by Cat Rambo
Nothing major. Anyone who might be attacked by minor magics spent the coins to keep them off by flipping them in fountains as they passed. Tabat was full of fountains (a favorite form of Ducal civic improvement) and the College of Mages had, in its first decade, laid a spell on them that later Dukes paid to have maintained. If you fed the fountains whenever you passed them—and a nought or a copper skiff would do for that—you were protected.
Rat-a-tat on the door, a quick-patterned tap that, she knew by now, was a river signal, an echo of one of the ivory and scarlet woodpeckers, which had come to mean wake-up-here-we-are to those who worked the Northstretch and its sisters. They seemed to have a great many traditions for such a young profession, and the scholarly part of her mind turned that over and over, even as she stepped to the door, calling “Come in” as she did so.
The door opened and she almost collided with Eloquence as he stepped forward. The warmth of his body glanced along hers. He took a quick step back, hands out in front of himself, scarlet-faced and glancing at Serafina, who sat, expressionless.
“Have ye heard the news?” he said instead of apology, proffering the reason for his haste. “I thought you’d rather not hear it from a street crier.”
Her heartbeat quickened and her mind thudded through possibilities: a death, a murder? No, perhaps a fire, but she was standing in the only place that really mattered to her, and if the Nettlepurse estate had been endangered, Emiliana would have sent a runner for her as soon as she knew. News particular to Adelina, news that had made him smile on the street, despite the decorous gravity of the expression he wore now—all of that meant that it could only be news of—
“Bella Kanto,” he said. “Your friend Bella Kanto has been taken in for sorcery.”
“That’s impossible,” she said. “Bella’s no Sorcerer.”
He said, “Can you be sure of that? They hide themselves well, Adelina. And what a marvelous hiding place for one, a Gladiator. She obviously used sorcery to aid her in bouts, ensure that she won. You told me yourself she was aging oddly well—unnatural was the word you yourself used.”
She shook her head. “I’d know.” She’d been in Bella’s bed many times, but more than that, they’d been friends for decades now, and Adelina would have seen some sign if her friend was tainted. Yes, she aged slowly, but that was because she kept fit, maintained herself well. It could have nothing to do with sorcery. Bella would never do such a thing.
Eloquence was watching her as all of this went through her head. “I thought you’d be more upset,” he said.
“This is surely another Bella prank gone awry. Gladiators are fond of playing tricks on each other. This is all just part and parcel of that.”
Eloquence pressed his lips together for an instant before he replied. “She was taken by Peacekeepers, and a Judge has seen the case and sent her to the Duke’s prison.”
The words galvanized Adelina. She could not imagine Bella taken away to those dark cells. She raised her chin, made herself a touch taller. “Alberic is … fond of Bella. He won’t let her be harmed in any way.”
Eloquence reached to touch her elbow, trying to coax her closer for comfort. “He has no choice, if the court finds her guilty. All he can do is choose the way she’ll die.”
She caught her breath at the hint of relish in his tone—was she imagining it? But she thought of the bright smile that had accompanied him along the street. He hates Bella. I hadn’t understood that. Doesn’t he understand that she isn’t his rival? Instead of stepping forward into his embrace, she wrapped her arms around herself, fingers gripping the opposite upper arm in alternative to the comfort he offered. She shook her head.
“I must go to her,” she said.
His eyebrow lifted. “To the Duke’s prison? They will scarce give you admittance.”
“To Alberic then? Perhaps he doesn’t know.”
“For Moons’ sake, do you think the news is not being shouted all over town? Its most famous Gladiator, fallen?” He pointed a finger at the window. “If you want proof of her guilt, look no further than the street! See the sky cloudless and blue, open it and smell the warm east wind. All along the Tumbril Stair, primaflora bloom, and not just a few bold forerunners, but the lot of them, blazing blue in the sunlight and smelling sweet as candy. It is Spring, the Spring her sorcery has denied us so long.”
For the first time, a niggle of doubt fingered its way into her mind. She had written about Sorcerers, how often they stole power from other beings, or magical structures. That was why they were so much worse on the Old Continent and why that land was all ash now, presided over by the last of the surviving Sorcerers, the Pot and Kettle King in the north, where some things still grew.
Tabat’s ceremonies held power, power that a Sorcerer might be able to use. She’d accused Bella of being a parasite—was it possible that had been by plan?
But no. Bella was incapable of that kind of subtlety. Adelina’s mind reeled at the thought, rejected it, failed to impose this new image of Bella over the one in her mind. Impossible.
Impossible.
She spoke past Eloquence, who blocked the doorway, one foot advanced as though to enter. “Go and find out if there’s a newssheet with details, Serafina. I apologize for sending you on such a petty errand, but Obedience is still not back with our cookies.”
Eloquence frowned. “She is young to be sent out into the street like a courier,” he said in admonishment.
“The cart was only just past. I’m surprised you didn’t pass her coming in,” Adelina said.
“I saw the cart, aye, but no sign of Obedience,” he said, brows knitting. His outthrust foot retreated and he rocked back on his heels. “Perhaps she’s off being idle,” he said, half to himself. “She can be bad, that one.” He frowned at Adelina as though a disobedient Obedience stood in front of him.
