"Don't," she told him, even though she knew already that he wouldn't listen. "You'll regret it. You don't want to meet the White Stone."

He laughed. "The White Stone, is it? Are you telling me that the White Stone is interested in the likes of you?"

She didn't reply. He took another step, close enough that she could smell him, and he reached out to grab her arm. In that same moment, she crouched and slid a dagger from its sheath in her boot, stabbing hard upward under the man's rib cage, pushing him backward into the alleyway. He gasped, his mouth gaping like a fish; she felt hot blood pouring over her hand. His fingers clawed at her arm, but fell away softly. She heard him take a gurgling breath as blood trickled from his mouth. She let the body fall as she reached under the collar of her tashta for the pouch. Hurrying, she pulled it from around her neck and let the snow-pale, polished stone spill from the pouch into her hand. She pressed the stone down on his right eye. Her own eyes were closed.

Ah, the death wail . . . She could hear him screaming, could feel his presence entering the stone as the others moved aside to make room for his dying spirit. The silent howling of the man filled her mind, so loud that she was surprised it didn't echo around them. When the stone had taken him fully in, she removed the stone from his eye and placed it back in the pouch, placing the leather string around her neck again and letting the pouch fall down between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s under the tashta.

"The White Stone protects what is hers," she said to the open-eyed corpse.

Then, the voices rising to fill her head again and a new one joining the mad chorus, she made her way back toward Nico's home.

The Battle Begun: Niente.

THE SKY LIGHTENED in the east and the spell-fog vanished with the light, though the city was still wrapped in smoke. Niente stood with Tecuhtli Zolin, with Citlali and Mazatl. The warriors were arrayed in their armor, their tattooed faces painted now, so they looked like the fierce, terrible dream-creatures who raped Axat before Darkness placed her wounded body in the sky. They were near the river; the large island around which it flowed seemed to be afire, and smoke coiled up from several dozen places in the city.

"Well done, Nahual," Zolin said. "They will be exhausted and frightened from the fires in the night. Are the nahualli rested? Are their spell-staffs full?"

"They're as rested as they can be, Tecuhtli," Niente told him. "We readied our staffs last night, after we sent the black sand."

"Good," Zolin boomed. "Then stop looking so mournful. This is a great day, Nahual Niente. Today we show these Easterners that they are not immune to the wrath of the Tehuantin."

Citlali and Mazatl laughed with Zolin. Niente tried to smile but could not. He hefted his own spell-staff, and Zolin nodded. "Go to the nahualli," he said to Niente. "Citlali, Mazatl-rouse your warriors. When we see Sakal's eye open on the horizon, it is time."

Niente bowed his head to the Techutli and left them. He moved north, into the trampled field where the bulk of the army was ma.s.sed near the roadway. The nahualli were there, and he gave them his orders, spreading them behind the initial line of mounted warriors and the first wave of infantry. He took his own place behind Tecuhtli Zolin and his handpicked warriors. Across the field, he could see, blurred by the poor vision in his left eye, the banners and shields of the Nessanticans, waiting. There were so many of them; Niente looked at their own forces, significantly smaller now after all the battles.

He had no doubt that the Tehuantin warriors were braver, that the nahualli were more powerful than the war-teni of the Nessanticans. Yet . . .

There was a burning in the pit of his stomach that would not go away. He clutched his spell-staff tightly, feeling the energy of the X'in Ka bound within it, and the power he held gave him no comfort.

The eastern sky lightened further. The first rays of the morning sent long shadows racing over the land.

Zolin raised his sword, shouting. "Now! Now!" Horns sounded in response, and the Tehuantin warriors screamed their challenge. Niente raised his spell-staff, clapping it into his open hand. Fire sizzled and sparked, flying away from him toward the enemy's ranks; a moment later, the staves of the other nahualli did the same all along the long line. The war-teni of the Nessanticans responded: some of the spells vanished as if swallowed by the air; other rebounded as if they'd hit a wall, arcing back into their own ranks. Where they fell, warriors fell with them, screaming as they were consumed in the sticky tongues of fire. Many of the spells, though, pa.s.sed untouched, and they heard answering screams from the Nessanticans. The archers, their arrows tipped with the last of the black sand, sent a fiery rain streaking over the field, and it was answered by a hail of Nessantican arrows. Around Niente, warriors grunted as they were impaled, but their shields had snapped up to snare most of the arrows. Zolin gestured with his sword and the warriors began to move, slowly at first, then gathering speed to run over the field toward the waiting enemy and the city beyond them.

