“My duty is to the Kraljiki and Nessantico,” cu’Falla insisted. “That supersedes any friendship I might have with the Regent. I assure you, Kraljiki, that I did exactly as you ordered. I assure you that I would have carried out your order to execute the Regent, had you decided that was to be his fate. Several of my men were injured or killed in the assault; I would never, never have allowed that to happen. I would not abandon my duty and my oaths of service for the sake of friendship. Never.”
Audric was still regaining his breath, wiping his lips on the lace. Marlon, kneeling and leaning forward on the steps of the throne’s dais, held out a new kerchief; Audric took it and gave the servant the stained one. It was Sigourney ca’Ludovici who answered cu’Falla, and Audric listened as he coughed softly into the fresh cloth. “Those are fine, honorable words, Commandant, but…” She glanced portentously around the hall. “Why, I see neither the Regent nor Ambassador ca’Vliomani in irons before us, and from what we’re told, all the known Numetodo in the city have fled, too. As the Kraljiki has said, how convenient that they had the time and opportunity to do so.”
“Councillor ca’Ludovici,” cu’Falla said, “I must take offense at these accusations. As soon as I regained consciousness, I sent out the Garde Kralji to guard the gates and scour the city; I contacted Archigos Kenne and had him alert the utilino on their rounds; I sent word to the Keeper of the Gates and had all the inns and hostels searched. You can verify all those orders with my offiziers.”
“But your friend ca’Rudka and his cohorts managed to escape this fine, wonderful net you placed around the city,” ca’Ludovici answered. “How clever of him.” Again laughter followed from the other councillors.
Audric had regained his composure. He folded the blood-spotted lace in his hand. Cu’Falla’s face was now even redder than before and Audric raised his hand to stop the commandant’s protests. “I hereby decree that Sergei ca’Rudka no longer has rank at all in the Holdings. Let the Gardes a’Liste write his name simply as Sergei Rudka henceforth. The same for Ambassador ca’Vliomani-he is stripped of his diplomatic status and is now only Karl Vliomani, with no standing here. When they are found, the penalty for them will be immediate death.”
He heard the murmur of pleasure from his great-matarh, and the susurration of agreement from the Council of Ca’. “As for you, Commandant cu’Falla,” he said, and cu’Falla straightened his shoulders, seeming to stare past Audric. “There must also be judgment.”
“Kraljiki,” cu’Falla said, his chin high, his eyes guarded, “I have family here, and I have given faithful service to the Sun Throne since my sixteenth season. I ask you to consider that.”
“We do,” Audric told him. “We also consider that you have failed your oath and failed your Kraljiki.” Show them. Show them that you, too, can be the Spada Terribile. Show them your strength and your will. Audric pushed himself up from the Sun Throne, tucking the lace kerchief into the sleeve of his bashta of blue and gold. He walked the few steps to stand in front of cu’Falla, feeling the approving gaze of Marguerite on his back. His head came only to cu’Falla’s chest; he had to lift his head to see the man’s face, and that made him angry. “We demand the sword of your office, Commandant.” He held out his hand.
Cu’Falla’s expression went stern and empty. He unbuckled the belt of his scabbard, the metal clasps jingling musically. He placed the weapon into Audric’s outstretched hand. Audric thought he saw a glimpse of satisfaction in the man’s face as the unexpected weight of the steel nearly made Audric drop the sword, his hand drooping low and the leather belt of the scabbard looping on the marble flags of the hall. Audric half-turned from the man, sliding the blade from the scabbard. The steel rang: it was a warrior’s weapon, not the polished, engraved, and bejeweled showpieces most of the Council of Ca’ bore. Audric held up the blade admiringly, gazing at the fine scratches where the edges had been recently honed, at the sheen of protective oil on the surface. A warrior’s blade. A blade that spoke of much use, and much death.
Audric smiled.
Without warning, he brought the blade horizontal and spun quickly on the balls of his feet, thrusting the honed, triangular point of the sword deep into cu’Falla’s stomach, grunting at the unexpected resistance of cloth and muscle. Cu’Falla sucked in a gasping breath, his eyes wide and mouth open. His hands went around the blade as Audric continued to push with all his strength, burying the sword deep in the man’s gut; as blood spread quickly and flowed down the central gutter toward the hilt that Audric held; as cu’Falla took a second, rattling breath and blood began to flow from his open mouth; as the man’s knees buckled and he fell, tearing the sword from Audric’s grasp; as Audric heard the councillors rise as one from their seats in horror.
As his great-matarh laughed inside his head.
That was well done, she told him. Well done indeed!
Audric walked over to the writhing body and looked down into the dying man’s eyes. “Now we don’t have to worry about your incompetence at all,” he told the man. He coughed violently from his exertions, but he didn’t care about the fine red droplets that spattered the man’s face and chest. Cu’Falla blinked up at him, staring. Audric wrenched the blade from cu’Falla’s stomach. He placed the tip over the man’s chest, feeling the tip slide between his ribs. “And we grant you one last favor: a quick death.” He put all his weight behind the hilt and pushed. More blood gushed from cu’Falla’s mouth, and the man went still.
Excellent! You are indeed my true heir, so much stronger than your vatarh…
Audric turned to the Council of Ca’ and spread his bloodied hands wide. Sigourney ca’Ludovici’s face had gone pale and she stared more at cu’Falla’s corpse than at Audric.
“It seems we have need of a new commandant,” he told them.
Allesandra ca’Vorl
“ This isn’t what I wanted, Matarh. Fynn is supposed to be the Hirzg, and if not him, then you. Not me. ”
She brushed imaginary lint from the shoulders of the gilt-adorned bashta he wore, with the sash of the Hirzg’s office draped over the black-and-silver cloth. She touched his cheek and smiled up at him. He had been taller than her for the last two years; he would be taller yet. In that, he took after his vatarh. “It’s best this way,” she told him. “Firenzcia will have a strong Hirzg for decades to come, which is what it will need.”
“I don’t understand.” He stared at her, his head slightly cocked. “Why did you do this? Why did you turn down being Hirzgin? All those stories about how Great-Vatarh took that from you, how he shunned you in favor of Onczio Fynn…”
“I didn’t want it,” she told him, and saw the disbelief in his face-he had always been a child in whose face you could see his thoughts. I’ll have to work with him on that. It’s something he’ll need to learn. She smiled at him now, touching his cheek. “It’s true, darling. Really. Now, come on; the ca’-and-cu’ have come to meet their new Hirzg, and we can’t keep them waiting.”
She nodded to Commandant Helmad cu’Gottering of the Garde Hirzg, waiting patiently a stride and half from them in his dress uniform. The man saluted and raised his hand. In turn, Roderigo-who had become Jan’s aide-gestured to the servants, who scurried to their posts. A flourish of cornets rose in the cool evening air as attendants opened the double doors leading to the main hall. Jan paused, not moving; she motioned to him. “You first,” she said. “You’re the one they want to see.”