Rule

by Rowenna Miller

  “It’s all right to be disappointed,” I finally said, his search for live plant stock yielding little more than cacti and sickly olive trees. “The losses of this war—they’re not just on the field. Kristos says that the archive had books stolen—rare ones, valuable ones. We won’t get those back. The scholars at the university have certainly stagnated of late. We won’t export much grain this year, I’ll wager, and our wine and cider exports will be hurting even longer.”

  “Our new government is a tower of matchsticks ready to collapse, people lost their livelihoods and, worse, their families, and our economy won’t recover for years. And my houseplants died,” Theodor snapped. “That’s hardly worth the notice.”

  “But you care,” I said quietly.

  “I oughtn’t to care! How many thousands killed, wounded, lost limbs? How many will struggle for years to come, widows and orphans? How many businesses destroyed? And my hothouse flowers died, well. Let’s erect a monument to my prize dwarf crystal hydrangea, shall we? I am a governor of Galitha and I have deeper hurts to consider on behalf of my country.”

  I struggled to find the right words, to acknowledge that even in the face of death and destruction, loss could also be measured in hundreds of minute ways. In families split and friends no longer speaking, in books stolen and in ciders unpressed, in children’s birthdays missed, in a rare cultivar dead from neglect. “It will take a long time to recover what this war took from many people. It took the gift you worked so hard to give Galitha.”

  Theodor sank onto a bench, a rusty trowel clattering to the floor beside him. He kicked it away. “There are better gifts I ought to have given her.”

  “And you yet will. But first you gave this one.” I sighed. The building was still sound, and the tools at the ready to rebuild what he had created, once, in a simpler time. No, not simpler, I acknowledged. The simplicity that allowed for his study and development of his art was a false peace, made by ignoring the deep fault lines cracking the country’s very foundations. Not simpler, not really, nor better, but I held to the hope, fervently, that we could return to peace. “We’ll need places like this again, someday.”

  “We never did need them.” Theodor turned an empty ceramic flowerpot over in his hands.

  “Of course we need archives and gardens and universities—what in the world is the point of a free country governed by its people if its people can’t invest in beauty and knowledge and art?” I snatched the flowerpot away from him, turning it over and brushing dirt away from the drainage hole at the bottom. “This? This flowerpot without a plant is about as satisfying as having nothing beyond bread and barley to think of. It’s…” Laughter bubbled in my voice without my permission, but I recalled Sianh’s phrase in Serafan for a useless thing, a hopeless case. “It’s a cup with a hole in it, Theodor.”

  He looked up, confused, and then broke into a rueful smile, remembering. “It is a cup with a hole in it.”

  “Galitha won’t always be at war or setting up a new government or struggling to rectify the mistakes of its very recent past. It’s going to need places like this again.”

  “I suppose I know that, if I make myself think about it. But after this is over…” He took the flowerpot back and set it carefully on a saucer. “I can’t really believe that I’m going to be filling my days with gardening again. I don’t know what my place will be.”

  “I don’t, either,” I said quietly. I sat next to him. “We’re going to have to figure that out together.”

  63

  WINTER BEGAN TO SOFTEN AROUND THE EDGES, THE SNOWS receding from the lawns and the icicles melting from the eaves, and the frozen stalemate between Niko’s contingent and the rest of the council began to abate, as well. Niko still made his vehement distrust of Theodor clear at every turn, and I noticed more than one unflattering broadside tacked up around the city. Even so, Niko’s barbed insults didn’t seem to snag on Theodor any longer, and Theodor seemed almost content with his work. I fell into a comfortable routine of assisting Hamish at the hospital, meeting with my Pellian friends and with Alice, and playing occasional hostess to the new political elite of Galitha. We had even begun to talk, in vague notions not yet fully coalesced, of a wedding.

