“Politeness,” I said firmly. “Unless it’s a matter of grave importance. And you?”
“Truth, always.” He grinned. “But I admit that I do sometimes exploit the difference between truth and honesty.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes?”
“Often.” He nodded graciously. “Your turn to ask.”
“All right.” I thought a moment. “How about this one: friends or country?”
Kathe’s face went solemn. “As the Witch Lord of Let, I must always put the domain I rule above my personal attachments. And my friends wouldn’t want me to sacrifice the good of my domain for them. But it’s hard, I admit, because I treasure my friends.”
I nodded. “I wouldn’t value blind patriotism over my friends. When you hold power in a great empire, there are times when you must be willing to stand up to it, to keep it from crushing its own people because it’s too vast to see them. But if it came down to a matter of survival, between my friends or my whole country, of course I would choose my country.”
“You say ‘of course,’ but I have one or two in my Heartguard who would choose the opposite.” Kathe smiled fondly, gazing past my shoulder at someone hundreds of miles away—and for all I knew, he might truly be looking at them, after a fashion, with his magical sense of his own domain. “And there is something to be said for such profound loyalty, even when it flies in the face of reason.”
Zaira might let the Empire burn to save Terika, now that I thought of it. And Bree would try to save everyone, rejecting the choice entirely. “I suppose you’re right,” I said. “Your turn, I believe.”
“Let’s see.” He tapped his lips a moment in thought, then lifted a finger. “Aha! A classic: your life, or your honor?”
“It depends,” I said slowly. “I wouldn’t throw my life away just for pride’s sake. But there are some matters of honor worth dying for. I’d die before bending the knee to Ruven, for example.”
Kathe let out a gentle breath, like the ghost of a sigh. “Perhaps it comes of being a vivomancer, but I put life before honor. Honor is a thing you can fix later if you break it. Life, once destroyed, can’t be mended.”
“I suppose you have a point. But there are times when you need to make a stand. Things more important than one person’s life.” I shrugged, feeling a bit foolish. “Maybe it’s my Callamornish side talking.”
“Most likely.” Kathe smiled. “Callamornes are a fine people. And stubborn as rocks. Your turn, then.”
I couldn’t help thinking of Marcello and Zaira. I had no doubt the former would choose honor, and the latter life. “Hmm, let me think…” Marcello. Hells, why not? A game needed stakes. I met Kathe’s eyes. “Love or duty?”
He hesitated. “Do you mean romantic love, or love in general?”
“Romantic love.” I had put this card on the table; I had to play out my hand.
“Ah.” A strange sadness came into Kathe’s voice, with the suddenness of summer rain. “I don’t… well. One must be very careful about who one loves, as a Witch Lord. For one thing, unless something goes wrong, you’re going to outlive nearly anyone you might fall in love with.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “I can see where that might dampen matters.”
“I might have loved Jathan,” he said quietly, after a silence. “But he was part of my domain, so I couldn’t let myself think of him that way.”
The name eluded my recall for a moment. But then I remembered: Kathe’s friend whom the Lady of Thorns had murdered. “Oh! Oh,” I said.
“I suppose that means I already chose duty, doesn’t it? Or I’d have figured out I loved him while he was still alive.” He took my hand in his slim cold one, an odd, sad smile pulling at his lips. “I have to admit the romantic life of a Witch Lord sometimes seems hopeless. But I think I could come to love you, Amalia, if you allowed it.”
Words caught in my throat. Honesty over politeness, indeed. I’d always thought the term falling in love was a ridiculous one; love was something that grew like a nurtured seed, and anything you could stumble into like a hole in bad pavement was infatuation at best. But every time I caught an elusive flicker of the true soul behind the mischief in Kathe’s eyes, I felt myself sliding inexorably closer to a dizzying abyss.
He is a Witch Lord, I reminded myself firmly. He was willing to get you badly hurt and possibly killed to have his vengeance. If he was fascinating, so what? Sharks were fascinating, too.
“How about you?” he asked, cheerful again. “Love or duty?”
