City of Keys, page 32
“I brought my own manservant. There’s no need to clean unless I request it.”
“Should I send food?”
“Is there a common room?”
“The library.”
“Bring it there.” Malach gave a brief bow. “Thank you, Mistress.”
She dropped a curtsy. “Excellency.”
Malach watched her depart. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, but she had more natural authority than Cardinal Gray—and didn’t seem half as afraid of him.
“Take any rooms that strike your fancy,” he told his cousins. “Syd and Trist, you can share.”
The siblings had already flung open one of the doors. Sydonie ran to a huge four-poster bed and threw herself down. Tristhus galloped for the bathroom. Malach heard the faucets open full blast.
“There’s water!” he shouted. “Cold and hot!”
“Don’t forget to turn it off,” Malach called.
“I won’t!”
Syd rolled over until she fell off the bed. “Ow,” she muttered, bouncing back up again. Four strides and she was jumping up and down on the silk couch. Within seconds, it was covered with muddy bootprints.
“Come here, Rachel!” Trist shouted. “Come see the mirror!”
She darted off. Malach went into the bathroom and adjusted the water. Tristhus was making hideous faces at himself in the vanity.
“I want to stay here forever, Malach!” Syd cried.
“Take your shoes off. And someday, Bal Kirith will look like this. Even better.”
She eyed him doubtfully.
“Shoes,” he reminded her.
Syd rolled her eyes and tugged her boots off. “I want to stay here.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “Don’t leave the east wing. I mean it, Syd.”
“Okay!”
Her version of we’ll see.
They eyed each other. “I won’t!” she promised. “We’ll all take baths and be ever so clean and pretty when you come back. I’ll wash Rachel’s hair!”
“Go easy on the knots.” Malach closed the door behind him. Falke waited in the hall with a dour expression.
“Rachel needs me to look after her,” he hissed.
Malach dropped his voice, though his kin had departed to find their own rooms. “I won’t have you poisoning my child against me.”
“I hardly need to. You’re doing a masterful job of it yourself.”
He ignored the jibe, gripping Falke’s arm and guiding him down the corridor. Malach found his own apartments, then sought something close by that was unoccupied. A smaller room around the corner served nicely. The window looked down on a four-story drop. He pushed Falke inside.
“You might as well get used to it,” Malach said. “This is your life now. Four walls and only regrets for company.”
He slammed the door on Falke’s glare and tried different keys until he found the right one. The lock clicked. Let the old bastard stew in his own juices. He’d get something to eat when Malach found the time.
He returned to his own apartments and splashed cold water on his face. Then he rooted through his saddlebags and changed into a fresh robe. By the time he found the library, the other mages were sprawled in leather chairs by a roaring fire. The Mistress had sent up roast fowl, bread and cheese, and a variety of pies, along with both wine and beer.
“Keep your wits,” Malach warned. “I might need you.”
Valdrian raised his glass with a wry grin. “Carpe noctem!” Seize the night.
Malach nodded to Caralexa and Jessiel. “Ready to put a little fear into our hosts?”
They rose to their feet. Jess tossed her chicken leg on the platter and wiped her hands on the tablecloth. Lexa shouldered her bow.
Malach grinned. “Let’s go see Luk.”
A pair of Wolf knights lounged outside the audience chamber. When they saw Malach’s red robe, they snapped to attention and flung the doors wide.
“The Nuncio of Bal Agnar!” one cried.
Malach strode through the doors, Caralexa and Jessiel prowling at his heels.
Upwards of fifty people occupied the room. A dozen priests wearing cassocks embroidered with a sheaf of wheat stood along one wall. Kvens in blue tabards occupied the other. Six large white dogs sat at their feet. Malach tensed, but the dogs didn’t bark.
Knots of men and women wearing armbands with the Black Sun gathered in the center of the chamber. They had the well-fed, permanently bored look of the very rich. People who had lived their entire lives with the certainty that every need would be attended to by someone else.
Malach had Marked many of their breed in Novostopol. No matter how much they had, there was always something else that lay just out of reach. Something only he could give them.
The crowd parted, whispering, as he approached a raised dais at the far end of the hall.
A cadaverous man sat on the pontifex’s throne. Thin and bald with deep-set eyes. A sleeveless white robe revealed sinewy arms Marked with running wolves. To his right stood a middle-aged woman with chin-length brown hair. A bishop, her blue robe also marked with the sheaf of wheat. She watched Malach with narrow eyes.
Gray stood to Luk’s left. The cardinal gave Malach a faltering smile.