  I was readying for tea with Maurice Forrest and his family when I was interrupted by a brisk rap on the door. Annette stood on the wide portico, framed by a contingent of Kvys nuns. Not just Kvys nuns, I saw as I scanned their faces, but members of Alba’s order—the ones who could cast. Tantia shyly raised her hand in greeting. I raised an eyebrow in return, but before I could ask, Annette stepped in front of Tantia. “I found these ladies looking for you,” she said. “They were held up by the officials at the port.”

  “Looking for me?” I asked. “Didn’t the letter reach them about Alba?”

  “They’re aware of what happened to Sastra-set Alba, but their main aim was to find you.” Annette ushered the sisters inside.

  I offered a half smile to the silent huddle of nuns, and gestured toward the parlor. They moved in a single unit away from the door. “Thank you for bringing them—do I need to sign for them or some such?”

  “As though they’re import goods? No, I don’t think so. The officials took the good word of the Lady Admiral that they were on the up-and-up.”

  “Are they?” I whispered.

  “Too late to worry about that now,” Annette said. “But I’ll stick around. Not that I’m much good in a fight, but then again…” She craned her neck to see the front parlor, where the sisters waited patiently. “I don’t suppose they are, either.”

  “You might be surprised,” I muttered.

  I joined the sisters in the parlor, while Annette hovered by the door, hand on her hip where her petite rapier had hung on board ship. “Welcome to Galitha City,” I said. “What brings you to us?”

  Tantia stepped forward, the default representative of the group, speaking the most Galatine. “You bring us to Galitha.”

  “I—there may have been some misunderstanding?” I said. “I didn’t ask you here.”

  “No, that is not my meaning.” Tantia shook her head. “We come to find you. We come to work with you. To learn. To continue.”

  I hesitated, their aim slowly becoming clear. “You want to continue learning to cast.”

  Tantia nodded. “To learn from you.”

  “I see,” I said slowly. “What about your order?”

  “Order is—what is the word?” She conferred with Immell, who stood beside her. “Hurcuthi.”

  “Hurcuthi-set,” Immell replied. “Is like mess. Mess of garbage.”

  “After Alba left,” I guessed. “The leadership is undermined? Compromised? Fighting?”

  “Fighting, yes. No,” Tantia said, holding up her hand. “Not in the open. Behind doors, whispers. But we fear. If some win, we are—are crime.”

  “What you did was illegal by Kvys laws, and religious laws,” I supplied. “We would say ‘you are criminals’ in Galatine.” I sighed. “Excepting, of course, that in Galitha, we have no such law and would say no such thing.”

  “Is more than doing illegal thing,” Immell said. “Is that we are illegal.”

  I caught Annette’s eye across the room. She studied the sisters intently, as though their stoic posture or plain gray gowns and white veils might reveal something more for her to read.

  “If we stay, we fear—we fear—” Tantia struggled to find the words, tugging at the blackwork cuffs of her fine linen shift.

  “You fear they will kill you,” Annette said bluntly. “Execution. You fear execution. Simply for having your abilities.” I started, but Tantia dipped her head, grateful for the right words, grateful someone else had said them. Immell bit her lip. Her shift was worked in black embroidery at the cuffs, too, but the edges were frayed and her boots scuffed and battered. The other sisters, despite carefully starched veils, had similar wear in their appearance—torn hems and stained collars, holes in the soles of boots and dusty skirts.

  I tur
ned to Annette. “They’re refugees. Political refugees.”

  Annette crossed the room in three long strides and answered in my ear, low and rapid so that the Kvys couldn’t hear. “We’re a newborn nation knee-deep in our own troubles at the moment.”

  “I know.” I looked back at Tantia and Immell, their modestly clasped hands growing white at the knuckles.

  “They are here because they have violated whatever archaic laws the Kvys still maintain. That isn’t our doing.”

  “They are here because of me and because of our war, Annette.”

  “The Serafans may see this as consolidating some sort of magic army. The Allied States may be suspicious of our motives. And who knows what questions this raises with Kvyset.”

  I caught Annette’s arm, steadying both of us. “I know. But there’s nothing we can do to stop them from raising those questions now. The Kvys casters came here. The questions are already raised.”

