by S L Farrell
“You truly want to release this power?”
“It’s already been released,” she answered. “That power was loosed when the Tehuantin created the black sand. If we destroyed the sparkwheels right now and never said anything about them again, someone else would come to the same realization I did and make them again. You all know Karl’s…” At the mention of his name, her voice choked and broke. She swallowed hard, apologetically. Talbot nodded to her in sympathy. “… Karl’s saying that knowledge can’t be hidden. Even those of the Faith have a saying for it: ‘Once the Moitidi has been created, there can be no Unmaking.’ This is no different.”
“Still, A’Morce…” That was Niels, shaking his gray, long locks. “The possibilities…”
“I can imagine them as well as any of you here,” Varina answered. “Believe me, they’ve haunted my dreams since Karl’s funeral and the Morellis’ murder of our people. But I can also imagine what might happen if we don’t have all the resources available to protect ourselves. And that scares me more.”
She nodded to Pierre, who brought out a long box from the side of the hall. He set it down by the table and opened it. Inside, steel and wood gleamed. “There’s a sparkwheel there for each of you,” Varina said. “Take one, and a vial of the black sand, and a packet of the paper cartridges, and I will show you how to use them…”
Jan ca’Ostheim
“The young woman on our personal staff named Rhianna,” Jan said to Rance. “What do we know about her?”
The aide raised a single eyebrow. He had just brought in Jan’s daily calendar of meetings, going over the plans for the day-it was, as always of late, too crowded and full. It was one of those days when Jan felt the weight of his responsibilities; it was one of those days that he felt old before his time; it was one of the days when he felt restless and trapped.
But the young woman… He had thought of her more than once since their encounter, and he found himself looking for her when he entered a room. There was often a faint smile on her face whenever she saw him, though she never broke propriety, never tried to approach him or talk to him, but concentrated on her work and left when it was finished.
He liked that. She knew her place. It boded well.
“She’s from Sesemora,” Rance told him, “though she has very little of the awful accent, thankfully. She had excellent references from the ca’Ceila and ca’Nemora families. She takes direction well and works hard. I could use a dozen more servants who perform as well as she does. And,” he added, “she’s not difficult to look at, as I’m sure the Hirzg has noticed.”
“I had, in fact,” Jan said. This was a dance that he and Rance had performed more than once over the years, and they both knew the steps.
“Would the Hirzg prefer that I assign her to your personal quarters?”
“That might be good. She seems an excellent fit.”
“Then I’ll do that,” Rance said. “I’ve heard whispers that the Hirzgin thought Felicia was rather short with her last week; Rhianna might make a good replacement. I’ll have the change made today.”
Jan shrugged. “Whatever you think best, Rance. It’s your staff to run. I’ll leave it to you. Now, is there something we can do about the audience with the A’Gyula? Perhaps the Hirzgin could see him. He’s such a tedious boor…”
“Good night, children…” Jan kissed each of them in turn: Elissa, Kriege, Caelor, and little Eria. He nodded to the nursemaid, and she began to shepherd the children out of the room. Elissa hung behind stubbornly, a fierce scowl on her face. “I should be allowed to be at the ball tonight,” she said. “I’m not even the least bit sleepy, Vatarh.”
“Next year,” he told her.
“Next year isn’t until forever, ” she answered, with an emphatic stamp of her foot.
Jan heard Brie snicker. He was sitting in the chair at Brie’s bedroom desk. She stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder. She wore only her shift, her hair unpinned and her jewelry on the dressing table. Jan could smell the perfume she’d just applied as she leaned down close to his ear. “She’s your daughter,” Brie whispered. “I hear you in her voice.”
Jan smiled. He gestured to Elissa to come to him. She did so, with a dramatic pout on her face. “If I say that you can attend the ball, then I’m going to have Kriege saying he should be allowed to be there, too.”
“Kriege’s only nine,” Elissa answered. “He’s practically a baby. I’m eleven. Nearly twelve.”
