“There is a guard on the tent at all times,” I said. “Even when I'm not here. Do you think I'm a fool?”
“But,” Vulture said, putting a placating hand on my wrist. His fingers were cold and sticky. “Are you certain you can trust every guard?”
“Yes,” I said. “My aides have been with us since the slave camps.”
“Who cleans?” Screech Owl asked.
“What do you mean, who cleans? Why would I need someone to clean my tent for me?”
Screech Owl shrugged and dropped the subject. We sat in silence for a few uncomfortable moments, then Viola came in with tea. She filled three teacups, setting them down in front of each of us. I picked up my cup and took a careful sip. Viola nodded politely to the Servi and left.
Screech Owl waited until the tent flap had fallen shut before speaking again. “Does she have access to your tent?”
“Obviously,” I said. “And my tea, were she to want to poison me. Look, Viola escaped with me from Ravenna. If I can't trust her, I can't trust anybody.”
“Does she ever use witchlight?” Screech Owl asked. “When you're not in the wasteland?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I said.
“Does that answer mean the answer to my question is yes?” Screech Owl said.
“No, it doesn't mean the answer is yes!” I said. “My answer means I'd like to know why I should care whether my aides occasionally commit trivial sins in the name of convenience.”
“No sin is trivial,” Vulture said.
“Do you ‘guard the way to wrong’ on behalf of God?” I said.
The tent was very quiet for a moment. “No,” Vulture said. “We find spies. And we've found that many spies retain loyalty to the Lady, and will honor Her when they can.”
“Being a Redentore was never a requirement for joining my army,” I said.
“Wasn't it?” Screech Owl said. “That surprises me a great deal, Generale. Does that mean that you don't believe?”
“Of course I believe,” I said.
“Then why don't you wish for everyone to share in the true faith?” Vulture said. “Oh, but this is beside the point. The point is, any spies will definitely belong to the Lady. Identifying those who avoid Redentori practices will at least give us somewhere to start.”
“I would expect spies, who knew their own treason, to be among the most fervent Redentori,” I said.
“Were you a fervent worshipper of the Lady when you spied in Cuore?” Vulture asked. “I don't remember you from the chapel.”
“No, I wasn't,” I said. “But I was never a very good spy.”
“You were good enough,” Screech Owl said. “And you knelt in prayer when you could, didn't you? You quietly avoided church. That's the sort of thing we're trying to find here—but of the opposite variety.”
I was silent for a moment.
“Never mind your aide,” Vulture said. “We will trust in your trust in her. Do you have other people who use witchlight, when you're not in the wasteland?”
“I haven't ever noticed.”
“Do you know of couples in your army who have sought the blessing of the Lady rather than marrying before engaging in—ah—affectionate relations?” Screech Owl asked.
“I don't keep track of those sorts of activities,” I said.
“Well,” Vulture said. “This is very unfortunate. What about attending Mass? Do you have people who don't attend Mass?”
“I don't take attendance,” I said.
“That would be easy enough to change,” Screech Owl said. “If you strongly encourage everyone to attend Mass regularly, and have the priests keep track of who comes, you could identify the weak Redentori—”
“Or those who have injuries that make it painful to dance,” I said. “Or those who seek God's presence on their own. Or those who believe in the Emperor, and in our cause, but not in God! Are all these people assumed to be spies?”
“We're just trying to narrow things down,” Vulture said. “That's all.”
“I'm beginning to think you don't care about identifying infiltrators,” Screech Owl said. “That surprises me a great deal, Generale. Especially given your own experiences with Felice. You trusted him on instinct, didn't you? He playacted a great deal of fervent belief in your cause, and you swallowed his lies. Didn't you?”
I was silent, glaring at them across the table.
The tent flap was yanked back with so much force it nearly pulled the tent down on us, and Lucia stood in the doorway, shaking with rage. “How dare you!” she shouted at Vulture and Screech Owl.
“The Priestess Lucia, I presume,” Screech Owl said. “We have a letter for you from Clara.” He handed her a sealed paper.