  Annette pressed her rosebud lips together. “We have to protect Galitha first, Sophie. We can’t—”

  “It’s not our decision. My only choice right now is whether to offer them tea or supper, and then commend them to the council.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Annette backed away from me with a wary look toward the Kvys nuns waiting silently for my answer.

  “I’ll have tea ready in just a moment,” I said, a barely audible tremor in my voice. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

  64

  “NIKO IS ABSOLUTELY APOPLECTIC,” KRISTOS SAID, LANDING IN HIS chair at the dinner table with a resounding thud. “He’s convinced you’ve invited them to form some sort of cabal of magical influence.”

  “It doesn’t,” Annette said judiciously, “precisely not look like that.” She cut a thick slice of oat bread and handed it to Kristos. Despite the elegance of eating on the polished wood table of a former noble’s dining room, our meals were more rustic than sumptuous. I didn’t mind; there was something comforting about split pea soup and meat pies and porridges, like those I had made in our shabby kitchen to share with Kristos, long ago.

  “But it isn’t factual, and that is what matters,” Theodor fumed.

  “We both know that isn’t true,” I replied.

  “Perhaps you should form a cabal of magical influence,” Viola said, delicately spooning some ham and bean soup. “Then at least they would have a real reason to be worried.”

  “That’s not funny,” I replied. Viola shrugged with an impish smile.

  “It’s not funny, but it’s also not a terrible idea,” Kristos said. “No, not the secret underhanded part. I mean some sort of cabinet post or committee overseeing Galatine magic use.”

  “It might just be the most valuable angle we can play—with Pellia as part of Galitha and the Kvys refugees seeing us as the natural place for practitioners of casting to go, it gives us a certain cachet.” Theodor raised an eyebrow at me. “We will eventually need to develop some legal framework around that.”

  “Lovely,” Viola said with a light snort, “you’ve only just recognized that casting is anything more powerful than an old wives’ tale, and you’re going to form a bureaucracy around it.”

  I shook my head. “There will be time enough for that eventually. But for now—what does the council say we do with the Kvys nuns?”

  “They can stay, provided they are not found to be attempting to ‘influence’ our politics—in any way, including magical. From what I knew of Alba, I’m more worried about them lining pockets or making alliances, frankly.” Theodor stirred his soup. “I don’t know that anyone likes the idea of playing host to ousted nuns, but most of the council felt we couldn’t refuse without looking as though we’re incapable of accommodating them.”

  “And we wouldn’t want the Serafans to think we’re weak,” supplied Annette. “Ah, well. I hadn’t considered that side of it.”

  “Or the Allied Equatorial States. Dira only represents her own interests, not the whole nation, and plenty in the States are watching carefully to see whether we can stand on our own two feet before they commit to any alliances or trade agreements.” Theodor shrugged. “Back to politics as usual.”

  “Are you telling me that you dragged me through that horrid Five-Year Summit and we’re back to square one?” I teased.

  “To some extent.” Theodor grimaced. “All those agreements were made before we were the Republic of Galitha—sweet Sacred Natures, that probably means we’re going to have to renegotiate the Open Seas Arrangement.” He groaned into his soup.

  “At any rate,” Viola said, clearing her throat. “Speaking of arrangements. I think it’s time that Annette and I were out of your hair. Penny should be making her way to the city soon enough, Kristos, and I figure we’ll have a spring wedding for these two,” she added, waving a lithe hand at Theodor and me. “Time for the birds to make their own nests, I think.”

  “You’re still quite welcome, even if we—when we—” I stumbled. It was so close, so real, something I had never thought possible. I smiled. “Even when we’re married.”

  “What are you waiting for, anyway?” Kristos prodded.

  “It’s been a bit busy, between the war and founding a nation,” Theodor said. “And in truth, the Office of Records only officially opened a fortnight ago, and they’re quite swamped.”

  “You and Penny aren’t married,” I shot back.

  “We have a baby,” he retorted. “That is even more binding a contract. You could do that, instead.”