Jan felt Brie’s fingers tighten on his shoulder. He grinned. “I know,” he told her. “I’ll tell you what. If you go with the others now, I’ll have the nursemaid get you up and dressed in a turn of the glass, and you can come down to the ball for a bit. But you mustn’t let your brothers know.”
Elissa beamed and clapped her hands once together, then dropped them to her sides, putting a comically solemn look on her face. “Yes, Vatarh,” she said loudly, for the benefit of her brothers, still in the doorway with the maid. “I’ll just go on to bed, then.” Impulsively, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then her matarh’s. “Goodnight, Vatarh, Matarh.”
She pattered off with her siblings. Jan watched them leave, a helpless smile on his face. “If we were artists, we could not have created anything more beautiful than our children,” Brie said.
“I would agree,” Jan said. He turned in the chair to face her, his hands going to her hips-he could see the years and the costs of bearing the children in her body: she was no longer the slim, smooth beauty he’d married. Her body had widened and thickened over the years, lines had invaded her face, and the skin under her chin sagged. Her stomach was paunched, her breasts larger and heavier.
He had changed as well, he knew, but change was easier to see in others. He stroked the well-rounded flanks of her body, and she smiled down at him, pressing closer to him. “There’s still time,” she said. “I could have that new girl-what’s her name? Rhianna?-help me dress quickly. If you’d like…”
She leaned down. Her lips were still soft, still yielding, and after a moment he lost himself in the kiss. Her hands cupped his head, brought him up standing without breaking the embrace, then hugged him fiercely. As one, as if in a slow, passionate dance, they moved to the bed. Brie fell onto its cool softness and he allowed her to pull him down on top of her. He kissed her this time, a kiss that was harder and more insistent, and her hands moved lower on his body as he lifted the hem of her shift.
Afterward, they lay together in the tangled sheets. She smiled at Jan, her hand caressing his cheeks and brushing the hair back from his face, and he traced the line of her breasts, circling the aureoles with a forefinger and watching the sensitive skin respond. “That was nice,” he said to her.
“Yes.” She kissed him again-only a brush of lips this time. “Perhaps we’ll have created something new again.”
“Perhaps,” he told her, and he smiled though in truth he felt nothing at the thought. Children he had-those he could acknowledge and those he didn’t know at all, fathered on the occasional paramour who had to be sent away with a pouch of gold solas as a memory. Like Mavel cu’Kella.
“Sergei should be back in Nessantico today or tomorrow,” she said.
He laughed. “Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking. The children… It might be nice if they knew their great-matarh. Really knew her.”
Jan grunted wordlessly. His hand stopped moving, resting on her abdomen.
“Do you think she’ll agree to what you asked? Do you think Sergei can convince her to name you A’Kralj?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Besides, Rance would tell me that’s what I want anyway, that it’s not good for Brezno.” That was no more than the truth. He didn’t know. Part of him agreed with Rance and wanted her to refuse, so that he would have an excuse to move against her. And part of him… Yes, part of him hoped she would agree, hoped that they might reconcile.
He just wasn’t sure which part was the strong
er.
“The choice is Matarh’s,” he said. “It’s out of my hands now. I’ve made the offer; she can take it or not.”
“I hope she does,” Brie said. “It’s time. A family should not be so estranged.” She kissed him again, and rolled away from him. She glanced at the large sand-clock on the desk. “You should go back to your own room and get dressed,” she said. “We don’t have much time. I’ll call the hall attendant to fetch Rhianna and send someone to help you…”
She slid her shift and robe over her body and padded toward the hall door. Jan watched her, then pulled on his own clothes as she opened the door and called out softly to the hall servant there. Jan stood; Brie came back and hugged him.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Go on,” Brie told him. He went to the rear door that led to his own bedroom but stood there with his hand on the knob. Rhianna opened the door and slipped into the room. She curtsied to Brie.
“You wish help dressing, Hirzgin?” she said. She noticed Jan at his door; he thought she smiled faintly then in his direction, but she returned her attention quickly to Brie and didn’t look toward him again. “Here, let me get these under-lacings for you…”
He opened the door and left the bedroom. He smiled, though he wasn’t certain why.
