A Magic of Dawn

RESURRECTIONS
The Gathering Storm

Jan smelled of horse, sweat, smoke, and blood. But then, so did Starkkapitan ca’Damont and Commandant ca’Talin. There’d been no time for them to bathe or change clothes. They’d stripped themselves of their sweaty and battered armor after the engagement with the Westlanders and ridden hard back to Nessantico, leaving the grudging retreat of the Garde Civile to the a’offiziers. Their boots clattered-grimy, mud-splattered, and out of place-on the polished tiles of the Kraljica’s Palais on the Isle; the hall gardai, the servants, and the courtiers milling in the corridors stared at the trio apprehensively, as if trying to gauge from their faces and demeanor the severity of the threat to the city.

If they could read those expressions correctly, they would be frightened.

Allesandra’s aide Talbot met Jan as they passed the outer reception chambers, and escorted them through the private servants’ corridor to the Council of Ca’s chambers. He gestured to the hall gardai to open the doors as they approached. The murmur of conversation within stopped. Allesandra was waiting for them there, with Sergei ca’Rudka and the councillors; a map of the surrounding area already open on the table.

They all looked at Jan expectantly.

“If you’re looking for good news,” he told them without preamble, “I have none.” He stopped. A woman standing alongside Allesandra turned from perusing the map to face him. “Brie? I thought-”

Brie went to him, embracing him as openly as if he wore finery for a ball. He tried to step back, knowing how he looked, but if she felt any revulsion at his smell or appearance, she showed none of it. She kissed his stubbled cheek, then his mouth; it took a moment, but he returned the kiss. “I came with our army, my dear,” she said. “The children are in Brezno, but I felt my place was here, with my husband in the city he will rule one day.”

“You shouldn’t have come, Brie.”

“ Why should I not have?” she asked, her head cocked. The tone of her voice was strange-almost coy and too light. He could sense another question underneath, one she wasn’t asking.

“That’s not obvious?” he answered. “It’s dangerous for you to be here.”

“I thought it might be more dangerous for me to not be here,” she responded. He could hear a subtext in her words, but the meaning eluded him. She smiled at him: again with the same strangeness. “I’m here, my husband, and I have brought your army with me. Why, you should be pleased.”

Jan nodded-yes, there was more going on here with Brie than what she was saying on the surface, but there was no time for him to puzzle it out now, and to try to do so would only make him angry with her. He kissed her again, perfunctorily, then looked around at the others in the room.

Focus…

“Kraljica, Ambassador, Councillors-the Westlanders have a force significantly larger than ours, even with the Firenzcian addition,” he told them. He went to the map, sweeping a hand across the inked features. “They are advancing along a front that would have them entering Nessantico all along the western edge on the north side of the A’Sele, from the banks of the A’Sele to above the Avi a’Nostrosei or even to the Avi a’Nortegate. That’s bad enough, but our scouts tell us that they’ve sent another force across the river to attack the city from the south. At the moment, we have no more than twenty war-teni, all from Nessantico; we’ll need at least a few hundred to even try to match the Westlanders in that respect. And judging from what they did at Villembouchure, they also have adequate supplies of black sand, which means that none of the buildings here are safe if they come close. As for what they did at Karnmor, well, we can only hope that they have no way to repeat that horror. If they can, then there’s no hope at all.”

“You make it sound as if we have already lost and should be emptying the city,” his matarh said, and Jan shook his head.

“No, Matarh,” he said. “That’s not what I’m saying. Nessantico isn’t lost, but it is in grave and immediate danger and we can’t underestimate that. I’ve seen the Westlanders, and we’ve engaged with them to test them. That’s told us that we’ll need all the forces we can muster: all the war-teni, every able-bodied citizen, every possible resource. Even with all that, we’ll also need the grace of Cenzi, or we’ll once again see Nessantico burning.”

The silence after he spoke stretched long. “That’s not what any of us want. Here’s what the Starkkapitan, Commandant, and I propose,” he said finally, pointing to the map. “The A’Sele curves north just after Pre a’Fleuve; that will necessarily compress their forces. I intend to station our troops just beyond the River Infante from the village of Certendi and south. We’ll hold there as long as we can, then destroy the bridges if we need to retreat to the other side. I want earthworks to be built from the Avi a’Certendi to the A’Sele along the eastern side of the Infante. Commandant ca’Tali, Starkkapitan ca’Damont, and I will make the Westlanders fight for every stride of land between the Infante and Nessantico, and hopefully keep them from the city entirely on the North Bank. As for the South…”

He looked at Allesandra and Sergei. “I will leave that in your hands.”

“… there’s a Long Path, Atl. A way that leads to a better place for us even though it won’t seem so at first, and Citlali would never believe me. But you must believe me. Victory here isn’t victory; it will mean eventual defeat for us. Tlaxcala itself might fall.”

Atl was shaking his head all through Niente’s explanation. “I know you keep saying that, Taat, but that’s not what I see. Even if I wanted to believe you…” He waved a hand in exasperation, accompanied by a sigh. “I see nothing of this Long Path at all.”

“You’re not looking far enough ahead. It’s not something you’re capable of yet.”

That was a mistake. He could see it in the way the firelight in the tent found the hard lines of Atl’s face. “I can see Axat’s paths, Taat. I think I may see them better than you do. You just don’t want to admit that. I’m going to my own tent. Fill your spell-staff, then get some sleep, Taat. I’m going to do the same.”

He nodded to Niente and started to leave, but Niente clutched at his son, his fingers around the gold band of the Nahual that had once been around his own forearm. “Atl, this is terribly important. I saw the Long Path; I saw it ever so clearly back in Tlaxcala and even here for a time. I haven’t glimpsed it since-there are so many elements fouling the mists, as you know yourself. But it’s there-it must be. Between the two of us, we may be able to find it again. If we glimpse it just once more, if we can see how we must respond…”

Niente rummaged in his pack. He pulled out two small wooden birds, crudely carved and painted a bright red, the lines of their bodies rough and simple. He handed one to Atl. “I made these earlier this evening. I’ve put a spell inside them, so that if we’re separated in the battle, we can still give each other a message. If one of us sees the way, then we can tell the other that the Long Path is open.”

Atl looked at the bird. He started to hand it back. “I don’t need-”

Niente closed his son’s fingers around the sculpture. “Please,” he said to Atl. “Please take it.”

Atl sighed: as he had sighed as a child when his parents had insisted that he do something he didn’t want to do. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll keep it. But, Taat, there’s no Long Path. I don’t know where this war will lead us-none of us can know that-but I do know that we can have victory here. I’ve seen it, and I intend to lead Tecuhtli Citlali to that point.” He looked down at Niente, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. “Fill your spell-staff,” he told him, as if addressing one of the lesser nahualli. “You’ll need it soon. I need to use the scrying bowl myself tonight.” He went to the tent flap and opened it. Outside, the moon shone over his shoulder. “There won’t be a Long Path there, Taat. I know this,” he said. “You’re seeing what you want to see, not what Axat is willing to give us.”

