“It’s a girl,” he told Lina, who burst into tears of joy that mingled with the sweat on her cheeks.
Shaphan cut the cord and gave Lina the infant to nurse. Cool rags from the stream helped soothe his wife. Only three days prior, the little family had left Chiveis over the Great Pass. Now they were all alone.
“What should we name her?” Lina asked as the baby suckled.
“She was born in the Beyond, so she’ll need a courageous woman as a namesake.”
“I was thinking the same exact thing,” Lina said. She exchanged a nod with her husband.
The afternoon wore on. Shaphan foraged for wild greens while Lina and their child rested in the shade. Then the breeze shifted. When Shaphan’s two horses whinnied and their heads came up together, he knew it meant trouble. A sick feeling gathered in his belly. He drew the Vulkainian dagger from his belt.
Deu . . . we need you. Guard my family!
The young metalsmith quickly brought the horses under cover along with his gear. He gathered his daughter in his arms and helped Lina scramble into the underbrush. With a frail wife and an hours-old baby to defend, Shaphan couldn’t imagine being in a more vulnerable position.
The horsemen entered the clearing a few moments later, nine barbarians clothed in rough garments of leather and fur. Their hair was long, and their eyes were cruel. No women were among them.
Shaphan could sense Lina trembling as she stood next to him. She cradled the baby against herself with one hand and held the horse’s nose with the other. Shaphan also held his mount’s nostrils, trying to prevent a whinny. The animals seemed to understand the danger and stood still. Everything was completely silent—until little Anastasia belted out the lusty cry of a hungry newborn.
The warriors turned, spurring their horses. They plunged into the bushes as Lina squealed and the baby wailed. Though their dialect was strange, their words were decipherable to Shaphan’s ears. He understood enough to realize that for the second time in a matter of days, murder and rape loomed in front of his family.
“Take our food!” Shaphan cried, not even bothering to threaten the warriors with his pitiful dagger. “You can have the horses and supplies! Just leave us alone!”
Lina clutched the baby to her bosom. “Have mercy! Have mercy!” she pleaded. But nothing was going to stop the men from having their way.
The leader of the pack reined up next to Shaphan, his fierce war ax raised above his head. Lina screamed for help. Shaphan lifted his arms in defense. The ax started down. And then a feathered shaft pierced the eye of the murderous barbarian.
Mayhem erupted among the outsiders as more arrows whistled in. The men ducked low and wheeled their horses but didn’t know where to turn. Shaphan threw his arm around his wife and collapsed into the underbrush, heedless of the whipping branches and clawing thorns. Other horses crashed into the confusion. Steel blades clanged against each other, but the confrontation didn’t last long. In a matter of seconds the nine barbarians lay dead, and the men who had attacked them stared down at their corpses.
A distinguished middle-aged man with a gray mustache rode about issuing commands to the others. All were dressed in what seemed to be military uniforms. The commander spotted Shaphan peeking around a tree. He said something in a melodious tongue, but Shaphan couldn’t understand him.
The man snapped his fingers, and a blond subordinate approached. “I will translate,” the new arrival said.
The man on horseback asked what the young couple was doing in the woods among the barbarians. “Exile,” was Shaphan’s reply.
The baby fussed a little, and now the military commander took a closer look at Lina cowering in the bushes. His features softened.
“Your woman?” inquired the translator.
Shaphan nodded.
“That is a new baby. Very new.”
Shaphan nodded again.
The commander asked a question in a gentler tone. “Where will you go now?” the blond man translated.
Shaphan shrugged. “To find a new home.”
No sooner had he spoken than an idea struck him. These men obviously were civilized. Shaphan couldn’t keep living off the land and hiding from outsiders. He needed to set up a shop in an established village and ply his trade of metalwork. Among the limited options facing him, the unexpected soldiers represented the best possible outcome. He gathered his courage and extended his hand to the blond translator.
“My name is Shaphan,” he declared with a friendly smile. “This is my wife, Lina. We would like to emigrate to your kingdom.”
