Turning the Storm

by Naomi Kritzer

  “Oh … no.” I actually found myself blushing. “I found these on my windowsill this morning.”

  “Really?” Ulisse arched his eyebrow. “You've certainly become a heartbreaker quickly.”

  “It was probably intended for Valentino.”

  “Maybe it was that Fedele priestess you play for. Isn't her name Rosa?”

  “Rosalba,” I said. “And I very much doubt these are from her.”

  Ulisse shook his head. “Well, thank you for your efforts, and I'm sorry again that you nearly got into trouble. I'll leave you to your practicing.”

  I stepped out later that afternoon to play in the garden: I stood beside a fountain and chose the tune of a romantic ballad, which attracted a number of sweet young couples. I didn't see Sura anywhere; with any luck, Clara was keeping her mewed up inside East Court, where she couldn't get Valentino into trouble. I did catch a glimpse of Rosalba, who gave me a friendly wave; I dipped my head in response.

  When evening came, I sat down to put away my violin, and noticed that a yellow flower like a lily had been left on the edge of the fountain, close to where I was playing. I dismissed it as a flirtation device that had been accidentally mislaid, and left it behind when I headed to dinner.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  I had intended to go down to the university district after dinner, just to give Michel a quick report. I didn't have that much to tell him, but I wanted to see a face I could trust. But as I was taking a second piece of bread, Fabia came looking for me and Valentino. “Egidio's quartet was supposed to play for the Emperor's banquet tonight, but Egidio sprained his wrist today, so we're filling in. Go get your instruments and meet me by the fountain.” Valentino crammed the slice of meat he was eating into his mouth, and I resisted the urge to do the same with my bread; if I was hungry later, I could send a servant for a snack.

  Fabia led us to the Imperial Palace. I had been impressed by the welcoming banquet I had attended, but this party made that one look shabby and informal.

  Everyone in attendance here was among the nobility, high-ranked enough to live in the East Court if not the Imperial Palace itself, and people were dressed in their best clothing—dark green velvet with a pattern woven in with red thread; heavy yellow fabric that reflected the light like glass. The nobles had separated out by color, moving to opposite sides of the banquet hall, and very few seemed to have chosen neutrality tonight.

  “That's Clara,” Valentino whispered as we took our places in the gallery. I peered down at the lady he had indicated. It's difficult to judge appearance from above and I could not see her face from where we were, but even from above I could see the straightness of her back and the set of her jaw and shoulders. This was a lady who knew and appreciated power.

  I turned back to Valentino after a moment. “You flirted with her?”

  Valentino shrugged. “I was new here.”

  I shook my head. Only Valentino.

  Fabia tapped lightly on the rail and Valentino and I took our places and tuned our instruments.

  The Emperor's entrance was announced with a blast of trumpets. I rose with everyone else as he came in, studying him curiously. He had not in fact attended my welcome banquet; this was the first I'd seen him. He wasn't as tall as I'd expected; of course, no one described Emperor Travan as “short,” but he was. He was richly dressed in dark blue, with a golden eagle clasp holding his cape at the shoulder. He flicked the cape neatly out of his way as he sat down. I took my seat on Fabia's signal, then struck up some lively dinner music.

  From where I sat, I had an excellent view of Emperor Travan, and I studied him throughout the meal, paying just enough attention to Fabia to stay on the beat. Various nobles attempted to attract the Emperor's attention throughout the meal, and he gave each the barest attention, shrugging off the servile smiles everyone seemed to have for him. My first thought was that he was cold and unfriendly, but as the meal wore on, it became clear that he was simply miserable, going through the motions because that was what was expected of a monarch.

  I could hear the general murmur of conversation and the occasional high-pitched giggle, but I could make out no conversation from the musicians' gallery, even during our breaks. I suspected nothing of consequence would be discussed at such a meal anyway, but it would have been nice to have that confirmed.

  Toward the end of the meal I moved my attention from the Emperor to his guests. They had seated themselves along color lines, with the gold-clad nobles to the Emperor's left and the green-clad to his right. I recognized some of the faces from my visits to the gardens. Valentino's erstwhile lover Sura did not appear to be in attendance. However, as I scanned the gold-clad nobles, my eyes met those of one of the ladies. Her eyes glinted slightly as she looked at me and I realized that I was looking into the face of Signora Clara. My own eyes widened involuntarily as I waited for her gaze to move on, but she held my eyes—she had been watching me, and was not displeased to have been discovered. I had rehearsed the piece we were playing enough times that my hands and fingers continued to play, even as my face went hot and cold and I almost panicked. Then Clara dismissed me, turning away to talk quietly with the man next to her at the table, and my arms went watery with relief.

  The rest of our performance passed without incident. We had only been engaged for half the banquet, to provide the guests with some variety. As we packed up our instruments to move out of the gallery and let in a small ensemble of woodwinds, I noticed one other person looking at me—the Emperor. He looked away quickly when our eyes met, so quickly that I almost thought I had been mistaken. I looked up hesitantly as I tightened the last of the buckles of my violin case, and caught him looking at me again.

  “Did you see Signora Clara staring at you?” Valentino asked as the servants brought our cloaks to us and escorted us to the palace door.

