Shadebound, page 28
part #1 of The Last King Series
Still, this was all supposition and fearmongering. What he needed was evidence. If he could find enough proof that the kings were behind the assassinations themselves, then Artemio could use that information as blackmail to halt their crimes, or to at least claim his just rewards for resolving the mystery.
There was a chill that came to him when Bisnonno Fiore rode him. Not the cold of the grave, but a certain calmness of thought that he could not achieve independently. It let him consider the options available to him without the burning rage at his heart taking hold and guiding his hands. Mother was one of the victims of this plot. The idea of coming to a compromise with her killers should have appalled him. But what was the alternative? Declare war upon the Cerva? They had the whole Kingdom of Espher at their service and enemies pressing in on every side that would sweep through and leave the victor of any internal squabble as the king of naught but ashes.
Perhaps someday there would be a time when these things were not true and Artemio could avenge himself on the Cerva, but until that day, he needed the cool touch of the last true king of Espher on his fraying resolve.
When Fiore’s senses confirmed that the guards were as far from the entrance as their patrol would take them, Artemio stepped out into the Rose Garden. At once his senses were overrun by the beauty. A dozen different floral delights swept over his nose. The pristine white stone of the walkways was surrounded by rich dark earth, but only glimpses of it could be seen through all of the innumerable flowers cultivated here. Fiore’s memories of this place were strange and shrunken, but filled with delight. He had played here as a child, long before the throne, before his betrayal and his death. Artemio let the shade slip away; he had no time for nostalgia and he had pared back his own emotional outburst enough that he was merely stomping forward into this place of beauty instead of razing it to the ground.
What he needed before he could act upon any of his suspicions, one way or another, was proof. To find that proof, he needed to find someone who was close to the kings but who hated them with such a passion that it would not matter to them if the truth reduced the whole kingdom to cinders so long as the Cerva burned first.
When he rounded the next bend in the path, he dropped smoothly into a bow, startling the queen from sniffing at a particularly luscious bloom.
“Your Majesty.”
Cadence Cerva turned to face him with surprise evident on her face. According to Fiore’s reconnaissance, her ladies-in-waiting were scattered around the place in various states of drunkenness, unable to keep up with the grueling rate at which their mistress ploughed through the wine cellars the Volpes had spent centuries filling. They were alone, with no chaperone, and Artemio couldn’t even begin to bring himself to worry about the potential scandal. He still had her husband’s blood on his cuff. Anything he did or said would be less scandalous than that.
Her cheeks were flushed, from the sun or the wine, he could not say, but she did not seem entirely concerned by his sudden appearance. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, lord…”
“Artemio Volpe.” He dipped a little lower in his bow, lower than he had ever bothered for her husband. Or should he say husbands. “I am your Majesty’s inquisitor.”
That seemed to spark some interest at least. Cadence had started out her gilded life far from Espher, to the south. A princess of some vassal kingdom of Agrant or another. Her age, station, and temperament had made her an ideal match when the time came for the Cerva to marry, and the choice of her over all of the locally sourced desperate, single noblewomen had been quite a statement about where the loyalties of the royal family lay. She had been the Agrantine emperor’s choice.
“And what are you being inquisitive about in my garden?” she asked with a smile.
“Why, the fairest rose of them all.” From the fall of her face, he could see that had been the wrong answer. False flattery would have been so commonplace to any queen as to have no hope of success, but for this particular queen, chosen almost exclusively for her beauty, trapped in her gilded cage because she was such a pretty little thing, it was taken like a slap across the jaw. She took a step back from him and he was forced to dip his head down once more. “Forgive me, your Majesty. I meant no offense. My mother often said that my runaway mouth would be the death of me.”
She seemed to soften a little at that, but trust wasn’t forthcoming. He’d arrived here unannounced without a single guard or attendant in tow, cornered her where nobody would see them talking—it was all very suspicious. “No forgiveness is necessary, Lord Volpe. It takes more than a silvered tongue to ruffle my feathers.”
Given all she had endured since her wedding and coronation, he could believe it. The people of Espher were not much taken with their new queen, and the living arrangements she had to suffer through did nothing to improve her standing. Rumor had it that both of the Cerva twins took turns playing at being her husband and she could not tell them apart, even in the sheets. The more sordid rumors spoke to the carnal appetites she must possess to demand the constant attentions of not one but two men, but most of polite society discarded such tales out of hand. The common folk did not. She was the subject of many a bawdy tavern song. To make matters worse, it seemed that all of the fornication she was assumed to be undergoing was entirely unproductive. Not a single heir had been sired by either one of the men who claimed to be her husband. Unlike the carnal aspects of the royal triangle, the matter of heirs did draw rumors out in high society. The currently circulating suggestion, recounted by the rat-maid under duress, was that the queen was known to be barren before the wedding and placed in Espher to stunt the continuation of the royal line. Though that seemed so preposterous even Artemio could not give it any credence.