The question hit me like spilled wine. “Duty,” I said. “Like you, I’ve already made that choice.” I’d said as much to Marcello, when I told him not to wait for me.
Kathe winced, and I realized how harsh that sounded, after what he’d said. His hand still clasped mine, and I squeezed it and quickly added, “But I don’t believe the two need to be mutually exclusive.”
His lips quirked. “Does Raverran romance always sound like contract negotiations?”
“Probably,” I laughed.
A discreet knock came at the door.
“Enter,” I called. I didn’t release Kathe’s hand; we were courting, after all, and holding hands was well within the bounds of correct behavior even in public.
Ciardha appeared, bowing with elegant precision. No doubt it was the exact degree appropriate for a visiting Witch Lord. “Your pardon, Lady, but before I leave to attend to La Contessa, there is one more small matter you might wish to attend to. If you were to select a mask for the Festival of Luck, you would alleviate a great deal of Rica’s anxiety about ensuring you have a gown to match, and it occurs to me that Lord Kathe might enjoy the opportunity to learn more about Raverran culture.”
Kathe blinked. “You have a mask festival?”
“You don’t celebrate the Night of Masks in Vaskandar?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We celebrate the seasons of the earth, rather than the gifts of your Graces. But I like masks, and I like learning.”
I stood, drawing him to his feet with me, a grin of anticipation spreading across my face. “Well then, I have a treat for you.”
Madame Nicola’s mask shop was one of the best in the Serene City, and as such, it was abominably crowded with the Night of Masks only days away. But if one were a Cornaro, and especially a Cornaro with a Witch Lord on her arm, one need not even set foot in the packed storefront with its shelves of staring painted faces adorned with bright beads and feathers. For that matter, I could easily have had a servant arrange for me to peruse any number of masks at my palace, but I was glad for the excuse to show Kathe the city—and besides, there were political advantages for both of us to be seen together in public and remind the world of our alliance.
Madame Nicola herself spotted us before we could attempt to insinuate ourselves into the elbow-rubbing masses spilling out her door. In mere moments she had us ensconced in a private back room, draped in burgundy crushed velvet to block the sunlight and illuminated with warm festival lanterns to mimic the lighting the masks would be seen in during the festival. We sipped wine in comfortable chairs while her assistants brought us an assortment of her best masks, laying them out on a luxurious spill of deep black velvet on a long table.
And then Madame Nicola apologized for the busyness of her shop, encouraged us to call for her if we had any questions, and left us alone to peruse the masks with nothing but a mirror for company, shooing her assistants out with a backward glance and nod in my direction. That was one of the things I liked about Madame Nicola’s; she understood that not everyone wanted someone hovering at their elbow trying to sell them something when they were attempting to make a decision.
It also left me alone once more with Kathe. In the close atmosphere of the mask shop, the prickling energy of his proximity was inescapable.
He bent over the assortment of masks with great interest. “This is lovely,” he said, handing me a delicate confection of glass beads strung on complex swirls of golden wire, “but is it truly wise to
put an artifice device on your face?”
“That depends on what it does. This one is harmless.” I held it up to show him, the cold wire pressing into my nose and cheekbones. My vision immediately went hazy and green, then began fading slowly into blue. “See, it just cycles the color of your eyes.”
Kathe blinked, then lifted his long fingers to the mask, running them delicately along one edge. “How strange. It does make you look like an entirely different person.”
“That’s the point. It’s a game.”
As the room warmed through dusky purple toward rose, Kathe’s fingertips trailed down my cheek. “You know how I love games.”
My skin shivered pleasantly in the wake of his touch. I swallowed. “You can help me choose, then.” I set the mask aside, and full color rushed back into the room. The warm lamplight gilded the lines of Kathe’s face. “That one’s a bit distracting, I must admit.”
“How about this one?” He took up a fantastical creation of cunningly shaped and painted leather: a visage of the Demon of Nightmares, with eight twisting black horns and sharp glaring brow ridges. “You could terrify small children.”
“That one might look better on you.” I took it from him, then held it up to his face instead of my own. His hair tickled my fingers, surprisingly soft. “There, now you’re the classic Raverran idea of a Witch Lord.”