Although the translator shook Shaphan’s hand, he was taken aback. He turned and relayed the message to his boss, who frowned until the baby’s cry caught his attention again. Shaphan detected compassion on the man’s face. He’s a father too!
The commander spoke to the translator, then nudged his horse toward Shaphan. When he offered his hand, Shaphan eagerly grasped it.
The translator could only smile and wag his head as he stared at the strange convocation in the woods. He gestured toward the commander. “Shaphan,” he said, “this is Count Federco Borromo. He invites you to come live in the Kingdom of Ulmbartia.”
“Teo, wait for me!” Though Ana tried to keep her voice low, she didn’t quite achieve her objective.
“Shh! Quiet!” Teo reached down and clasped her arm. With a quick tug he hauled her up to the tree branch where he was seated. They sat side by side in the darkness, panting to recover their breath.
“I haven’t climbed a tree since I was a little girl,” Ana whispered.
Teo leaned close and spoke in her ear. “Looks like you’re out of practice.”
“Maybe you should try climbing up here in a skirt and see how you do,” she replied good-naturedly. Ana had changed into the traditional dress of a Chiveisian farm girl—a white blouse under a black lace-up bodice and a flowing red skirt. Teo smiled but had no defense against her argument.
The couple sat on the limb until the moon went behind a cloud, then they dropped onto the thatched roof of Teo’s orphanage. Such roofing was less desirable in Chiveis than wood or slate, but it was considered good enough for a bunch of unwanted waifs. Ana crept across the stiff straw next to Teo.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked.
“I’ve done it many times.”
“How long did you live here?”
“Until I was eighteen. Then I was sent to the University. I paid for it with a military scholarship from the Guard.”
“And that’s how you became the soldier-scholar I met ten years later.” Ana glanced at Teo as she lay prone and rested on her elbows beside him in the prickly thatch. “When my mother told me you were a respected professor and not just a cocky guardsman, I couldn’t believe it.”
“You thought I was cocky?”
“Of course.”
“Really? Me?”
“Teofil—you were very cocky.”
“I still am,” he said and leaped off the roof.
Ana blinked, taken aback by Teo’s sudden disappearance. She crawled to the eave and peered over. He crouched on a thick haystack in one of the orphanage’s inner courtyards, which was being used as a stable. Ana didn’t like heights, and she certainly didn’t like the idea of leaping from the roof to the haystack. If she missed she would probably break a bone or sprain an ankle on the pavement. But Teo held out his arms and beckoned her silently. He hasn’t let me down yet, she thought. So she jumped.
The hay was soft underfoot when she landed. Teo arrested her momentum and helped her stand. They clambered to solid ground and hugged the shadows as they darted into the stable. One of its walls adjoined the main orphanage building. Teo jiggled a flimsy door whose lock popped open after a few shakes. He peeked through, then slipped inside the opening with Ana close behind.
“What a gloomy place,” Ana remarked as they sneaked down a hallway. The musty smell of stale urine permeated the air.
“Orphans can’t be choosy,” Teo whi
spered back.
A flickering orange glow appeared around a corner ahead. Teo snatched Ana’s hand and drew her into an alcove occupied by an ill-carved statue of Jonluc Beaumont. They crouched at its base as the night watchman approached. The sour-faced man held a candlestick and a stout hickory cane. The thought of Teo’s youth in this dismal orphanage saddened Ana. She silently thanked Deu for the loving home she’d had.
When the hallway was empty again Teo and Ana hurried to the head warden’s office. Ana tried the doorknow and found it locked. Glancing at Teo, she wondered how he would open it. His solution was simple: he cracked one of the door’s glass panes with the butt of his knife, then flicked away the shards and turned the knob from the inside. “I would never have done that as a boy,” he said. “It would have earned me ten hard strokes from Ol’ Hickory. I’d be unable to walk for a week.” Ana tsked but did not reply.
