On a whim she removed the bowl from the top of the short pillar and knelt beside it, running her fingers over its worn surface. Yes, there were joints in the stone—places where two planes met, leaving a space in which a fingernail might be inserted, if not much else. Kassia pressed, pushed, prodded and pried, all to no avail. At last, tired and feeling a little silly, she hauled herself back to her bed. On the morrow, she decided, she would ask Master Lukasha if there were some place a record of the monks’ occupation of Lorant might be found.
oOo
The next morning brought no opportunity to question Lukasha about the old monastery, for no sooner had she appeared in his offices than he took her aside and made an earnest plea.
“Kassia, I have had bad news from Master Antal in Tabor. The Bishop Benedict has been exercising his special gifts at court. He is trying to win King Zelimir over to the Lombard by magical means. According to report, he is succeeding.”
When she had recovered from her shock and disappointment, Kassia asked, “Are you certain, Master, that it is not the charm of the Duchess Orsini that is winning him over?”
He told her then, what Antal had said to him the night before, his eyes tight on her face. “If Michal Zelimir’s feelings are to be weighed,” he concluded, “the Duchess Orsini would not, I think, find the balance tilted to her side.”
“I realize I understand little of politics and royal duties,” said Kassia, “but to my mind, Michal’s feelings are all that should be weighed.”
Lukasha shook his head, lips pursed. “You know that’s not realistic, Kassia. Mishka is a king. He is not, like your Shurik, his own man. He must marry to satisfy other desires than his own. But at least in the lady Zofia he seemed to have found his intellectual match. In Fiorella Orsini, he has met only an adversary—someone who seeks to breach his heart of hearts and mold it to another’s will.” He leaned forward, his grip on her hand tightening. “His people, too, have met an adversary in the Bishop Benedict. He will not stop with converting Mishka to his faith. He will convert every man, woman and child in Polia. He must convert them. That is his charter. And so I must ask you to help me, Kassia. Help me protect our king against this manipulation. Return to Tabor with me. Perhaps you can free him from Benedict’s tyranny long enough for him to make his own decision about whom he will marry.”
Kassia was uneasy. To return to Tabor . . .
“You are the only one who has a clear sense of Benedict’s power,” Lukasha murmured, his eyes intent on her face
Yes, yes! I know that. But what if Mishka presses me, again—
“Antal believes Michal has come to love Zofia Varyusha, a daughter of Bytomierz. Would you have him lose her?”
She looked at him, her mind working feverishly. What if Zelimir did love Zofia? Surely that meant he had forgotten his infatuation with herself. “Please, Master, may I have a day to consider this? To meditate and pray?”
He granted that, though she thought there was a glint of impatience in his eye. Or perhaps it was only disappointment.
Though her mind swam with the decision that faced her, Kassia did not forgot her quest for more information about Lorant’s earlier occupants. While Lukasha was closeted with the other members of the Sacred Circle, she asked Zakarij about the monks and their recorded works.
“The only records I know about are the ones Marija found or transcribed,” he told her, “The monastery was overrun by Mongols. They apparently left very little of the monk’s work intact.”
“Or perhaps the monks left very little of it for them to destroy or absorb.”
“Another possibility . . .” His eyes touched her face then swept away to scan the bookshelves of their Master’s library. “Master Lukasha has asked you to go to Tabor.”
“Yes.”
“Will you go?”
“He’s given me the day to consider it. I don’t want to go, but Benedict . . .”
“Yes, Benedict. Your feelings for Zelimir haven’t changed?”
She shot him a direct look, anger tickling. “Do you also wish them to?”
“Do I also—?”
“Master Lukasha is the essence of patience, but I can tell how badly he wants me to love his Mishka. Do you also want me to love the king?”
He returned her gaze, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “No. I don’t want you to love the king.” He paused, seemingly on the verge of saying something more, then shook his head. “How soon will you return . . . if you go?”
Kassia started to say that was at Master Lukasha’s discretion, then smiled. “I can return every night, if I please. Perhaps I will.”
oOo
Januarius 5: Today, I had thought to be in the midst of planning my wedding. I am not, for I discovered just last night how little I understood the man I had thought to marry. Leliwa is so proud of his beloved Aspirant that he will marry her, then demand that she never be vested as a Mateu. When first he said the words, it was as though he spoke a foreign tongue. I must have bid him repeat himself two or three times before he finally laid it out very clearly so that even a child might have understood it.
This was not a request he made of me. Nor was it something I was expected to think about before rendering a decision. It was an assumption; a decision had already been made, I had but to abide by it. So you can comprehend, Little Book, how surprised he was when I did not share that assumption. How surprised—no, stunned—his family was when I gathered myself up and announced that I was not prepared to trade my aspirations for marriage. Perhaps they are still sitting in their cozy parlor, staring after me.
I have not heard from Leliwa all week, nor do I expect to, for I have humiliated him and he is a supremely proud man.
Well, Leliwa, we are even on that score. I, too, am humiliated.
Kassia let the book fall closed in her lap, her heart sodden. She had picked up the journal believing it would lift her spirits, but so far it had had the opposite effect. Unwilling to leave Marija in such misery, she opened the diary again, intending to forge ahead to happier times, but a rap on her door interrupted her.