The mask made his face cruel and fierce, the piercing yellow rings of his mage mark blazing out from dark shadows. But he ruined the effect with a mischievous smile. “It’s not very practical, though. You’d poke someone in the eye if you tried to kiss them.”
“We can’t have that.” I lowered the mask, a stray lock of his hair sliding briefly through my fingers. It was somewhat longer than when I’d met him, with more white-blond showing above the black-stained tips. I wondered who dyed it for him, or if he did it himself. “Let’s find a more functional mask, then.”
We took turns trying on a grand peacock feather masterpiece, which Kathe posed with rather dramatically, and a gold filigree sun mask that spread rays far enough that I feared I’d spear innocent bystanders every time I turned my head. A silk-lined mask of cunningly detailed papier-mâché caught my eye, with deep, rich shades of lagoon green and ocean blue around the eyes. It swept to one side in a shape like a wave, with delicately curled spray tipped in gold. The jewel-hued paint had depth and complexity to it, like the sea itself, and as I held it in my hands I picked out shapes of clouds and ships and faces, holding each briefly in my mind like a dream before it merged back into abstract washes of swirling color. From a distance, the mask would not impress as the others might, but up close, it was gorgeous.
“Try it on,” Kathe suggested, and I held it up to my face. It fit comfortably enough, flexing to accommodate my features rather than forcing them into its own shape.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“It’s beautiful.” Kathe laid a gentle hand along my chin, tilting my face toward the light; the warmth of his touch spread through my whole body. “But does it pass the most important test?”
“Only one way to tell,” I whispered, sliding my hand around the back of his neck and up into that down-soft hair as I pulled him toward me.
Our lips met, slow and soft and teasing, the barest brush like falling snow.
A sliver of air slipped between us, enough to take a sharp breath as lightning seemed to slide down my throat and into my belly. I’d closed my eyes, but I felt his mouth shape a smile.
“Better try another angle to be sure,” I murmured.
I tipped my head slightly and tried for another quick, light kiss. But somehow it turned warm and melting, and lingered longer than I’d intended. And then there was a rustle of feathers, and his arms went around me, and my own hands slid up beneath his cloak to feel the wiry muscles of his back through the soft leather of his tunic.
“I think this one is good,” Kathe said when we came up for air, a husky catch in his voice.
Businesslike footsteps approached the door, and we separated, my fingertips still carrying the warm tingle of his power in them after we slid apart. I smoothed back my hair and struggled to slow my quickened breath. Grace of Love help me, I needed to go splash ice water in my face and stare at some artifice diagrams until the world became rational again.
“Did you find anything you liked, my lady?” Madame Nicola asked, opening the door.
“Quite, yes,” I said, removing the mask and hoping she wouldn’t notice the flushed cheeks it revealed in the lamplight. “I’ll take this one.”
Chapter Six
As we stepped out of the mask shop into the sun-drenched square, I struggled to collect myself. I wished I had any real sense of whether this was all just another game to Kathe—or rather, since everything seemed to be a game to him, whether it was a political game or a personal one.
It might be nice to be certain my own motives remained entirely political, for that matter. With Kathe’s arm through mine and the tingling energy of his presence all along my side, my heart refused to return to an altogether sedate pace.
“Back at my palace, you mentioned having news of subterfuge,” I reminded him as we crossed the square, striving to force my mind back to matters of business.
“Ah, yes. Our game completely distracted me.” He grinned slyly, as if daring me to ask which game. “My crows spotted several of Ruven’s people sneaking across the border into the Empire, including some of his human chimeras. They were traveling at night and avoiding the roads, heading south toward Raverra.”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Why would he use chimeras for infiltration? Unless they look human.”
“Not at all.” Kathe grimaced. “They’d have trouble blending in. But they’ll have other abilities. They might be able to see in the dark, climb up walls, move quickly as a cat or fight with the strength of a bear.”
“Assassins,” I guessed, the winter air chill in my lungs. “Or kidnappers.”