It was difficult not to be caught up in the rush of excitement. Niente surged forward behind Zolin and the wall of the infantry, and he heard his own voice screaming challenge with the others. Then, with an audible shudder, the Tehuantin line collided with the waiting Nessanticans. Niente could see blades flashing, could see the mounted warriors on the horses slashing down into the chaotic ma.s.s of soldiers, could hear the cries from the wounded or dying of both sides, could smell the blood and see spatters of it flying in the air, but there were too many warriors between. The warriors behind him pressed in at their backs, pushing them forward, and the front line gave way so abruptly that Niente nearly fell. He was suddenly in the midst of the battle, with individuals fighting all around him, and he saw a Nessantican in his chain mail swinging a great sword overhead as he came at Niente.

The scrying bowl . . . The dead nahualli . . .

Niente shouted and thrust his spell-staff at the man as if it were a rapier. When it touched the man's abdomen, a spell released: a flash, an explosion of broken steel links, of brown cloth and pale flesh and crimson blood. The sword toppled from nerveless hands, the man's mouth gaped though no sound emerged, and he fell.

But there was no time to rest. Another soldier came at him, and again the stave, packed with the spells Niente had prepared, took the man down. One of the mounted soldiers they called chevarittai charged toward him, and Niente flung himself to the side as the warhorse's spiked and armored hooves tore the earth where he'd just been standing, plunging on past.

For Niente, this battle-like every battle-became a series of disconnected encounters, a maelstrom of confusion and mayhem, a disorganized landscape in which he continued to push forward. The noise was so tremendous that it became an unheard roar all around him. He sidestepped swords, thrust his stave at anything clad in the colors of blue and gold. A blade caught his arm, slicing open his forearm, another his calf. Niente shouted, his throat raw, the stave hot in his right hand, the energy blazing from it fast, almost gone now.

And . . .

He realized that he was standing not in a field, but amongst houses and other buildings, that the battle was now raging in the streets of the city, and the blue-and-gold-clad soldiers were turning now as horns blared, retreating deeper into the depths of the great city.

He was still alive, and so was Zolin.

The Battle Begun: Sigourney ca'Ludovici.

COMMANDANT ALERON CA'GERODI STOOD before Sigourney and the rest of the Council of Ca' in armor spattered with blood, his helm dented by a sword strike, his face coated with mud, soot, and gore. "I'm sorry, Kraljica, Councillors," he said. His voice was as exhausted as his stance. "We could not hold them . . ."

Ca'Mazzak hissed like a steam kettle too long over the fire. Sigourney closed her eye. She took a long breath, full of soot and ash, and coughed. Her lungs were full of the stench. She opened her eye again. Through the haze of smoke, she could see the ruins of the palais, parts of it still actively burning. She and the Council had taken refuge in the Old Temple, which despite the shattered dome, was still largely intact. The main nave was packed with the treasures of the palais: paintings (including the charred one of Kraljica Marguerite), gold-and-silver place settings, the ceremonial clothes, the staffs and crowns worn by a hundred Kralji-they were all here, though much-too much-had been lost in the blaze. Sigourney sat on the Sun Throne at the entrance to the dome chamber, though if the throne were alight, it was not apparent in the brightness of the sun through the great hole torn in the dome. The sun mocked her, shining bright in a cloudless sky.

One of the attendants handed her a goblet of the cuore della volpe to ease the coughing and the pain. She sipped at the cool liquid, though it was brown and cloudy in the golden cup.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"We managed to halt their advance finally," ca'Gerodi told her. "They didn't reach the Avi a'Parete, but they have most of the streets to the west of it on the North Bank. They have the village of Viaux. There was a fierce battle near the River Market and for a time they held it, but we pushed them back. I've moved a battalion to protect the Pontica Kralji, but that's left the Nortegate area more open than I would like."

