“How can the Lady help you, my daughter?”
I jumped in startled fear, but the priest was not speaking to me. Of course not; I was already engaged in walking Gaius's Circuit. The priest—I sneaked a look at him from the corner of my eye—was addressing a young woman in robes who had just entered the cathedral. A young woman who now followed him down toward the great altar, her eyes downcast. I moved on to the next altar, taking a look at the young woman as I did so.
It was Mira.
I stumbled on the stones under my feet and nearly fell. The priest turned to stare at me as I recovered myself, but fortunately Mira did not. She continued on to the Great Altar without looking up.
“I am here only to pray,” she said in a clear, even voice. “I don't need your assistance, Father.”
He moved off as she knelt and closed her eyes.
The fourth altar of Gaius's Circuit is traditionally placed directly behind the Great Altar, and by a quirk of the furniture arrangements, when I turned around I had a perfectly clear view of Mira's face. Which meant, of course, that if she opened her eyes right now she would have a perfectly clear view of my face, as well, but for at least the next moment or two, I didn't care.
Mira. Miriamne. Her face was pale and thin, her eyes and cheeks sunken, as if she were living in Ravenna instead of the Circle's cradle of luxury within the capital city. Was she praying to the Lady with sincerity? Or did she secretly whisper prayers in the Old Tongue, like I did? I wondered if the Fedeli would dare to accuse a member of the Full Circle of apostasy. As Mira straightened her back, I flipped my cloak hood over my face to conceal myself, but she did not see me. Her right hand flicked in a tiny, almost undetectable gesture, drawing a tiny cross over her heart. Then she rose and strode quickly out of the chapel.
I decided I didn't care anymore whether I had been followed; I couldn't stay in here any longer. Abandoning Gaius's circuit halfway through, I fled back to my room.
CHAPTER FIVE
If you open your eyes, you shall see the truth.
—The Journey of Gèsu, chapter 7, verse 12.
Ulisse had asked me to follow Valentino, so as night fell, I watched quietly from my window. I could readily imagine that Valentino might be visiting Sura in secret, although in truth I sympathized with him. Why shouldn't he flirt with any girl who would put up with him, and be friends with anyone he chose? That just goes to show your naïveté, I could almost hear Giovanni saying; yet another thing you know nothing about.
It was a long, boring wait. The last of the stragglers slipped inside from their evening strolls, and the enclave became quiet. I could hear the gentle splash of a fountain near the edge of the garden; then, farther away, I heard the sound of a single trumpet.
There! Someone was leaving the building. I slipped out of my seat by the window, tossed my cloak around my shoulders, and went out into the night.
I caught up with the shadowy figure quickly enough, but I couldn't tell whether or not I was following Valentino. Whoever it was headed for the nearest exit, and I quickly checked to make sure I had my badge around my neck. I did. It made sense, I supposed, to have a secret meeting outside the enclave; it wasn't as if we were prisoners here. We wound our way through the city streets. I realized, too late, that I was never going to be able to find my way back. Well, if necessary, I could hole up somewhere and then ask directions in the morning. Everyone else in Cuore doubtless knew the way to the Imperial enclave.
I was expecting to arrive at a seedy tavern, but instead the person I was pursuing made his way to a quiet street of dark buildings—warehouses, I thought. I could smell the earthy smell of unwashed wool, and the acrid smell of dye; I thought we were probably in the textile merchants' district. The man I was following stopped, and I ducked back behind the edge of the building as he tapped lightly on a door several times. I could see the faintest flicker of candlelight from the doorway as he went inside, and I moved around to peer through a crack at the bottom of the shuttered window.
I had not been following Valentino—looking at him in the candlelight, I was quite sure of that. I wasn't sure who it was, though, because he—like everyone else in the room—was masked. There were eleven people in the room, and every one wore a white veil that covered the lower half of their faces, obscuring their features. My first thought was that they were preparing a performance for Mascherata, which was only a few weeks away, but they seemed much too nervous to be involved in something that innocent. Then one of them lifted the candle from the table, and I saw a small plate with a white cloth over it, and a chalice of wine. Redentori.
