Jan still looked uncertain, and Allesandra reached out to pat his hand. “Jan,” she said, “ultimately this must be your decision, not mine. I’m not the Hirzg, you are.”
“You didn’t want this when you could have had it, ” Jan said, tapping the golden band of the Hirzg’s crown on his head. “And yet now you want to-” He stopped, abruptly. Blinked. “Oh,” he said. His eyes narrowed.
She worried at the look on his face. “Think of what we could accomplish together, Jan,” she told him hurriedly, “with the same family on the Sun Throne and on the Throne of Firenzcia. We could bind the Holdings together and create a greater, more peaceful empire than Marguerite’s.”
He said nothing. He looked from Semini to Allesandra, then rose from his seat and walked quickly to the door. “Jan?” she called after him, and he paused there. He spoke without turning around to her.
“I’m beginning to understand some of what Vatarh said about you before he left, Matarh,” Jan said. “He told me that you use people for your own purposes; he said that was exactly the way your own vatarh had been, so it wasn’t all that surprising. He said that was what had made Great-Vatarh an effective Hirzg, but a dangerous friend. I wonder if I can ever be such a good Hirzg. I wonder if I would ever want to be.” Jan knocked on the door and the hall servants opened it.
Allesandra rose to her feet and pushed back from the table; she started after him as plates clashed and goblets shivered. “Jan, stay. Please. Talk to me.”
He shook his head and left without another word, the door closing again.
Allesandra stood in the center of the dining room and could not hold back the sob that came. I never meant to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt him. At the same time, she wondered at his declaration: had she made a mistake placing him on the Hirzg’s throne? Was she seeing Jan with a matarh’s eyes and not those of truth? She felt Semini’s hands on her shoulders and realized that he had risen to stand behind her. “Don’t worry, Allesandra,” he said to her. His words were a low growl in her ear. “Let the boy alone for a bit-and remember that in many ways he still is a boy. He knows you’re right, but right now he’s feeling that you gave him the crown of the Hirzg as the consolation prize.”
“It truly wasn’t that way.” Tears threatened, and she sniffed and blinked them back. “I love him, Semini. I do. He doesn’t realize how much. It hurts me to see him angry with me. This wasn’t what I intended.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I’ll talk to him. I can convince him that you’re right.”
She shook her head, staring at the door. “I need to go after him.”
“If you do that, the two of you will just end up in a worse argument. You’re both too much alike. Give him time to calm and think about things, and he’ll realize that he was overreacting. He may even apologize. Give him time. Let him be angry now.”
His hands kneaded her shoulders. She felt his lips brush the hair at the nape of her neck, and let her head drop forward in response. “He’s my son. It hurts me when he’s hurting.”
“If you get what you’re after, then that’s something you might have to accept. The Kralji of Nessantico and the Hirzgai of Firenzcia have always had their differences and their separate agendas. If you don’t want a struggle between the two of you, then you should give up this idea of yours.”
She stiffened under his kneading hands, and he chuckled. “There, you see. Jan’s not the only one who gets irritated when someone tells them what they must do.” He continued to work the muscles of her shoulders. “There’s another matter we should discuss, the two of us,” he said to her. “I am with you in this, my love, but I have ambitions, too. I would be Archigos of a unified Faith, and I would sit on Cenzi’s Throne in the Archigos’ Temple and be your Hand of Truth. And I would be more than that, Allesandra. I would be Archigos ca’Vorl.”
She turned to him, and found his face close to hers. She kissed his lips without heat. “Semini…”
“You told Jan to think of what the two of you could accomplish together as the same family on two thrones. I would ask you to consider what might be accomplished if the same family held not only the political thrones, but that of the Faith.”
“What you’re suggesting isn’t possible,” she told him. “There’s Pauli. And Francesca. Yes, I enjoy the stolen time we have together, and I wish it were otherwise, but it’s not. Semini, how would it seem if the Archigos were to dissolve his own marriage and that of the A’Hirzg, for his own convenience? What would the ca’-and-cu’ say, if only privately? What damage would that do to the Faith and to the Sun Throne?”
“I know,” he growled, stepping back. “I know. But my marriage to Francesca was political from the beginning-there was never any love between us, nor much intimacy at all after the first few years and her miscarriages. Orlandi insisted that I had to marry his daughter and he was the Archigos, and your vatarh thought it would be good as well, and you were…” He paused. “I know I’m much older than Pauli, Allesandra, but I thought…”
“The differences in our ages mean nothing,” she told him. She reached out to touch his face, his graying beard surprisingly soft under her fingers. “Semini… I do have affection for you. I love what we have, but it has to be enough. What you’re suggesting… It would be a terrible mistake.”
“Would it? I don’t believe that, Allesandra. If you knew how much I’ve wrestled with this, if you knew the prayers I’ve sent to Cenzi. ..” He shook his head under her fingers. “It would not be a mistake,” he said. “How could it be if there are true feelings between us? Can you tell me that the feelings are one-sided and our affair is simply a matter of convenience to you. Is that what it is, Allesandra? Tell me. Tell me the truth.”
She stared at him, his face cupped in her hands. “One-sided?” she whispered. “No.”
He breathed a long exhalation, nearly a word or cry. And then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and she lost herself and her worries about Jan and what might come in the heat that enveloped her.
Jan ca’Vorl
Jan let the sweat pour from him as he jabbed and parried with his sword against an invisible opponent. Sometimes it was Semini, sometimes it was his matarh, sometimes it was the ghost of Fynn or ini, sometimes it was his matarh, sometimes it was the ghost of Fynn or his great-vatarh. Jan let all his anger out into the practice. He slashed, he spun, he thrust until all the ghosts were dead and his muscles were burning.
Finally, he sheathed his sword and stood with his hands on knees, panting. He heard faint, ironic applause behind him, and he turned-beads of sweat flying from damp hair-to see Sergei ca’Rudka standing at the door of the practice room, with two gardai standing behind him. “How-?” Jan began as ca’Rudka smiled.
“I asked your aide Roderigo where you might be. I wasn’t allowed to come without my friends, though,” he added, gesturing to the grim-faced and solemn gardai flanking him. Sergei entered the long, narrow room, with its polished bronze walls and the narrow row of seats along the other side, the wooden practice swords in their holders in one corner. “You’ve had a good weapons teacher,” Sergei said. “Though that’s worth less than you might think.”