That look squelched any lingering touch of giddy happiness. “Go look for her with Serafina,” she said. “We’ll close the offices for the day. If this is all true about Bella, we’ll need to anyhow.”
She shut the door in his astonished face.
The thought struck her to the heart and left her quivering with guilt that it mattered to her almost as much as the thought of Bella in jail. She’d heard people refer to Spinner as Bella’s Press, and that thought made her want to pray to a number of the Trade Gods, but Uhviodommu, God of Bad Reputation and Taint, first and foremost. She’d never worried about his depredations before. Her stomach coiled in her center, writhed like an angry serpent. All of this was muddled, but one thing was clear.
Bella would be in such disfavor that no one would buy anything with her name on it.
And here she was thinking of her friend—her best friend, no less—as though she was dead.
Unease squirmed even harder in her stomach. Alberic was not a kind man. And the relationship between him and Bella had always been half-challenge, half-taunt. What would he do to a Bella rendered vulnerable? He’d taken the Duke’s Oath, like all his ancestors, to only work justice, but you could name plenty of past Dukes and Duchesses who’d twisted—if not outright flouted—their way around that.
What will Alberic do?
And what are his choices? Tabat’s laws were very clear when it came to those who dealt with Sorcerers. What penalty would the court ask, and would the Duke grant it?
She picked up a ledger, then laid it back down on her desk and used the heel of her hand to press it open, but the numbers were like tiny spider webs spun on the page, lines so fine it was impossible to discern. She tried to make sense of it. Last season’s paper costs.
She took a shaky breath. She’d never felt like this before. It wasn’t even Bella’s fate that concerned her so much as the fate of the Press. My Press. Bella teased her sometimes, claimed credit for the success of the place, but the truth was, it was Adelina’s handiwork that had allowed the Press to take advantage of Bella’s presence. Penny-wides hadn’t been overly popular when they’d first started—she’d ma
de them so—that was a thing a historian like herself would want to know, somewhere down the road. What were the changes and who drove them, because sometimes there were people around whom such doings clustered, who simply achieved, while others worked at sleeping and eating and all the ordinary details.
What if she sent a runner to Alberic, asking after Bella’s fate? It would remind him there were those who cared greatly about the Gladiator. Would that make a difference? She wasn’t sure.
She gave up pretense of looking at the ledger. Sitting down, she leaned back in her chair, feeling the warmth of the early Spring sunlight on her face.
She thought dispassionately about Winter’s early banishment. Now there was an interesting phenomenon, one she’d be curious to get Sebastiano’s take on. It was as though the Spring had been waiting for the disaster. It had stepped in, as far as she could tell, the very moment that the Judge was pronouncing sentence. The Trade Gods didn’t deal with Sorcerers, but had they decided to meddle now because of the way Bella had wrenched things awry, made them odd and complicated and always extraordinary? That was simply Bella’s way, and Adelina had come to expect it of her. Had the Gods objected?
What would Bella be thinking? Would she be hoping that her friend would come to her assistance—how?—swoop in and shelter Bella? No, that seemed unlike her. If there was one thing Bella was, it was self-reliant. That hurt even more, the idea that Bella might not even think that Adelina would be bold or daring enough to come for her.
Obedience poked her head in “There are parcels for you, Miss Adelina, lady?” she said. She advanced a few steps into the room. Her hands fluttered at the end of her apron strings, fraying them. She said, “I was wondering, lady, if I might be known by a different name?”
“A different name?” Surprise made Adelina’s tone harsher than she intended, and she hastily amended it. “I mean—of course. Whatever name you chose to be known by, tell Serafina and me, and we will take care to amend the records as well.” She paused, but decided to push on. “Is it a different Moon name you’re taking?” Worshippers sometimes switched the quality they were intended to embody; worshippers of the Moon Gods were as prone to mistaken or bad parenting as much as any other group.
Obedience shook her head.
“No,” she said. “It’s a regular name, but not too Merchantly, if you know what I mean. My lady, ma’am.”
“You mean you don’t want to be overly pretentious.” Adelina grinned. She still found the Moon Temples odd and the meekness with which Eloquence’s sisters followed his lead when it came to religious worship had nagged at her. But it would have been bad manners to interfere. “What then?”
“I always loved the stories of Lucy Silverhands,” Obedience said. “So, Lucy.”
“She came to a bad end, didn’t she?”
“But before then, miss lady Adelina, she did so much!”
Ambition shone in the child’s eyes. It didn’t matter what name she took. She would excel in this life, and Adelina would help her do so.
But still no word of Bella.
This was a dark day for Adelina and Spinner Press, no matter how brightly the sun shone outside.
“CAN NOTHING BE DONE about this exile?” she asked Emiliana.
“The Duke is clearing cases while he can,” her mother said. “Surely for his old friend’s sake, lest someone else deal with her more harshly, but it is true that it disadvantages her in the opposite direction.” Her glance was sly. “Those in government will affect how exiles are treated, going forward. Good thing you have been doing so well. You may be able to trade favors for assistance.”
“Bella would not want me to sell myself into slavery to save her,” Adelina said.