I knew I shouldn't be watching this. If they had any sense, they'd check for observers before they started their ritual, and I doubted a spy would be treated politely. I slipped back out into the street, and collided with a tall man in a black cloak. His hood fell back and I saw that he, too was masked.
“Sorry,” I said, and started to dodge aside, but his hand closed on my arm and he jerked me in to the room through the open door.
“Weren't you watching the alley?” he said sharply to the woman with the candle. The cloth over his face muffled his voice slightly. “Look what I found.” He shoved me to the floor. “Spying on us.”
My mouth went dry. “I've seen nothing,” I said. “I don't know who you are.”
The woman with the candle slammed the door and barred it. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I have a friend who's in trouble with a lady, that's who I thought I was following—”
“You followed someone here?” The man who'd caught me looked around the shadowed room, his eyes narrowing.
“We have to kill him.” It was the man I'd followed who spoke. I stared up at him; I didn't recognize his eyes or his voice, but presumably he was one of the musicians. For all I knew, he was a spy. Revealing myself as Redentore—let alone as Eliana—could get me killed even if they believed me and let me go.
The man I'd followed drew his knife. “I think he followed me. It's only just. I'll do it.”
“Wait!” I said. “Don't hurt me. I swear I won't tell anyone what I saw.”
“What good is the vow of a Della Chiesa?” said the man who'd dragged me in, speaking more to his comrades than to me.
There was a hush, then the man I'd followed lunged at me with his knife. I rolled aside, drawing my own knife and throwing myself back into the corner. They'd be able to take me if they wanted to, but maybe I could bluff my way out of this somehow. I pushed myself to my feet, my back against the wall. The man who'd tried to kill me was keeping his distance with a glare. If he was a musician, which seemed likely, he wouldn't know any more about knife-fighting than I'd known before I started lessons with Giovanni.
“Just let me leave,” I said. “If you try, you'll be able to take this knife from me, but blood will be shed, and it won't all be mine. I don't want to hurt any of you. I'm no danger to you—I don't know who I followed, nor who any of you are. And I wouldn't turn you in even if I could.”
The man who'd caught me moved toward me slowly, his hands empty, palms up. “Our brother drew steel quickly,” he said. “We don't want to hurt you.”
I relaxed slightly—and with a jerk and a flash of reflected candlelight, his sword was at my throat, pinning me to the wall.
“Drop your knife,” he said.
I dropped it.
“It's clear you know what we are, and why we're here,” he said. “Why did you come?”
“I told you the truth,” I said. “My friend Ulisse asked me to trail his friend Valentino, to make sure he wasn't meeting a certain girl secretly. Stupid enclave political goatshit. I'm just a musician. Valentino's just a musician. Why would—”
“Shut up,” the man said, pressing the sword a little harder against my throat. “You're ‘just a musician’ like this sword is just an eating-knife. Where did you learn to fight?”
“From my brothers,” I said. “Growing up.”
The man made a sound of disgust and I s
aw his grip on the sword tighten.
“Wait!” I said and my voice cracked. “Don't kill me. I'm one of you. I'm Redentore.”
“Nice try,” the man said, “but I think we've heard enough of your lies.”
“Stop,” I shouted, and to my surprise, he did. “If I were Fedele—as you obviously think I am—why would I be sneaking around in an alley? I would have infiltrated your group. I would have arrived on your doorstep with something to make you trust me. I would be pretending to be one of you right now and you would not be holding a sword at my throat, you'd be celebrating Mass and you wouldn't even know that the knife was already in your back.”
“If you are one of us,” the woman with the candle said, “why did you wait till now to tell us?”
My gaze swept around the room. “Every one of you is masked,” I said. “I am not. For all I know, you know who I am—and one of you probably is Fedele, sent to spy. And you know that, or why the masks? I had hoped I could persuade you to free me, and I wouldn't have to reveal my own secret.”
The man with the sword shook his head. “It's too late to make claims like this.” I saw his hand tighten again, and I looked around the room desperately, searching for sympathetic eyes.
