“What are you doing out here?” Persco asked.
“I—” The explanation was too long to get into. “I went for a walk,” I said.
Persco gave me a careful smile. “I’m heading home now, if you’re ready for bed.”
“I am,” I said, and fell into step beside him. “I don’t know if Giula’s coming back tonight.”
Persco laughed lightly. “The door stays open on festival nights. Giula can follow in her own sweet time or watch the sunrise with Marco, if she prefers.”
I trailed Persco back out to his house, and he made up a bed for me by the hearth. “Sleep well,” he said. I fell asleep quickly, but roused several times during the night as the door opened and closed. I woke at dawn to find Giula curled up next to me. Persco’s wife was awake and making breakfast. I got up to join her. We were alone; on mornings after festivals, even farm families kept irregular hours.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Rafina; I don’t think we met last night.”
“I’m Eliana,” I said as Rafina served me a bowl of porridge. She looked familiar. When she looked into my face to give me my porridge, I realized who she was—the Old Way priestess I’d watched last night.
“You’ve come from the Bascio conservatory, haven’t you?” Rafina asked as she sat down to eat her own porridge. I nodded. “But you’re in robes, not new finery—why did you leave?”
“We were caught with boys,” I said.
Rafina looked up sharply, and I could tell that she didn’t believe me. I lowered my eyes and looked at my porridge.
“The Fedeli came to the Conservatory at Mascherata,” I said. “We’ve heard they went elsewhere in Verdia afterward. Did they come here?”
“Yes,” Rafina said. She said nothing more, but when she took my bowl, she stole a quick look at me with narrowed eyes, and I realized that she suspected me of being on their side. Her hostility was palpable, and for a moment, I was tempted to take out Bella’s cross and confess my own heresies to her. On the other hand, if the Fedeli returned, Rafina might well be arrested, and I didn’t want my name on the list they might tear out of her.
I wondered, if the Fedeli had been here, how the villagers had kept them from finding out about the Redentori. Perhaps the entire village was made up of apostates, who all stood together and protected each other. If that was the case, they must have been able to justify pledging their loyalty to the Lady, or they’d all be dead.
It occurred to me that perhaps the practice had spread after the Fedeli came through.
In any case, Rafina seemed unlikely to discuss it with me. In the dawn sunlight through the windows, I stole another look at her, and she turned and looked me full in the face, as she’d looked at me last night. For a moment, even knowing how foolish it would be, I nearly told her everything. But then there was a rustle and a groan from the hearth as Giula started to get up. “Thank you for your kindness, signora,” I said.
“It’s nothing.” She rose, picking up a second bowl to fill with porridge for Giula. “The Lady has taught us hospitality. We know our duty.”
Giula moved slowly that day. I would have pushed her harder, if I hadn’t been so tired myself. My violin case felt like it was filled with sand, and I was tempted to eat all of my provisions right then to lighten my load. “We aren’t covering enough ground,” I muttered. It had only taken five days to walk from my home to Bascio when I came to the conservatory with my brothers; it was going to take me at least a week to get home now, maybe more. Hearing me, Giula quickened her pace for a few minutes, but we fell back to a slow trudge soon enough.
We were worn out by midafternoon, and started resting at every opportunity. “Where did you stay at night, when you came to the conservatory?” Giula asked.
“Houses. My brothers asked for hospitality.” Donato and Rufo had escorted me out; whenever we were well out of earshot of anyone, Rufo had made elaborate mock-threats about what he’d do if anyone refused us a comfortable bed.
“Did you ever stay at an inn?”
“When we passed through Pluma. They didn’t trust city folk.”
Giula smiled. “My father paid for an inn, every night.” I must have looked shocked. “We’d had a really good harvest that year. Also, he kept talking about how once I got into an orchestra, I could support them, send some of my stipend home.” Her face grew sober. “I hope he isn’t angry.”
“Are you the only musician?”