He let the tent flap fall behind him as he left.

“You will cross the river this morning with Tototl and join the southern force with two hands of nahualli under you.”

That was the order Niente received from Tecuhtli Citlali. Atl and Tototl stood at the warrior’s side as he delivered it. His son’s face was unreadable and troubled, and Niente wondered-after the previous night’s conversation-whether the order had come from Citlali or Atl. He had to admit the sense of it-to have the former Nahual with the Tecuhtli to second-guess the new Nahual could lead to hesitation and contradictions. In the south, Niente would have no rival… and neither would Atl with the main force. In the south, Niente would be a potent resource for the nahualli, and a tested leader. If Niente had still been Nahual, had he been looking for an overwhelming victory here instead of the chimera of his Long Path, he might have suggested something similar, sending Atl with the southern arm.

Citlali gave him no chance to argue. “Uchben Nahual, the boat with the other nahualli is waiting for you on the bank,” he told Niente. “You will leave as soon as you gather your things. Nahual Atl, I wish to discuss our strategy with you…” With that dismissal, Tecuhtli Citlali turned from Niente, gesturing to Atl to follow him. Atl glanced once at Niente.

“Taat,” he said, “I will see you again in the great city. Keep yourself safe.” He nodded, then followed Citlali.

Not long after, Niente found himself in a boat with three others alongside crossing the A’Sele, the brown water churned to momentary white by oars pulled by young warriors. The scent of fresh water touched his nose, though the trees on the far bank were clouded by haze in the poor vision of his one good eye. He could feel the stares of the other nahualli with him, feel their appraisal as he crouched in the stern of the small craft.

Niente looked westward down the river-they had received a message from the captain of their fleet that the river had been cleared and they were bringing the warships upriver to meet them. Niente saw no sails yet, but the river curved away in the near distance, and the fleet might have been only around the bend. The High Warrior Tototl, in one of the other boats, stared only straight ahead to the other shore.

What do I do now? This strategy was not in any of the paths I glimpsed. He wondered if Atl had seen this, and knew where the path led. He felt lost and adrift in the currents of the present. Can I find the Long Path in this, and if I do, dare I take it? He’d already given up the Long Path once because of the implied cost. That vision had been clear, as if Axat had wanted him to know. Citlali’s death mattered little to Niente; a warrior expected and even welcomed death in battle. But Niente had been dead as well in that glimpse; could he truly do that, if that was what Axat demanded as payment? And if Axat demanded Atl’s life as well as Axat had once hinted…

His hands were shaking, and not from the damp morning chill.

Did Atl see this? Is that why you were sent away?

He wanted desperately to talk to Atl, but that was no longer possible. He felt in his pouch for the carved bird. The touch of it gave him no comfort.

The shore was growing closer; he could nearly make out the individual trees rather than just a green mass, and he glimpsed a half-dozen warriors gathered under the verdant canopy ready to escort them to the road. The prow of the boat squelched into mud on the reed-masked bank, jolting him. The warriors waiting for them hurried down the bank to help them out. He heard Tototl shouting orders. Niente allowed the warriors to pull him up onto dry land. At the top of the bank, he looked across the river once more. Through the cataract-haze, he thought he could see figures moving.

He wondered if one of them was Atl.

“By Cenzi, it’s true, then…” Jan’s hand prowled his beard. His eyes widened, and Brie could swear there was genuine shock in them. Not just feigned surprise. Perhaps she’d guessed wrongly and Jan had actually not sent the girl ahead of them to meet her in the city. “I promise you, Brie, I didn’t know she was here. That’s Cenzi’s own truth. I swear it. I know you must have been thinking that I sent Rhianna here-or Rochelle or whatever her true name is-but I never thought…”

“No, you didn’t,” Brie chided him. She continued to watch his face. The shock on his face had seemed genuine enough when she’d told him Sergei’s news. “She claims she’s your daughter, Jan.”

“She told me that also.”

“She told you? When?”

“When she took Matarh’s knife from me. It was her parting volley as she fled.” He ran his fingers through hair newly dampened by a quick bath. “She killed Rance. I knew it, even then. She looks so much like El-” He stopped and glanced at Brie. “Her matarh,” he finished.

“So is it possible she’s telling the truth, that she’s your daughter?”

Jan’s shoulders slumped. Now his hands were plowing nervously through his hair. “I suppose so. She’s about the right age.”

“Did you ever… With Rhi… Rochelle?”

He shook his head angrily, his hand making a sweeping denial that swept air across her cheek. “No! I swear it, Brie. She never allowed me to-” He exhaled loudly. “For good reason, evidently.” He paced the dressing room in the apartments that Allesandra had given them in the palais, snatching up the padded undertunic of his Garde Civile uniform. “Brie, I’m sorry, but I can’t worry about this. Not now. I don’t know why Sergei didn’t clap her in the Bastida when he had the chance.”

She went to him, pushing his hands aside as he fumbled at the ties of the undertunic. “Here, let me do that. Is that what you want for her?” Brie asked. “The Bastida? Judgment for the deaths she’s caused?”

She felt his chest heave under her hands. “Yes. And no. I don’t know what I want, Brie. If she’s my daughter, by the White Stone.. .”

“Not your daughter. Just a bastarda you fathered.” She’d finished tying the laces and stepped away.

“Back then, I would have married Elissa.” This time he said the name without hesitation, and Brie found that it hurt to hear it, to hear her own daughter’s name attached to that woman. Jan’s word stung her. “I would have married her without hesitation and without my parents’ permission if they wouldn’t give it,” he continued. “The girl wouldn’t have been a bastarda. I’d already asked Matarh to open negotiations with Elissa’s family-or at least the family she claimed to be part of. Oh, I’ll bet Matarh is finding this a most wonderful jest.”

She was certain that Jan had intended the words to hurt; she forced herself to show nothing of it. “Your matarh was doing what she thought she needed to do to protect her family. As I do also, when I must.”

“Yes, that’s undoubtedly why Matarh hired the White Stone to kill Fynn; to protect her family.” He finished putting on the rest of his uniform, sitting on one of the chairs to pull on his boots. “Brie, I need to meet with ca’Damont and ca’Talin within a mark of the glass. You need to be careful-I don’t know what this Rhianna or Rochelle might be after. Cenzi alone knows who the White Stone might go after next. I’d be far more comfortable if you were out of the city entirely.”