“Wait.” One of the men spoke—a short, stout man with a gentle tenor voice. “You judge hastily, brother. The boy's story sounds plausible enough to me.” He stepped forward into the circle of candlelight and laid a restraining hand on the other man, then turned to me. “If you are what you say, sing the opening prayer for the Mass.”
The sword eased back, and I took a deep—shaky— breath. For a petrifying instant, my mind went blank, but I formed the violin fingering with my left hand and could remember again. “B'shaem Arkah, v'Bar Shelah, v'Nihor Kadosh,” I sang. I started the melody too high, and had to switch to the lower register, and my voice broke three times, but I made it through the opening prayer. I remembered just as I finished that I was supposed to be a boy. I hoped I hadn't sung too high.
There was a long, uncertain silence when I finished.
“Let him go,” said my defender. “He's telling the truth.”
“The Fedeli could learn our prayers,” said the man with the sword.
“The Fedeli, yes,” said my defender. “But not a random passerby who hoped to betray us for a rich reward. And he's right. The Fedeli would be in our midst, not peering in through a crack in the shutter.” He laid his hand on the other man's sword-arm. “Let him go.”
Reluctantly, the man lowered his sword and put it away.
My defender turned to me. “You are welcome to stay and celebrate with us, brother,” he said.
My knees were shaking too badly to dance. “I will stay if I must, but normally I provide God's music; my dancing is clumsy.”
“Go in peace, then,” he said.
I clasped his hand. “Thank you, brother,” I said, and fled the house as fast as my shaking legs would let me.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Gèsu went into the house of his enemy.”
I turned, expecting Lucia, but it was Mira. She looked at me with her gray eyes, and she did not smile. “Do you think he wanted to do that? Don't you think that some mornings, he woke with every bone in his body screaming for him to run?”
“The only place you ran was back here,” I said, and I realized suddenly that we were in Rosalba's office. I looked around for Rosalba, only to realize that I was sitting at Rosalba's desk, her pen in my own hand.
“Do you condemn me?” Mira asked.
“Yes,” I said, and my voice was shaking.
“I am unrepentant,” Mira said. “A confirmed heretic and apostate. Do your duty, then.”
I stood up, hearing Rosalba's robes rustling around me, and smelling her scent. “Take her away,” I said. I remembered most of what Rosalba would say, but the words stuck on my tongue like ashes, and my voice fell to a whisper. “Take her away.”
∗ ∗ ∗
I woke with a start, my hands shaking. I made a witchlight, and put a kettle on my fire to make tea. It would take some time to dispel the dream, and I didn't think I wanted to go back to sleep right away, even if I could. My window was shuttered for the night, but I suspected it was nearly dawn in any case.
Trying to think about anything other than my dream, I made sure my appearance was in order in case I had any unexpected visitors, and made my tea. My room had a small table, and I sat down to drink tea and think about the events of the previous evening.
Redentori in Cuore, and at least one from the enclave. No, wait. I thought back to the room of masked people: they were all wearing medallions, all stamped in silver or gold. They were all from the enclave.
It wasn't surprising, really, when I thought about it. The Old Way had been making a resurgence throughout Verdia, not just among the Lupi; of course there would be Redentori here as well, and of course they'd be far more cautious. I wondered how many were spies— I could almost imagine repeated infiltration creating a secret Redentore cadre made up entirely of Fedeli spies. But, no. If they were all spies, they'd have killed me. I wondered if I were in danger, since any spies at that meeting had seen my face and knew I was a musician. I hoped they'd consider me too small a bird to bother hunting. I couldn't imagine leaving already; I hadn't learned, or done, anything useful yet.
Redentori in the enclave—some musicians, but some important enough to rate gold medallions. I ought to be able to find a way to use that. The Emperor controlled the army, and the Circle feared a strong army; the army without the Circle was nothing, except in the areas drained of magic, where the Circle was less than nothing. Perhaps one of the nobles I'd seen last night was close to the Emperor.
Outside my window, I could hear the cacophony of birds that meant that dawn was well and truly breaking, and I padded over to open the shutters. I leaned out to latch them open, and noticed something bright on my windowsill.