  “No,” I said. “Was she?” Why was Clara staring at me? Did she suspect? Why was Travan staring at me? What on earth did they want?

  “I bet Signora Clara was trying to decide if you'd warm her bed nicely,” Valentino said. “You know, she isn't married.”

  “I can't believe I'm her type,” I said. Could I use the Emperor's interest in me, somehow? If I hadn't been imagining things?

  “You should give it a try,” Valentino said. “You'll never know if you don't.”

  “I don't think I want wine tossed in my face,” I said. “I don't have many sets of clothes.”

  “Nothing worthwhile is ever accomplished without risk,” Valentino said grandly. “Just think—Signora Clara as your lover!”

  You know what you have to do, Giovanni's voice echoed Valentino's in my mind. You just need the courage.

  It was too late to go to the university district. I bid Valentino good night, and went into my own room. I went to drop my cloak onto my bed, and smelled something unexpected: a scent both delicate and heady. I looked down to see a sprig of winter jasmine on my pillow. And next to it, a carved wooden whistle, no bigger than my finger.

  No, I thought. Not possible.

  “I had to come see you,” a voice said behind me, and I turned.

  It was Mira.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A teacher of ethics who works as a carpenter? A King who herds sheep? Who has ever heard of something so absurd?

  —The Journey of Gèsu, chapter 4, verse 36.

  Discovered. I was discovered. My first impulse was to bolt back out the door, but if Mira intended to have me arrested, she would undoubtedly have guards outside. Drawing my knife would do me no good, either; I vividly remembered what Mira had done to the crossbow bolt shot at me, and I was certain she could annihilate a knife, or a person, just as easily.

  Shaking, I turned away from her, and dropped the bar into place on my door. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

  “You think I've betrayed you,” she said. She summoned witchlight with a flick of her wrist, illuminating her face with the white glow like moonlight. “You think I've set guards on you. I have not,
Daniele.” She spoke my alias with a slight emphasis. “Had I wanted to betray you, I would have done it last night, instead of leaving roses on your windowsill. Or this afternoon, when I left the flower beside you at the fountain.”

  That was you? I was silent.

  “I should have stayed away. But when I knew you were so close—I had to see you.”

  I could not meet her eyes. I couldn't approach her. I turned my face to the wall and let myself sink to the floor by the door. “How did you get in?” I asked, finally. “Our rooms are supposed to be private.”

  “I bribed one of the servants.”

  “So all the servants will know that a musician had a visit from a mage.”

  “They'll think I'm your lover. It's not as uncommon as you'd think.”

  “Quirino had a lover who was a mage,” I said.

  “Silvia. I know her. She's close to my age.”

  I still couldn't look at Mira's face, so I studied the witchlight in her hand. It gave off a soft glow, dimmer than my own witchlight. Mira was doubtless skilled enough to adjust the illumination, to provide a moonlight glow or the sharp brightness of the sun, as she wished. After those many months seeing her avoid magery like poison, it seemed wrong to see her with witchlight—even knowing the truth. Even having the truth staring me in the face.

  She knelt beside me on the floor. “Please talk to me,” she begged.

  “I don't know what to say to you.” Mira tried to touch my hand and I pulled back, still unwilling to look her in the face. “You—” My throat closed, and I had to stop for a moment and fight for steady breath. “When you destroyed the Lupi, you killed the ten-year-old boy who had brought the message that Felice had betrayed us. He was standing in front of me. I saw him burn to death in the magefire.”

  “Eliana.” Mira whispered my name so softly I could barely hear her. “I volunteered for the mission to destroy the Lupi. I called in favors, I pulled strings. Because the Lupi were going down in flames, whether I was there or not. And if I were the focus, the mage directing the power, I could protect you and as many of the other Lupi as I could.”

  I said nothing, and after a moment Mira went on.

  “How many survived that night? I heard a rumor that said about half, is that accurate?”

  I bent my head in a grudging nod.

  “Had I not been there that night, please believe that I am not exaggerating when I say that at least nine in every ten Lupi would have died. I couldn't protect all of you. I protected as many as I could—and the people I knew were especially close to you, like Lucia and Giovanni.” Her hand closed over mine too fast for me to draw away. “I love you. I spared you as much as I dared.”

  “If you love me,” I whispered, “then why did you leave me?”

  Mira pulled her hand back. “You couldn't understand.”

  I jerked away from her, leaping to my feet and whirling to face her. “To hell with you. I may not be a mage, but that does not make me your inferior in the eyes of— in the eyes of anyone who counts.” The words spilled out of me like wine from a cut wineskin; with effort, I forced my voice back to a whisper. “Do you know what I understand? The Circle killed my family, destroyed Verdia, enslaved me and thousands of others while mouthing loyalty to the Lady, and slaughtered my army. And you are one of them.”

  Mira had bowed her head at my onslaught. When I had finished, she said, “You're here to spy, aren't you?”

  “Do you really think I'm going to discuss that with you?”

  “No.”

  “I think you should leave now,” I whispered. “You shouldn't have come.” I unbarred my door and stepped back.