The councillors muttered to themselves. "This is unacceptable," ca'Mazzak said, more loudly.

"Then perhaps you should have left Commandant cu'Ulcai alive," Sigourney told the man. "Or would you care to take up the sword yourself?" Ca'Mazzak grumbled and subsided. Ca'Gerodi seemed to waver on his feet, and Sigourney motioned to one of the servants to bring a chair; the man sank gratefully onto the cushioned seat, uncaring of the filth he smeared on the brocade. "What are you telling me, Commandant?" Sigourney asked him. "That tonight they will set the rest of the city on fire, that tomorrow they will overrun us entirely? You said that you had more than enough men. You said that-"

"I know what I said," he interrupted, then-as Sigourney snapped her mouth shut at his rudeness-seemed to realize what he'd done and shook his head. "Pardon me, Kraljica; I haven't slept since the night before last. But yes, that's exactly what I fear: that tonight will bring more of the Westlanders' awful fire, and that when they attack tomorrow . . ." He brought his head up, gazing at her with eyes sagging and brown. "I will give my life to protect Nessantico, if that is what is required."

"Aleron . . ." Sigourney started to push up from the Sun Throne, forgetting for a moment her injuries, then fell back. The movement caused her to cough again. The councillors watched her. She knew now what she must do, and the realization burned at her, as painful as her wounded body. "Go. Get what rest you can, and we will deal with whatever tonight and tomorrow bring. Go on. Sleep while you can . . ."

Ca'Gerodi rose and saluted her. Limping, he left the room. When he'd gone, Sigourney gestured to one of the servants. "Bring me a scribe," she told him. "And I will also need a rider-the best we have-to take a message east to the Hirzg."

The servant's eyes widened momentarily, then he bowed and hurried away.

"Kraljica," ca'Mazzak said. "You can't-"

"We have no choice," she told him, told all of them. "No choice. This is no longer about us."

Sigourney leaned back against the cushioned seat of the Sun Throne; it smelled of woodsmoke. It smelled of defeat.

RESOLUTIONS.

Allesandra ca'Vorl.

Niente.

Varina ci'Pallo.

Sigourney ca'Ludovici.

Karl Vliomani

Nico Morel

Niente

Sergei ca'Rudka

Jan ca'Vorl

Niente.

The White Stone.

Allesandra ca'Vorl.

Allesandra ca'Vorl.

JAN READ THE MISSIVE carefully, his pale eyes scanning the words there. Allesandra already knew what it said-Starkkapitan ca'Damont's soldiers had intercepted the rider pounding eastward along the Avi a'Firenczia with a white banner fluttering over him in the moonlight, and had brought the sealed scroll to Allesandra, insisting to her attendants that she be awakened. Allesandra had broken the seal and scanned the letter, then she'd quickly dressed and gone to Jan.

If her son noticed or cared that the seal hung broken on the thick paper, or that the Kraljica had addressed the missive to Allesandra and not himself, he'd said nothing. He moved the candle aside that he'd been using for light; its holder sc.r.a.ped along the table that had been hastily set up in the field tent next to the Hirzg's private tent.

"This is genuine?" Jan asked. A blanket was draped around his shoulders, his eye sockets were baggy and tired. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "We're certain?"

"The rider said that it was handed to him by Kraljica Sigourney herself," Starkkapitan ca'Damont answered.

Jan nodded. He handed the scroll to Semini, who read it, pursed his lips, then pa.s.sed it to ca'Rudka. Jan seemed to be waiting, and Allesandra, seated next to him at the small table in the field tent, tapped her fingertips on the scarred surface. "We are wasting time, my son," she said. "The message is clear. The Kraljica is willing to abdicate the Sun Throne if we bring the army there immediately to stop the Westlanders. Rouse the men now, and if we march our forces at double-time, we can reach the city gates by early morning."

Jan didn't seem to hear her. He was looking at Sergei. "Regent?" he asked. "Your thoughts?"