It was Master Lukasha, and the expression on his face, the tide of adrenaline-pumped anxiety that washed from him, very nearly bowled her over. It put Marija completely out of her mind. He said nothing at first, but only swept past her into the room her with eyes that seemed to burn and weep at once. She kept silence and waited with quivering attention for him to say what he would.
“The Gherai Khan has pushed across the borders of Khitan darugha and is marching on the provincial capital.”
Whatever words she might have expected to hear him speak, those were not among them. When finally her voice would allow her to speak, Kassia whispered, “What . . . Master. What can I do?”
Master Lukasha moved to stand before her, fixing her with a dark and terrifying gaze. “Understand Kassia, that this precisely what Polia’s enemies have prayed for. We have not the military forces to expel the Horde. Only with aid from foreign friends will we be able to push them out of Khitan. All we may hope to do without that is check their advance . . . for a while.”
“But why, Master? What has made the kagan suddenly penetrate our borders?”
Lukasha raised a graying brow. “Perhaps he doesn’t like the selection of brides or allies our king courts. Whatever the reason, he has done it, so the pressure on our king to choose the correct bride—and the correct ally—mounts. I don’t need to tell you what that means. The Bishop Benedict has suddenly gained a great deal more leverage and Fiorella Orsini is one step closer to rising to the throne of Polia.”
Kassia shook her head. “No, it can’t happen. You’ve told the Sacred Circle-?”
He nodded impatiently. “Of course. They knew as soon as I knew.”
“What do they expect me to do?”
“You must come to Tabor with me.”
“But what can I do?” begged Kassia, desperate. “It’s gotten beyond Benedict now.”
“Has it? I wonder.” He moved close to
her, grasping her arms with strong fingers. “Think, Kassia! Who has the most to gain from the inroads of the Tartars? Perhaps what made the Gherai Khan decide to move now is something or someone even he cannot name.”
“Benedict?” The thought froze her. “You believe he has that kind of power?”
“You felt what he tried to do to Michal. And now that you’re no long there to protect him, Antal tells me tales of Benedict’s success. What he can do to one man, could he not also do to another?”
She capitulated, knowing she was beyond choice. “When do you want to go, Master?”
“Today. Early evening.”
She shook her head. “Why not now?”
“Early this evening, Zelimir will hold a council of defense. Benedict, I am told, will be present. I want the largest audience possible for our arrival, Kassia. Our entrance to Zelimir’s court will not be a secretive one. I want Michal to see what power supports him, and I want Benedict to understand who his adversaries are.”
Kassia wasn’t sure what chilled her more, the dark gleam in her Master’s eyes or the thought of being Bishop Benedict’s adversary.
By early evening Kassia was prepared for their journey, having spent the afternoon in prayerful meditation. She read some more in Marija’s journal, as well, hoping to find in it something bright and happy. What she found instead was a peculiar little note that she had originally thought was merely a poem. It was scribbled in the margin of one of the latter pages.
The window and the doorway open to all,
but the Spirit Gate is in the thrall
of him who first invokes it.
Were these Marija’s words, or Honorius’? Did they mean what they seemed to—that a spell could be owned? Kassia had little time to ponder the questions and no chance at all to ask her Master what the verse might mean, for as Zelimir and his close associates convened their council, she and Lukasha mounted the dais in her studio. Lukasha bid her speak the words of the spell with him, which she did, matching syllable for syllable and noticing, absently, how well she knew her Master’s cadence. Then, in a protracted moment of frenzied light and color, they were swept from the round chamber in Dalibor to the royal council hall at Tabor.
Nerves made Kassia notice the frenzied movement behind the crystal walls more than she usually did. She imagined people watching them as they sped through the corridor, their faces pressed to the outside walls. Perhaps they waved or gasped in fright and ran to hide.
They stepped from the spell’s doorway enveloped in a billowing cloud of heatless flame. Lukasha provided this for effect, for the spell itself produced no more than a shimmering effect. Kassia could see the splendor of their coming mirrored in window and wall and highly polished floor, but nowhere was it more thoroughly recorded than on the faces of King Zelimir and his counselors. Even the sorcerous bishop was momentarily boggled.
Kassia could not contain the surge of exhilaration that roared in her head. She had just stepped hundreds of miles through space and time as easily as anyone else might step across a threshold between adjacent rooms. The palace floors were solid beneath her feet, but her head was yet being buffeted by a hot spirit wind of triumph. She felt laughter welling up inside her, threatening to overflow her control. A second look at the face of Bishop Benedict throttled it. There was nothing but venom in that look. Naught but sheer, cold rage. They had declared war, she realized, by stepping across the miles to Tabor. They had announced to their adversary that they were prepared for battle.
Kassia swallowed a lump of fear. Her Master was speaking, but she didn’t hear his words. It struck her forcefully, as she shivered in Zelimir’s council hall, that Lukasha meant to use his magic as a weapon. That he intended her to use hers that way as well. She was not prepared for that.
