"He did, and you had no way to know what he was or what he would do, just as his superior offiziers didn't know. What we must do now is make certain that the populace's anger doesn't spill over into a bloodbath. There are already voices at the Old Temple calling for a renewed purge of the Numetodo, and the same is coming from the Council of Ca', too. Your voice is needed as the head of the Faith, Kenne. The voice of sanity."

Kenne felt Petros' fingers tighten around his own when he didn't answer. "Kenne, my love, Cenzi gives you a test now. You know that Archigos Ana wasn't killed by Numetodo, not the way Karl felt about her. This Eneas, and what he did to the Kraljiki . . . It sounds like the same thing that was done to Ana. The black dust that we found in the temple afterward; I hear that it was found all over the pieces of the Sun Throne as well . . ."

"I killed Audric," Kenne muttered. "I killed his chamber servants, the supplicants who were closest. And as for poor Sigourney . . ." Sigourney's face swam before him, torn and flayed by shards of the Sun Throne, her right eye bandaged (and gone, according to the healer who whispered to Kenne afterward), her right hand wrapped with the missing fingers far too visible, the covers falling ominously flat to the bed at her right knee.

This was his fault, no matter what Sigourney might have whispered to him with that ruined voice. This was more terrible than Ana's a.s.sa.s.sination, though that had been horrible enough.

His fault.

He started to speak to Petros and could not, his voice choking. Petros' hands tightened on his hand, lifting it and pressing it to his lips.

Someone knocked on the door. "Archigos?" The call was faint through the carved, varnished planks. Petros let his hand fall quickly and sat back in his chair.

"Enter," Kenne said.

It was one of his o'teni staff who peered in: Sala ce'Fallin, his aide. She glanced at Petros, nodding to him and giving Kenne the sign of Cenzi. "I'm sorry to disturb your dinner, Archigos, U'Teni, but . . ."

She bit her lower lip, shaking her head. "What?" Kenne asked her gently.

"There is news," she said. "A messenger has come from the Council of Ca'; you are to go to the palais immediately."

"What is it?" he asked. "Firenzcia?"

She shook her head. "No," she told him. "The messenger said nothing other than it was about Karnmor . . ."

He expected to be told that the long-slumbering volcano that overshadowed Karnor City had awakened again. But the news was far worse.

Kenne could barely believe the words of the rider who stood before the Council in their palais chambers, but the exhaustion, the dirt and soot on his face, the horror in his eyes and in his voice . . . Those he could not deny.

The city of Karnor was a smoking ruin, according to this man, with thousands dead, especially from the a.s.sault of the Westlander war-teni. Worse, the Westlander army was now on the mainland and advancing slowly up the A'Sele. The city of Villembouchure was next in their path.

"Many of the ships they came on," the rider said, "were our own. I recognized the lines of the Marguerite from when she left Karnor Harbor to go to the h.e.l.lins a year ago, but now she flies the eagle banner of the Westlanders and they've painted her in garish colors. That's why there have been no fast-ships from the h.e.l.lins; the Westlanders must have destroyed our forces there."

"There's no evidence of that," Aleron ca'Gerodi snapped, glaring at the man as if daring him to contradict the statement. "None at all."

The rider shrugged. "I saw what I saw, Councillor," he said. "I was one of those who fled Karnor, as the city was taken and burning. I found a boat on the eastern sh.o.r.e of the island; I saw the sails of the Westlander fleet driving up the mouth of the A'Sele, and I saw fires on the northern sh.o.r.e."

"He doesn't lie," a voice said as the doors to the chambers were thrown open. Kenne turned to see Sigourney being carried into the chamber on a litter. She sat propped up with pillows, her face a red-lined horror, the black dye washed from her hair so that the thick strands were now silver-gray. Her single eye glared at them; her right eye was covered with a quilted patch. "There are other riders coming into the city even as we speak here," she said. "I have spoken to one: a man from the headlands of the coast. He says the same: the Westlander army is here in the Holdings, and they are marching up the northern sh.o.r.e of the A'Sele."