Lucia tore it in half without looking at it.
“Well, since you weren't interested in reading it, I'll tell you what it said,” Vulture said. “Clara bids you understand that the Emperor has named you the heart of the Redentore faith, but Clara the head. And just as the heart must allow the head to decide in many matters, you must bow to Clara's will. And it is her will that the Servi exist.”
“Get out of here,” Lucia said.
“Isn't that for Generale Eliana to decide?” Screech Owl said.
Vulture and Screech Owl both looked at me. My eyes narrowed and I pointed to the door of the tent. “Get out of my camp.”
“But—” Screech Owl looked as if he was thinking of attempting some further blackmail or threat.
“Get out of my camp now.”
“It's almost nightfall,” Vulture said.
I relented slightly. “I will arrange a place for you to sleep, then, and you can leave at dawn.” I lifted the tent flap and summoned Viola. “Arrange a tent for these men, and an escort,” I said. “They are not to roam the camp.”
“You would throw us into the stockade?” Screech Owl said.
“I will not have you upset my soldiers with your nosiness,” I said.
“We'll leave now,” Vulture said, his voice colder than a winter lake.
I turned back to Viola. “In that case, see them to the border of the encampment.”
The Servi mounted their horses and left without looking back. I stared after them, hoping that Giovanni would agree that tossing them out had been a good idea. Then I shook my head, half laughing at myself. Giovanni would have wrung their necks—first Screech Owl, then Vulture. I headed back to the tent.
Lucia was still there, alone, weeping. “They're gone,” I said.
“They'll be back.”
“We don't have to let them come back.”
“Sooner or later,” Lucia said, “we'll have to face them.”
“Did you know about these people?” I asked.
“Yes. When I visited Corte, Clara told me about them. She was so proud! I said she was just trying to create her own little Fedeli and she got angry. I went to the Emperor; he'll let me in to speak to him because he knows I'm a friend of yours. I told him that petty enforcement was not what the Redentore faith was about—that God doesn't want people forced to kneel or dance or even to refrain from using witchlight. Our faith is about serving God because we want to, not because someone says we're spies if we don't.” She paused. “The Emperor said he'd think about it. I guess he made his decision.”
I squeezed her hand, saying nothing.
“I guess I believed things would really be different,” Lucia said, her voice almost inaudible. “I thought I could really change things.”
“Things will be different,” I said.
“No,” Lucia said, her voice soft and dull. “They will paint Gèsu, and place him in the Great Cathedral, and all that will change will be the decorations. Redentori will go to Mass each week because they have to, and will dance because they fear the Servi. The faces may change, but the walls will be the same.”
∗ ∗ ∗
All but one of the scouting parties returned the next week, exuberant. The music had worked; they had deflected the Circle's magefire and s
hot the guardsmen dead. The Lupi hadn't been this excited in months. We mourned briefly for the lost scouts—perhaps their musician had been unable to make the magic work, or perhaps they had been ambushed. We'd never know. The next day, we packed up our tents and loaded our supplies onto wagons. It was time to advance.
Initial resistance was minimal. The Circle and the Fedeli were unwilling to commit their forces to a futile battle; they sent small groups of soldiers drawn from the Fedeli and the Circle Guard, but not enough to put up a serious fight or even to slow us down. The Lupi were encouraged by our easy victories, but I knew that this was exactly what Demetrio had feared; we were moving toward a showdown at Cuore, where the Circle and the Fedeli would be protected by the enclave walls. We couldn't simply secure the rest of the country and ignore Cuore; they would wait for our forces to disintegrate as Lupi left to plant their fields, then reemerge to attack us when we least expected it. Besides, taking Cuore would have a tremendous emotional advantage; it was the Heart, the center of the country, the seat of the Imperial throne. If we could take Cuore, we would have won, even if pockets of the Circle survived.