Where you’d be free to do whatever you want. Brie would have been more pleased if she felt that his concern was genuine and not just self-serving. Like his matarh-his needs always come first. “I’m staying, my husband,” Brie told him firmly. “You have your duty; I have mine. Allesandra will be directing the southern defense; I’ll help her.”

“Brie…” He stood up, buckling on his sword belt and adjusting it.

“No, I mean it, Jan. I’ve trained with my brothers and can hold my own with them with a sword. You know that. My vatarh’s schooled me on military strategy and has even consulted with me many times in the past, when raiders came over the border from Shenkurska. Allesandra has directed armies herself-I’ve heard you screaming in frustration about some of the tactics and strategies she’s used over the last several years. I’m no less safe here in Nessantico than I would be traveling on the roads, even with an escort.”

He was shaking his head. “I know that face you’re wearing now. There’s no use talking to you.”

“Then why are you still arguing?” she asked him. She wasn’t certain whether he was irritated or whether it was simply the stress. “I don’t want to argue with you, my love. We need each other, and I only want you to be as safe as you can be. You’ve a destiny, Jan-to be the next Kraljiki. I want to see that happen; I intend to sit next to you on the Sun Throne.” She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders and smiled up at him: the practiced smile, the required smile. “Now. .. Go on-meet with the Starkkapitan and the Commandant. You and I will worry about Rochelle later, when the Tehuantin are no longer a threat.”

“And you?”

“I have my own meeting with Allesandra.”

“Not with Sergei, too?”

She shrugged. “He said he had other business this evening.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Go,” she told him.

“You can’t wear the green robes,” Rochelle told Nico, and he favored her with an indulgent smile that touched his lips and vanished a breath later. It seemed his lips no longer remembered how to truly smile. Joy had vanished from life, when before it had filled him.

“There’s a large difference between ‘not permitted to’ and ‘can’t,’ ” he answered. “I’m a teni, and it’s my right to wear the robes. More than a right; it’s my obligation. I follow Cenzi, not that half-dead fool who calls himself the Archigos. It’s time for me to make that statement fully and to stop hiding like a criminal.”

“You are a criminal in the eyes of the Holdings and the Faith. They’ll kill you if they can.”

“They can try.” He tried to smile at her again, but it collapsed. “And there’s a large difference between ‘try’ and ‘will,’ too. You needn’t look so worried, little sister.”

She shrugged. They were on the second floor of one of the Morelli safe houses in Oldtown; the owner-a draper-had been visibly distressed to see Nico there, but had dismissed his apprentices for the rest of the day, sent his family to visit cousins two streets over, and had agreed to send out the word to the remaining Morelli sect that the Absolute desired to meet with them.

Nico had also learned that Ancel had been among those captured and executed after the storming of the Old Temple-another soul laid at his feet, another death for which he must atone. There were so many, and they weighed so heavily on his shoulders that he wanted to fall to his knees under them.

Liana, Ancel, I promise you-I will find peace for you…

He could still see the face of his and Liana’s daughter snuggled in Varina’s arms. He could feel Sera’s fingers wrapped around his, clutching him as if she knew she belonged to him. That memory, and the memory of Liana and Ancel and all of those who had died for him caused tears to gather in his eyes again, and he wiped them away.

Downstairs, among the draperies hung on wires waiting to be arranged into folds, Nico could hear the buzz and rumble of conversation through the floorboards: several of the war-teni had slipped away from the temple to come here; there were also, he was told, many of Brezno’s war-teni present as well, who had entered the city over the last few days following after the train of the Firenzcian army. He’d already talked to some of them-Archigos Karrol had declared that all war-teni would be sent to the battlefield with Hirzg Jan tomorrow.

“We won’t go, if that’s what you tell us, Absolute.” They’d all told him that. They’d all sworn that they would follow him rather than the Archigos, if he asked them. Their loyalty gratified him at the same time that it added to the guilt he bore.

How can you follow me after what I’ve done, after my failures? How can you still have faith when I struggle with it?

Nico still wasn’t sure what he intended to tell them. He would leave that to Cenzi. But he suspected he already knew. The choices had narrowed with the arrival of the Westlanders, and he had spent the night before praying to Cenzi for guidance while Rochelle watched him, her face more curious than devout. She reminded him of Elle, her matarh and Nico’s adopted-matarh. What did you do to her, Elle? Did you twist her beyond saving?

But he couldn’t worry about Rochelle now. Not yet. His followers, those who were left, waited for him, and the words of Cenzi burned inside him. “Let’s go,” he told Rochelle, holding out his hand to her. “It’s time.”

He let her descend first, then followed her down the stairs. The astringent smell of dyes and the stiffeners for the fabric was strong in the single large room below, a room that also functioned as a store and showroom for the draper.

There were at least five double hands of people crowded into the space, packed so tightly that the air was heated with their presence. No greetings split that atmosphere as he appeared; everyone seemed as somber as Nico felt himself. He gave them the sign of Cenzi, and bowed to them meekly as they returned the gesture. A few lamps set on the draper’s walls provided the only light, but he could see many green robes like the one he wore, even though their faces were largely unfamiliar. He could feel their stares on his bruised and battered face, on the purple blotches that covered his forearms, at the way he limped as he descended the stairs. He saw them gazing curiously at Rochelle.

“May Cenzi bless you all,” he told them, spreading his hands wide. He could feel their affection for him, and he returned it; the room was filled with a pale glow that emanated from nowhere and everywhere. “I’m humbled that you would come, and even more humbled that you would still listen to what I have to say.”

“You’re still Cenzi’s Voice, Absolute,” someone called out from their midst. “We follow you. We saw Cenzi perform the miracle in the square. We saw you vanish without casting a spell; we saw the empty chains.” The others murmured their agreement, and the sound made Nico want to embrace them all, to try to burn away the grief and loss in the heat of their approval and support.

He clasped his hands together in front of him as if in prayer. “Yes,” he told them. “Cenzi came to me as I stood before the Kraljica, and He released me from the poor shackles this life placed on me. But

…” He stopped, shaking his head. “Cenzi has also shown me that I’ve let my own pride lead me away from His path, and He has punished me for that. He’s taken into Himself too many of those whom I loved, He has sent others into pain and misery, and He has filled me with grief and sorrow. Their pain came because they followed me. I realize now that I must become entirely Cenzi’s vessel, that I must give myself over completely to Him and must accept whatever He gives me to bear. I realize that I am nothing.”

He brought his head up and lowered his hands, his gaze sweeping over them, making eye contact with each of them in the room. “You must also understand that,” he told them. “This is your task as well, as it has always been for the teni-to perform the will of Cenzi and nothing more.”

“What is it that Cenzi wants us to do?” someone asked. “Tell us, Absolute.”

Nico hesitated even though he felt the words filling him. Am I right this time, Cenzi? Am I hearing You and not myself? Is this truly what You want me to tell them? The words remained in his mind, and he could rid himself of them only by speaking them.

