Show them your leadership. Now.” “Do that,” Audric told her. “But I ask that you send ca’Rudka to the Bastida while you deliberate. The man is a danger: to me, to the Council of Ca’, and to Nessantico. That is the least you can do for the good of Nessantico.”
He stood, and they bowed to him. He left the room and the Sun Throne dimmed behind him. Behind him, Seaton and Marlon escorted Kraljica Marguerite from the chamber in his wake.
He could hear her approval. He could hear it as easily as if she walked alongside him.
Sergei ca’Rudka
The gates to the Bastida were already open and the gardai saluted Sergei from the cover of their guardhouses set to either side. The dragon was weeping in the rain.
The sky was sullen and brooding, glowering over the city and tossing frequent sheets of hard rain down from slate-gray ramparts. Sergei glanced up-as he always did-to the dragon’s head mounted over the Bastida’s gates. In the foul weather, the white stone had gone pallid as water streamed over the midchannel of its snout and cascaded in a small waterfall to the flagstones underneath-there was a shallow bowl worn in the stone there from decades of rain. Sergei blinked into the storm and shrugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Raindrops struck his silver nose and splattered. The weather had seeped into his bones; his joints had been aching since he woke up this morning. Aris cu’Falla, Commandant of the Garde Kralji, had sent a messenger before First Call to summon him; Sergei thought that he would stay for a bit after the meeting, just to “inspect” the ancient prison. It had been a month or more since the last time-Aris would frown, then look away and shrug. However, even the anticipation of a morning in the lower cells of the Bastida, of the sweet fear and the lovely terror, did little to ease the soreness that came from simply walking.
A shame his own pain didn’t have the same allure as that of others’. “A miserable day, eh?” he asked the dragon’s skull, grinning up at it. “Just think of it as a good washing.”
Across the small, puddled courtyard, the door to the main office of the Bastida opened, throwing warm firelight over the gloom. Sergei saluted the garda who had opened the door and entered, shaking water from his cloak. “A day best suited for ducks and fish, don’t you think, Aris?” he said.
Aris only grunted without smiling, hands clasped behind his back. Sergei frowned. “So what’s this important matter you had to see me about, my friend?” he asked, then noticed the woman seated in a chair before the fire, facing away from him. He recognized her before she turned and the dampness on his bashta turned as cold as a midwinter day and his breath caught in his throat. You’re truly getting old and clumsy, Sergei. You’ve misread things, and badly. “Councillor ca’Ludovici,” he said as she turned to him. “I didn’t expect to see you here, but I suspect I should have. It would seem that I’ve not been paying enough attention to rumors and gossip.”
He heard the door close and lock behind him. It had the sound of finality. “Sergei,” cu’Falla said softly, “I require your sword, my friend.”
Sergei didn’t respond. Didn’t move. He kept his gaze on Sigourney. “It’s come to this, has it? Vajica, the boy’s mind has become unhinged from his illness. We both know that. By Cenzi, he’s conversing with a painting. I don’t know what he’s told the Council, but surely none of you actually believe it. Especially you. But I suppose belief isn’t the issue, is it?-it’s who can gain something from the lie.” He shrugged. “You don’t need this charade, Councillor. If the Council of Ca’ wishes my resignation as Regent, it can have it. Freely. Without this charade.”