Brie ca’Ostheim
“You wish help dressing, Hirzgin?” Rhianna said. Brie saw Rhianna’s gaze slide quickly to Jan, then just as rapidly return. She didn’t look at Jan again, though Brie felt Jan hanging in the room behind her. “Here, let me get these under-lacings for you…”
Brie turned, allowing Rhianna to reach the laces of the back-closed corset. Jan’s attention was somewhere over Brie’s shoulder, but he seemed to shake himself to find Brie’s eyes. He smiled at her, a bit guiltily, Brie thought, then opened the door of the dressing room. He nodded to Brie as Rhianna tugged on the lacings and closed the door behind him. Brie glanced at the mirror on her dresser, watching Rhianna through the silvered surface. She hadn’t looked up to watch Jan leave; that pleased Brie. Maybe I’m wrong… The girl-no, the young woman-was handsome enough, with strangely muscular arms. Her hair was raven-black and the eyes were such a strange light blue against the hair and olive-complexioned face…
Nearly all of Jan’s affairs had been with dark-haired women, Brie realized. She wondered what he was trying to find in them.
Rhianna was perhaps five or six years older than Elissa. No more.
“There,” Rhianna said behind her. Her voice held the slightest of accents, one Brie couldn’t quite place. “Does that feel comfortable, Hirzgin? I could loosen them a little if they’re too constricting.. .”
“It’s fine,” Brie told her. “Bring me my tashta-there, the one on the bed…” She watched Rhianna pick up the tashta, carefully rolling up the hem in her hands. “So Rance has assigned you to our personal staff?”
“Yes, Hirzgin. I have to admit that I was surprised by that, so soon after being hired, but he said I’d done well in my other duties and there was an unexpected opening.”
“Yes, trust Rance to be ever-vigilant for openings that will benefit the Hirzg,” she said. “It’s one of his better qualities, I’m sure.”
Rhianna looked puzzled, as if she sensed the subtext but didn’t quite know how to respond to it. She brought the tashta to Brie and placed it over her head as Brie lifted her arms. “Here, let me find the sleeves for you, Hirzgin. I’ll be careful of your hair…” She slid the tashta slowly down, and Brie stood to allow the folds to fall over the rest of her body, Rhianna went to her knees to tie the sash at Brie’s waist. “This is lovely cloth, Hirzgin. Such a beautiful pattern and color, and it goes so well with your coloring…”
“Rhianna,” Brie said, “you don’t need to flatter me.”
Rhianna’s face reddened. Brie saw no guile at all in her, only a genuine embarrassment. ‘Hirzgin, I didn’t mean… I was only saying what I was thinking… I’m sorry…”
Brie brought a finger to her own lips, smiling gently. “Shh. You needn’t apologize, dear. I would hope… Well, I would hope that if we’re to be together often, that we could come to trust each other.”
If anything, Rhianna’s blush deepened at that. She hesitated, seeming to search for a response. “Oh, you can trust me, Hirzgin,” she said.
“Then,” Brie said, still smiling, “if, say, the Hirzg were to say something to you that I should know about as his wife, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
The blush darkened even further, which told Brie all she wanted to know. He’s already approached her… “Why, yes, Hirzgin,” Rhianna stammered. “I would. Of course.”
“Good,” Brie told her. She touched the young woman’s cheek. So smooth, so untouched… but then her fingers found a rippled scar along Rhianna’s jawline. A knife stroke? She wondered at that, but she lifted the servant up with her hand. She sat again on the chair before her mirror and opened a jewelry box, lifting out a necklace. “Here,” she said, handing it to Rhianna. “I think this will go well with the tashta. Put it on for me, please…”
As the servant put the necklace around her throat and set the clasp, Brie watched her face, and she wondered.
Niente
The first time the Tehuantin had taken Karnor, the main city of the island Karnmor, they had entered the harbor with their ships hidden in a magical fog. This time there were far more ships in their fleet, and Niente had the nahualli call up a spell-storm as soon as they glimpsed the volcanic cone of the island rising on the horizon. The storm drove just ahead of their vanguard of warships, a blackness of pelting rain and violent lightning that shielded them from being sighted too quickly by the Holdings navy, a storm intended to entice the enemy into anchoring their vessels in the safety of the harbor.