"Councillor ca'Ludovici," Kenne said, concerned. "You shouldn't be here. Your injuries-"

"My injuries are not important," she answered, waving a bandaged, few-fingered hand. "The herbalist has given me extract of cuore della volpe; that has taken away the worst of the pain. We have lost our Kraljiki, the traitor Regent is conspiring with Firenzcia, and the Westlanders have dared to come here. My injuries?" She spat. Kenne and the others watched the arc of the expectoration to where it landed on the stone flags. "They are nothing," she barked in her ragged, hoa.r.s.e voice. "We can't wait and dither here. We must act." She paused for breath. "And the first thing we must do is name a Kralji, since Audric had not named his successor."

Kenne knew then what had managed to cause Sigourney to ignore her injuries and leave her sickbed.

It was obvious, looking around the chamber at the other members of the Council, that the same thought had occurred to them. It was also obvious to Kenne who they would choose. Aleron was nodding, as was Odil ca'Mazzak; others were looking intently at the table, as if something had been scribbled there. It was Odil who finally spoke.

"You are Tete of the Council of Ca', Councillor ca'Ludovici, and it was you who was closest in Kraljiki Audric's confidence. I agree-a new Kralji must be named immediately . . . and I believe it should be a Kraljica." He looked around the room. "I propose that Vajica Sigourney ca'Ludovici be named Kraljica Sigourney. She has the name, she is the closest relative here, and she has amply demonstrated that she possesses the qualities of leadership we need."

"I agree," Aleron said immediately, rising to his feet, and then they were all rising, and Sigourney was smiling through her pain and healing wounds and raising her hands to them in mock humility, and it was done-before Kenne could say anything. Not that they would have listened to him, he thought ruefully.

His voice was not one to which they paid attention.

Sigourney's single-eyed gaze traveled the room and when it found Kenne, she frowned momentarily. He could see the accusation and the blame in her face, and he knew one thing more.

He would not be Archigos for long. The new Kraljica would find a way to bring him down.

Karl Vliomani.

SERAFINA SMILED AT THEM as they came into the kitchen of their small apartment, though Karl could see a sadness, almost an envy, melded with the lifting of lips. She brushed her hair back from her head with the back of her hand, still holding the knife with which she'd been chopping vegetables. Karl could smell the stew, bubbling in the black pot over the hearth fire. "Good morning," she told them. "It's good to see the two of you together."

Varina laced her arm with Karl's and pressed against him. "It is," she told Serafina. "Even more than I'd hoped."

Karl smiled also, and he wondered if either of the two women could see the emotions that mixed in with his own happiness: the tiny nagging sense that he was somehow betraying Ana, even though he and Ana had never shared physical intimacy. She would have smiled at you also. She would have told you to go ahead. She would have been happy for you. That's what he told himself, but it didn't ease the kernel of guilt.

"I've been betrayed too many times and hurt too many times," Ana had told him once, not long after he'd returned from the Isle of Paeti, after he'd found that Kaitlin no longer loved him, no longer wanted him to be part of her and his sons' lives. "I can't give you that part of me, Karl. It's just not there anymore: there are too many scars and too much pain. I can be your friend, if that's enough for you. But not more. Not more."

"You don't love me . . ." he began to reply, and she shook her head.

"I do love you," she said, "but not in that way. If you need that, then find someone else. I would understand, Karl. I truly would. I'm sorry . . ." And he had found release elsewhere, in the grande horizontales that Varina had seen. But he'd somehow missed the person in front of him who was interested in him as more than friend, and who he'd also liked. . . .

Now, Varina hugged Karl again. He leaned down, her face turned toward him. The kiss was soft and sweet, and the guilt receded again, slightly. "If you need that, then find someone else. . . ." Perhaps one day, soon, even that whisper would be gone.

He hadn't known he'd needed this so much, and he wished he'd realized it much sooner.

"Let me help you, Sera," Varina said to Serafina, and her warmth left his side. "Karl, why don't you put a pot on for tea?" He watched the two women for a moment, then took the teakettle, poured water from the pitcher into it, and hung it on the crane over the fire next to the stew. He found the mint and herbs, placed it into a linen bag and tied it off.

"I'll go to the market and get some honey, and perhaps croissants," Karl told them. "With Audric's funeral procession today, I'll bet the markets-"

He stopped.

A shadow pa.s.sed the shutters of the window. He heard footsteps outside the door. Someone knocked. "Serafina? Serafina, are you there?"