For a long time, I had continued to say my selfish prayers to the Lord, rather than to God—except for when I prayed for Lucia, after the Lupi were destroyed. It was hard to imagine that the Redentore God would care if my particular friends got hurt in battle. But toward the end of Mass one night as we approached the heart of the Empire, I found myself whispering a prayer to God: let the Circle keep Mira in Cuore for now. Surely, after all that's happened, they don't fully trust her; let them distrust her too much to send her out to face us. Of course, if they sent her out, that would give her the opportunity to escape, but if she was going to run, I was fairly certain she'd have done it by now. God, keep Mira safe, I pleaded silently. Somehow, somehow, please keep Mira safe.
The last major city before Cuore was Manico. We were perhaps two weeks south of Manico when the Lupi perimeter guards came to tell me that the Circle had sent an emissary to negotiate a truce.
I shook my head. “They're here to spy.”
“If they're under a flag of truce, we have no choice but to treat them courteously,” Giovanni said. He added to the guard, “Search them for weapons and keep them at the perimeter. ‘Courtesy’ doesn't preclude certain precautions.”
I walked out to the northern perimeter of the encampment with Lucia and Giovanni. Three men had been sent. One wore a black wool robe with linked circles on his sleeve—Fedele. The second wore the uniform of the Circle Guard. The third wore no uniform, but a fine tunic of soft blue cloth. I felt my lips twist into a snarl when I saw his face. “Felice.”
Giovanni grabbed my sword-arm and I shook him loose. “I know what a flag of truce means, Giovanni. I won't hurt him.” I approached the messengers; in unison, the three men swung down from their horses. “If the Circle had any intention of negotiating, they would have sent someone else,” I said, biting my words off as I tried to suppress the fury that rose inside my stomach. “What do you want here?”
Felice bowed low in courtly courtesy. “Generale Eliana, the Circle and the High Priest of the Fedeli send their regards.”
“We extend our greetings to them,” Giovanni said.
Felice straightened and looked up through his long lashes. “And how is your health, Generale Eliana?”
“I'm fine,” I said. “Thank you so much for your interest.”
He gave me an ingratiating smile. “Quite recovered from your … detention?”
I met his eyes coldly. “Yes.”
“Good,” Felice said with an earnest nod. “It's always best when a whole body can be delivered to the Lady.”
Beside me, I heard Giovanni's breath catch. I stepped forward, pushing my hood back from my face. “Take your best shot, Felice.”
Felice fell back a step and lowered his eyes. “I would never consider dishonoring a flag of truce.”
“Good,” I said. “So why exactly are you here?”
He cleared his throat. “I am here with an offer of clemency for you and for the other Lupi, should you cease and desist all hostile actions from this point onward.”
I laughed. “How generous.”
“I advise you to consider it, Eliana,” Felice said. “Do you really think you're going to be able to pull this off? We still hold Cuore. You wouldn't want your friends to go through what you endured, would you? Think of your soldiers. Think of …” His eyes flicked to the side, then back to my face. “Think of Lucia.”
I heard a growl from behind me, and before I could stop him, Giovanni had drawn his sword and lunged toward Felice. Abject terror flashed across Felice's face; this was not an eventuality he had planned for. “Giovanni!” I shouted. “Drop your sword!”
Giovanni didn't turn around, but held his sword-edge to Felice's throat. “You dishonor the flag of truce with your insults,” Giovanni hissed. He withdrew the sword and slapped Felice hard on the cheek with the flat of it, a duel-challenge. “We'll finish this some other time.” He stepped back, shoving his sword into its sheath.
Felice rubbed his cheek, stunned. “I have a full offer from the Circle and the Fedeli in writing,” he said, his voice quavering a little. “Do you wish to discuss it outside in the wind, or would you care to read it over at your leisure and discuss it when you have had some time to consider our offer? There are certain areas in which we are empowered to compromise.”
I took the proffered scroll and handed it to Lucia. “Take them to an empty tent on the perimeter and keep them under close guard,” I said to the Lupi. “We'll send for them later, if necessary.”
“Why would they send Felice?” Lucia asked as we headed back toward the center of the encampment. “What could possibly be their purpose?”