“Our Faith is being directly threatened,” he said. “We have the Westlanders ready to overwhelm Nessantico and the Holdings, and if that happens, then the Faithful will suffer greatly. I have prayed, and I have opened myself to Cenzi and listened to Him, and this is what He tells me.” He paused and took several breaths, looking at each of them. “Now is the time to set aside our struggles with the false leaders of the Faith-not forever, but for a short time. We must first beat back the heathens and heretics who threaten us before we can look to the heresy within the Holdings and the Coalition.”

He paused, nodding to them. “I said this the other day on the plaza, and I tell you again here: for now, you should obey the Archigos. War-teni, go to war. Teni, perform whatever duty is given you. For the rest of you, do what you must. Obey the authorities that are over you. For now.”

He waited. The glow in the room increased. “Do this for the moment,” he told them. “And afterward… Afterward, we will again look inward. Afterward, we will turn our attention to reforming the Concenzia Faith. We will take the glory we have earned, and we will shape the Faith as Cenzi intended it to be, as the Toustour and the Divolonte demand, and we will listen to the commands of no one, no one, who is not with us. That is all I have to say tonight.”

The glow in the room faded, and the lamplight seemed dull in comparison. They shuffled, they hesitated, they stared. Then someone opened the door; one by one, they gave him the sign of Cenzi and shuffled from the room. Nico returned the sign to each of them, murmuring a blessing to each. When they had all gone, he felt Rochelle’s hand on his shoulder.

“They weren’t happy,” she said. “You didn’t give them what they came to hear. They were disappointed.”

“I know,” he told her. “But it’s all I had.”

Rochelle nodded. “You’re tired.”

“Exhausted,” he admitted. He looked at the stairs leading to the second floor. “But there’s still one more meeting before I can sleep.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. He said nothing, only gestured for her to follow him. He trudged up the stairs, his feet heavy on the treads. There was lamplight coming from the rear bedroom, where there had been no light before. He heard Rochelle’s knife blade slide from its sheath, and he shook his head at her.

“You won’t need that. Not yet.”

He walked easily down the corridor to the room and pushed the door open. “Did you hear what you wanted to hear?” he asked the person in the room.

“Did you hear what you wanted to hear?” Nico said, and Sergei shrugged.

“Overall, yes,” he answered. “You just saved yourself, and saved the war-teni along with you.”

“My safety isn’t in your hands, Silvernose,” Nico said, but the bravado in his voice was tired and unheated.

“Ah, but actually it is,” Sergei answered. He glimpsed movement behind Nico and saw a face. “Rochelle. Please, why don’t the two of you come in and sit down? There’s no reason we can’t have a civil conversation, just the three of us.”

Nico entered with a shrug and sat on the edge of the bed in the room. Sergei saw him glance at the far door on the rear of the house. Sergei had left it open, displaying the stairway leading down to an alley behind the draper’s. Rochelle entered and immediately put her spine to the wall to one side of the corridor doorway, remaining standing. She stared at Sergei, her eyes intent and dangerous. Sergei lifted his own hands from the arms of his chair, his right holding his cane. He imagined he could feel Varina’s spell hidden within the wood. “There, you see. I’m no threat to either of you at the moment.”

Nico’s mouth twitched with the ghost of amusement. “And neither of us believe that.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Sergei told him. In his mind, he repeated the release word for the spell Varina had placed on his cane so it would be clear if he needed to use it. He wondered how effective it might be against Nico-not as much as he might hope, he suspected.

“You have a better information network than I thought, Sergei.”

“I was lucky. A few of your Morelli teni had guilty consciences. After the debacle in the Old Temple, they’re not all quite so trusting of you anymore, Nico. They came and told me where you’d be.”

“I can’t say I blame them.” Nico leaned back on the bed. “I don’t trust myself either. What would you have done had I not told the war-teni to obey the Archigos?”

“There were enough gardai, loyal teni, and Numetodo spellcasters in the streets outside to have arrested twice the rabble you managed to cobble together tonight, even with the war-teni.” Sergei closed his eyes, imagining the scene. “Let me tell you what would have happened. They were waiting for my signal. I would have all of you taken immediately to the courtyard outside the Kraljica’s Palais, driving the pack of you down the A’Parete like a herd of pigs being taken to slaughter, so that everyone could see you. By the time we reached the palais, there would be a huge crowd of citizens there to watch the spectacle, and I would set you and your people at the front. I would drag you forward, Nico, with tourniquets tied hard around your forearms. I would tell the citizens that you and the war-teni who follow you would rather see Nessantico burned to the ground and all of them dead rather than fulfill their oath to Cenzi, the Faith, and the people. I would have handed a volunteer from the citizenry an executioner’s ax-and I would have many volunteers, Nico. I’d have that person strike your hands from your arms. Your screams would rebound from the walls of the palais, so loud that you’d think that all of Nessantico could hear them. Then I’d have another citizen pull your tongue from your mouth and slice it off with red-hot scissors, so that the wound would be immediately cauterized. I wouldn’t want you to die. Not yet. I would tell them all-the citizenry, the war-teni watching-that this was the Faith’s punishment, and that now I would show them the punishment of the Sun Throne. I would bind you to a post, and have one of the Bastida garda open your stomach and pull out a loop of your intestines. I’d tie that to a windlass, and have the garda slowly extract your guts, the windlass creaking as it turned. If you were still alive, afterward, then I’d have you flayed, the skin stripped from your living body. When you finally died, in misery and torment, your body would be put into a gibbet and displayed, with your hands and tongue nailed to your skull.”

Neither had spoken during his long tale. Sergei opened his eyes. Nico still watched him from the bed, but his face was an inscrutable mask. Rochelle appeared horrified. Her mouth hung slightly open, and she would not look directly at him. “You enjoy that fantasy,” she said angrily.

“I do, indeed,” Sergei admitted, glancing at her before returning his attention to Nico. “Then, when it was all over,” Sergei continued, scratching at the base of his metal nose with a forefinger, “I would tell the war-teni that they have two choices set before them. One is to renounce you, obey the Archigos, and serve Nessantico, and they might live. The other is to immediately suffer your fate. I would give each of them the choice. How many do you think would have followed you into martyrdom, Nico?”

“I don’t know,” Nico answered. “Nor do I think it does much good to speculate about any of this, since it didn’t happen. I told them to obey the Archigos, and you’ve let them go. What matters is what happens now.” He shifted position, sitting upright at the bed’s edge. “So what does happen now, Sergei? Do you try to arrest me again?”

“I could try,” Sergei answered, then lifted his hand as Nico started to protest. “Despite my fantasy-” there he stopped and smiled at Rochelle, “-after your performance in the plaza, I do have doubts as to my ability to manage that.”