He knew the voice. He remembered it.

Serafina dropped the knife she was holding. It clattered from table to floor, but she didn't notice. She was running to the door. "Talis!"

She flung the door open; Karl saw the man standing there over Serafina's shoulder, but then she dropped to her knees with a cry-"Nico! Oh, Nico!"-and Nico was there also, his arms hugging his matarh fiercely. They were both crying.

"Matarh! I knew you'd come here looking for me. I knew . . ." Nico saw the two of them at the same time. "Varina," he said. "Oh." He suddenly let go of his matarh. "Talis . . ."

"I see them," Talis said. He was staring at Karl. "Serafina, take Nico and leave. Now."

Serafina was looking from Talis to Karl. Talis had lifted his walking stick-and Karl realized what that meant, realized it better than he ever had. His hand came up, readying to cast his own attack. "What-" Serafina was saying.

"Just go!" Talis said. "Now!"

"No," Serafina said. She was holding onto Nico fiercely and though she looked as if she wanted to do nothing more than follow Talis' advice, she remained between them. "I'm not leaving until I understand what's going on."

Talis gestured at Karl with his free hand. "That b.a.s.t.a.r.d's the Numetodo Amba.s.sador, Serafina," he said. "That's the man who tried to kill me and the reason you had to leave the city. He kidnapped Nico when he came back here, and used him for bait to catch me."

Serafina was staring at Karl, her gaze stricken and betrayed.

"Is this true?" she asked. "Tell me."

Karl glanced at Varina. She nodded. "It's mostly true," Karl told Serafina. "I'm Amba.s.sador ca'Vliomani. I'm a Numetodo, as is Varina. We found Nico here when we were looking for Talis, and yes, we kept him-though I'd point out that he was alone in the streets when Varina found him and we kept him fed and warm and safe. We told people in the neighborhood that we'd found him . . . and yes, that was with the hope that Talis would come for him, but he never did. As for Talis-I believe he's the man who killed Archigos Ana." Serafina cradled Nico to herself. Confusion struggled with fear on her face as she listened to him, her gaze moving from one to the other of them. "Now ask him something for me," Karl told her. "The truth. Ask him who killed the Archigos."

Serafina looked at Talis, who was shaking his head. "No," he said. "It wasn't me," but Serafina's face had gone red.

"You knew where Nico was, and you didn't go to him?" she half-shouted to Talis. "You didn't try to help him? You didn't send word back to me when I was worried sick about him?"

"They would have killed me if I had gone for him, Serafina. And maybe Nico too."

"No." Varina stepped closer to Karl. "You're wrong, Talis. We only wanted to know the truth. The Numetodo were being blamed for Archigos Ana's death; we were in danger ourselves. I-we-would never have done anything to harm Nico. Never. You know that, don't you, Nico?"

Nico nodded earnestly on his matarh's shoulder. "I know that," he said. "Varina was good to me, Matarh. She said she would try to find you . . . and look, she did."

"Talis is a Westlander spellcaster, Serafina," Karl said. "The last Westlander I knew like him was Mad Mahri, and he tried to kill Ana, too."

At the mention of Mahri's name, the walking stick trembled in Talis' hands and the muscles of his jaw tightened. "You knew Mahri?"

"I did," Karl told him. "I knew him very well. And I know he wasn't here for the good of Nessantico. And you're not either. Sera, I'm sorry. I know you love this man. But you need to understand what he is. He's an enemy of the Holdings, far more so than any Numetodo."

"She knows what I am," Talis grunted. "Sera, I haven't changed. I do love you; I love Nico, too. I found him and I was bringing him back to you. If you hadn't been here, I would have gone next to Ville Paisli to find you. I'm not the monster they're painting me to be." He scowled at Karl and Varina. "If I were, I wouldn't have waited; I'd have attacked the Amba.s.sador without worrying about whether you and Nico were in the way. Sera, please. Move aside."

Instead, still holding Nico, she turned back to Karl and Varina, stepping between them and Talis. "I know Talis," she said. "I believe him when he says he didn't kill the Archigos. If you want to talk to him, well, he's here." She paused, stroking Nico's head. "I trusted the two of you. Now I'm asking you to trust me."