Chapter Fifteen — Skirmishes
Their display had impressed all, there was no doubt of that, and gained them a hurried private conference with Zelimir, wherein he and Lukasha heatedly discussed every facet of the past week’s events. Lukasha pressed the king hard to place himself under Mateu protection, to eschew all but the most surface diplomacy with the Frankish delegation, to rally his own people, his own forces.
Zelimir, while obviously torn, was not to be completely convinced. “We cannot fall back into isolation,” he insisted. “Our borders are no longer an uninhabited frontier. There are people there. People who are my responsibility. And beyond them are those to whom Polia can be either ally or enemy, peaceful neighbor or conquest.”
“We will not be conquered if you lay your affairs in the hands of the Sacred Circle. If you eschew this diverse rabble and trust us to advise and protect Polia.”
“It is not a matter of trust. It is a matter of politics. As I find it necessary to have closer ties to the Frankish Church, it is increasingly difficult for me to lay my affairs in the hands of the Circle. The Christians in my domain wish to have their interests represented as well.”
“Why would we not represent them fairly? We are not intolerant.”
“No. But they fear intolerance just the same. I must listen to other voices than those of tradition.”
“If you will not trust the Circle, will you trust Kassia?”
Michal looked at her, not for the first time during his verbal sparring match with Lukasha. His eyes had come to her face again and again during their debate. She sensed in him a mounting fever that made her quail. In the brief time she had known him, felt his emotions glide past her like stream-borne leaves, she had never thought of Michal Zelimir as a man driven by his passions. Yet here, now, his eyes spoke volumes about want and need. That silent dialogue made Kassia’s face suffuse with color.
“You haven’t spoken, Kassia,” he said. “What have you to say? Would you be my protector?”
“I suspect Benedict to be a powerful sorcerer, my lord. You must not allow yourself to be manipulated by him.”
“You say I am manipulated by him?”
“I believe you are, yes.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You would fight him for me.”
“I . . . would protect you from his intrusions.”
“To keep me from marrying Fiorella Orsini?”
“To keep our people from marrying into bondage to the Frankish Empire. A physical conqueror can demand of you land, toil, servitude. A conqueror such as Benedict demands servitude of the soul. Our borders might be safe and free in that alliance, but our spirits would be in chains.”
He grasped her hand and pressed it to his breast. Beneath the thick velvet, her fingertips picked up the beating of his heart, too quick, too driven. “My spirit is not free, Kassia. My counselors besiege me and exhort me to marry. I’m not a man. I’m a king. I find that a king has more in common with his livestock than he does with his subjects. I’m a prize stallion they must prod to mate. Will I take the Turkish mare, the Frankish one or the Barb? Can you free me from that?”
“I will try.” She became suddenly conscious of her Master, who had retired to a spot some feet away and was watching their interplay with rapt attention. “I promise you, lord, we will not let Benedict work his magic on you if we can help it. My Master is powerful—”
He laughed, all but crushing her hand. “You are more powerful.” He, too, seemed to remember Lukasha then, and raised his head, his eyes feverish and over-bright. “And the Gherai Khan? Can you also provide protection from his forces?”
Lukasha nodded. “Let me see what may be done about the Mongol kagan. Free your mind, my king. Set it to rest. Clear from it all thought of Franks and Turks and Barbs. Enter into deliberation knowing that you have a shield against the powers of your enemies.”
He included both Kassia and Zelimir in his smile, and Kassia realized that her hand was still captive. At this moment, she did not dare seek its release. Still holding it, the king led the way back to the council hall where his advisers milled in confusion. He held Kassia at his side throughout the heated consultation that followed and went on into the night. She, fe
eling Benedict’s assaults more acutely with every attack, held up her shield against them.
She wasn’t sure exactly when Lukasha disappeared from the chamber, she only knew that she looked up once with burning, bleary eyes, and he was gone. Adrenaline brought her back to full consciousness, and she spent the remainder of the raucous session staring at the place he had been. He returned in one of the rare moments she pulled her eyes from the spot to squeeze them shut, hoping to restore some clarity to her fatigued vision. He was not there and then he simply was, his face gaunt. Kassia’s heart chilled to see him look so burdened.
When the council finally disbanded well after midnight, Lukasha whisked her from the room before Zelimir could recapture her, led her to into the darkened atrium and concealed them both with a screening ward. Even if Zelimir should look for them, he would be unable to see or hear them; Lukasha did not bother to lower his voice.
“Kassia, when Benedict is using his talents of manipulation, can you always sense it? If, for example, he were to attempt to manipulate a member of Zelimir’s court—”
“Like Chancellor Bogorja?”
“Is he manipulating Bogorja?”
Kassia nodded, stifling a yawn. “I’m fairly certain. When we left, the Chancellor was so certain the king must not marry rashly into the Empire. Now he’s confused, almost witless. I saw it tonight when he spoke. His thoughts were like . . . dandelion puffs, carried willy-nilly by every breeze. Chancellor Bogorja is not usually an indecisive man.”
“Do you think you could sense Benedict’s . . . intrusion, as you called it . . . even if he was not present?”
The Spirit Gate Page 27