“I have no idea how that happened,” Nico said. “That was Cenzi, not me.”

“Then maybe Cenzi-if it’s truly Him-would make arresting you both difficult and costly, and it’s entirely possible I might not survive the attempt. But there are enough gardai and utilinos waiting for my command that I’m fairly sure we’d eventually succeed, Cenzi aside.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Nico snapped.

“It might be if I actually thought Cenzi were responsible. Still. ..”

“Why are you here then, if not to arrest me?”

“I’m here because Varina is my friend, and she asked me to do this. Personally, I think that she’s too forgiving of you, but she seems to think that you’re worth saving, that you are in fact savable, and that we also need you. I’m not so certain, myself.” Sergei tapped his cane on the rug underneath his chair. “What is it that you want, Nico?”

“That’s easy,” the young man answered. “I want to continue to serve Cenzi.”

“And for right now, what is it Cenzi demands you do, in your mind? Could it be to help defend Nessantico, as you’ve told the war-teni?”

Nico understood; Sergei could see it. “If it were, if I happened to believe that, what might be gained by it?”

“There’s still much you need to answer for, Nico,” Sergei told him. “A’Teni ca’Paim’s death, the death of all the others who tried to defend the Old Temple, the destruction, the injuries. Varina might be willing to see past all that, but not the Kraljica. Not entirely. Still-perhaps the argument could be made that the death of ca’Paim was accidental and unintended, that the gardai who died did so fulfilling their duty, and that if the Morellis and their Absolute have served the Holdings well and pledged to work with the Holdings in the future, then perhaps much of what has happened might be forgiven. Not forgotten, never forgotten, of course, but it would be understood how unfortunate it all was.”

“You make a promise you have no authority to keep, Sergei, nor does Varina.”

“I have authority to offer it from someone who does,” Sergei told him. “It’s your choice as to whether or not to consider it.”

Nico hmmed low in his throat. “The Archigos is in agreement as well?”

“The Archigos has nothing to do with any of this. It’s a purely secular matter. You and the Concenzia Faith will have to come to your own separate understanding, but if you serve the state, the state will see that the Faith does nothing that would, well, compromise your abilities.” He tapped the cane again, harder this time. “Nessantico needs your help, Nico. I’ve seen what you can do. You would be the most formidable war-teni we have.” Sergei rubbed his nose again. “If that’s what Cenzi wills.”

“Don’t make this a joke, Sergei.”

“I assure you that I’m entirely serious.”

“I need to pray first. I can’t give you an answer now.”

Sergei sighed. “And I can’t wait, Nico. I’m sorry.” Sergei groaned to his feet, moving to the rear door. He raised his cane; out in the alleyway, forms moved, and he heard running footsteps downstairs, moving through the house. He turned back to the room. “I’m really am sor-” he began, but the cold of the Ilmodo hit him then, and he saw the darkness in the midst of the room, and when it dissipated a breath later, neither Nico nor Rochelle were there. A garda thrust his face into the room. “Ambassador?”

“It appears the Absolute lied to me,” he said to the man.

Varina held Sera in her arms, rocking slowly back and forth as she stood at the window. Outside, in the street beyond the front courtyard of her house, a seemingly endless line of troops in black-and-silver uniforms were marching westward. Their boots beat a solemn funereal cadence on the Avi a’Parete, as if the city itself were a drum. They’d been marching past for a turn of the glass already, since just after First Call, the noise of the cornets that had heralded their arrival waking Serafina from her sleep. Varina had taken up the child, cuddling her and soothing her fussing. She kissed the infant’s brow, feeling the downy softness of Sera’s hair on her lips.

“Don’t be frightened, Sera,” she whispered against the low thunder of boots on cobblestones. “They’re here to protect us, dear one. They’re here to keep you safe.”

There was a soft knock at the door to the bedroom, followed by the the creak of hinges. “A’Morce, I’m sorry I’m late. The streets are a mess, as you can imagine. I had to come in the back way…” The wet nurse Michelle entered the bedroom, already striding forward and unlacing her blouse. “The poor little one must be starving. Here, let me take her for a bit…”

Varina handed Sera to Michelle, watching as the infant fussed for a moment before her searching mouth found the nipple and began to suck. “Yes, famished, aren’t we?” Michelle said, smiling at Sera before looking to Varina. “It feels so…” She stopped, and Varina saw moisture gathering in Michelle’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” the young woman said. “Sometimes when I hold her, I think of my own…” She stopped again, swallowing hard.

“I can’t imagine the pain you’ve felt, losing your own baby,” Varina told her. “I’m so sorry, Michelle.”

Michelle nodded. “The whole city seems to be in an uproar,” she said. The change of subject was abrupt and, Varina was certain, entirely deliberate. Michelle lifted her shoulder and leaned her head down to blot away tears. Sera stirred and settled again in her arms. “They say that you can see the Westlanders already from the top of the Bastida’s tower. Don’t know that it’s true, but…” Michelle shivered, and Sera stopped sucking for a moment, her large blue eyes opening, then closing again as she returned to the breast. “A’Morce, my husband wants me to go to my brother’s home in Ile Verte. I thought, well, I thought, if you wanted… I could…”

Varina sighed. She stroked Sera’s head. The child’s eyes opened again, finding Varina’s gaze. Sera smiled for a moment around the nipple, a white bubble escaping her lips before she returned to feeding. “I think that would be an excellent idea, Michelle. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Michelle answered. “It would be my pleasure to take care of her. A’Morce, you should come as well. My brother has a large home there, and I’m sure…”

Varina shook her head. She glanced again at the army marching past: it was the rear supply train now-wagons and horses. “My place is here,” she told Michelle. “When are you leaving?”

“This evening, after Third Call.”

“Then why don’t you come and get Sera at Second Call? I’ll have her things ready for you then.”

Michelle nodded. “She’s a beauty,” she said. “It a shame about her vatarh, and her poor matarh. She’s lucky to have you, A’Morce.”

Varina attempted a smile and found that she couldn’t. She stroked Sera’s head again. “Michelle, if something should happen to me-”

“Nothing will happen,” Michelle said quickly, not letting her finish. Varina shook her head.

“We don’t know that,” Varina said. “If something should happen, something that would mean that I can’t care for Sera, would you take her? Belle speaks so highly of you, and perhaps it might ease your own loss, if only a little.”

Michelle was crying now, her head down as she watched Serafina at her breast. “A’Morce…”

“Just say yes,” she said. She stroked Sera’s head. “That’s all.”

Michelle nodded, and Varina folded both of them softly into her arms. “Good,” Varina said. “That will ease my mind.”

