When he could barely hear the voices, he started to run: into the night, into the rain, toward the city-glow in the distance.
Varina ci’Pallo
“ Where else would you go?” the Regent said, and she heard Karl scoff.
“To one of the northern countries, where they’re more sympathetic to the Numetodo. Maybe Il Trebbio.”
Sergei sounded like a teacher instructing a slow student. “That’s still in the Holdings, and Audric will have sent word to them to capture us if we’re seen.”
Varina, half-listening to the argument, stirred. She interrupted them with her eyes half-open. “And Firenzcia won’t do the same?” she snapped back at Sergei.
“We could take ship from Chivasso to Paeti, or keep going north out of the Holdings into Boail,” Karl added-she was glad to hear him support her.
“And what are our chances of making that long trek without being noticed?” The Regent’s voice was nearly mocking.
The argument only sapped what little strength she had left. Let Karl deal with him-Karl won’t go to Firenzcia. He won’t… As the argument continued, her attention returned to the weariness of her body and the throbbing, insistent pain in her arm that stabbed her every time she moved. Varina leaned her head back against the stone wall running alongside the road, not caring that the ground underneath her was soaked and cold, closing her eyes as the two continued their argument, feeling the occasional cold splash from the persistent clouds on her face. The rumble of the two men’s voices, wordless, was like distant thunder in her head. She was shivering and miserable.
She wondered whether or not death might actually be an improvement.
She didn’t know when she thought to look to her right, back toward where the city’s glow painted the low, scudding clouds. At the same moment, she realized that the faint warmth that had been there was gone.
“Nico?” She sat up, stifling the scream that wanted to tear from her throat with the movement. Then, louder: “Nico?”
Karl and Sergei turned from their discussion. “Varina?” Karl began, then he cursed. “ Merde! The boy’s gone.” He looked over the stone wall, and Varina-getting slowly to her feet-looked that way also. The meadow grass showed the dark, trampled path from the boy’s feet, arrowing back toward the city until she lost the trail in the murk.
“I’ll go after him. He can’t be far.” Varina started to scramble over the low wall in pursuit, grimacing as the motion pulled at her wounded arm. But she felt Karl’s hand on her good arm, holding her back.
“No,” he said. “You can’t. He’s heading back into the city and he’ll get there before you catch up to him. You can’t go there. They’re not looking for a boy, but they are looking for you.”
Varina was frantic. She pulled at Karl’s grasp but was too weak to break away from him. Sergei watched, impassive, from the road. “He’ll be all alone there. I can’t leave him like that. I promised.”
“He was alone when you found him. The boy’s nothing if not resourceful.” Karl pointed with his chin back to the city-glow on the clouds. “He thinks his matarh or Talis will find him if he stays there. He might be right. Let him go, Varina. Let him go. We have other issues to worry about.”
Varina sagged. She sat on the stone wall looking at the trail of Nico’s retreat. Karl released her arm, and she cradled her wounded limb with it. The rain had begun again; the drizzle masked her tears. “It’s my fault,” she said. “My fault. I should have been watching him. I promised I’d take him somewhere safe. I promised him-”
“Varina.” She turned to Karl. He shook his head. “This is my fault,” he told her. “You’re hurt; you needed the rest. I should have been watching him. Not you. It’s my fault.”
She wished she could believe him. She sniffed. She turned her head away, back to the fading trail. Already, the grass in the meadow was lifting, hiding Nico’s retreat.
“Be safe,” she whispered after him: into the darkness, into the rain, into the light-touched distant haze. “Please be safe.”
Audric ca’Dakwi
You have every right to be furious. In truth, you must be furious, so that they will fear you.
He heard his great-matarh’s voice, her words sparking in his head, her own anger apparent. He could see the scowl reflected in the painting at his right hand as he sat on the Sun Throne.
I was the Spada Terribile-the Awful Sword-before I was the Genera a’Pace, she raged. You must follow my path, Audric. You must show them the steel before you can give them the glove of velvet, so that they know the steel is always inside. Hidden.
“I will,” he told her grimly. Then he turned to Commandant cu’Falla, standing with his head down before him, a small bandage around his neck. The Council of Ca’ whispered in their seats behind the commandant. “Commandant!” he barked, though the harshness of the word gave him a spate of coughing. He looked up, his lace kerchief bunched in his fist, to see cu’Falla staring at him. “You are informing me that the former Regent ca’Rudka was able to escape the Bastida and my order of execution?” He had to stop for breath. He could hear the echo of his voice against the stones of the hall. Lower your voice. You sound shrill, like a child. Show them that you’re their equal. “I understand,” he said to his great-matarh, then realized that they were all watching him, and he pretended that he’d been starting another sentence. “… that the Regent can’t be found in Nessantico, and has likely escaped the city entirely?”
“Yes, Kraljiki,” the commandant grated out. His jaw clenched, muscles bunching under his beard, his lips tightly pressed together after he uttered his response. He looked as if he were caging the words he wanted to say, and Audric waved a regal hand in the man’s direction.
“Go on,” he said. “Enlighten us.”
“Kraljiki,” he said, then glanced back over his shoulder to the others. “Councillors. This was a concerted attack on the Bastida by Numetodo-by how many, we’re still not certain. The main gates were torn down with a spell, and I lost two men there when the northern supports fell as a result. I immediately had the tower where the Regent was being held locked down, fearing that what would follow would be a direct assault through the wrecked gates, and I dispatched a rider to the temple to have teni sent to counter the Numetodo spells. But it seems that the assault on the gates was merely a feint to draw our attention. When no attack materialized, I personally took gardai to the under-corridors of the Bastida, but Ambassador ca’Vliomani and his cohorts had already made their entrance-probably well before the attack on the gate.”
“You’re certain the man you saw was Ambassador ca’Vliomani?” Audric asked.
Cu’Falla nodded. “Absolutely, Kraljiki. When it was obvious that there was to be no assault on the gates, I took a squad to the under-corridors, as I said. We confronted Ambassador ca’Vliomani and the Numetodo Varina ci’Pallo with the prisoner; there was at least one other Numetodo in the corridors. They used their spells on us.” He swallowed hard. “My men and I were incapacitated.”
Audric raised his eyebrows. “Incapacitated,” he said, rolling the word around as if tasting it. “But not killed, though I understand that you were… wounded. A scratch on the neck? No worse than the nick of a razor? How fortunate for us all.”
There was laughter from the councillors, with Sigourney ca’Ludovici’s snicker prominent among them. Cu’Falla’s face visibly reddened.
“Kraljiki, Councillors, I have known Sergei ca’Rudka since I joined the Garde,” he said. “He was my commanding offizier and my mentor. He promoted me through the ranks; he-through your vatarh, Kraljiki-assigned me my current post as Commandant of the Garde Kralji. I considered him my friend as well as my superior. I assume that his friendship is why I and my men are still alive, Kraljiki.”
Audric didn’t need his great-matarh’s cackling to propel him from his seat at that. He pointed an accusing finger at the commandant. “Your friendship and your relationship with him is why ca’Rudka was allowed to escape at all,” he roared shrilly, forcing the cough down. “How convenient that you are rendered unconscious just at the right moment. How convenient that the Numetodo knew about this hidden passage from the river. How convenient…” He couldn’t go on. The coughing overwhelmed him then, and he huddled on the Sun Throne with the lace cloth to his face as his body was racked. He barely heard the commandant’s litany of denials.