In two days’ time, she would meet Rudolfo at the western steppes of the Prairie Sea. There, she would slip the first of the powders into his evening brandy and give herself to the task of bearing him an heir. Apprehension fluttered in her stomach.
I should stop this, she thought.
And do what? Dishonor her father and the work of House Li Tam by questioning a will and a strategy that stretched far beyond her understanding? Because of a poisoned boy? Because of an orphaned Gypsy King? It was this strategy and will, both from her father, that shaped a leader for the Named Lands’ first catastrophe. If bearing an heir and settling into the life of a Gypsy King’s wife was her part to play in this, to create a wily and educated child who would one day take the turban-this was not a chore. This was honor.
Isaak fell in behind her, carrying the large satchel.
“Tomorrow night at the soonest,” she said. Coded deeply into the message she’d snatched from the steward’s hands was a note that Rudolfo intended to liberate the metal men from Sethbert’s camp whether or not the invisible Pope gave him leave. His plan was to pass the metal men over to a small contingent that would run them east and north to Isaak’s aid, then return to the front with his Wandering Army.
War is coming, her father’s note had read. She could smell it in the air now, and she sensed the tightening of a hunter’s snare but she could not quite see it.
There were birds from her brothers and sisters, passed along with her father’s approval. The scattered nations of the Emerald Coasts and the pioneer counties of the Divided Isle were teetering on fences. The Androfrancines were woven into the Named Lands-a thread that, when ripped out, unraveled the entire robe. She could read the critical mass as it built throughout, armies being recruited and supplies being stockpiled. They waited simply to be compelled one way or another, and she saw her father’s strategy with this invisible Pope now as well. She would expect some grand event soon in that regard, though she was not certain what. Perhaps a public proclamation.
Her Gypsy Scouts waited for her at the door. She stopped, and Edrys stepped forward. “You’re certain I cannot dissuade you of this notion, Lady Tam?”
She smiled at him. “I assure you that you cannot.”
He nodded. “Very well. We shall accompany you.”
She inclined her head, ever so slightly. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
As they exited the manor into the snow-blanketed courtyard, she felt for the satchel of powders in the pocket of her coat. She took no pleasure in the deception she must play, but neither did she lament it overmuch. For all she knew, Rudolfo pined for an heir. But her father’s work must be done with discretion. Whatever his strategy ultimately was, it required secrecy and care.
So I will deceive the man I marry.
Of course, she’d always known that if she married, deception would be required of her.
She was her father’s daughter.
Neb
Neb waited near Petronus’s tent. In the last few weeks, the old man had Uhe eigused the tent more and more for work. Eventually, it made more sense for Neb to stay with some of the other young men.
Neb hadn’t expected the response to the proclamation. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but the sudden convergence of three armies upon the new Pope was an alarming outcome. When the crowd broke and all that remained were the Marsh King, Rudolfo and Queen Meirov, Petronus walked away with them while they talked in low voices. Neb returned to the camp, and after a dinner that he’d barely touched, he waited there in the snow.
Finally, the old man arrived. He saw the boy and offered a grim smile. “It had to be done, Neb,” he said.
Neb nodded. “I am sorry for it.”
Petronus pulled open the flap to his tent. “You may be. But it’s unnecessary.” He paused, half in and half out of his tent. “But I do wonder what else you’ve seen in your dreams.”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell him. “Nothing that makes any sense,” he finally said. “You should rest, Excellency.”
Petronus nodded. “Good night, then.”
After the old man slipped into the tent, Neb wandered through the camp.
The workers were snoring in their tents, the small Androfrancine heaters venting steam into the cold air through long brass chimneys. Otherwise, the camp was quiet. With the snow falling now, Neb wasn’t sure how long they could hold out. With Petronus firmly rooted in Windwir, there would be no more supply wagons from Sethbert. But with Petronus proclaimed, they would have access to the funds in House Li Tam’s Androfrancine accounts. The Entrolusian sentries were now simply replaced with Marshfolk or Gypsy Scouts. And he suspected Rudolfo’s Wandering Army was on the march.
Thinking of the Marshfolk brought memories of the girl back to him. He couldn’t push her far from his mind-she invaded regularly.
He’d already felt drawn to her, but the kiss sealed it. He wondered what she was doing now and if he would see her again. She said he would, but Neb took little at face value these days. For instance, this Rudolfo. On the surface he seemed a fop, but up close, Neb saw steel in that man’s eyes. It made him grateful that Petronus had given him the guardianship, and even more grateful that Petronus had put the metal man in the Gypsy King’s care.
Neb wandered past the edges of the camp. The moon was up again, high above now, blue flecked with green. Some days the Moon Wizard’s tower was barely visible, but only when the moon was low and nearby.
Of course the Moon Wizard was a distant memory from thU me"0ee First World. And all of the books containing the legends of his exploits were ash now. Brother Hebda had once shown him a parchment of an early text about the Czarist Lunar Expedition from the world before the time of P’Andro Whym. They had been talking and walking during one of his father’s visits.
“I want to do what you do,” Neb said. He’d not been allowed to touch the parchment, but he’d leaned in close to study it well. “I want find the lost parchments of the Old World.”
A shadow formed on Brother Hebda’s face. “Not all of them should be found,” he mumbled in a low voice.
“Brother Hebda?”
He looked up. “I’m sorry, Neb. I’m a bit distracted tonight. I think we found something that would be better off unfound.”
Neb looked up at him. “What is it?”
Brother Hebda shook his head. “I don’t know. And if I did, I couldn’t tell you. But I have a bad feeling.”
His father had been right.
Neb heard a low, familiar voice.
“Nebios ben Hebda.” He could smell the musky earth smell of her, and without warning he felt warm lips brushing across his cheek. “The Marsh King is very pleased with you,” she said.
He jumped at the kiss. At night, the magicks were virtually impenetrable. “Winters?”
But she was already off and running back into the night.
Vlad Li Tam
Vlad Li Tam smiled and sipped at the kallaberry smoke through the long stem of his pipe. He’d replayed the day’s events again and again and could not be more pleased. When he’d finally left, Rudolfo, Meirov and the Marsh King had been discussing strategy for the night’s work.
Now all he needed to do was wait.
“Obviously my fiftieth son did very well with the ring.”
The aide nodded. “He did, Lord.”
“I have fine, strong children.” He closed his eyes, feeling the smoke lift him. But he wondered if the smoke would lift him past what was coming tonight.