Jan watched the offiziers directing the troops into position. He, Starkkapitan ca’Damont, and Commandant ca’Talin had taken a position on the second-floor balcony of a farmhouse, situated on a small rise a few hundred strides from the River Infante. On the roof of the farmhouse, Jan had placed pages with message banners as well as the signalcallers with their cornets and zinkes. A hole had been torn into the ceiling of the room behind them, with a ladder extending up to the roof so that pages could move from the command post to the roof and orders could be called up. From their vantage point, they could see the companies being placed on this side of the river, as well as the sappers who were placing obstacles along the riverbank against the Westlanders’ crossing.

On the far side of the river, closer to Nessantico, workers were digging a double line of earthwork ramparts, where the army-should it need to retreat-could fall back and hold at need.

Jan hoped that those wouldn’t be used, but he suspected they would be.

The Westlander troops were discernible in the verzehen-a lensed tube, designed by the Numetodo, that allowed one to see at a great distance. Through the warped and somewhat blurred, circular vision granted by the verzehen, Jan watched the offiziers of the Tehuantin, their High Warriors, giving their own orders. He saw the banner of a snake on an emerald field. Their troops marched through fields that had been farmland and through the groves. The very trees of the woods that bordered the fields seemed to sway under their numbers. They were already approaching the village of Certendi.

There were too many. Too many. Like the swarming scarlet ants of Daritria, it appeared that they could simply cross the Infante on the bodies of their own dead. Jan handed the verzehen to ca’Talin. “They’re here,” he said. “They’ll be within arrow shot of our lines by evening. If I were their general, I’d stop there to mass the troops and attack in the new light, but…” He shrugged. “They’ve done the opposite before. We may be fighting in darkness. Are the war-teni here?”

“They came in last night, most of them, Hirzg,” ca’Damont told him. “Nearly all of the Holdings’ group, and most of ours. They said that Nico Morel told them to come.”

“Then Sergei was good to his word,” Jan answered. “Excellent. Cenzi knows we’ll need them all.” He gestured to one of the pages; the boy came hurrying over. “Have the horns call back the a’offiziers.” The page saluted and scooted up the ladder; a few breaths later, they heard the clear, shrill call of the cornets.

“We’re set, then,” Jan said. “We’ll talk to the offiziers, then it’s time to go to your commands and get yourselves ready. We’ll see if we have the pieces placed where they need to be. Let’s pray to Cenzi that that’s the case.”

He looked through the verzehen once more, watching the blurred forms of the warriors approaching. He doubted that the person commanding them felt the same burning doubt that he felt. “We’ll hold them here,” he told the others, “because we must.”

The great ring boulevard of the Avi a’Parete had once defined the limits of the city of Nessantico, with a fortified wall running its entire length except for the Isle a’Kralji, which was adequately protected by the waters of the A’Sele. All of Nessantico had fit inside the wall-and that wall had been necessary in those times of endless war between the fiefdoms of Nessantico and those of her neighbors.

Now, most of that ancient city wall was gone, its great stones buried or reused in the city’s buildings, with only a few small sections of the edifice still remaining. Nessantico had spilled well outside the confines of the Avi a’Parete, though less so in the south than other directions. Not far outside the remnants of the old Sutegate of the city, there were still open fields and farmland, and it was there that Allesandra watched the new sparkwheeler corps practice. They were dressed in normal clothing, most of them looking as if they’d just been plucked off the streets of Oldtown-which was actually the case. Talbot walked away from the group as Allesandra approached. He helped Allesandra down from her carriage; he was still dressed in his palais staff uniform. Allesandra peered across the field toward the men. “Forgive their appearance, Kraljica,” Talbot said, as if realizing how they looked. “I’ve only had two days to work with them.”

“Where’s Varina? I thought these devices were her idea,” Allesandra asked.

“She’s settling things with the child. Then she’s going to the northern front with the Hirzg, along with most of the Numetodo. I thought you knew. The Hirzg asked for as many spellcasters as were available.”

Allesandra nodded-had Varina told her that, or had she forgotten? Someone in the group of sparkwheelers shouted the order to “fire! ” The reports of the sparkwheels barked, and white smoke bloomed at the end of metal tubes. Across the field, paper targets set on straw bales fluttered as lead pellets peppered them.

The horses jumped in the carriage’s traces, their eyes white and wide. The driver yanked back on the reins, calling to them.

Allesandra found that she’d taken an involuntary step backward herself at the violence of the sound, nearly falling back into the carriage. “You might stuff some paper in your ears, Kraljica,” Talbot said. “These devices do make an infernal racket.”

“Unless the enemy is stationary, it would seem that one shot is all that your new corps are going to have before the warriors are on them,” Allesandra observed-the sparkwheelers were all reloading their weapons, and that process seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. “The Tehuantin are used to the noise of black sand; they’re not going to be frightened away by it.”

Talbot smiled. “That was my concern also, Kraljica. We’ve made a few small modifications to Varina’s original design. The black sand and pellet packets are all premade, so no measurements need be made in the field. We also thought by extending the barrel somewhat, we could increase the distance and accuracy of the shot. That seems to be the case, though it’s made the weapon heavier and bulkier.” Out in the field, men were replacing the targets with fresh ones. The sparkwheelers were still reloading.

“Accurate or not, it’s still one shot. If all I were given was one strike with my sword while the enemy was allowed to hit me freely as often as he wished, then the battle would be over quickly. It wouldn’t matter if I had the sharper weapon.”

“Indeed,” Talbot said. “Which is why we’ve given some thought to tactics. Let me demonstrate… Cartier-form a squadron into lines of four,” he called out. One of the men bowed slightly toward them and shouted more orders. A dozen men formed three wide-spaced lines of four as Cartier arranged them. Talbot stepped forward toward them.

“First line, kneel!’ he shouted. “First line, fire!” Four sparkwheels spun and ignited, the echo of the reports rolling across the field. The men from the first line stood, each took a step to the left, and stepped backward to the rear. They began to reload their weapons. “Second line, kneel,” Talbot shouted. “Second line, fire!” Again, reports sounded and white smoke drifted away. The men stood and fell back behind the first line. “Third line, kneel! Third line, fire!” Another roll of thunder, and the third line fell back. The first line had finished reloading by this time. “First line, kneel! First line, fire!”

Another volley, and Talbot grinned at Allesandra. “Stand down!” he called to the sparkwheelers, then walked back to Allesandra. “Kraljica?”

The flanks of the horses were trembling as they pulled anxiously at their bits, the driver working hard to stop them from bolting. Allesandra’s ears rang with the noise of the weapons. “That was impressive, Talbot,” Allesandra told him, and Talbot’s grin widened.

“A three-line squadron can fire three volleys in nine breaths, and continue to do so until they’re out of black sand packets, though after several shots, the sparkwheels become too hot to safely fire.”