“As you say. You’d have a better idea than I who or what their targets might be.”
“It could be anything. He could be trying to capture Falcons again, or kill our warlocks, or steal more books of magic from our libraries.” I already knew he was seeking a way to make his potion permanent; he could be after the recipe for Demon’s Tears, or an expert on poisons. “We need to find out more. Some further hint of what he’s up to.”
Kathe seemed to hesitate a moment, then sighed. “Alas, much as I would enjoy helping you try to flush Ruven out and block whatever move he’s making here, I’m afraid I need to head home already.”
“So soon?” I stopped and turned to face him, unable to hide my disappointment. “Surely you’ll at least stay for dinner.”
“I can’t be away from Let for long.” Kathe’s pale brows drew together. “Not with Ruven testing my borders. It’s harder to defend my domain from afar. I’ll leave some crows with you, so you can send me a message if something happens.”
I closed my lips on all the protests I could have made. What kind of courtship was this, if we only saw each other for half a day once a month? How could he come all this way and only stay a few hours?
But this was only a political courtship, after all, to cement an alliance. And even so, he had come hundreds of miles to see me for those few hours, at a time when his domain faced a dangerous enemy.
“Thank you,” I said.
I couldn’t kiss him, not with the crowd of mask shoppers outside Madame Nicola’s all staring at us sideways and whispering. I supposed they’d love the show, a juicy piece of gossip to take home: how they’d seen the Cornaro Heir and her Witch Lord suitor kissing in broad daylight beneath the laughing stone eyes of the Grace of Bounty. If I were bolder, perhaps I’d have given it to them. But my first kiss with Kathe had been for show, and circumstances might call for more of its like in the future; for now, I’d hoard the private kisses we’d shared in the mask shop, a secret between the two of us that might have nothing to do with politic
s.
“I expect we’ll see each other soon enough.” Kathe sighed. “It’s a shame I can’t stay for your mask festival. It sounds like great fun.”
“Next year, then,” I suggested. Perhaps it was just as well; Raverran society probably wasn’t ready for the havoc Kathe could unleash at a masquerade.
Except that Kathe wasn’t the Witch Lord whose potential for havoc I needed to worry about right now.
“The Night of Masks.” I struck my thigh. “Hells. I’d bet half my fortune that’s when Ruven is planning to strike.”
“That’s when I’d do it,” Kathe agreed cheerily. “If you’re going to all the trouble to hold a festival themed around disguise and deception, it would seem churlish not to take advantage of it. And it would have a certain dramatic flair.”
“You sound altogether too excited at the idea.”
“On the contrary, I’m even sadder that I’ll miss it. Trying to find Ruven’s agents in a citywide masked ball sounds like an excellent game.”
“Challenging, though.” I lifted a hand to my temple, feeling nearly faint at the sheer magnitude of the task. “And the stakes if we lose could be dauntingly high.”
Kathe fixed his yellow-ringed eyes on me with sudden solemnity. “They always are, when you play against a Witch Lord,” he said. “But Ruven has a personal grudge against you, so it’ll be even worse. Make sure you win, Amalia.”
Legends told that in the Dark Days, when the Graces walked the earth and inspired humanity to rise up and fight back against the Demons who ruled over them, the Grace of Luck would sometimes appear at people’s doors in disguise—be their homes ever so humble or ever so proud—and beg for food or shelter. Those who offered hospitality were rewarded with Her blessing, and received great fortune; and as such, on the Night of Masks, every household must offer hospitality to any masked reveler who showed up at their door.
This custom had, naturally, evolved in Raverra to the throwing of lavish masquerades, made all the more exciting by the possibility that anyone could turn up at one’s party, from the doge himself to a notorious jewel thief. So long as they wore an acceptable mask, they could join the festivities. Most Raverrans flitted from ball to ball throughout the night, and the revelry poured out into the streets and canals. It was a day of mysteries and surprises, of charity and cunning, of terrible mistakes to be regretted the next morning and wondrous coincidences to transform one’s life. A night of intrigue and enchantment, of romance and adventure.
The Unbound Empire Page 6