  Annette and Viola exchanged an amused glance. “Viola has a dozen commissions already, for paintings, and the Office of Naval Affairs is paying me quite well as an advisor at the moment. So we have enough, we think, to rent a little townhouse or the like.” Annette compressed her brows. “I think. If I understand rent contracts correctly—perhaps you want to look at our agreement, Sophie?”

  I laughed. “Of course, I’m quite facile with rent agreements. Though of course, things have changed a bit, now that it’s citizen-owned property.”

  “Well, a toast then, to new homes and new beginnings,” Kristos said. I raised my glass of weak small beer alongside the others, exhaling deeply with a strange, most welcome optimism.

  “As pleasant as this all is, I’ve a meeting with Forrest at his house in—hell, less than an hour.” Theodor grinned. “If you open any of those bottles from the cellar, you save some for me,” he said, planting a kiss on my head as he made for the door. I stood to clear the table. As Viola assisted me, she kicked something under the table.

  “Isn’t this Theodor’s?” she said, holding up a leather portfolio.

  “Yes,” I sighed. “And I imagine he’s going to need that if he’s meeting with Maurice. I’ll chase him down,” I added, catching the portfolio when Viola tossed it to me.

  I swung my mantelet over my shoulders as I hurried down the street. Theodor’s quick stride had already put him a block ahead of me, on the other side of the street, nearer the river. I took the foray as a pleasant surprise. We hadn’t had much time alone, and it would be nice to walk together to Maurice Forrest’s house, on the other side of Broad Street, alongside the river, which rolled with swift-flowing eddies as it swelled with snowmelt. Perhaps we could even discuss plans for a wedding—something small, a simple party at the public gardens with our friends.

  Before I could catch up enough to call out, I saw another figure walking toward him, purposeful and direct. I squinted—it was Niko. He must have been coming to see us, I thought, to discuss—who knew. Yet another argument about the liquidation of the wartime storehouses, about sending the army home, about something. But he didn’t turn toward the house. He kept his sights set on Theodor.

  I slowed, unsure if I should interrupt. It seemed quite possible they had some sort of business with one another, or that Niko would take advantage of finding Theodor alone to try to persuade him privately of one of his views. What Niko lacked in Kristos’s silver tongue he made up for in dogged determination, and this could be like
any other chance meeting or open session in the council. Except for one thing.

  Niko held a pistol in his hand.

  My heart seemed to stop, and my legs turned to putty, but I surged forward anyway. I called out, but neither noticed me.

  Niko cocked the pistol and lifted it, leveling on Theodor’s chest. He seemed to move through layers of filmy organza, hazy and indistinct, though I knew precisely what he was doing, what was going to happen. I couldn’t move as quickly as my mind worked, couldn’t reach out and change the tableau unfolding before me.

  The pistol fired.

  Theodor dropped to the ground.

  Niko was gone even as the report echoed up the street, over the river, tearing everything apart in its wake. I ran to Theodor’s side, my knees scraping on the hard stone as I dropped beside him.

  It felt like it could have been me, life bleeding into the cold stone, seeping rapidly into oblivion. My hands scrabbled for his, for the wound in his chest, for something to hold on to, to tie his life to this world, somehow. His eyes found mine, recognition blooming. He tried to speak; all he could manage was a choking rattle. I gripped his hand tighter, willing life, willing health. Charm magic sparked around us, and I drove it toward him, enveloping him in light. He smiled, faintly, and squeezed my hand in return.

  For a moment I believed I could save him.

  Then he exhaled a bloody breath and slipped away, eyes losing focus, or perhaps focusing on something else, far away, something that I couldn’t see.

  He was gone, and I was left in a pool of blood and charm magic sinking slowly into the dank stone.

  65

  I MUST HAVE BEEN WAILING, BECAUSE KRISTOS FOUND ME WITHIN minutes, my voice hoarse. He pried me away, my gown slick with blood, and wordlessly led me back to the house, putting my recalcitrant body into Viola’s arms. Her eyes widened with shock but she simply lowered me onto the nearest couch and began to unpin my bloodied gown.