"Please believe me when I say that I took no offense, Archigos," Allesandra told the man. "Even though I have far more sympathy for Archigos Ana, I understand how your wife might feel that way."

She glanced at Semini and saw him smile. "Thank you," he told her. "That's kind of you." He glanced carefully at the servants, then pitched his voice low enough that they couldn't overhear. "Between the two of us, A'Hirzg, I wish that I could have convinced your vatarh to name you as his heir. That boy-" he pointed with his chin down to the gathering in the meadow, "-would be a perfectly adequate Starkkapitan for the Garde Civile, but he hasn't the vision or intelligence to be a good Hirzg."

"I do believe I hear the Archigos speaking treason." Allesandra kept her gaze carefully away from him, her attention on Jan astride his horse next to Fynn. She wondered whether she could believe what ca'Cellibrecca was saying, and she wondered why he would voice it aloud to her. He had a reason for doing so, she was certain: Semini was not a man for accidental statements. But what was the reason? What did he want, and how would it benefit him?

"Did I perhaps speak what is also in your heart, A'Hirzg, even if you don't dare say it aloud?" Semini answered in the same hoa.r.s.e, low whisper. He turned toward her. "My heart is here, in this country, A'Hirzg Allesandra. I want what is best for Firenzcia. Nothing more. I have given my life in service to Cenzi, and in service to Firenzcia. I shared your vatarh's vision of a Holdings where Brezno, not Nessantico, was the center of all things. He nearly achieved that vision. He would have accomplished that, I'm convinced, if it hadn't been for the heretical sorcery of the Witch Archigos."

There was hatred in his voice, genuine and heated. And also a strange satisfaction.

Vatarh would have succeeded if Ana hadn't taken me hostage, if she hadn't s.n.a.t.c.hed me away from Vatarh and used me to end the war. As long as Allesandra remained in Nessantico, as long as her vatarh refused to pay the demanded ransom, his defeat was still incomplete. There was still hope that the results might change, and it had taken him a decade and more to lose that hope.

That's what she'd told herself. That's what Ana had told her. Ana had never spoken an unkind word against Hirzg Jan; she had always cast him in as sympathetic a light as she could, even when Allesandra fumed and raged against his slowness to ransom her.

Allesandra caught her breath, her hand going to her throat, to the cracked globe of Cenzi around her neck.

Ca'Cellibrecca evidently misinterpreted the thought behind the gesture. "Ah, I see we share our opinion of Ana ca'Seranta. That creature kept the Holdings from falling apart entirely under that one-legged fool Justi-and now, at last, she's gone, praise Cenzi." His voice softened even further as he leaned close to Allesandra. "Now would be the time for a new Hirzg to achieve what your vatarh could not . . . or it would be if we had a Hirzg-or Hirzgin-worthy of the task. Someone who was not Fynn. There are those in Nessantico who believe that, A'Hirzg. People you might not suspect of harboring such thoughts."

The clamor of the beaters was coming closer in the valley beneath them. The riders were stirring restlessly, and Allesandra saw Fynn signal to Jan to nock his bow. "What are you saying to me, Archigos?" she asked, watching the tableau beneath them.

"I am saying that you are currently the A'Hirzg, but we both know that's a temporary situation. But if Fynn were . . ." He hesitated. The drums crashed loudly below, and now they could hear a thrashing under the shade of the trees to the right. ". . . somehow no longer the Hirzg, then you would become Hirzgin." Another pause. "As you should have been."

The drums and shouting grew louder, and suddenly a stag emerged from the tree line several dozen strides from the Hirzg's party. The beast was magnificent, with antlers the span of a person's arms and shoulders easily a tall man's height or more. The pelt was a stunning reddish brown with a flash of white under the throat. The stag cantered out from the brush, then caught the scent of the hunting party. Allesandra felt herself holding her breath, looking at the gorgeous creature; alongside her, she heard Semini mutter: "By Cenzi, look at that gorgeous beast!"