“The only good one,” she said with a giggle, cheerful again. “But, you know, I have a cousin who’s headed for the Circle. She’s …” Giula calculated for a moment. “… almost twenty. She just became a provisional member of the Circle; she’ll probably be a full member in another few years.”
I shivered; the air was growing chill.
“My mother was always jealous, of the money they got,” Giula said. “And my cousin didn’t have to go nearly as far away for her education.”
We don’t want your money; we want our daughter back. The furious words of Mira’s mother’s letter echoed in my head.
“I’m the best in my family at magery,” I said.
“Me too, except for that cousin,” Giula said. “Why do you think that is?”
“Concentration,” I said. “We know how to concentrate. That’s all it really takes.”
“Is that really it? And they make it sound so hard and impressive.” Giula sniffed.
“Any sisters or brothers at the seminary?”
“Well …” Giula dropped her voice. “Actually, you know, my oldest brother was once a priest.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and it really looked like he might have prospects. His first posting, well, it was a small town but it was close to Pluma. The word was, it was a posting that could lead to other things, if you know what I mean.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“He and the priestess fell in love,” she said.
“So was this a problem?”
“It was a problem when the priestess got posted to the other side of Verdia.”
“Oh,” I said.
“And the new priestess was old, and ugly, and smelled like onions. He said. So he quit. And so did the priestess he was in love with. It was a bit of a scandal; it kind of embarrassed the people who’d done him favors, they were quite put out. So he moved away, and they settled down quietly. It’s been all right; they have four children now.” She smiled happily. “I thought it was terribly romantic, even if it was scandalous.”
I smiled too, thinking of Giula’s brother, wondering if he was as silly as she was. Probably not, if he’d been a priest with “prospects.”
Late in the day it started to rain, and we sought shelter in a roadside chapel. It was dimly lit and smelled of stale incense. We sat down near the door, trying not to drip water on the smiling icon of the Lady. Giula wrung out her skirt on the stone floor by the door. “What did you think of Rafina?” she asked.
“She was nice enough,” I said.
“I got the feeling she didn’t like me,” she said. “Do you think maybe Marco was her daughter’s sweetheart or something? I’d hate to think I made trouble.”
I was pretty sure that wasn’t the problem, but I rolled my eyes anyway. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you slept with him.”
“Why do you assume I slept with him? Just because you saw me flirting—”
“I overheard you in the olive grove,” I said.
“Well, what were you doing there?” she demanded indignantly. “Spying on me?”
I rolled my eyes again and tried to wring some of the water out of my robe. “The rain’s slacking off. We should get moving again,” I said.
“Oh, come on,” Giula said. “Let’s just sleep here.”
“I was hoping for a host who could feed us dinner,” I said.
“But I’m tired of walking,” Giula said. “I know you don’t want me to slow you down, but we’re not getting much farther today anyway and I don’t want to g
o back out in the rain just to look for a house.”
“Why don’t you pray to the Lady,” a man’s voice said from near the altar, “and if She sees fit, She will arrange shelter for you.”
We turned around. Our eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and now we could see a man sitting in the front of the chapel. He glared at us with dark, sharp eyes, and I shivered.
“Of course,” I said, edging away from him without meaning to. What did he overhear? I thought, trying frantically to remember exactly what Giula and I had said to each other. I raised my hands to the shadowed ceiling of the chapel and closed my eyes. “Lord and Lady, if You see fit, please see to it that we have a roof over our heads and food to eat tonight.”
“You see?” the man said. His voice was like the low, steady drone of a bass string instrument, smooth and silky. “She only wants what’s best for all of us. And tonight She must want for you to have food and shelter, for I will be happy for you to stay with me.”
Liemo—he reminded me of Liemo, the mage who had come to collect Mira. I was too frightened of him to refuse, and Giula gladly accepted—she was willing to go back out in the rain if his house was as close as he promised. Back in the last of the daylight, I got a good look at him. He wasn’t tall for a man—shorter than me, with no gray in his hair. Not at all like Liemo, really, but there was something in his voice, something in the way he carried himself, that said that he was a man accustomed to power. This was not a village priest. No, I realized as I recognized the insignia on the sleeve of his tunic. Fedele. He was one of the Fedeli.