Emiliana scoffed. “Such slavery! I offered you a chance at political office, not to wear a collar.”
Adelina twisted the bracelet on her wrist, watching the opals’ colors shift in the light and thinking before she spoke again. “But it is duty all the same, regardless of whether or not it is done for public good or for pay and prestige. Duty is what drives labor.”
“You overly romanticize such work.”
“Work is rarely romanticized enough.”
Emiliana paced the room, hands behind her back. “You act as though I move you towards political office because I wish you ill, and the truth is evident that it is anything but that.”
“You do not try to move me; you push me, and you push me hard,” Adelina retorted. “Why can’t you be happy with me as I am? Why has that never been enough for you?”
“It has always been enough!” Emiliana said in an astonished tone. “It is because you deserve better that I try to show you what will advantage you. What will help make you happy.”
“You have no clue what makes me happy or not! Look at how you treated Bella, trying to drive her away!”
“That woman is a parasite. A clever one, a skilled one, but an alliance with her will never do you the good that it does her.”
Adelina bit back the retort that rose to fill her mouth. The Press would be nothing without Bella, who had never denied Adelina any piece of her history except for those few years at Piper Hill.
But Emiliana was not to know that. Is this finally the time to speak to her of it?
Instead, Adelina looked down at her hands. Ink rimmed her fingernails, and in the Winter, the edges split and took up the ink, so they looked perpetually begrimed, much to Emiliana’s dismay. Adelina folded her fingers under so the nails were not visible, and looked back at her mother.
“I will not yield in this thing,” she said. “I resisted all your attempts to make me Merchant, and I apologize for all the sorrow that the attempt brought you, but I am a Scholar, first and foremost, and that is what I will always be. If you want me as a speaker for the Jateigarkists, then you must help Bella now. Trade rules: this for that.”
“You have always had a fine head for business, whether or not you try to hide it.” Emiliana’s tone sent a shiver along Adelina’s shoulder blades. She knows something. What has she guessed? Surely if she thought I was in business for myself, she’d say something. The subterfuge still holds.
Emiliana did not press the conversation. She said, “I know that you are tired, and that you are distressed on your friend’s behalf. In the morning I will send you with a letter to my friend the Advocate, and he may be able to find a way for you to visit her and find out what has happened, and what exactly the Duke plans for her.”
She raised a finger, forestalling Adelina’s next words. “Do not think you can free her, that you can do something like bribe the guards and set her free. The Duke’s guards will withstand any such test. It would only buy you the jail cell beside her.” Her look was stern and did not leave Adelina’s face until she nodded.
Emiliana let out a pent-up breath and turned to pace the room anew. “Her name will be tainted, and it’s best not to be associated with her name for a while. If you go to parties, you should avoid speaking of her, even if people try to draw you out on the subject.”
“Who would be that rude?” Adelina said.
Emiliana’s lips moued scorn. “Are you truly surprised that people would give way to their baser instincts?” She paused. “Have you made a decision about Sebastiano Silvercloth? Are you willing to consider the alliance?”
“I do not believe it suitable,” Adelina said firmly. “I told Sebastiano so.”
“He is a comely man, and clever,” Emiliana said. “Solid prospects, and it’s good to have a Mage allied to the House. What do you object to?”
If I don’t come up with something, she’ll know the conflict lies outside anything about him. Is it time to tell her about Eloquence, see how that sails before I venture on to talk about the Press?
Which of these would upset her more?
“I don’t have time for an alliance at the moment,” Adelina said.
“So you would consider it, perhaps, once the elections are over?”
Adelina felt flustered. “Maybe,” she
began, then subsided.
“Maybe,” Emiliana repeated dryly.
“I don’t want to talk about it now. It is late and I have the headache.”
Emiliana wisely chose to leave the subject be. Murmuring a good night, she slipped out the door, which made Adelina feel irritated along with all the other confusing and somehow conflicting emotions.
She hated to feel managed by her mother, but the sensation was a familiar one by now. Just for once I’d like the upper hand on her. To not feel seven years old with dirty hands.
Eloquence doesn’t make me feel seven.
Her spirits lifted at the thought of his smile, tipping her upward into elation with a delighted flutter.
Then dropped as she remembered Bella’s plight. This was no time to be worrying about contracts that had nothing to do with the Press. There would always be time for that sort of thing later.
She opened her dictionary and took out the minute envelope holding the last of the Oread’s powder and considered. She’d meant to keep it for the next speech tomorrow afternoon, but if she went to the Duke’s palace in the morning, there would be time to stop by the florist’s on the way back and get more.
NO ONE at the Duke’s palace would speak to her until she went into a side chamber and fumbled the powder onto her tongue, grimacing at the taste. Then it was easy, functionary after functionary, until she stood at the door of the Duke’s Hearing chamber.
She went in. Alberic and his guards; the Duke sitting quiet in a chair, speaking with a Scribe.
She said, immediately, “You must free Bella Kanto!” She launched into all the words she had prepared, all the arguments she had assembled of Bella’s importance to the city.
Within a few sentences, she had them all, leaning forward, listening. Except Alberic, who slouched back in his seat, fingering the chain around his neck.