Hodier was horrified. “No!”
“Then you must be an agent of the Society, which amounts to the same thing. Or is your allegiance to some other force determined to rape the Connec of its independence, wealth, security, and genius?”
“No! No! I’m my own man! I am no man’s pawn! Can’t you pull that thing in?”
“I have no control over the snakes, Bicot. I don’t know why they do what they do. I’m their tool, not the other way around.”
Brother Candle had known this man since they were boys. They were never close but neither had they ever been enemies.
“Bicot, you had some hope when you interrupted my bath. Which is getting cold, boys. One of you bring another pot of hot water.”
Seldom did life afford an opportunity to wallow in luxury. Tonight he would indulge. Tonight would offset, feebly, the winter spent on the Reindau Spine, or the winter spent on the run from the Captain-General.
The serpent threatening Hodier collapsed back into an incredibly detailed tattoo, with color showing in its mouth, extended tongue, and eyes.
Brother Candle had to tear his attention away.
There had been no color and fewer details before.
He needed a mirror. He needed to see the snake on his neck. That one had killed.
“Talk to me, Bicot.”
* * *
Socia and Lumiere managed morning and afternoon ceremonies without the Perfect. Nothing remarkable happened. Brother Candle watched from the gallery, studying the witnesses, seeing little emotion.
Rumors about his encounter with Hodier were out there, now. Hodier and friends had been intimidated. Their motivating force had been triviaclass="underline" the fear of losing their sinecures.
Brother Candle did not understand. As long as he did nothing stupid, Hodier had been fixed for life. But he had done something stupid, now. Socia might make an example.
* * *
“I don’t care what you say, Master,” Socia said. She was holding Lumiere. The boy had gotten a lot of maternal attention lately. “I have certain advantages. I mean to exploit them. Khaurene won’t keep secrets from me. I want it tamed before Isabeth leaves.”
“Take care. Don’t hand the extremists any ammunition.”
“I’ll give them ammunition. With them standing against a wall.”
“Socia!”
“You are a wonder, Master. Like a father and a husband at the same time, only more so, with none of the fun. A treasure of an old fusspot. Let me say this: I really have learned most of the lessons you tried to teach me.”
That could be. But there was another level …
“I do wish we could have brought Bernardin. I’d feel so much better if I had him sorting out the local villains.”
“Socia, this isn’t Antieux. There are ten times as many people and five times as many factions.”
“And I’ll tame them. If not before Isabeth leaves, then after Kedle gets here.” Socia wanted to go see Kedle but was too busy. “I won’t use the Queen’s men unless I have to.”
“You need someone. The Navayans are what you have.”
“That’s where you come in.”
“Please!”
“You know the important people.”
“I thought I did till Bicot Hodier…”
“He was confused. I talked to him. He won’t be a problem again.”
“But … how did you…?”
“I threatened him with you.”
“What?”
“In a manner of speaking. Make a list of the most influential men. I’ll get them here for an old-fashioned come-to-Aaron meeting. I’ll show them I’m not a girl and that making me unhappy won’t be smart. You’ll roam around scowling and threatening to roll up your sleeves.”
The whole city knew about his tattoos. “You’d think, considering what Khaurene has suffered, that people would be worn out and ready for peace. But the conspiracy and backstabbing never end. Greed and ambition never let up.”
“Evil never sleeps.”
“Damn me. The girl has begun to think at last.”
“It had to happen someday. You wore me down.”
* * *
Rumors of events in Arnhand reached Khaurene seven days after the new Duke. More news arrived over the following days, some factual, some exaggerated, all meeting resolute disbelief. It was not possible that a woman, even the Kingslayer, could have beaten Arnhand to its knees.
While visiting the Archimbaults Brother Candle learned that Brothen Episcopals were abandoning the city. They believed that disaster had claimed the last great champion of their Church, Anne of Menand. Their faction, already decimated, could not survive another pogrom.
They would migrate to friendlier climes and abide there till God saw fit to extirpate the apostates and heretics.
Brother Candle was happy to see them go, both because he wished no one harm and because their absence would leave Khaurene more peaceful.
“We need to exploit this time while they’re still numb,” Socia said.
Brother Candle agreed but was not pleased with her constant use of a non-royal “we.” He was, in effect, her grand vizier. He did not want the job. There was no one else to do it. His most difficult task would be to find trustworthy people to do the work of the duchy. Socia had brought only a handful of functionaries. They knew little about Khaurene.
Isabeth meant to leave for Navaya as soon as the rains eased up. She had an empire to wrangle.
Socia wasted no time making herself the hard face of the new regime. Isabeth, urged by a Maysalean Perfect who was an old family friend, stayed out of sight and let the Garete graft take.
Navayan soldiers were never invisible, however. They enforced the peace whenever sectarian violence flared. Socia played no favorites when dealing with that.
Brother Candle knew she was shifting shape and running the Khaurenese nights. That was obvious to him, and it was effective. Three executions, a dozen imprisonments, several confiscations, and some heavy fines, in the space of a week, definitely taught the lesson of caution.
* * *
There were nights when the Perfect lay awake contemplating the fact that Sant Peyre de Mileage lay only slightly farther to the southwest than did Antieux to the east, and the journey thither would be no more difficult. If he joined Isabeth’s party he would be safe for all but the last twelve miles. Even a man his age could cover that in a day.
Socia cornered him. “Where are you at lately, Master? What’s on your mind?”
“I’m thinking about moving to the tranquility of a monastery.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“As ever, your last concern is for the welfare of my soul.”
Socia wasted no breath on a guilt-edged response.
When next he lay down for a nap the Perfect found himself thinking not of Sant Peyre de Mileage but about the pilgrimage notion that had wormed its way into his mind a few months ago. Before that it had been just one in a clutch of trivial wishes and regrets.
It had to be a sign of the times. The possibility of making the journey began to take on substance.
29. Lucidia: Al-Pinea, in the Idiam
Nassim Alizarin was a weary man particularly tired of failing. The move to al-Pinea had gone well. Since then, though, he and the Ansa had pursued the Rascal to little effect. Cynical Bone insisted that there could be no final solution while Indala subsidized the Ansa.
The Dreangerean sorcerer suffered no success, either. His powers were leaking away. He remained formidable but each attack he fended off cost him some of what he had left.
Mowfik approached. “Message from the Ansa, General. There are riders coming on the Shamramdi trace.”
“Not likely to be trouble, are they?”
“No, us being back here so far we have to get our sunlight hauled in on camelback.”
“Make sure Ginter gets a gift and a thank you for the warning. And tell Az that I need him.”
Riders coming did not feel right. He was not expecting anyone and had not asked for reinforcements.
Al-Azer er-Selim materialized moments before a dozen horsemen and three pack camels entered the decrepit village. “It’s the boy, General. Azim. His bunch don’t look like they’re back from a thundering victory.”