The Kraljiki nodded again and took the proffered weapon. “I’m certain it will. Now, Commandant, let’s go over these tactics of yours in detail, and we’ll see where we might be in agreement.”
Sergei leaned over the maps as the Kraljiki came to stand beside him. “The Hirzg will be expecting us to send troops south along the Avi to guard against a Firenzcian crossing,” he said, his fingertip moving along the curves of the river. “My thought is that you and those of the court can ride out with them dressed as common soldiers. Once you’re well south of Passe a’Fiume, you can continue on to Nessantico unseen.
The Hirzg will assume you’re still here, which is what we want him to believe. Then, once you’re back in Nessantico. .”
Justi ca’Mazzak
The city shuddered with the news that the parley had failed, and that it was likely that Passe a’Fiume was already under siege.
The city had merely been worried before; now it was truly frightened, a feeling heightened as Kraljiki Justi trebled the conscription squads, as the Garde Kralji patrolled the gates of the city so that none could leave without travel documents bearing the seal of the Kraljiki, as couriers carrying urgent orders from the Kraljiki went out from the city in all directions, as the encampment of the Garde Civile outside the walls continued to swell. The farmlands around Nessantico were scoured as if by a ravenous plague of locusts, all the food carried back to the city: if there was to be war, then there would be as little as possible for the Hirzg’s troops to plunder as they moved toward Nessantico.
Agents of the Garde Kralji also moved through Oldtown, asking blunt questions about the Numetodo and especially about the former O’Teni Ana cu’Seranta and the once. Envoy Karl ci’Vliomani. Several of those questioned were taken away and did not return, though the Pontica remained devoid of new bodies to join the skeletal remains of the Numetodo already gibbeted there.
Worst of all was the news that the Archigos had betrayed the Kraljiki.
The Kraljiki ordered those teni who had been closest to ca’Cellibrecca at the Archigos’ Temple placed under arrest. A’Tenis ca’Marvolli, ca’Xana, ca’Miccord, and ca’Seiffel-those who had most vocally supported ca’Cellibrecca in the last few years-found themselves in residence in the Bastida, and the remaining a’teni were required to sign a declaration of obedience to the Kraljiki with their lives forfeit should they recant. Now truly headless, Concenzia reeled; the already erratic service of the teni in the city became even more stretched and ineffective.
Nessantico throbbed and quaked with fear, and Justi watched it from the colorful windows of the Hall of the Sun Throne in the Grande Palais. If he looked east more often than any other direction with a face strained with concern, he could hardly be blamed.
“They loved their Kraljica. They only fear you. That’s why they’re frightened.”
Justi scowled and gave a guttural curse at the words. He tried to turn and draw his sword-Sergei’s sword-from his scabbard, but he found it strangely difficult, as if the air had hardened around him. He stopped with the blade half-drawn.
He gaped.
The beggar known as Mahri was standing a few paces from him, on the dais where Justi stood near the Sun Throne. He could see the one-eyed, disfigured face under the cowl, splashed with color from the stained glass. But it wasn’t the man’s face that stopped Justi: the room behind the beggar was. . wrong. The only things in motion were Mahri and himself. Nothing else moved. A fly hung in the air to his left. The dozen or so courtiers as well as the ca’-and-cu’ supplicants sitting in small groups or clustered together talking, were stopped in mid-gesture.
Servants were standing as if frozen while hurrying to their tasks. Silence wrapped all of them; the air was dead and still when a moment ago it had stirred with the breezes from the open balconies. It was as if he were looking at a painting of the throne room, with he and Mahri somehow inhabiting the canvas.
It reminded him uncomfortably of ci’Recroix.
“Mad Mahri. . So you’re one of the Numetodo,” Justi said. His hand remained on his sword hilt. He wondered if he could draw it quickly enough in this half-solid air.
Mahri shook his head. He gave a grotesque smile marred by the white scars on his face. “No Numetodo could do this,” he said, waving his hand at the motionless crowd around them. “And I can’t continue it for very long, so I won’t waste it with conversation, Kraljiki. You are looking for Ana cu’Seranta and Karl ci’Vliomani. I know where they are.”
“And what do you want in return?” Justi asked. His own voice sounded hollow, as if the very air around them didn’t want to move to allow the words to leave his mouth. His fingers loosened slightly on the sword hilt.
“I want nothing you can give me,” Mahri answered.
“Wealth, then. A thousand solas. .”
Mahri laughed. “Keep your money. Just have your Garde Kralji at Oldtown Center tomorrow at a turn of the glass after First Call. Look for me; both of those you seek will be with me. Your people will have to move quickly and with force; the o’teni especially is dangerous if she has the chance to use the Ilmodo.” The air was shimmering between them; the figures around the room started to move. “After First Call, Oldtown Center,” Mahri repeated.
The air flashed, as if lightning had struck between them, and Justi’s sword seemed to leap from the scabbard of its own volition. The world seemed to jolt. Justi blinked involuntarily. When he could see again, the people around the room were once again in motion and the room was loud with their conversations. The courtiers were staring at him, standing beside the Sun Throne with his sword held threateningly in front of him.
The fly droned past him. Justi watched it strike a glass pane caught in strips of black lead, bounce back angrily, then find the opening between the windows and escape into the sunlight.
Ana cu’Seranta
Mahri had promised them that they would be safe. There was no reason not to believe him.
After the fire in the tavern, they had moved to another set of rooms deep in Oldtown, then a few days later to yet another. For Ana, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She went through the days wrapped in a dark fog. Karl tried to lift her from the depression; as he had promised, he began to teach her some of Numetodo spells. She found that some of the words were similar to the words she used herself, and she found that she could begin to learn to hold the spell in her head. It was a strange feeling, to have the Ilmodo contained and confined in her mind, an insistent presence that rattled against the spell-cage that restrained it, aching to be released.
Cenzi did not punish her for her learning. If anything, she found that she could reach the Second World easier than before.
On the fourth day, after First Call prayers and the necessary ablutions, Ana, Karl, and Mahri broke their fast with stale bread and weak tea. “There’s nothing else here to eat,” Mahri said. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go to Oldtown Center and the market there.”
“All of us?” Karl asked. “The streets aren’t safe, not for us. Ana should stay here. We know they’re looking for her, especially after the fire.”
Ana scoffed. “If anything, Karl, you should be the one staying here.
Wouldn’t the conscription squads love to get hold of you? I should go; they’re not grabbing women off the street.”
“We can all go,” Mahri answered. “The air will do us all good, and no one will notice you who does not need to see you-I promise that.”
Ana nodded emphatically, putting down the crust on which she’d been gnawing. “I’m tired of hiding away and not seeing the sun. I’ll go mad if I have to stay in here much longer.”
Karl frowned, but Mahri chuckled. “There’s your answer. I’m told the farmers have brought in fresh produce; I’ve had one of them set some aside for us. And one of the bakers has promised me new-made loaves-without the sawdust: he lives close to the old rooms over the tavern, and he’s grateful for what you did, Ana. And I know of a farmer who has brought in fresh butter to go with the bread.”