Varina saw mingled relief and concern war in Allesandra’s face, as if the news simultaneously cheered and saddened her. She wondered at that. “Excellent,” Allesandra said, but the enthusiasm for the word was missing from her voice.
“I saw Vajiki ca’Vikej in the hall as I was coming up, and he asked about it,” Sergei said, almost too offhandedly. “I told him that I didn’t report to him, but to you. He didn’t look happy at the answer.” Then he glanced at Varina. “Varina, I understand that the Numetodo were instrumental in removing Nico Morel and his people from the Old Temple. I’m glad to see that you’re unhurt. Is it true that you have Nico’s child?”
Varina nodded. Holding her… Looking into her innocent, trusting face and seeing Nico’s face there as well… Watching the wet nurse she’d employed feeding her… “A daughter,” she said. “Her name is Serafina.”
Sergei nodded, staring at her strangely. “Good. I’m glad she’s in your hands. And I’m sorry, also-I know how this must make you feel. I promise you that I’ll talk to Capitaine ce’Denis and make certain that when the time comes, Nico’s death is quick. If the Faith wants his hands and tongue, they can take them afterward.”
Varina shuddered at the image, though there was nothing but empathy in Sergei’s eyes. “There may not be a death,” Allesandra said before Varina could compose an answer. “If the Numetodo cooperate.”
“Ah?” The white wings of Sergei’s eyebrows lifted. He glanced again at Varina. “Cooperate how?”
“Varina’s developed a black sand device, a mechanism-something anyone can operate with no magic required, and yet it’s devastating. Several of the Morellis and war-teni were killed with them during the assault. I believe it could literally change the way of warfare.”
So she understands that as well as do I… Varina shifted uncomfortably in her chair. If Allesandra glimpsed the same future that Varina saw, then it didn’t seem to trouble her. “I haven’t yet agreed,” she reminded Allesandra. “I have to think about this.”
Allesandra left the balcony window to crouch down in front of Varina, almost like a supplicant. She took Varina’s hands in her own. “Varina,” she said, her eyes not allowing Varina to look away, “there isn’t time to think. There isn’t time to hesitate at all. The Westlanders will be here in a few days. It’s good that Jan is bringing his army, but that still might not be enough-not given what the Tehuantin did at Karnmor and at Villembouchure. Commandant ca’Talin says there are four or five times the numbers who came here last time. The longer we wait, the fewer of your sparkwheels we can make and the less time we have to train people to use them. You can’t think on this. You need to give me an answer-because it’s not just Nico’s life that is at stake here, but that of everyone in this city, yourself included.”
“I don’t care about my life,” Varina answered. “Not anymore. Not since Karl died.”
“Don’t say that,” Allesandra answered, squeezing her hands. “I won’t listen to talk like that. And you don’t mean it either. You have the child to think about now.”
Varina tried to smile back at Allesandra. She felt exhausted, and sore from the exertions of the assault. Sergei knelt down alongside Allesandra, groaning with the effort. “Listen to the Kraljica,” he said to her. “She’s saying what we both feel-and Talbot and the rest of the Numetodo as well.”
Varina sighed. She closed her eyes. Outside, she could hear birds twittering in the garden of the palais and the faint clamor of people out on the Avi. Quiet sounds. The sounds of peace. Allesandra’s hands were warm on hers, which felt like cold stone on her lap.
Dead things. Broken things.
“All right,” she told them. “Tell Talbot to come to my laboratory this evening. I’ll give him the plans and formulae.”
Sergei ca’Rudka
Capitaine Ari Ce’denis looked weary, as if he hadn’t slept well for a few days. That was probably true, since the Bastida’s cells were stuffed as they had rarely been: with the rebellious war-teni, with the Morellis who had survived the assault on the Old Temple. And there was their prized prisoner: Nico Morel.
“I’ve good news for you, Ari. I’m told that those war-teni who ask forgiveness and recant all Morelli views will be released,” Sergei told ce’Denis. The Capitaine did not look at the roll of stained leather that Sergei had set down alongside the chair in which he sat. He didn’t look at Sergei at all; it seemed that the papers on his desk were far more interesting. He picked them up, shuffled them, and set them down again as he listened to Sergei. “Archigos Karrol has already sent a message to that effect, and the Archigos himself should be here in a few days. If the war-teni agree to fight with the army, he’ll send them to the front line and let Cenzi decide whether to allow them to live or not.”
Ce’Denis nodded. “And the Morellis? What of their disposition?”
“Those who were teni but not war-teni will be judged individually by a Concord of Peers, which Archigos Karrol intends to convene on arrival. Those who were not teni will go through the usual judicial procedures and be brought before the Council of Ca’ for their judgment.”
“And Nico Morel?”
Sergei smiled. “He is a special case, and he will be handled as such. The Kraljica has placed him entirely under my jurisdiction.”
The Capitaine did glance at the leather roll then, a look that seemed equal parts disgust and fascination. “I take it that you’re here to talk with the prisoner.” There was just the slightest hesitation and stress to the word “talk,” as if another term had first intruded into ce’Denis’ mind.
“I am,” Sergei told him. “The Kraljica has determined that there will be no execution of Morel, and she will be refusing to hand him over to the Concenzia Faith. He is…” A smile. “Mine.”
The Capitaine’s eyebrows lifted at that, but he said nothing: a good soldier. “Morel is in the Kralji’s Cell of the main tower,” he told Sergei. “You know the way.”
Sergei smiled again. “I do, indeed. And I’ll leave you to your duties, Ari. We should have lunch together one of these days-after the current crisis has passed, perhaps.”
Ce’Denis nodded; neither of them took the suggestion for anything more than politeness. Sergei stood, pushing himelf up with the knob of his cane and tucking the leather roll under his free arm. He inclined his head to ce’Denis-he’d risen at the same time, and now saluted Sergei. He left the man’s office, walking across the courtyard and glancing up at the skull of the dragon mounted on the wall above.
The gardai at the door of the main tower saluted him as he approached. As they opened the massive steel-clad door, a wave of cold air scented with human waste and despair washed over him. Sergei took a deep breath-the familiar smell made him feel momentarily young. Even his own brief interment here had not changed that response.
He slowly made his way up the winding staircase, peering occasionally into the cells that opened on either side, resting on each landing to recover his breath. Once, he could have leaped these stairs two at a time, from bottom to top. Now, each step was a separate mountain that must be surmounted. He was panting heavily despite the frequent stops when he reached the top level.
The garda stationed there saluted Sergei, stiffening to attention. “Open the door, and then go get yourself some refreshment,” Sergei told him. “I’ll take responsibility for the prisoner.”
“Ambassador?” The garda’s forehead creased with puzzlement. “You shouldn’t be alone with the prisoner. It’s not safe for you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sergei told him.
“At least let me chain him to the wall first.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sergei repeated, more firmly this time. “Go on.”
The garda frowned and almost audibly sighed-perhaps with disappointment at missing Sergei’s “interview” with the prisoner-and finally saluted again. His keys rattled and hinges groaned as he opened the cell door. Sergei waited until he heard the man’s bootsteps fade down the stairs. Then he peered into the cell itself.