  Mira's head was still bowed, and she kept her face turned away from me as she picked up her cloak and threw it around her shoulders. She didn't say good-bye.

  My head was spinning. It was far too late for a casual visit to Michel, but I needed his counsel. Should I run now? It was true that Mira could have turned me in if she'd intended to. But would she turn me in now, after I threw all my anger and hatred into her face? I shook my head as I picked up my own cloak. She wouldn't. Mira wouldn't betray me. I needed to talk to Michel. I pulled up my hood and went back out into the night.

  As I made my way through the silent midnight streets, I was reminded of the previous night, when I'd trailed the Redentore to his clandestine meeting. What if Mira were following me now? Perhaps she had betrayed me. Maybe the Circle Council had told her to come to me and see if I'd be willing to resume our friendship, with the idea of winning information from me willingly. I was fool enough to fall for Felice, after all. What if someone was following me now to see who I met with, to catch Michel with me in the same snare?

  I paused for a moment to listen for a footfall. And heard one, softly, a short distance behind me; then no more, as if the follower had frozen when I stopped.

  I was being followed. I whirled and ran back the way I'd come, drawing my knife. A cloaked figure had pressed itself into a doorway, hiding in the shadow. I grabbed the cloak and threw back the hood, and found myself face-to-face with Mira again.

  “You followed me,” I said.

  “It's not safe to talk in the enclave. I wanted to find you outside.”

  “Then why did you approach me in the enclave in the first place?”

  “I was hoping that you'd agree to leave with me once you saw who was there.” Mira's gray eyes were rimmed with red, but her voice was steady now. “But even if you do hate me—I had to hear you say my name one more time. My true name.” She swallowed. “Say my name, Eliana, that's all I ask. I swear on all that's holy, I'll kiss crossed twigs if you like, I won't bother you again.”

  I licked my lips and looked down. “Mir—” My throat closed. I thought of Vitale, dying before my eyes—of Rafi and Camilla and all the others who'd died. But Mira stood before me, and when I looked into her face, though I could not forgive her, I couldn't sustain my rage, either.

  “Let's go for a walk,” I said.

  Cuore was never completely quiet; even late at night, there were people coming home from taverns, or out on other errands. Mira steered us through streets of closed shops and warehouses; the homes of the merchants, above the stores, were mostly dark and quiet, though we could see the glow of witchlight or the flicker of a candle in a few of them. I found myself thinking of the conservatory, in the hours before dawn, the night after Bella's murder. When Mira was ill the second time. My hand strayed to the eagle medallion, which hung where Bella's cross should have been. At any rate, no footsteps followed us; for all practical purposes, we were alone. We could talk freely.

  “What do you think would have happened if we'd jumped the wall that day?” Mira asked.

  I didn't need to ask which day she meant. “Well, I'd probably have wanted to go home to visit my family,” I said. My throat tightened. I let out my breath; when I spoke again, my voice was calm, flat. “That's where I went after you left.”

  “I heard a song about that.”

  I forced out a sharp little laugh. “Lia makes it sound more heroic than it was—swearing vengeance on their graves and all that. Really, I gathered up what I could find, and buried it. I played the funeral song. That's all. No vows, no vengeance. Not then, anyway.” I turned my head to look at Mira's face. “Do you happen to know which mages did it?”

  She stopped in the street and turned to face me. “No.”

  “You say that with a lot of certainty.”

  “I could have found out. When I first heard the songs, and realized they were about you, it would have been easy enough to ask around. I didn't. Because I didn't want to know. I have to see these people every day. And once I knew—” Her face was pale; her gray eyes, hard. “I'd have killed them. All of them. As comforting as it would have been to take vengeance on your family's killers, I guess I thought I was more use to you alive. I guess my willful ignorance is another thing you can hate me for.”

  I shrugged and we started walking again. I wanted to hate her for it, but my an
ger had spilled and spent itself, at least for now. I tried to imagine waking every morning at the conservatory knowing that some of the other girl musicians had done unspeakable things, and fearing to ask who, lest I find out it was Bella, Celia, Flavia, or Giula. I'd have left, I thought.

  “If we'd jumped the wall that day, I suppose that after we buried my family we'd have gone down to Ravenna together,” I said. “The survivors of the fight were all taken there; I went because I hoped someone in my family might still be alive.” I shook my head. “I didn't find anyone I knew, but I found some of the reformers from the university. They were trying to lead a breakout, but they weren't going about it very well, so I took over.”

  “Good for you,” Mira said. “I've encountered Placido, and I don't much like him.”

  I bit my lip and looked at her. She arched an eyebrow and for an instant I saw a flash of the smile I remembered from the conservatory. “Oh yes, I know who leads the reformers. It's not a very well-kept secret. I think the Circle and Fedeli leave him in place because he's more damaging to his cause than helpful. If they had him executed, someone competent might take over.”

  “Teleso made that mistake,” I said. “The commander of the refugee camp. He executed the two leaders, and that gave me the opening I needed. If you'd been there with me, it's hard to say what would have happened. Teleso underestimated me; then he decided to court Guila, and she kept him distracted. If you and I had both gone to Ravenna, we might have died together, like Jesca and Beneto.”