“I have some questions for you, my lady. With regards to the assassinations of which I am sure your husband has spoken.”
She flicked open a fan and began to flutter a breeze on herself though the midday heat had scarcely had time to begin building. Mostly she seemed to use it to hide her face from his stare. “And what would I know of any of that? Potted wallflower of the court that I am.”
“You would know what is spoken behind closed doors and when.” He tried to catch her eye, to convey his meaning without having to resort to spelling it out. “You would know if his Majesty had discussed matters with you relating to these assassinations that cast… suspicions in your mind.”
At last she seemed a little more intrigued than concerned. “Is there something you fear you have not been told?”
“There are a great many things I have not been told, your Majesty. The question that troubles me is whether any of those untold things are liable to rear up and kill me the moment my back is turned.” He gave a self-deprecating smile and she seemed to warm to him once more.
Even if her tone did not shift from nasal and distant, at least her words seemed to come more freely “And you expect me to give you answers?”
“Who might know your husband’s mind as well as you?” There was a tightrope he had to walk here, letting her know that he understood how injured she had been by her husband’s choices without giving any hint of disapproval towards his monarch. His position here was extremely precarious, and with just a word about this little visit, she could end his life quite easily.
Her eyes narrowed, but it was safe to assume she had taken his meaning clearly. She offered him a hand and after he bowed once more to place a kiss on her knuckles, she tightened her grip and led him along through the rosebushes until they emerged at a little fountain that was struggling to maintain any pressure after the water had been pumped so high. At least there was nothing splashing on their backs when she settled them both side by side on the rim.
“My husband is not always at his most talkative when he visits with me. Perhaps I pry too much for news. Perhaps he simply does not want to lay conversational traps for the next exchange of places.”
He was briefly stunned by her candor, but a moment later he found his words once more. “Apologies, your Majesty. I had not anticipated that their safeguarding of their identities continued behind closed doors.”
“There are no closed doors when you are a king. Every matter is a matter of import to the court. There are chambermaids, physicians, guards, eyes everywhere.” She looked off towards the sky. “At least they are gentlemen about it. They take turns. They allow me the illusion that they might be one and the same man.”
There was nothing that could be said to that, and any question he might make about the matter would be prurient. Could she tell her husband from his brother? Artemio did not want to know the answer. He’d never taken the queen into his estimations often, but in all the barbarity hidden under silk within court, he wondered if her degradation might not be the most foul. She had been candid with him, so it was the least he could do to return the favor, even if it sank him ever deeper into danger.
“I believe your husband and his brother to be capable of arranging these assassinations to keep the houses of Espher off balance. I do not know if they are the guilty parties, but any evidence you can provide me that might sway my thoughts one way or the other would be greatly appreciated.”
Her lips were pursed, but she was not screaming for a guard. “As I said before, they tell me little.”
“Yet even if they themselves say nothing, there is, as you so rightly observed, an entire frothing hive of courtiers and servants surrounding them. Men and women who must surely be known to you by now. People who may not have been in their favor prior to the assassinations who now seem to have their ear.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Other than you?”
“Obviously.”
She did not take offense at that, which was purely luck, but she did turn her gaze from him once more. “I shall have to think on it.”
Artemio did not grit his teeth or make anything resembling a complaint. One did not demand of a queen, one begged. “If it pleases your Majesty, I can be reached at the House of Seven Shadows. Perhaps through the Prima?”
“If the opportunity presents itself, I should be delighted to write to you, Lord Volpe, though you may find my communiqués come through the Ambassador Modesta.”
He forced a smile. “Then you have my undying appreciation.”
There was a little tug at the side of her mouth, as though she had almost smiled, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Now perhaps it is best for you to depart.”
He ducked into an awkward little bow that conveniently kept him out of sight of the patrolling guards on the wall. “As you wish, your Majesty.”
“And if you should feel the need to contact me again so directly, might I suggest you do so in a less direct manner? I do have all manner of servants and courtiers myself, every one of them absolutely bereft of subterfuge due to my lack of political involvement. You may very well make their day a little brighter.”
He didn’t laugh, but he was finding himself won over by this woman far too swiftly. Perhaps she was not so divorced from the matters of court as she pretended. Perhaps she was the hand behind the assassins raking her kingdom. Artemio would find out soon enough. If she were the ringmaster of that particular circus, he could expect to be hauled in front of the courts for his scandalous behavior in seeking this audience sooner rather than later.
21 - Shades of Truth
Gemmazione, Regola Dei Cerva 112
It took days before Orsina truly believed she was not going to be hauled back in front of the court again. Artemio had been in such a flurry of activity that they scarcely seemed to cross paths, and his reassurances that she need not fear further contact from the kings did not entirely relax her given the manic edge to everything he said.
At least she had no time to focus on her fears. True to her word, the very moment the Prima considered her to be capable as passing for a member of the nobility, Orsina had been given a list of classes to attend and tasks to perform.