Ca'Rudka, maddeningly to Allesandra, rubbed at his nose for a long time, staring at the parchment. She could see the candlelight flickering on sculpted nostrils. "The Kraljica wouldn't consider abdication when it was offered it to her at the parley, Hirzg Jan, or at least ca'Mazzak would not," he said finally. "The councillor seemed entirely confident that the Garde Civile could defeat the Westlanders. Now the Kraljica's suddenly been afflicted with altruism? But as I told you, Hirzg, I wish what's best for Nessantico. I wouldn't care to see the city destroyed. But this must be your decision."

"There, Jan, you see?" Allesandra said. She stood. "Starkkapitan, you will-"

But Jan had laid his hand on her arm. "I'm not finished yet, Matarh," he said. "Archigos Semini, what do you think of this offer?"

Allesandra started to protest, but Jan's hand tightened around her arm. They were all watching her. Pressing her lips together, she sat again. Semini especially stared at her, his umber eyes expressionless. He knew, she realized then. He knew that she had been ready to offer him up in exchange for the Sun Throne. Sergei . . . could Sergei have told him? Or . . .

Jan?

"I notice that the Kraljica's offer says nothing about the Faith," Semini answered, still staring at her. "That's not acceptable to me. I'm reluctant to commit the war-teni to an alliance with Nessantico unless Archigos Kenne is also willing to abdicate in favor of me." Semini turned from her then, and inclined his head to Jan. "Unless, of course, that is what the Hirzg requests of me."

"Jan," Allesandra persisted, ignoring Semini. "This is what we wanted from the start. We have it in our grasp; we've but to reach out and take it."

"Oh, I disagree, Matarh," Jan snapped back at her. "It's what you've always wanted. It seems your whole life has been about what you wanted: your ambitions, your aspirations, your desires. Even as a girl, from what I've been told: you wanted Nessantico in the first place, so Great-Vatarh forced his army to march faster than it should have and lost-yes, Fynn told me that tale, which he said Great-Vatarh told him."

"That's not true," Allesandra objected. It was Vatarh who wanted Nessantico so badly. Not me. I told him to wait and be patient. I did . . . but Jan wasn't listening, continuing to talk.

"You decided you didn't want to help Vatarh after he finally brought you back, so your marriage was a sham when it could have been a strong alliance. You didn't want me to be involved with Elissa, so you sent her away. You didn't want to be Hirzg, so you campaigned for me to have the t.i.tle. What you've always wanted is to be Kraljica, and now you want us to take this offer so you can have it now, whether that's best for Firenzcia or not. It's always been you, Matarh. You. Not Vatarh, not Great-Vatarh, not me, not the Archigos, not anyone. You. Well, you made me Hirzg, and by Cenzi I will be Hirzg, and I will do what's best for Firenzcia and the Coalition, not what's best for you. I love you, Matarh-" strangely, to Allesandra, he glanced at Sergei when he said that, "-but I am Hirzg, and this is what I say: We will move on to Nessantico, but we will do so in our own time. Nessantico cries out for help from us? Well, let her cry. Let her fight the battle she has brought on herself. Starkkapitan, we will break camp in the morning as planned, and we will proceed at normal pace until we are within sight of Nessantico, and there we will wait until we know more or until the Kraljica herself comes out and bends her knee to me. I won't send a single Firenzcian life to be lost defending Nessantico from her own folly."

"Jan-" Allesandra began, but he cut her off with a snap of his arm.

"No, Matarh. We're not discussing this any further. You wanted me to be Hirzg? Well, here I am, and that is my wish. We won't talk of it further. Starkkapitan-you have your orders."

Ca'Damont bowed, and with a glance at Allesandra, left the tent. Semini yawned and stretched like a bear waking from hibernation. He gave Jan the sign of Cenzi and followed after the starkkapitan, avoiding Allesandra's gaze entirely. Sergei watched the two men leave, then stood himself. "Should you need my counsel, Hirzg, you know where to find me," he said. "A'Hirzg, a good evening to you."

Allesandra gave him the barest inclination of her head. For several breaths, she and Jan sat there, silent. "You don't want me to be Kraljica?" she said, when the silence had stretched on for too long.