The stag stopped, glaring at the riders momentarily before taking an enormous leap and bounding away from them toward the far end of the meadow. At the same moment, they saw an arrow speed away from Fynn's bow, the tw.a.n.g of the bowstring following belatedly to their ears. The stag went down with its rear legs in a tangle, the arrow embedded in its hindquarters. Then it pushed itself up once more and began running.

Jan had kicked his horse into motion with Fynn's shot, and now he raced after the wounded stag, controlling to his horse with his legs alone as he drew back the string of his bow. At full speed, he loosed his own arrow with the stag only a few bare strides from reaching the cover of the forest once more.

The stag shuddered, the arrow plunging deep in the left side of its chest. It ran a few more steps, nearly to the woods. It seemed to be gathering itself-it leaped, but its front legs snagged on the log it was trying to vault, and it went down.

The stag lay on its side, its legs thrashing at the brush and tearing clods of gra.s.sy earth from the ground with its antlers. Fynn galloped up to where Jan had pulled up his horse. Allesandra saw him slap Jan once on the shoulder, then Fynn put another arrow to his bow.

With Fynn's shot, the stag went still. A distant cheer echoed from the hunting party.

"Your son's physique may be slight, but he's an excellent horseman and a better archer. That was impressive-to shoot like that while in full pursuit."

Allesandra smiled. For a moment, he almost looked like his great-vatarh, riding that way. . . . Below, Fynn and Jan had dismounted to go to the downed stag. "Moving archery is a skill taught to the Magyarian cavalry-and Jan's had excellent teachers."

"He's had excellent instruction in politics, as well. He waited for the Hirzg to give the killing blow. I a.s.sume you've been his teacher in that."

"He knows what he should do, even if he sometimes ignores my advice," Allesandra said. "Generally because I'm the one who gave it," she added.

"Children of his age feel they must rebel against their parents. It's natural, and I wouldn't be too concerned with it, A'Hirzg. He'll learn. And one day, if he were the A'Hirzg rather than just another ca' somewhere in the line of succession to be Gyula of West Magyaria . . ." He let his voice trail off.

Allesandra turned to him finally. He towered over her like a green-clad bear. His dark eyes were on hers. Yes, he has eyes in which you could lose yourself. "You continue to give me these little intimations and hints, Archigos," she said quietly. "Do you have more than that to offer, or are you trying to goad me into revealing myself? That won't happen."

Ca'Cellibrecca nodded slowly and leaned down to her. His mouth was close enough to her ear that she felt his warm breath. It made her shiver. "I have an offer, A'Hirzg. If this is something that interests you, I do indeed," he whispered. Then he stood and applauded toward the meadow. "The cooks will have some fine venison steaks," he said loudly, "and there will be new antlers to adorn the palais. We should go down and meet the brave hunters, A'Hirzg. What do you say?"

He offered her his arm.

She rose, and took it.

Karl ca'Vliomani.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Varina asked him.

Karl had spent the the first night after Ana's death at Mika's house, but despite the solicitude of Mika and his wife, Karl had found their house-with their children and now the first of their grand-children always coming in or out-too full of life and energy. He'd gone back to his own suite of rooms on the South Bank. It was Varina who came there every day, badgering his servants and generally making certain that he was fed and cared for. She left him alone with his grief; she was there when he needed to talk, or when he simply wanted the feel of another person in the room. She seemed to know when he needed silence, and she allowed him to have it. For that, he was grateful.

He remembered long ago when he'd first shown Ana what the Numetodo could do. That night, it had been Varina, a raw newcomer to the group, who Ana had seen demonstrating a spell. Varina had grown much since then; she was second now to Mika within the Numetodo here in the city, and there was no one at all who rivaled her dedication to research, nor her ability with the Scath c.u.mhacht. He had never quite understood how it was she had remained alone all these years: she had been particularly striking in her youth: hair the color of autumn wheat; wide, expressive eyes the color of ancient, varnished oak; a wonderful, engaging smile and laugh that always made others smile with her. She was still attractive even now in middle years, even if in the last few years she had seemed to age quickly. Yet . . . she seemed to take all the vitality and energy she possessed and put it solely into learning the intricacies of the Scath c.u.mhacht and the Second World, to find all the ways to bind that power. Even within the Numetodo, she rarely seemed to speak at length to anyone but Mika or Karl. As far as Karl knew, she had no other friends or lovers outside the group. She was an enigma, even to those closest to her.