A spray of pink rosebuds. I picked it up, puzzled. Was this a token of love from a secret admirer? I sincerely hoped not; someone's romantic interest in me could make my life much more complicated. But it seemed more likely that someone had mistaken my window for someone else's, or that the flower had been set aside briefly during a flirtation and forgotten, my windowsill only a convenient shelf. I left the flowers on my table and went to find some breakfast.
Ulisse knocked on my door while I was practicing that afternoon. “Can I come in?” he asked. “I don't want Valentino to see me.”
I stood back and gestured Ulisse in. “I don't have anything to tell you.”
“He didn't go out?”
“I don't know. I saw someone leave, and I followed. But it turned out not to be Valentino.” Ulisse started to say something in a wheedling tone, and I shook my head. “The man I followed almost killed me, Ulisse; I am not trying this again.”
Ulisse fell silent, abashed. “I'm sorry, Daniele. I didn't mean to send you into danger. Valentino would have been annoyed if he'd seen someone follow him, but he wouldn't have tried—well, of course not. I'm sorry.”
This seemed to be a good time to ask Ulisse some questions of my own, while he was off-balance and feeling guilty. “Quirino tried to explain the ‘gold’ and ‘green’ factions to me, but I'm not sure I really understood. You oppose sending the army into the wasteland against the Lupi because you're on the side of the Circle?”
Ulisse flashed me a grin. “I think Quirino made it sound simpler than it is. All the greens oppose raising a new army to crush the Lupi. Some of the greens are Circle loyalists, and want the Emperor to keep the army out of the wasteland because that's what the Circle wants. And others want the Emperor to keep the army out of the way because they are perfectly willing to hand the Circle a shovel and let them dig their own grave. You can probably guess which group I'm in.”
“And the golds?”
“The golds want the Emperor to raise a new army right away to crush the Lupi. Some are Fedeli supporters. Some are Circle supporters who don't want to take an
y chances and don't think the Circle knows what's in its own best interests. And some are hoping that the Circle is right to fear a powerful, confident army.”
“Which group is the dreaded Signora Clara in?”
“You know, I have no idea,” Ulisse said. “She keeps her dice well hidden. I suppose if I had to guess, I'd say she's a friend to the Fedeli; she threatened Valentino with a heresy accusation, after all.”
“If it was Clara who left the heretical icon in his room.”
“If it wasn't, it was someone acting on her orders,” Ulisse said. “I wish I knew if Valentino was behaving himself.”
“I did my best,” I said, and sighed, a bit theatrically.
“I know, I know. And I appreciate it.”
“I had another question about the factions,” I said. “What does the Emperor think? Does anyone know?”
“Well, so far he hasn't sent the army down to the wasteland, so he's siding with the green faction,” Ulisse said. “Of course, no one knows why. Is he on the side of the Circle? Is he secretly wearing the colors of the Lupi? Is he just more afraid of the Circle than he is of the Fedeli? No one knows.”
“What does the Emperor have to fear from the Circle or the Fedeli?” I asked.
Ulisse looked startled. “You don't know? Well, of course. You were at the conservatory. Emperor Iago died last year—you heard that at least.” I nodded. “He died of a very sudden illness, and he was not a weak man, or an old one. It is commonly believed that he was poisoned by a political enemy. Of course, no one knows who. I think the Fedeli did it, personally, but I've heard it argued persuasively that it was the Circle. At any rate, Emperor Travan has plenty to fear, and no way of knowing whom to fear. I don't envy the Emperor.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“Me?” Ulisse gave me a broad grin. “I've seen him from a distance, but we've never been introduced.” Ulisse shrugged. “Mostly, the Emperor tries to stay out of the way of both the Fedeli and the Circle. I've heard some rumors implying odd things about the Emperor's sexual appetites, but I think those are just someone's idea of a good dirty joke. He's a very quiet man, very reclusive. Even when his father was alive, when I'd see him at a court event, he'd be avoiding the other people there as assiduously as possible. So if he does have unusual sexual tastes, they probably tend more toward the solitary pleasures, eh?” Ulisse chortled at the look on my face, then elbowed me and nodded toward the flowers on my table. “Nice roses. I hope you aren't planning on offering them to a pretty girl in a yellow dress.”
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