Giula looked stricken as we trailed behind the man on the muddy path. I clasped her hand, trying to send her the message, just smile and tell the same lies I do and everything will be fine. Only one night, I thought. Let him do the talking.
“My name is Aviro,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at us.
“I’m Eliana,” I said, and since Giula was still staring at him nervously, added, “and this is Giula.”
“You came from the conservatory,” he observed. I nodded. “I’ll have Frugia lend you some clothes.”
“Is Frugia a priestess?” Giula asked.
“No,” Aviro said. “Frugia is providing me with hospitality.”
He’d offered us hospitality in someone else’s house? That seemed rather rude to me, but just then I was more concerned about Giula’s look of open terror. If Aviro turned around, he’d know we had something to hide. I jabbed her in the ribs. “Smile,” I whispered.
Frugia met us at the door, a pale, nervous widow who looked older than she probably was. She ushered us up a ladder to the second-floor loft, to let us change into some dry clothes. “You can borrow one of my daughter’s dresses until your clothing dries,” she said to Giula, and then looked me up and down. “You’re very tall,” she said. “I think we’ll have to get out some of my husband’s old clothing for you.”
“How long have the Fedeli been in your village?” I asked softly.
Frugia glanced toward the ladder. “Aviro is here to ensure the purity of our worship of the Lady,” she said, pitching her speech to be heard downstairs. “There are villages near here who have slipped into superstition or heresy. Aviro is here to find them and to show them their errors.” Her eyes showed fear and suppressed anger. “He has been here for two weeks,” she said in a softer voice. “I don’t know how much longer he’ll stay.”
From a shelf beside the bed, Frugia took out a dress and held it up. “This should do for Giula,” she said, and laid it across the bed. Then she opened a trunk by the window and took out a tunic and trousers, shaking them out and holding them up to me. “They won’t quite fit,” she said, “but they’ll do. Bring your own clothing downstairs when you’ve changed, and we’ll put it by the fire to dry.” She went back down the ladder to give us privacy to change.
It wasn’t until I pulled my robe over my head that I remembered Bella’s cross, on its ribbon around my neck. “Lady’s tits,” Giula hissed, her eyes going wide. “Are you mad?”
I hurriedly clasped my fist over it, as if Aviro might be watching from under the bed. “No harm done,” I whispered, giving her a reassuring grin, but she didn’t looked reassured. I slipped it over my head and hid it in my boot.
“I want to leave,” Giula whispered. “Now.”
“We can’t,” I whispered back. “We’ll look guilty.”
“So what? We won’t be here anymore.”
“Don’t you think he’ll come after us, if he thinks he should? We’ll eat dinner, sleep on the hearth, and leave at dawn. Just tell the same lies I do.” I considered for a moment. “And if you get a chance to use witchlight when he can see you, do it.”
Giula’s dress was made of a heavy linen fabric, dyed yellow. It fit her quite well, and I stepped back for a good look, impressed by the embroidered scooped collar and the narrow waist. My clothes were less decorative. I had a linen tunic over black wool trousers. It was loose in the wrong places, and Frugia had forgotten to get out a belt, but my red wool sash was only slightly damp, so I belted it with that.
“You don’t look half bad in boys’ clothing,” Giula said. “Anything but the robes, I guess.” She smiled gamely. “Might as well make the best of it.” We combed our hair and climbed back down the ladder.
Frugia took our wet clothing and half-soaked cloaks and spread them by the fire. “Have a seat,” Aviro said, and gestured at the bench across the table from him.
We sat down.
“Why did you leave the conservatory?” he asked.
“We were expelled,” I said. “We were caught talking to boys. One too many times.”
Giula stared at the floor, feigning shame. “Did you have to tell him that?” she wailed.