“But it’s one thing to stand here with nothing but straw bales to face, and another when it’s a charging enemy who intends to kill you,” Allesandra continued. “These aren’t soldiers, Talbot. They’re not chevarittai. They’re not even Numetodo. They look like they’re just bakers and grocers, butchers and apothecaries.”

“That’s true of most of them,” Talbot admitted. “I don’t know how they’re going to react when it comes time. But the effectiveness… The black sand weapons we’ve used before required large quantities of the material, and they’re indiscriminate-the explosion might kill no one at all or several people, or might kill your own people if you’re not careful. Spells are costly in time and exhaustion and they require years of training before most people can use them well. To use a sword or pike effectively requires weeks or months of training, too. These. ..” He gestured toward the field. “Varina’s sparkwheels use very little black sand, they’re as precise as a spell, and they require only a turn or two of training to use. They change the entire equation.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Allesandra interjected. “The power you’ve given the untrained rabble…”

“I’m afraid that the rabble is nearly all we have between us and the Tehuantin at the moment, Kraljica, unless you think that the Garde Brezno can do the impossible.”

She frowned. “I know,” Allesandra answered. “Still, something about this…” She clapped Talbot on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Talbot. I worry what this means for the future: for the Holdings, for the Faith, for our society.” She pressed her lips together, cutting off the rest of her thought. “You’ve done a fine job,” she told Talbot. “Everything we’ve asked for and more. I just hope it all works when the time comes-because it will have to.”

She drew herself up, mounting onto the step of her carriage. “Continue your work. In the meantime, I need to check with Sergei and the Garde Brezno.”

Talbot bowed to her; she stepped fully into the carriage, gesturing to the driver. He slapped the reins on the back of the horses, and with a grumbling of wheels, the carriage lurched forward.

His feet ached, his back throbbed with every step. They had passed three villages so far in the day’s march, all of them deserted-Tototl had allowed the warriors to scavenge for food and supplies, then ordered the houses burned. The smoke was still smeared across the sky behind them.

Niente wanted to do little more than lie down and let the warriors and nahualli leave him in the dirt. He was grateful when Tototl called a halt to the quick march. He sank down in the grass alongside the road and accepted the bread, cheese, and water that one of the nahualli handed him, gulping down the sweet coolness. He saw a shadow looming near him, and sat up. Tototl was watching him.

“I will get you a horse, Uchben Nahual.”

“I’ll be fine in a few moments, High Warrior.”

“I will get you a horse,” Tototl answered. “I need the Uchben Nahual to be ready when we begin the attack tonight.”

Niente had rarely talked to Tototl, since the High Warriors, with the exception of the Tecuhtli with the Nahual, rarely had interaction with the nahualli. He found himself looking at the man’s painted face and wondering what he might actually be thinking. “We’re that close, then?”

“We’ll see the tops of the houses when we cross the next rise. The scouts have told me that there are troops readying to meet us. The battle will begin very soon now.” For a few breaths, Tototl was silent, and Niente was content to sit on the grassy bank of the road. The breeze was fragrant with the scent of this land. Then Tototl stirred. “What did you see when you looked in the scrying bowl, Uchben Nahual? I watched you, watched your face, and I don’t believe that you told Tecuhtli Citlali everything.”

“I told him the truth,” Niente insisted. “Nahual Atl saw the same.”

Tototl’s mouth twisted under the paint and ink that adorned his face. “Your son is not you, Uchben Nahual. He may be one day, but not yet. You were holding back something you saw, something that frightened you. I saw it in your face, Niente. I want to know-did you see us defeated?”

Niente shook his head. I saw our victory here, and its terrible cost. I saw that it might be averted, and I saw that there the future was too confused and tangled to predict. “No,” he said.

“I’m not afraid of dying,” Tototl said. He was staring northward along the road, as if he could already see the city. “Dying well in battle is the end that every High Warrior looks for. It’s not a fear of dying; I’m afraid of the cost of this to the Tehuantin.” Tototl looked down again at Niente, and hope sprang up in him, a hope that the warrior might understand what Citlali could not. “Is that what you’re afraid of also, Uchben Nahual?” Tototl asked

Niente’s throat seemed to close under Tototl’s steady, unblinking regard. He nodded silently.

“So you’ve seen something.” This time Tototl said it with certainty. Niente shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I’ve seen too many paths, High Warrior. Too many, and all of them uncertain. But…” He inhaled, long and slow. Can you trust this man? Could this be a trap he’s set for you, maybe even one that Citlali and Atl have set? “Let me ask you this: if you killed a warrior in challenge, you would claim that you have won a victory. But what if in killing that warrior, you have in turn so inflamed his son that when he becomes a warrior, he brings an army and destroys everything that you’ve built, destroys everything you cherish so completely that it cannot be recovered? Was your initial victory worth winning, then?”

“That would depend,” Tototl said, “on whether you could tell me-without doubt-that the son would do all this.”

Niente was shaking his head. “The future is never entirely certain,” he told the warrior. “Even what happens in the next moment might change, if Axat wills it. But what if I could tell you that this was the likely outcome? Would you hold your sword stroke, then?”

“It would depend on whether holding my sword stroke cost me my own life,” Tototl said. “No warrior wants to give the enemy their life freely. I would think the same would be true of a nahualli.”

“That’s what I might say in your place,” Niente said.

Tototl’s head cocked slightly to one side. He grunted something that might have been assent. “Since you say the future is always uncertain, would you give your full support to a High Warrior, Uchben Nauhual, even if you thought it might be the wrong path?”

“That’s a nahualli’s duty,” Niente answered. A quick amusement crossed Tototl’s face, and he knew the warrior understood that he hadn’t fully answered the question.

“I will get you a horse, Uchben Nahual,” Tototl said to Niente.

“She was with him? You’re certain it was her?”

Sergei nodded. “It was Rochelle, Hirzgin. So at least that much of what she told me would seem to be the truth. Rochelle was raised as Nico’s sister by the White Stone. Whether she knows that he’s not really her brother…?” Sergei raised a tired shoulder. “I’m not sure she understands that.”

Sergei and Brie were sitting astride their horses, overlooking the fields around the Avi a’Sutegate where the Garde Kralji was encamped. There were too few of them, Sergei knew-given the report the scouts had brought back of the size of the Westlander forces advancing toward them. Though the offiziers were running the gardai through maneuvers, the troops looked sluggish and lost. They were not trained for this: open, full-scale combat against another organized and trained force. That much had been shown in the debacle of the Old Temple, when even the equally untrained Morellis had been able to hold them at bay for too long. The Garde Kralji was a glorified personal guard and policing unit, not an army battalion.

The battle won’t be won here, Sergei reminded himself. It will be won across the River A’Sele, with the Hirzg and the Garde Civile. We just have to hold our own here, hold them back long enough that the Garde Civile can return and rescue us.