He appreciated Varina's presence now, even if he didn't know how to express it.

He'd brooded on Ana's death now for a week, turning it over and over in his mind like a sick, ugly compost. Someone had wanted her dead. Ana had been the target, the a.s.sa.s.sin waiting for her to come to the High Lectern; certainly Karl had seen the other teni at the service ascend the lectern to place the readings and the scroll with the Admonition that Ana had intended to read, and they had not triggered the explosion.

The more he contemplated that, the more there seemed to be only one answer. An answer he wanted verified.

Varina was leaning against an archway of the anteroom as Karl shrugged on his cloak, her arms folded. She didn't repeat her query, only regarded him softly, as if concerned.

"I have an appointment," he told her. She nodded. Still silent. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. "I have questions to ask."

Another nod. "I'll go with you," she said. He hesitated. "I won't interfere," she told him. "If you're going where I think you're going, you may need the support. Am I right?"

"Get your cloak," he told her. She smiled briefly-a flash of white teeth-and plucked her cloak from the peg on the wall.

The Amba.s.sador from the Firenzcian Coalition, Andreas cu'Gorin, possessed a face as thin and angular as a falcon's. As he rose from behind his desk, his heather-colored eyes regarded Karl and Varina as if the two were rabbits to be s.n.a.t.c.hed up and devoured. The hawkish face was supplemented with a swordsman's lean body. Karl could imagine that the man was more comfortable in armor than in the proper, conservative bashta he wore.

It made him wonder how effective he could be here.

"Amba.s.sador ca'Vliomani, Vajica ci'Pallo, your visit is . . . unexpected," cu'Gorin said. "What can I do for you?"

Karl glanced pointedly at the aide who occupied the smaller desk on the other side of the room. "Gerald, why don't you see if you can find that proposal on the new border regulations?" cu'Gorin said. The aide, as burly and thick as cu'Gorin was slight, nodded and shuffled papers noisily for a breath before leaving the room.

Karl waited until he heard the door click shut behind him. "I've spent the last several days thinking about Archigos Ana's murder, Amba.s.sador," he said. The words sounded almost casual, even to his ears. Varina shuffled her feet uneasily next to him. "You know, as much as I try to find reasons for someone doing that, I can't think of anyone who would want her dead except the people you represent."

Varina sucked in her breath audibly. A cloud pa.s.sed over the heather eyes, deepening them to green. The muscles of the man's face tightened and his right hand closed as if it were searching for a sword's hilt. "You're rather blunt and direct, Amba.s.sador."

"I've given up diplomacy for now," he answered.

Cu'Gorin sniffed. "Indeed. Then I will be blunt as well. I find your accusation insulting. I'll forgive you, knowing how . . ." His nose twitched, the eyes narrowed. ". . . close you were to the Archigos of Nessantico, but I also expect an immediate apology."

"It's been my experience that expectations are often disappointed," Karl said.

"Karl . . ." Varina said softly. Her hand brushed his arm. "Perhaps . . ."

Her voice died, as if she knew he wasn't listening. The anger burned in his gut. Karl wanted nothing more than for cu'Gorin to make a physical move or to blatantly insult him, anything to give him an excuse to use the Scath c.u.mhacht that was smoldering in his mind waiting for the release word. But cu'Gorin shook his head; he didn't sit, but seemed to lounge behind the desk, unperturbed.