The head warden’s office was illumined only by the light of the moon. Teo and Ana circled behind a heavy desk and entered a closet. Teo struck a match and lit the candle lantern that dangled from the ceiling. The space was lined with numerous cubbyholes, each stuffed with scrolls tied with strings. Letters scrawled on the cabinetry provided meager organization to the institutional records.
“Here are the G’s,” Teo said. “Start looking.”
For half an hour the two investigators sifted through the scrolls but discovered nothing of interest. At last Ana unrolled a parchment with a mysterious name across the top: Greta Izébela.
“Teo, I found it! See here? This girl was a direct descendant of Greta the Great, the consort of Jonluc Beaumont.”
“That would qualify her as a potential High Priestess. What else does it say?”
The admittance report said Greta Izébela came to the orphanage when her parents died of plague. Her hair color was entered as black and her eyes green. Nothing was recorded about her behavior or academic achievement. Ana flipped to the certificate of discharge. She gripped Teo’s sleeve as she read it. “Look at this! When Greta was seven, she was released from the orphanage to become an acolyte under the previous High Priestess!”
“That’s a rare privilege for an orphan. She must have done something remarkable to win the favor of the power-brokers in the Order of Astrebril.”
“I’d say killing one of their most prominent critics would count.” Ana chewed her lip as she analyzed the dates in the report. “This would have been . . . wait a minute . . . yes. Thirty years ago.”
“Just after the Battle of Toon. The timing is right.”
“Exactly! Combined with Barnabas’s testimony, this document implicates the High Priestess in my grandfather’s death. She was the little girl named Greta who was alone in his room.”
“All the evidence is circumstantial,” Teo pointed out.
“Yet it’s enough to raise doubts. That’s all we need.” Ana tucked the papers into her bodice.
“If Greta is the current High Priestess, that would make her thirty-seven now.”
“I’ve seen her up close. That seems about right.”
“Uh-huh,” Teo said evasively.
“She’s very young for someone so powerful.” Ana glanced at Teo’s face. “And very pretty.”
“I suppose in a weird way you could say that.”
“So, you do think she’s pretty?”
“What are you trying to get at, Ana? Yes, she’s a beautiful woman. What about it?”
“Beautiful? I didn’t know you thought she was beautiful. That’s a strong word.”
Teo sighed. “Look, I won’t lie and say it isn’t true. I’m not proud of it. The wrong part of me finds her seductive, for all the wrong reasons.”
“I don’t understand that.” Ana frowned and shook her head. “I could never be attracted to the Iron Shield, even though in a different context—if he were a different person—he might be considered handsome. But he only repulses me. I can’t understand why it wouldn’t be the same for you and the High Priestess.”
“Male sexuality is a blessing and a curse. It can be a powerful force for good or evil. A force like that is difficult to contain.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the context of a marriage and a home, it’s fruitful and productive. Outside of that boundary it’s destructive. Think of Napoly and all it represents. Nothing but the perversion of men can take an innocent little girl named Gemma and turn her into ‘Sugar.’ ”
“Men have caused that horror,” Ana said, disgusted.
“Not all men. Some stand against it. I don’t want to partake of that filth in any way. I prefer to be part of the solution.”
“Good men like you are scarce in the world.” Ana fought off her twinge of jealousy and met Teo’s eyes with an affirming nod. “I believe you’re the best of the best.”
“I know you do, Ana, and I love you for that. You expect the best of me. That makes me want to live up to it. When I lived here at the orphanage, no one thought I would amount to anything, so I didn’t bother trying.”
“Master Maurice believed in you.”
Teo nodded. “He was more than a professor. He was like a father to me. When I came to the University, he took me under his wing right away.”
“How did you get accepted there? It’s hard to get in.”
“J’ai appris des langues facilement,” Teo replied. “I learned languages easily.”
“No one sponsored you?”
“Not that I know of.”
Ana turned toward the cubbyholes. “Let’s take a look at the T’s before we leave. I want to see your records.”