Karl glanced again at Varina. Her hands had dropped to her side. She nodded, a bare movement of her head, and Karl let his own hands drop down as well.

"All right," he said. "Tell him to put that stick of his aside, and we can talk."

Jan ca'Vorl.

THE TEMPLE AT BREZNO was smaller than the Archigos' Temple in Nessantico, and not as venerable and sacred a place as the Old Temple on the Isle a'Kralji (or with as impressive a dome). But Brezno's dome and several of its famous frescoes had been painted by the great Firenzcian artist cu'Goslar, and they were stunning. Cu'Goslar's oddly-elongated figures loomed and twisted over the supplicants at the temple, draped in gauzy clothing or sometimes nothing at all: Cenzi, yes, was prominent, but there were also those of Firenzcia who had been important to the Faith. There was Gareth ca'Lang, the first a'teni of Brezno, his sword lashed to his handless arm as he fought his hopeless battle against the heretics of the Karinthia Sect; there was Pewitt the Hopeless, the Moitidi swarming around him, tearing and ripping the flesh from his living body, mocking the man by consuming his body as he watched in torment; there was Ursanne ca'Sankt, the great martyr who many thought would have been Archigos had she lived, desperately trying to fend off her Tennshah rapists, from which unwilling union would come the great Firenzcian Starkkapitan Adalwulf, who would later drive off the Tennshah from their settlements around Lake Firenz.

Jan was surrounded by history and swaddled in faith-driven fury. It seemed appropriate. His reconciliation with the realization that his matarh intended to vie for the Sun Throne had been a struggle as t.i.tanic as any of those depicted here, it had seemed to him. He'd confronted her after his long talk with Sergei ca'Rudka. But in the end, he had told her that he understood, even if he didn't approve. Jan wasn't certain if that was the truth or that after their several turns of argument, the statement at least let him get some sleep, but she had accepted it.

Jan had accompanied Allesandra to the temple at Archigos Semini's request, and he stared upward at the dome as they waited for him. "I remember the first time I saw these paintings," he said, trying to fill the awkward silence. "They scared me; I thought they were ghosts. I could imagine them moving, and coming down from the painting to chase me . . ." He laughed; it seemed that he had laughed far too little since the events that had ended with him as Hirzg. "Now I think they're just overdramatic, and not all that well-painted."

"Don't tell Semini that," his matarh said to him. "He loves cu'Goslar . . . Ah, there he is."

Semini was striding quickly toward them from behind the High Lectern on the quire. Midway between Second and Third Call, the temple was mostly deserted, and the gardai who had quietly entered before Jan and Allesandra now stood silently several strides away, having emptied the main chamber of all straggling visitors. They were as alone as it seemed possible for him to be lately.

"My Hirzg," Semini boomed, his voice reverberating from the dome above as he gave the sign of Cenzi to Jan. "And A'Hirzg." Jan saw him smile at her-Semini seemed almost ready to take her hand, though that would have been a terrible breach of etiquette. But he stopped a careful few steps from her, closer than perhaps he should be, but not so close as to be extraordinarily obvious. Some of the irritation returned to Jan-he could hardly blame his matarh for pursuing an affair when his vatarh had betrayed her so many times. Yet the knowledge bothered him. The vision of the two of them together, their bodies entwined as his had been with Elissa . . . No-he shivered, shaking away the vision.

"Thank you both for coming," Semini continued, still looking more at Allesandra than Jan. "As I said, a message has been delivered to me, with-I'm told-an identical message for the Hirzg. I have it here."

He handed Jan a sealed, rolled parchment, watching as Jan examined the stamp in the blue wax-the mailed fist that was Nessantico's sigil since Kraljiki Justi's time. Jan unfurled the paper and scanned the inked words there with a rising fury. He could almost hear his Onczio Fynn's voice rising inside him-he knew how Fynn would have reacted to this. Silently, his lips pressed tightly together, he handed the parchment to Allesandra; he heard her draw in her breath almost immediately. Wordlessly, she handed the scroll back to Jan.