“Giula, he’s with the Fedeli. Didn’t you see his insignia? We can’t lie to him.” I gave Aviro the look I’d seen Giula give male teachers, when she was trying to suck up. Giula was better at it, but Aviro preened anyway, and I felt mildly disgusted with myself.
“You were at the Verdiano Conservatory?” Aviro asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“There were members of my order there a few months ago,” Aviro said.
“Yes,” I said. “During Mascherata.”
“They executed a girl about your age for apostasy,” Aviro said. “I read the report.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Did you know her?”
I dug my fingernails into my knees to keep my face impassive. “Of course I knew her,” I said. “We were students together for four years.”
“Was she a friend of yours?”
“No,” I said. “Just someone I knew.”
“There was a servant, as well,” Aviro said.
“Giorgi,” I said. “He disappeared.”
“How much contact did you have with him?”
“Not much,” I said. “He worked in the kitchen.”
“How about you?” Aviro said to Giula.
“Not much,” she squeaked.
“And Bella? Were you friends with her?”
Giula shook her head.
Aviro turned his attention back to me. “Who is Rafina?” he asked. “The woman you spoke of in the chapel. Who is she?”
Giula was weakening—I could feel her trembling next to me on the bench. I dropped one hand under the table to squeeze her arm tightly. I needed to divert the conversation; Rafina was clearly guilty of apostasy, and sooner or later Giula would blurt something out. “Are we under suspicion of something?” I asked.
“Is there something on your conscience that would arouse my suspicions?” Aviro asked.
“No,” I said. “But you’re asking us questions like you think there is.”
“ ‘Innocence doesn’t need to hide,’ ” Aviro quoted.
I licked my lips. “ ‘When you welcome a guest,’ ” I quoted back, “ ‘you shall first bring wine, that he might refresh himself from his travels.’ Do you intend to meet the Lady’s obligations of hospitality?”
; Aviro’s eyes narrowed and Giula sucked in her breath. “Are you quoting the Book of the Lady to me?”
“I shouldn’t have to,” I said.
Aviro slammed his fist down onto the table. “You—”
There was a crash from across the room. “Oh, Lady,” said a timid voice. We turned; it was Frugia’s eldest daughter, gathering up shards from a broken bowl. “It slipped out of my hands, signore. I’m so clumsy—I’m sorry.” She stared at us meekly in the silence. “Mother is almost done cooking dinner,” she said. “Why don’t we get ready?”
Aviro made the ritual offering to the Lady before the meal, then said a long, involved prayer, thanking the Lord and the Lady and their servants and everything short of the house sprites. Frugia and her children sat, backs straight, eyes closed. Even the youngest child, who couldn’t have been more than seven years old, sat perfectly still until the meal was served. By then, of course, it was lukewarm. Such is the price of piety.
Frugia’s eldest daughter sat to Aviro’s right, and I noticed as the meal progressed that she was keeping his wine cup filled to the brim. I glanced at Frugia and saw her giving her daughter an almost imperceptible nod.
When the meal was concluded, Aviro took out a worn, heavy copy of the Book of the Lady to read aloud. “Lift up your voices to give eternal praise to the Lady and thanks unto Her,” he read. “For She will never turn Her back on you, nor turn a deaf ear to you in your time of need. She asks not blind faith, but places Her light in your hand, dispelling the darkness and the Maledori.” Aviro stumbled over Maledori, slurring the syllables. “Ever loving and ever faithful, She waits with open arms for all who seek Her warmth.” He stumbled again and yawned. “Excuse me. She watches us as we slumber. She—um.” He closed the book. “My apologies; I’m very tired. We’ll continue this in the morning.” He went up the ladder. Apparently Aviro slept upstairs; Frugia and her children slept in beds around the hearth.
Frugia’s oldest daughter cleaned up from dinner silently. Frugia went to look up the ladder, then returned and shook her head, and gestured for Giula and me to spread out our cloaks by the hearth.
“What were you thinking?” Giula hissed as we lay down.
Fires of the Faithful Page 12