The same dread she always felt when calling on a shade followed her into the lecture hall, and she could feel sweat prickling on her back beneath the lace and layers that seemed so unsuited to a day of concentration. Yet when the mousy-looking lecturer emerged and began talking without introduction, the blandness of it all soon began to chip away at any fear Orsina felt. There were eyes upon her, once in a while. Other students intrigued by the stories they’d heard. Too many stories in too short a time. She tried to pay the watchers no heed. The lecturer’s words were what she needed.
“…much debate has been had through the ages as to the fundamental nature and classifications of shades. At present, our best understanding still reflects those six great spirits bound to this house in ages past. Subdivided, they present in three essential categories, with some crossover between them. The elemental shade is possessed of powers related to the fundamental energies of the world, most commonly fire, air, earth, or water. The knowledge shade is a depository of memories constructed primarily from the source’s lifetime, but often supplemented by additions from prior users and the absorption of other, lesser knowledge shades. The third and final category is often typified as a secondary form of knowledge shade, yet the interaction that it has with the one channeling it is entirely dissimilar. These are most often referred to as combat or guidance shades. Now who can tell me which of these three are the most difficult for the novice to utilize?”
Some hands were raised, but the lecturer’s gaze was sweeping back and forth across the chairs, like there was one person in particular he was looking for. Orsina sank down into her seat a little, but it seemed even here her reputation preceded her.
“Lady Orsina, might you know the answer?”
Her first class, the first question, it didn’t seem fair. There was no way she could know the answer. All eyes were turning towards her now. The sweat prickling her back had turned cool and clammy. “Elementals,” she said with a quaver in her voice, looking around the room, “are the easiest.”
There was a ripple of amusement spreading along the rows. A pause just long enough for everyone to see the lecturer’s wry smile, then he replied, “Typically the elemental, as the most abstract from our usual mode of consciousness, is considered to be the most difficult to master.”
She could remember childhood bullies well enough to know when she was the target of one, regardless of whether he wore a peasant’s sackcloth or a courtier’s silk. She sank a little deeper in her seat. More attention was not going to fix this.
A pale boy on the far side of the room piped up, making sure to meet Orsina’s eye. “One might argue that a novice would find it easier to accept an abstract tool than the level of integration required for a knowledge shade.”
“We speak not of your feelings, but of the practicality of the matter. If you wish to be coddled, then I might suggest the House of Seven Shadows is not the place for your education, Lord Anatra.”
There were some more titters, but the bubble seemed to have burst, and the lecturer moved on. Orsina cast a glance across the room to this Lord Anatra and received a polite nod in answer. Maybe having a reputation wasn’t all that bad. Maybe there would be as many people trying to lift her up as kick her back down. She glanced at the other cold faces turned her way. Maybe not.
The rest of the lecture seemed to devolve into distinguishing characteristics of the three types of shades, their potential uses, and a few more jibes about the ease with which any other shade than the elemental might be mastered. She began to struggle to pay attention. It wasn’t that Orsina wasn’t interested or that the topic wasn’t interesting to her—indeed she was silently fascinated to hear shades being spoken of in the same terms a farmer might use to describe crop rotation. It was more that none of it seemed to have any practical application. How did knowing which label to apply to a shade make it any easier to make it do your will? How did any of this matter?
When the class finally ended, Orsina felt like she was no better off than when it began, but there had been just barely enough of interest hidden inside the bland lecture to keep her from fleeing the room like the droves of others. She made her way to the front of the room against the tide, ignoring the eyes upon her. The Anatra boy in particular seemed to be lingering, waiting for an opportunity to speak with her. She’d learned her lessons from Harmony well enough to know that she was in no way ready to conduct a private conversation with some lordling, so the tutor, despite his hostility, seemed the better option.
For the longest time, the lecturer behaved as though she were not present, but eventually he succumbed to her polite waiting. “How can I be of assistance to our resident celebrity?”
She didn’t know what that meant, so she ignored it. It seemed to work well for all the rest of the nobles when confronted with something they didn’t understand, so why not for her? “There were some things you mentioned in your lecture that I wanted to ask about?”
“I have no doubt, that is why it is one in a series of lectures intended to elucidate you on all matters relating to shadework, not a comprehensive introduction to the subject.”
“You said that knowledge shades absorb lesser shades?”
He didn’t even bother to look up from the papers that he was gathering. “Indeed, amalgamation and predation is one of the primary manners in which shades hoard the essence required to maintain themselves without a living donor. Did you have any other questions a glance at the basic reading material could answer?”
“Perhaps you might be able to tell me what your problem is?” She bit the inside of her cheek, but the words had already jumped out.
It was enough to earn her another placid glance. “Whatever could you mean?”
She let the well-gnawed bit of cheek go before she drew blood. Spitting blood on him probably wouldn’t have been considered ladylike. “Nothing. Thank you for your time.”