"How dare he talk to us this way?" Jan spat. He opened his hands, letting the paper fall to the marble-tiled floor. The word "dare" echoed in the chamber long after he'd finished. It seemed to stir the gardai, who shifted nervously. "He talks to us as if Nessantico still ruled Firenzcia. 'Return the former Regent to us in a month, or we will take decisive action to recover him.' How dare he make such threats?" Another echo. "Let him try-we'll crush him."

He glanced upward at the dome. Ghosts . . . None of them would tolerate this; I can't either. This is a slap in the face.

"Jan, I understand your feelings; believe me, I have the same reaction," his matarh said.

" 'But . . . ?' " Jan spat angrily, turning to her. "Is that what you're about to say, Matarh? 'But . . .' What possible 'But' could there be?"

Strangely, she smiled. "My dear, you sound like Fynn, or perhaps Vatarh. I've heard them both roar just like that when they thought themselves insulted."

Her amus.e.m.e.nt served only to increase his irritation. He glanced past Semini to the mural behind the High Lectern, at the b.l.o.o.d.y strips of Pewitt's flesh clutched in the clawed hands of the Moitidi, trying to stifle his annoyance.

"The 'But,' my son, is what we've been considering," she continued. "Perhaps this is just the opportunity we needed. The excuse to act."

"The excuse?" he began. For a moment, he felt much younger, a child again. "Oh," he said. That word did not echo at all. It floated in the air between them, lost in the great expanse of the temple. He looked down at the paper half-unrolled over the marble tiles, the suspicion growing in him. "Strange that a message like this would lead to exactly the situation you wanted, Matarh. A bald provocation against us by Nessantico. What wonderful timing." He raised his eyebrows toward her.

She was shaking her head in denial. "I knew nothing of this until now," she told him. "I had nothing to do with it. The message is genuine. Ask the Archigos."

Semini nodded hurriedly. "The letters came sealed and via diplomatic routes," he said. "If the Hirzg doubts that, I can have the courier brought here."

Jan waved a hand, looking away from them toward the murals of the dome. "No. There's no need. It's just . . ." His gaze came back to his matarh. "It would seem that Cenzi wants what you want, Matarh." Perhaps it was coincidence. His matarh had appeared genuinely shocked. Perhaps this was a sign. He was not delighted by the prospect.

"Oh, indeed," Semini responded. "The Kraljiki has played directly into our hands, or Cenzi has caused him to do so. The Kraljiki has threatened the Coalition and our Faith directly, and we have no choice but to respond to protect our borders and our interests. This is the moment, Hirzg. This is the time. Much of Nessantico's Garde Civile has been sent westward to the h.e.l.lins; it will take time for them to muster the chevarittai and the remaining Garde Civile, to prepare the war-teni who remain available to them, and to draft the necessary foot soldiers they would need to make good this threat." Semini smiled, nodding to Allesandra. "Your matarh knows this. It's time for you to show your generalship, and take the Garde Civile and the chevarittai of Firenzcia to war. You will restore the Holdings to the whole it once was, Hirzg Jan, and your name will be remembered forever for that."

"I don't know . . ."

"I do," Allesandra told him. Her voice was firm and proud. "You're ready for this, Jan."

He hesitated. He was still bothered that she would use him for her own purposes; he was also troubled by his own uncertainty as to whether he could be the Hirzg that he wanted to be. "I also think that a good Hirzg listens to the message even when he has difficulty with the messenger." Sergei's words. They calmed him. They decided him.

A breath later, he nodded. "You were right the other night. I'll need to consult with Starkkapitan ca'Damont and the chevarittai. That's what you wanted, wasn't it, Matarh?"

If she heard the faint mockery in his voice, she didn't react to it. "I'll come with you, Jan. I know the Starkkapitan, and I know the Garde Civile. I can be your mentor in this. Go on and have Roderigo summon them. I'll follow in a moment."

Jan's eyebrows rose, annoyed at the obvious dismissal, but he gave Semini the sign of Cenzi and bowed slightly to his matarh. "Thank you for relaying this information, Archigos," he told Semini. "We will need your strength and guidance in this. Matarh, I will talk with you later."

He left them, all but a few of the gardai forming around him as he departed the temple. "Your son will be a fine Hirzg," he heard Semini growl in his low voice as he reached the doors. He a.s.sumed that it was timed so he would overhear it and think the praise genuine.