The girl who had sauntered into view from somewhere behind Wulf’s back was nut-brown, or at least her face, lower legs, and arms were. She was barefoot, clad in a dress of costly white silk that clung to her like skin. Her hair hung long and thick, black and shiny, her eyes shone like obsidian, and her lips were redder than pomegranates. She had a nimbus.
She pouted. “I got bored. Father has no time for me just now. He’s too busy preparing for the conclave.”
Justina rolled her eyes like martyred mothers everywhere. “May the saints preserve us! Yes, child, my guest here is what is commonly called a young man. I believe he would enjoy some wine. And even were he bonnier than Apollo, he could not possibly enjoy the way you are looking at him. Move, you brazen little trollop!”
With a heartrending sigh, the girl tore her gaze away from a lingering inspection of Wulf and retraced her steps. Wulf stared after her, wondering if other women could make their hips do that when they walked. He was horribly afraid that his cheeks were a brighter red than her lips. He hadn’t shaved that morning.
“And change your clothes!” Justina shouted after her. “Pardon her, good squire.”
He swallowed a few times. “Yes, my… Justina. Your daughter? She is very beautif… How old is…”
“Lady preserve me, not my daughter! You flatter me. A distant relative-not distant enough, I sometimes think. Talent runs in my family, like yours. She’s fifteen. Women Speakers are usually fledged at sixteen. Girls are older than boys of the same age, and being a Speaker makes a girl different.”
“What sort of different?”
“Different in that she doesn’t have to fear men.”
“Fear men?” Father Czcibor had always taught that men had to fear women, who were agents of the devil, always tempting men into sin. Wulf had never quite believed that, although Sybilla had just opened his eyes a little wider than usual. Madlenka had shown no signs of being frightened of him.
Justina shook her head pityingly. “And why wouldn’t women fear men, squire? Men are stronger than us Congze=, love violence as we do not, and trap us with honeyed words so they can sow their seed in our furrows. Then they leave us to reap the crop. Tell me what that lanky brother of yours is up to.”
Startled, Wulf stole another Look through Anton’s eyes and saw a curtain wall to his left and sheer rock to his right. “He is hurrying along the Quarantine Road, going to the south gate.” With his long legs, Anton was moving like a starving foal, moving so fast that the dancing image made Wulf feel giddy. He was staring fixedly ahead, so Wulf could not tell if he had any companions with him, but there seemed to be many men-at-arms running in the opposite direction, hastily saluting the count as they passed him. Alarm bells were ringing, bugles sounding.
“It would seem he has had an urgent summons,” Justina remarked. “An angel whispered in his ear, perhaps. We must finish our talk. Sit down. You can be there when it happens, whatever it is.”
Yet Otto and Vlad had stayed at the north barbican. They were both on the roof parapet, staring out between the merlons at a column of men-at-arms marching down the Silver Road. Hundreds of them were coming around the bend at the mouth of the gorge, with the end of the column not yet in sight.
“The Wend assault has started!”
“Sit down, I said!” Justina snapped. “This matters more. Wherever you are, you can get there faster than they can. Here comes the wine. Best close your eyes.”
That was not at all necessary, or even advisable. The seductive Sybilla had returned with a flask and two crystal goblets. If she had changed her clothes, it was to make them even more provocative, with a lower neckline and higher hem. The only women Wulf had seen exposed like that in his entire life had been the street wenches in Mauvnik, and he had stayed well away from those. She slunk up to the table; he dared a small smile. She tossed her head as if he’d farted a bugle call. She thumped the flask down on the table, then spoiled the effect by setting the delicate goblets down gently. She flounced around and stalked away.
Madlenka had never scared him the way that chit did. He watched her disappear around the corner of the house.
“What did I do wrong?”
“You noticed her,” Justina said with a sigh.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Notice her. She’s just practicing, pay her no heed. Are you as ignorant about Speaking as you are about poop-noddy?”
“About what?”
“Poop-noddy. Jig-jig. Shagging. Sarding.”
Oh, that. Anton had explained fornication many times, but it was not relevant to today Cvanem"’s discussion. “More ignorant. Marek told me what little he had been taught in the monastery, but it wasn’t much. And nothing to do with poop-noddy.”
“It wouldn’t be. You do understand that a nimbus is the sign of a qualified, fledged Speaker, a sort of ordination? And other Speakers can see it, whether or not they have nimbuses of their own yet?”
He nodded. Marek had never developed a nimbus. Wulf filled the goblets. The wine was a pale gold and had a foreign tang, strange but not unpleasant.
“Marek said there were at least seven steps. He called them sins, though. The first sin was hearing the Voices to begin with.”
Justina said, “Which is rare, but those who are destined to do so start at about thirteen.”
“The second sin is learning to understand what they are saying. My Voices claimed to be St. Helena and St. Victorinus. Of course, the Church would say that they were demons of hell.” He paused a moment for a reaction, hoping she would deny that bit about demons, but she said nothing. “The third step is starting to talk back and pray for little favors.” Like making a sour apple taste sweeter, he recalled. “The fourth was asking for real miracles-or witchery, if you prefer.”
Justina just shrugged and waited.
“And that really hurt!” he said. “The trip to Cardice-why did it hurt me?”
“That I won’t tell you. Can’t. Mustn’t. I will say that not all Speakers have to climb the same ladder. A handler could have eased your path. Go on.”
“Fifth is refusing the pain and getting the miracles without having to pay that price.” This time he earned a nod. “And the sixth step seems to be the nimbus.”
“Harken to him! He’ll be bragging he can read and write next. That’s good. Excellent! Of course, you had Marek to help and you were dropped into very deep waters, where the secrets lie, but you’ve done very well, even so.”
Vlad was bellowing at the carpenters and porters rushing to complete the first trebuchet. Archers were taking their posts at the merlons on the roof. Otto was down in the machine room, organizing more archers at the loopholes. Neither happened to be looking at the Wends, so the undetected spy could not. Anton was still heading in the opposite direction. It would make sense for the traitor Havel to attack the south gate at the same time as his Pomeranian allies attacked the north. Or perhaps they were in a race to see who could take Castle Gallant first. And Madlenka… Madlenka was dressing in frantic haste, with Giedre and the maids all trying to help and all getting in one another’s way. Whatever the news was, it had reached the keep also.
Wulf discovered that he was starting to twitch, staying on his bench Con the only with great effort. Yet he could not deny what Justina said, that he was doing more good here-learning how to use his talent, as she called it-than anything he could achieve at Gallant as a novice warrior with sword or bow. She was waiting for him, eyebrows raised. Even if the Scarlet Spider had sent her, how trustworthy was she?
“So what comes next?” she asked impatiently. “Seven stages, you said.”