“The only reason to send an envoy with that sort of offer would be to scout us out,” I said. “Count our numbers, maybe overhear something useful. Felice is probably here to provoke us. Perhaps they think an angry opponent is to their advantage.” I glanced at Giovanni involuntarily. Giovanni scowled darkly at the ground. “I don't think that worked quite as Felice planned, though.”
“Perhaps they hoped you'd kill Felice on sight and dishonor the Lupi,” Giovanni said. “That could create a rift between you and Demetrio.”
“Demetrio's not exactly a close friend as it is,” I said.
“Still.”
Back in my tent, I read the offer. Rosalba had drafted it; I recognized the beautiful handwriting. It was a more detailed and poetically worded version of what Felice had said at the perimeter: surrender, and we'll spare your miserable lives.
“There's no point in sending this,” I said. “They must know we'll refuse.”
“Perhaps it's a distraction,” Giovanni said.
“Perhaps.” I summoned a guard to order additional troops sent out to watch the perimeter, as well as a half dozen more to stand watch outside the tent of the “emissaries.”
Lucia was pondering their offer. “Can we use this somehow?” she asked. I looked at her, puzzled. “Demetrio said we should seize on any opportunity to draw the Circle out of Cuore. Is there some way we could use this to do that?”
Giovanni's head snapped up. “If they came here to spy—”
“—Maybe we could feed them some useful intelligence,” I finished. “Like they did with us in Pluma. Like Felice did with us.”
“If you think he'll fall for his own trick … South of Manico is a good place for a battle,” Giovanni said. “Maybe we could persuade them to meet us right where we want them.”
“If we let them overhear—” I thought for a moment. “Perhaps that we're unconfident in our power to defend against a great many mages at once. I could say that I feel the shield weakening sometimes—that maybe fifty or a hundred mages working in concert could break through the barrier.”
“What if you turn out to be telling the truth?” Giovanni said. “We've never faced down more than ten at once.”
I sketched out a rough map o
n the dirt floor. “We'd bait the trap with some of the Lupi, but nowhere near all. If it turns out they can incinerate us, there'd still be plenty left to finish this. The road north leads through a large valley just south of Manico. We could send in the bait and wait for their ‘ambush.’ When they attack, more Lupi close in.” I drew arrows coming over the hills I'd drawn. “Honestly, I think I could hold off any number. Especially since they aren't used to working in groups that large. But even if they do break through our defenses, they'll never be able to redirect their fire outward in time.”
“I hope you're right,” Giovanni said.
Lucia bit her lip. “This is the kind of opportunity we can't throw away. I think we should try it.”
I looked at Giovanni.
“You're right,” Giovanni said finally. “It's risky, but it's the best shot we have at avoiding a siege.”
I nodded. “We need a ‘traitor,’ then. Someone Felice doesn't know—but someone we can trust …”
∗ ∗ ∗
“I have orders to take that one to Generale Eliana.” Quirino held out the paper toward the guards.
The guard looked it over by lantern-light and shrugged. “He's all yours.”
Quirino took Felice courteously by the arm. “If you would come with me, signore.” He led Felice into the shadows of one of the larger tents, then unfolded an extra cloak and draped it around Felice's shoulders. “The generali intend to reject your offer, and to send you away without speaking to you again,” Quirino said in an urgent whisper. “Cover your face with the cloak, signore.”
Felice pulled up the deep hood. “Who are you?” he asked.
Quirino flashed a piece of hidden jewelry—two linked circles. “One who is loyal to the Lady, and would die for her.”
Felice nodded slowly.
“Come,” Quirino said.
Quirino led Felice through the maze of tents. (“Try not to let him see a whole lot,” I had requested. “But make sure he wouldn't be able to easily find his way back.”) Finally he stopped, and gestured for Felice to be absolutely silent. In an adjacent tent, Flavia was watching from a hole in the seam; when she saw that they were in place, she gestured, and Valentino abruptly stopped practicing his violin.
Turning the Storm Page 23