"I think, Amba.s.sador ca'Vliomani, that you discount the possibility that the a.s.sa.s.sin may have been a rogue, or perhaps hired by someone who had a personal grudge against the Archigos-someone within the Holdings of Nessantico. There's no reason to attach a conspiracy to this." His eyebrows arched; the rest of his body remained still. "Unless, of course, you have evidence that you care to share with me? But no, if you had that, you would have gone to the Regent, wouldn't you? The Commandant of the Garde Kralji would be standing here, not two Numetodo heretics." Slowly, almost mockingly, he sat again. Long fingers toyed with the parchments scattered on the desk's surface, and the hawk face returned, looking scornfully at Karl. "I think we're done here, Amba.s.sador. Firenzcia has no business to do with heretics, and we never will. We're wasting each other's time."

The dismissal was a wind to his internal fire. "No!" Karl shouted. "We're not done!" He gestured, speaking one of the release words he'd prepared before he'd come. Quick fire crawled over the papers on the Amba.s.sador's desk, consuming them in the instant it took cu'Gorin to react, jumping backward from his seat. A quick wind followed, blowing the papers past cu'Gorin and out the open window and whipping the Amba.s.sador's bashta-that had to be Varina. "That fire could have been directed to you as easily as those doc.u.ments," Karl told him. He heard the door crash open behind him and he lifted a hand warningly as he felt Varina turn to face the threat. "I didn't come with only a single spell, Amba.s.sador, and my friend is stronger than I am. Tell your people to stay back, or I guarantee that you-at least-won't leave this room alive."

"Neither will you, if you persist in this nonsense," cu'Gorin snarled, and Karl nearly laughed.

"That hardly matters to me at this point," he told the man. Varina's back pressed against his. He felt her arms lift, preparing a spell.

The Amba.s.sador waved a hand to the people behind Karl. He heard a sword being sheathed and felt Varina's arms drop again. "I tell you again, Amba.s.sador," cu'Gorin said, "you are mistaken if you think that Firenzcia was involved in the Archigos' death. Kill me, don't kill me; that won't change that fact."

"I don't believe you."

Cu'Gorin sniffed. "Lack of belief is the core of the problem with the Numetodo, isn't it? Do you want me to mourn for your Archigos, Amba.s.sador? I won't. She brought this fate on herself by coddling the Numetodo and by her refusal to acknowledge the Archigos of Brezno as the true leader of the Faith. Violence was an inevitable result of her actions, but to my knowledge, it wasn't Firenzcia that did this. That's the truth, and if you can't believe me . . ." He shrugged. "Then do what you must. You'll only be demonstrating that the Numetodo are indeed the dangerous fools that every true believer knows them to be. Look at me, Amba.s.sador. Look at me," he said more sharply, and Karl glared back at him. "Do you see a lie on my face? I tell you-the one who killed the Archigos wasn't anyone known to me or hired by me. That is the truth."

Karl could feel the Scath c.u.mhacht vibrating madly inside him. He wanted nothing more than to lash out at this pompous fool, to watch the man's arrogance crumble into a scream, to have him cry out in agony as he died. But he could also hear Ana. He knew what she would tell him, and he let his hand drop to his side. He heard Varina sigh with relief.

Cu'Gorin's words gave him no comfort. But he was beginning to wonder whether cu'Gorin might not have told him the truth as he knew it, and Karl was also remembering a time many years ago and another person who could harness the Scath c.u.mhacht-though he didn't call it that, nor did he call it the Ilmodo.

"If I find that you're lying, Amba.s.sador," Karl said, "I won't give you the opportunity to give me your excuses or to draw your sword. I'll kill you wherever I find you. That is also the truth."

With that, he turned and Varina moved to his side. There were three guards blocking the doorway, but Karl shoved past them and strode out into the cool air and sunshine.

"What in the Eternal Six Pits was that?" Varina raged at him when they were outside on the Avi a'Parete again. She grabbed at his sleeve and pulled him to a stop. "Karl! I mean it. What did you think you were doing?"

