Orlandi came forward himself, and he and the other a’teni arranged themselves around the body. With satisfaction, Orlandi noted that none of the a’teni challenged his right to stand at the Kraljica’s head.
The a’teni. . the majority of them would stand with him, he was certain, when the time came. A Concord A’Teni would vote to depose the hated dwarf ca’Millac when Orlandi brought charges, and then they would elevate him to Archigos. .
The first of the Kraljica’s too-numerous nephews and nieces came forward with his family, the line stretching well into the rear of the temple, and Orlandi sighed again.
As the mourners slowly moved past, he contented himself with thoughts of what he would do once he was Archigos, when this was his temple. .
Karl ci’Vliomani
The noon sun spilled golden on the walls of the Bastida, but seemed to avoid actually touching the dark, grimy stones. Karl
stood on a ledge high in the tower, protected only by a flimsy strip of open wooden rail. From his vantage point looking east, he could see the gilded domes of the Archigos’ Temple. Between the rooftops of the intervening buildings, he glimpsed the massive crowd around the temple as the city waited for the Kraljica to begin her slow, final procession around the ring of the Avi a’Parete: at dusk as the lamps of Nessantico were lit.
“I hope you weren’t considering jumping, Vajiki. Now that would be a shame-though a few of this room’s inhabitants have been, ah, disappointed enough in our hospitality to prefer death to confinement.”
Karl glanced back over his shoulder into the small, gloomy cell in which he’d been placed, furnished with a rude chair and desk and a tiny bed of straw ticking. The metal door hung open. He saw the commandant half-seated on the desk with one leg up, the other on the floor.
The man wore his dress uniform, boots polished and gleaming. Behind him, in the corridor past the bars, Karl could see two gardai leaning against the stone walls. A torch guttered in its holder between them.
“Though that wasn’t the case with Chevaritt ca’Gafeldi, as I recall,”
ca’Rudka said to Karl. “His mind became addled after a few months here, and he insisted that he was able to turn into a dove and fly away.
He looked rather silly, flapping his arms all the way down.”
The gardai in the corridor chuckled. Karl said nothing-he could say nothing, not with the cloth-covered metal band that held down his tongue, bound with straps and locked around his head. The chains binding his hands tightly together rattled as he turned fully, though he remained standing on the balcony.
“You should be honored,” ca’Rudka continued, speaking as if they were having a casual conversation over dinner. “This was originally Levo ca’Niomi’s cell, centuries ago. It was thought the lovely view was proper punishment for ca’Niomi-to be able to look out at the city he ruled for three blessedly short days, and to know that he would never walk there again as a free man. He was also a stubborn man; he lived here for thirty years, writing the poetry that would finally overshadow his cruelty. I understand that the Kraljiki who put him here had ca’Niomi displayed on the anniversary of his deposing every year. They chained him, entirely naked, to the balcony so everyone who passed by on the Avi could look up and see him: an object lesson of what happens to those who overstep their place. If you look, I think you can still see the brackets for the chains there on the stones.”
Karl glanced at the rusted loops of metal set at the ledge’s end just before the long fall to the courtyard below where the dragon’s head glared at the Bastida’s gates, and he shivered. He swallowed with difficulty around the tongue gag. “More recently, the Kraljica had her cousin Marcus ca’Gerodi put here for treason, early in her reign,” ca’Rudka said, “but he was neither as long-lived or stubborn as ca’Niomi, nor as artistic. We never had any poetry from poor ca’Gerodi.”
Ca’Rudka sighed, standing. “One-sided conversations are boring, I’m afraid. For both of us. I believe you to be a man of honor, Envoy ci’Vliomani. I would accept your pledge not to use any of your Numetodo tricks and remove your silencer. Your hands, I’m afraid, will have to remain bound, but we could at least talk. Do I have your word?”
Karl nodded as he stepped back into the dank room, unable to keep the gratitude from his eyes. “If you would turn around, Envoy. .” As Karl complied, he heard the jangle of keys, and a click that reverberated through the straps bound tight to his skull. A moment later, ca’Rudka slid the horrid device from Karl’s mouth. Karl sighed gratefully, stretching his jaw and swallowing to rid his mouth of the taste of metal and foul cloth. “I know it’s uncomfortable,” the commandant said. “But it’s a less, shall we say, final option than cutting off your hands and removing your tongue.”
The man managed to say it with a smile, as if they were sharing a joke. Again, the gardai in the corridor chuckled softly. Karl struggled to keep the shock from his face, but the broadening smile on ca’Rudka’s face made him suspect he’d not been successful.
“It’s a preferable alternative, Commandant,” Karl told him. His jaw ached with the movement, and his words were slurred. “I’ll grant you that. Though we Numetodo aren’t the threat to Nessantico that you believe us to be.”
“Ah. You think I’m a monster.”
Karl shook his head. “A monster would have already done those things to me. A monster wouldn’t have. .” He glanced at the gardai in the corridor and lowered his voice to a whisper. “. . tried to warn me to leave the city.”
Another smile. “Ah, yes. A man of discretion, even in these circumstances. You see, I do like you, Envoy. I liked you from the time we talked in the Kraljica’s gardens. It’s rare to find people who are honest about what they believe, and rarer still when they persist in the face of persecution.”
“I didn’t kill the Kraljica, Commandant. I had nothing to do with it.”
“I believe that completely,” ca’Rudka said. “I truly do.”
“Then let me go.”
“What I believe has little impact on what I’m required to do, Envoy,”
the man answered. “Tell me, did you know that painter ci’Recroix?”
“I saw him once or twice, walking in the city,” Karl answered. “I knew he was painting the Kraljica’s portrait, but so did everyone else.”
“Was he a Numetodo?”
Karl shook his head vigorously. “I would have known that, Commandant. The man was very recognizable, and someone of his reputation. .
Well, I would have heard of him even before I came to Nessantico were he one of us. I didn’t. Why do you ask about the painter? If you think that he had something to do with the Kraljica’s death, then why am I here?”
“The A’Kralj ordered your arrest, as well as that of all the Numetodo in the city.”
Karl found his breath caught in his throat. “All. .”
The commandant nodded. “Those we suspect, in any case. They’re here in the Bastida, though not. .” He let his gaze wander around the tiny, dour room. “. . in such palatial conditions as you. All silenced and bound, though-until the Kraljiki tells me what I’m to do.”
Karl grimaced. In the manacles, his fists clenched. “Given that the Kraljiki has already made it clear that he favors ca’Cellibrecca over the Archigos, then we’ll see Brezno repeated, and worse. Will you enjoy that, Commandant? It will be your duty to direct the maimings and executions, after all.”
Ca’Rudka made no answer at first. His eyebrows lifted slightly. “If it comes to that, Envoy ci’Vliomani,” he said finally, “I promise you that your end will be quick.”