“So you are Balaur’s Nuncio?” Luk inclined his head. He had only a trace of the Kven accent.
“His regent,” Malach corrected. “Which means you’re sitting in my chair.”
Gray visibly winced. There was a taut silence. The Wolf knights perked up. Luk regarded Malach without expression.
“The final disposition of Nantwich remains to be seen,” he said. “In the interim—”
“You will not dishonor the alliance by pretending that you have already been named pontifex of this city,” Malach interrupted. “Unless I am mistaken?” He looked around. “Perhaps we came to the wrong place. Is this Kvengard?”
A few members of the Order laughed. The rest watched him with measuring gazes. Then a tall blond man slipped from the crowd and climbed up to the dais. He whispered in Luk’s ear. The pontifex’s jaw tightened, but he gave a brief nod.
“The seat is yours, Nuncio,” he said. “Until your own Reverend Father arrives.” The tone was mild, though Malach sensed an undercurrent of fury. “I have no designs on Nantwich. Which I imagine you well know.”
“I know what I see,” Malach replied, striding easily up to the dais. “But I appreciate your understanding.” His gaze fell to the blond man’s armband. “Symbols have power.”
The man gave an oily smile. He’d averted a confrontation, but Malach instinctively disliked him.
Luk rose to his feet. Gray rushed forward to help him descend the dais. The bishop went with them. Malach settled himself into the throne and crossed his ankles. Caralexa and Jessiel took places to either side.
“Gray,” he said. “Come here.”
The cardinal swallowed and returned to the foot of the dais.
“Any word on Clavis?”
“Not so far,” he admitted. “Her force was ambushed, but they fought hard. She escaped.”
“So she is still in the Morho. And what of Novostopol?”
The bishop lifted her pointy chin. “When I return, I will persuade them of the need to join this new alliance. The cardinals will see reason. They have no choice now—”
“Who are you?” Malach asked bluntly.
“Bishop Maria Karolo.” She drew herself up. “Head of the Order of Saint Marcius.”
“Well, Bishop Maria Karolo, I would not count on Novo dropping into our laps like a piece of overripe fruit. There are hardliners in the Arx who would happily die before making common cause with nihilim. Then we have the problem of the north. Where is Lezarius?”
“In custody.”
“Bring him here.”
A strange expression crossed Luk’s face. He waved a finger. Two of the Wolf knights broke off and left the chamber.
Caralexa leaned over. “You should kill him!” she hissed. “He made the Void!”
“And he broke it,” Malach replied. “I am curious to see him for myself.”
She grunted. “Look at Luk. Is he about to faint?”
The Pontifex of Kvengard did look queasy. His face had gone the curdled hue of the eyeless slugs that dwelt under the leaf loam in the Morho Sarpanitum.
The knights returned, hauling an old man between them. He had kinky hair and light eyes that blazed from his dark face. He still wore the white robe of his office, though it was speckled with blood.
Malach leaned forward on the throne. So this was the Lion of the North. The architect of the mages’ suffering. He looked strong for his age. Despite himself, Malach felt a reluctant admiration. He held his head high despite the hisses and catcalls from the Order.
Lezarius paid them no attention. Nor did he give Malach more than a cursory glance. His gaze fixed on Luk.
“It was you!” he cried, pointing a shaking finger. “You who changed my face!”
Luk flinched. “Balaur would have killed you. I showed you mercy.”
“There were two figures on the Lance! I could never see them clearly. But I remember now!” He lunged at Luk. The knights restrained him. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“The Praefator bloodlines run through the nihilim! If the Via Sancta is to be saved, we must pardon their crimes, as distasteful as we both find it.”
Malach cocked a brow at Lexa. Oh shit, she mouthed back at him.
“We argued,” Lezarius continued, his eyes distant. “Long into the night. You urged me to release Balaur—”
“And you would not listen! You left us no choice.” A mask of indifference slipped over Luk’s face. “For the sake of our long friendship, I convinced him to turn your Marks and allow me to dispose of you. You were well-treated. You cannot deny it.”
“Well-treated?” Lezarius echoed. “I won’t bother to dignify that with a response.” He raised a hand to his head. “Oh, what a fool I’ve been! You are the only one who could have done it! Use the ley to reknit my flesh, as you did with the hounds.” A sudden calm came over him. “You are a monster, Luk. As bad as Balaur, if not worse. And your evil will return to you tenfold. Just as it says in the Meliora—”
“Get him out!” Luk thundered. “Out of my sight!”