"What I needed to do," he spat back at her, more sharply than he intended, still flushed with anger at cu'Gorin and the man's att.i.tude and his own gnawing doubts. They were all contained in his retort. "If you didn't want to be there, you didn't need to come."

"Ana's dead, Karl. You can't bring her back. Accusing people without evidence is just going to get you dead, too."

"Ana deserves justice."

"Yes, she does," Varina shot back. "Let those whose job it is give her that. She wasn't your wife, Karl. You weren't lovers. She wasn't the matarh of your children."

The fury boiled inside him. He lifted his hand, the cold heat of the Scath c.u.mhacht rising, and Varina spread her hands. "Do it!" she spat at him. "Go on! Will that make you feel better? Will that change anything?"

He blinked; around them, people on the street were staring. He dropped his hands. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Varina."

She glared at him, her lips pressed tightly together. "She was your friend, and I understand that," Varina told him. "She was my friend, too. But she also blinded you, Karl. You've never been able to see what's right in front of you."

With that, she turned and left him, half-running along the Avi. "Varina," he called, but she pushed her way into the crowds, vanishing as if she'd never been there. Karl stood there, the throngs parting around him. He heard the wind-horns of the Archigos' Temple-Ana's temple-start to wail, proclaiming Second Call, and it sounded to him like mocking laughter.

Sergei ca'Rudka.

"You don't trust me, Karl?"

Sergei watched the emotions washing over Karl's face. The man had a remarkably open face for a diplomat, a defect he'd possessed for as long as Sergei had known the man. Everything Karl thought revealed itself to an observer schooled in reading faces. Maybe that was just the Paeti way of things; Sergei had known a few people from the Isle over the decades, and most of them tended not only to speak their mind too openly, but also made little attempt to hide their genuine feelings or emotions. Perhaps that was what made the Isle renowned for its great poets and bards, for its songs and the fierce pa.s.sion and temper of its people, but it also made them vulnerable, in Sergei's estimation.

Theirs was not Sergei's way.

Karl blinked at the a.s.sault of the question, which Sergei had fired at him before the servant had even closed the door. Karl stood at the door to Sergei's office, uncertain, as the door clicked softly behind him. "Of course I do, Sergei," he half-stammered, the words thick with the lilting Paeti accent. "I don't know what you're . . ." Then: "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Sergei took a breath, rubbing at his nose. "I just had a rather unpleasant visit from Amba.s.sador cu'Gorin-though frankly any visit from him tends to be unpleasant. Still, he seems to think you're a dangerous man who should be residing in the Bastida rather than walking the streets. Actually, he said: 'In Brezno, that man would be gutted and hung in a gibbet for his impertinence, let alone his embrace of heresy.' I really don't think he likes you." Sergei rose and went to Karl, slapping him once on the back.

Cu'Gorin had indeed complained about Karl, but the Firenzcian Amba.s.sador had come at Sergei's request, and gone away with a sealed message that Sergei hoped was already in the pouch of a rider tearing down the Avi a'Firenzcia toward Brezno. But none of that was anything he was going to tell ca'Vliomani. "Come. Sit with me, old friend. I'll have Rodger bring us some tea. I haven't had my breakfast yet."

A short time later, they were seated on a balcony overlooking the grounds. Groundkeepers prowled the gardens below them, pulling any weed daring to show its common head among the royalty of the flowers. The tea and biscuits sat untouched by either of them.

"Karl, you have to leave this to me."

"I can't."

"You must. My people are aggressively looking for the person or persons who did this to Ana. I am riding Commandant cu'Falla on this as if he were a horse. I won't let it drop, I won't let it rest. I promise you that. I want justice for Ana as much as you do. But you have to let me do it. Not you. You need to stay out of the investigation."

Karl looked at Sergei then, and Sergei saw despair pulling at the pouches below the man's eyes, dragging down the corners of his mouth. "Sergei, I'm convinced it had to be a Firenzcian plot. With Hirzg Jan dead and Fynn on the throne, it just makes sense that he, and maybe Archigos Semini of Brezno-" Karl licked at his lips. "They all have a reason to hate Ana."