He was fairly certain they would need that rescue, and he wasn’t particularly hopeful that it would be coming.

“They look terribly clumsy and slow, and I’m not at all impressed with their offiziers,” Brie said next to him, as if she had overheard his thoughts. She was dressed in full armor over a quilted tashta and wore a sword at her side, though her helm was still lashed to the pommel of her saddle, her brown hair braided and hanging low down her back. She looked entirely comfortable in the martial outfit-much, he thought, as Allesandra did when she commanded the field troops. It was a shame, he thought, that the two of them had been so long sundered. Allesandra’s son had married someone much like his matarh, either unwittingly or consciously. “I wish I had brought the Garde Brezno as well. These Garde Kralji are going to need strong leadership on the field, or they’ll break the first time the fighting gets difficult.”

“Indeed,” Sergei answered.“The Kraljica and the Hirzgin must be the ones to give them that. Commandant cu’Ingres, I’m afraid, is still troubled by his injuries, and A’Offizier ci’Santiago is, well, let’s just call him inexperienced.”

“Where is the Kraljica?”

“On her way, I expect. We should see her any time now.”

Brie made a noise of assent. He saw her lean forward in her saddle, leather creaking. She was peering toward the south. “Is that another of our scouts? He’s riding fast…” She pointed, and Sergei saw a cloud of dust far away along the avi. His own vision was poor, and he couldn’t quite make out the rider or the colors.

“It may be,” he said. “Whoever it is, they’re coming fast. There must be news.”

The two of them flicked the reins of their horses, cantering down to the road to meet the rider. They were joined by A’Offizier ci’Santiago as the rider came galloping up, his mount lathered with effort. The rider saluted them.

“The Westlanders,” he said, panting. “Not far down the road… A thousand or more… All along the road.” He stopped, catching his breath. “A few turns of the glass and they’ll be here,” he said. “They’re coming at a fast march, and they have several of their spellcasters with them, and the makings of siege machines with them as well. We need to be ready.”

Ci’Santiago nodded, but he did nothing. Sergei sighed. “We’ll need to send for Talbot and the sparkwheelers-A’Offizier, perhaps you can give this man a fresh horse and have him bear the message. Hirzgin.. .”

“I’ll take the field command of the troops until the Kraljica arrives,” she told Sergei. “Ambassador, you and Commandant cu’Ingres can see to the main strategy here in the command tents.” Sergei could see her already looking at the landscape and deciding where to place the troops for best advantage. “I’ll need signalers, cornets, and runners, and I’ll want to talk to the offiziers. A’Offizier ci’Santiago, I need you to arrange that immediately. What are you waiting here for? There’s no time, man. Go!”

Ci’Santiago was gaping at her, but he shut his mouth and saluted as Sergei stifled a laugh. The man turned his horse and galloped away; the scout following him. Brie was staring south, her mouth set. Sergei thought he could see smoke rising from the horizon.

“I do believe you frightened the poor man,” Sergei told her, and she sniffed through her nose. “He’s probably already complaining about the demon woman from Firenzcia.”

“I’m happy to be the demon woman if it means we survive this,” she told him. “Do you think we can, Ambassador?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” he answered, and hoped she couldn’t hear the lie.

Nico heard the lock to the house gates snick open under Rochelle’s ministrations; she grinned toward Nico as she slipped the thin pieces of metal back into their packet. “Easy,” she said, pushing the gates open; Nico slid inside ahead of her, but he felt her put a hand on his shoulder almost immediately. He glanced back at her from under the hood that masked his head, the cloak that disguised his green robes heavy around him.

“Something’s wrong here,” Rochelle said.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen,” she answered.

The street outside the gates was crowded with people leaving the city. They could hear their voices: the calls, the arguments, the cries of children too young to understand the panic of their parents and relatives. There were the creak and groans of the carts, the shuffling of feet on the pavement, the whistles of utilinos vainly trying to direct traffic and quell the inevitable confrontations. “There’s all this noise out there,” she told him. “But inside here-the staff should be scurrying around, getting things ready for whatever, but there’s nothing. The shutters to the windows are all closed and probably locked, and I don’t hear anything at all. It’s too quiet here.”

“What are you telling me?” His voice was a husk. He already knew the answer, could feel it in a despair that settled low in his stomach.

“I don’t think she’s there, Nico. I think she’s gone already. I’m sorry.”

Nico pushed past Rochelle, striding angrily toward the front doors of Varina’s house. It was locked, but rather than wait for Rochelle, he kicked hard at it and the wood around the lock cracked. He kicked again, and the door opened.

“Subtle,” Rochelle said behind him.

He ignored her, stepping into the marbled entranceway. He was certain now that Rochelle was right; the servants should have come running, perhaps ready to defend the house, but there was no one in sight. “Varina?” he called. He thought he saw a cat dart across the hallway ahead of him. Otherwise, there was no response. He heard Rochelle enter the house behind him; glancing over his shoulder, he saw that she was holding her knife, the blade naked in her hand. “We won’t need that,” he said.

“Probably not. But it makes me feel better.”

He shrugged. He walked slowly down the hallway, glancing into the reception rooms to either side. The furniture there was covered with sheets; the cat glared at him from atop a blanketed couch, then went back to licking its front paws. He continued to move through the house: the sunroom, a library, the kitchens-they were all the same, empty, with every indication that Varina didn’t expect to return here soon. He heard Rochelle calling him from upstairs, and he followed the sound of her voice. She’d put the knife in its sheath, and was standing at the door to what had to be a nursery. The furniture here, too, was covered. She opened the drawers of a dresser along one wall. “Empty,” she told him. “I told you-Serafina’s not here, Nico. The Numetodo’s taken her elsewhere.”

Nico was shaking his head. “Varina’s still here in the city. I can feel it.”

One eyebrow rose on Rochelle’s face. “Well, if she is, she’s not staying here, and the baby’s not here either.”

“She’s sent Sera away,” Nico said.

“I gathered that. So can Cenzi tell you where?”

He scowled at her, a warning about blasphemy on his lips, but he held it back. She seemed to realize it as well, holding up a hand. “All right, so you don’t know. What do we do now?” Rochelle asked, but Nico could only shake his head.

“I don’t know,” he told her. After his confrontation with Sergei, he’d hoped to take Sera, to leave the city with his daughter and his sister, and find a place to think and pray: to know what Cenzi wanted of him, to know how to assuage the guilt and pain he bore… He’d hoped-he’d prayed-that Cenzi would give him his daughter, but it seemed that Cenzi still had other plans for him. He looked upward. “Cenzi, what are You trying to tell me?”

He listened to the whispers in his head and in his heart, and his face grew grim. “I think it’s time for us to part for a while,” he told Rochelle.