“Okay, but we have to hurry. It’ll be dawn soon.”
They searched through the scrolls until Ana found a thick packet with Teo’s name on it. She thumbed through the parchments, most of which were disciplinary write-ups.
“I was a little rebellious back then,” he said sheepishly.
“All that caning! It makes me feel sorry for you.” Ana patted Teo’s shoulder, but he just shrugged.
She flipped through a few more pages until her eyes fell on the discharge certificate. “Teo, look here. It says Master Maurice personally requested that you be released to the University. Somehow he had heard of you in this orphanage and took an interest in your welfare.”
“Hm. I never knew that.” Teo considered it for a moment, then dismissed the thought. “Come on. We really need to get out of here.”
“Just one more second. Check the hallway and I’ll be ready to go.”
While Teo stepped out, Ana turned to the admittance report. It stated that Teo had arrived at the orphanage as a newborn baby several months after the Battle of Toon. He had been dropped off by a seventeen-year-old girl. I wonder who she was? Curious, Ana continued to read . . . then gasped when she spotted the girl’s name.
Helena.
Ana’s mind recoiled as a deep sense of dread seized her. Though she didn’t want to, she found herself doing mental calculations. Teo is four years older than me. That makes him thirty. Mother is forty-seven—a seventeen-year difference.
Could Teo be my . . . ?
No!
His sudden return startled Ana. “The hallway is clear,” he said. “It’s time to go.”
“Yeah . . . um . . . okay.”
Ana stuffed the parchments back in the cubbyhole, her heart thudding at the unexpected revelation. Please, Deu, she prayed as she followed Teo out the door, don’t let that be true!
Helena d’Armand approached the performance hall in Entrelac with more peace than she would have thought possible in such circumstances. The last time she was here was three years earlier, when Ana had come for a poetry competition that she deserved to win but did not. Today, however, it would be Helena’s words that captured everyone’s attention.
The imprisonment she had endured with Stratetix over the past week had been of the mildest sort. Queen Mother Katerina made sure her two captives received plenty of food and drink. Their room was comfortable, with a private balcony to recei
ve fresh air and sunshine. Katerina had even sent books and writing materials to pass the time. Helena thought the greatest hardship was the boredom, but that was about to come to an end.
“Do you remember the recital?” Stratetix whispered to Helena as they alit from the carriage. Evidently his memory had been jogged along the same line as hers.
“I was just thinking about that. Ana was so brave to stand up and sing in front of that snobby crowd.”
Stratetix took his wife’s hand. “A brave daughter comes from a brave mother. Stand tall and tell the truth today. Perhaps the soldiers will realize what happens when corruption infects their ranks.”
And may they have the courage to respond, Helena prayed.
The plaza outside the recital hall basked in the early morning sun. Yet it wasn’t only sunshine that warmed Entrelac. Helena could see the cloud wall above the distant mountains that signaled the arrival of the foehn wind. Hot gusts swirled in the streets as the dry air rushed down from the heights into town. According to folklore, the foehn could make a person go mad. Helena suspected the day would hold plenty of madness already without the addition of winds.
“This way,” said the soldier escorting the couple to the hearing. He was a young man with the callused hands of a farm boy. Helena knew the type; there were many in Edgeton.
“New recruit?” she asked.
The man glanced at her, then nodded.
“Why did you sign up?”
His answer was the national motto: “By the sword, Chiveis lives.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Helena replied as she entered the performance hall.
The building was one of the few in Entrelac made of stone instead of timber. It was built on a grand scale, with heavy columns lining its nave and high clerestory windows admitting shafts of sunlight. Though the hall was designed to seat several hundred spectators for performances and recitals, today it was crowded with Royal Guardsmen. The flags of the five regiments hung from poles at the rear of the stage. The Warlord sat on one side of the dais in an oaken throne, flanked by the commanders of the Second and Fifth Regiments. Two empty chairs faced the three military officials, and a lectern stood in the middle. Helena glanced around but saw no sign of Katerina.
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