Sergei stopped Karl with a lifted hand. "Reasons, yes, but you've no proof. Neither do I. Not yet."

"Who else would want Ana dead? Tell me. Is there someone in the Holdings, maybe a jealous a'teni who wanted to be Archigos? Or someone from one of the provinces? Do you suspect someone else?"

"No," Sergei admitted. "Firenzcia is who I suspect myself. But we need to know before we act, Karl." The lie, as it always did, came easily to his mouth. Sergei was used to lies. One would not be heard in his voice, or seen in the twitch of a muscle.

Sometimes he thought that he was composed entirely of lies and deceptions, that if you took those away from him, he'd be nothing but a ghost.

"Know?" Karl repeated. "The way you knew when you threw me into the Bastida years ago? The way you knew that I and the Numetodo must have had something to do with Kraljica Marguerite's death?"

Sergei rubbed at the silver nose as he scowled at the memory. "I was following Kraljiki Justi's orders at the time. You know that. And you'll note that you're still alive when Justi would have preferred you dead. Give me credit for that. Karl, the stakes here are far too high for guesses, or for hotheads barging into the Amba.s.sador of the Coalition's office and threatening him. If your guess is right, and Hirzg Fynn was responsible for this act, the only thing you've accomplished is to give him warning of our suspicions. You and Varina actually used Numetodo spells?" He tsked aloud, shaking his head. "I'm surprised you didn't kill him outright."

"I wanted to," Karl said. For a moment, the lines around his mouth tightened, and his eyes glittered in the sunlight. "But I thought of Ana . . ." The glittering in his eyes increased. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his bashta.

For a moment, Sergei felt genuine pity and empathy for the man. Archigos Ana he had respected, because there was no other choice. Ana never let anyone get too close to her, even those-like Karl-who might have wished that. Sergei knew this because he had watched Karl over the years, watched him because it was his duty to know the predilections and interests of those prominent in the Holdings. He knew Karl frequently engaged the services of the more expensive and discreet grandes horizontales within the city, and-interestingly to Sergei-each of those women whom Karl favored bore a physical resemblance to the Archigos, changing over the decades as Ana had changed herself. It took little intuition to guess why that might be.

Karl . . . Sergei liked the man, as much as he ever allowed himself to like anyone. He nodded to the Numetodo. "I'm glad Ana's ghost held back your hand, or otherwise, I might have had no choice. Karl, you have to drop this. Promise me. Let those under me work the investigation. I will tell you anything I find." That was another lie, of course. Sergei already knew details about the a.s.sa.s.sination that he had no intention of sharing with Karl; there were suspicions in his mind that he would not voice.

In the darkness of the Bastida, he'd had the gardai leave him alone with the man, an employee of the trader Gairdi, who regularly ran between Nessantico and Brezno. He'd heard the delicious whimper as he unrolled the canvas strip with its grim tools laced inside, and Sergei had smiled at the prisoner. "Tell me the truth," he'd said, "and perhaps we'll need none of this." That, too, had been a lie, but the man had jumped at the opportunity, babbling in a quick, high voice. The screams, when they'd come later, had been exquisite.

There were some vices in him that had become stronger with age, not weaker. "Promise me," Sergei said again.

Karl hesitated. His gaze skittered away from Sergei to the garden below, and Sergei followed it. There, a gardener dug his finger into soil so wet and rich it appeared black and plucked another weed. The worker tossed the tangle of leaves and roots into the canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Sergei nodded: the necessary work that kept the garden beautiful required death, too.

"I promise, Sergei." Sergei, trapped in the image, looked back to find Karl smiling wanly at him.

Yet . . . There was something Karl wasn't saying, some information he was withholding. Sergei could see it. He nodded as if he believed the man and decided that he would have cu'Falla put someone to watching Karl, with orders to learn what the man knew as well as to prevent the Paetian Amba.s.sador from making a critical mistake-especially one that might interfere with Sergei's own intentions.