Which, when the nahualli dispelled the storm, would suddenly no longer be so safe, for a trio of the largest of the Tehuantin warships lurked at the harbor mouth, preventing any of the Holdings ships from escaping to warn the mainland. At the same time, the majority of the fleet broke away and sailed north, then east around the curve of the island, all but one of the ships-the Yaoyotl on which Niente and Tecuhtli Citlali sailed-staying well away from the shore.
The Yaoyotl anchored just offshore on the north side of the island at dusk, several miles from Karnor, while the rest of the fleet sailed on. Niente, with Atl and several more of the nahualli, as well as a large contingent of warriors, disembarked from their ship in rowboats laden with leather packs. They climbed the flanks of Mt. Karnmor, the volcano on whose slopes the city was built.
Niente had spent days peering into the scrying bowl. He had seen this scene several times, and it felt strange to actually live it now. As they ascended in the early night, from the far side of the mountain they could see flashes of light: the nahualli aboard the ships guarding Karnor Harbor were lobbing black sand fireballs toward the enemy fleet, as if preparing for a frontal assault on the city. All of that was a feint and a diversion-to keep the Easterners’ attention on the harbor and not the mountain behind their city. If what the scrying bowl had told Niente was at all correct, the city would be destroyed, but there would be no assault on it.
The land itself would destroy the city.
Niente comforted himself with the thought that the descent would be far easier than the climb. He was exhausted quickly during the ascent, even though he himself carried nothing but his spell-staff, while the others bore the leather packs. His legs and his hips ached, and his sandals were torn and frayed. The rocks left long scratches on his legs and arms from his occasional missteps, the blood now scabbed and dark. It was an effort simply to put one foot in front of the other, and he was wishing that Axat had never shown him this path. His son stayed close to him, helping him occasionally, but he tried not to rely on Atl-it was not good for the Nahual to show weakness. If the other nahualli sensed that he was vulnerable, one of them might challenge him for the title, and he could not risk that now or everything he had gambled would be lost.
He forced
himself to keep moving, to stifle the groans that threatened to escape his lips.
“We’re almost there,” Niente said to Atl finally, exertion breaking the words into separate breaths. “Just there, around the shoulder of the mountain.” Where Niente pointed, a plume of smoke marred the moonlit sky. He knew what he would see there, when they rounded the ridge to the southern side of the mountain: a steaming, hissing fumarole belching its sulfuric, yellow breath from the earth. There were several such vents in this area, well above and directly overlooking the city-and that was their destination.
“Good.” Even Atl seemed out of breath. He looked back down the slope, at the line of nahualli and tattooed warriors following them. In the far distance, glimmering in the moon-shimmered water, the Yaoyotl awaited their return, sails for the moment furled. “The Tecuhtli didn’t seem entirely happy with you,” Atl commented.
“Tecuhtli Citlali would rather we assaulted the city,” Niente answered. “Like all warriors, he prefers the clash of steel, the smell of blood, and the cries of those who fall before him. What we’re doing seems unfair to him.” Niente paused, resting a moment and allowing himself to lean against Atl. “I promised him that Axat has shown me that there will be ample opportunity to display his skills as warrior.”
They could not only see the flashes of light from the black sand bombardment of the Holdings ships; they could hear, strangely disconnected and belated, the thunder of their explosions. Niente climbed around and over a rock shelf, and he could see the lights of Karnor well below them, spreading along several shelves from the lower slopes to the water.
There were no Holdings troops here guarding the city, as Axat had promised in Her visions. In the distance, the shimmering waters of the harbor were lit by the fires of burning ships. As Niente watched, another fireball arced from the harbor’s mouth toward the cluster of Holdings warships there, and exploded in their midst. The sound came to them a full two breaths later, a low rumble that he could almost feel in his chest.