The knights dragged Lezarius away, still cursing and struggling.
Malach listened to his furious cries fade down the corridor. Luk stood perfectly still, staring at nothing.
“Well,” Malach said with a cheerful smile. “I think this audience is over. As regent, I intend to exercise my full authority over the governance of Nantwich until the Reverend Father Balaur arrives to finalize your agreement.”
No one spoke. Maria Karolo eyed him with thinly disguised hostility. Luk seemed lost in his own dark thoughts.
Malach waved a hand. “You’re all dismissed.”
A slight milling around began.
“Now!” he snapped. “Out!”
Luk nodded at the Wolf knights. They formed a square around him as he left, leaning heavily on Maria Karolo. A few of the female members of the Order actually lifted their skirts to run.
“Not you, Gray.” Malach beckoned with a finger. The cardinal scurried over. “Did you know all that?”
Gray shook his head. “It was enlightening, Nuncio.”
“It was, indeed,” he replied thoughtfully.
So Luk’s treachery was not new. Balaur might have mentioned it before, but he’d told Malach almost nothing. Only that the Kvens had agreed to an alliance in exchange for infant mages. The same was promised to the Nants.
They were all desperate to renew their bloodlines. Desperate enough to snatch at any faint hope. Malach doubted Balaur would deliver on his promises. By the time they realized the truth, it would be too late. Idiots, he thought. If they had stood against us, they might have salvaged something in the end. They might even have won.
But the Via Sancta was shattered. Now it was a matter of squabbling over the pieces.
“See that Lezarius is kept safe,” he told Gray. “Treat him well. But send a Markhawk north and tell whoever he left in charge that if they march, their pontifex will die. That should buy us some time.”
Malach hopped down from the throne. He’d rather enjoyed the interlude, though he didn’t give a fig whose bottom ultimately occupied the high seat. He turned to Lexa and Jess.
“Find Valdrian and tell him what you heard here. We’ll meet in council later.”
The women jogged from the chamber, Lexa’s purple hair drawing a few stares. Only Lucas Gray remained. Malach wondered what he was getting out of the deal. Most likely he hoped to be named pontifex of Nantwich himself.
As if Balaur would ever give up the city once he was dug in here.
“Do you have the cartomancer in custody?”
“I do, Nuncio.”
Malach gave a firm nod, feeling oddly nervous. “Then take me to her.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kasia was dozing when a flash of violet liminal light roused her. She lifted her head.
Gray again. And next to him, an attractive man of about thirty years with black hair curling behind his ears. Robes the color of fresh blood. He gazed at her intently.
“Leave us, Gray,” he said. “Five minutes alone.”
She remembered the voice, though it had been tight with anger the last time she heard it.
The Nant cardinal met her eyes briefly, then stepped back. The doorway faded.
Kasia rose to her feet, gut churning. But the cards had warned her he was coming. Again and again.
Why did the ley keep drawing them together? She wanted nothing to do with him. He was in league with the Order. Her own brother—
“What do you call yourself? Kasia or Katarzynka?”
She crushed the confusing tangle of emotions and adopted an attitude of nonchalance.
“I don’t care. Call me what you like.”
“Which one?” he persisted.
“Kasia.”
Saints, but he did look like her. Did he know?
“How are you Unmarked?” he asked.
A weight eased from her chest. “I failed the tests.”
“That’s not what I mean. If you’re a mage, you should have been Marked at birth.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Malach leaned against the wall. “I didn’t realize you were nihilim when we met.”
“When you tried to strangle me, you mean?”
“I wasn’t planning to kill you.”
“You threatened to.”
He didn’t apologize. “Where do you come from?”
“I have no idea. I was adopted.”
“Who found you?”
“My parents never told me.”
His gaze lowered to the manacle around her ankle. A slight frown creased his brow.
“Why does Balaur want you? What do you know?” Malach’s voice softened to a coaxing, seductive register. “Tell me and I’ll get you out of here. Gray shouldn’t have treated you like this.”
Kasia smiled. “I do know a few things. You’re here with Dmitry Falke, aren’t you?”
His stunned expression was priceless. Malach opened his mouth and closed it again.
“I know Falke would never join you, so I can only assume you have him prisoner. Along with the mage who destroyed the Arx. A child?”
The blood drained from his face. “What are you?”
“You know what I am. A cartomancer who reads the past, the future, and everything in between.” Her smile widened. “Do you want to know which card is yours, Malach?”
The barest nod.
“You are The Fool.” She tilted her head. “But I don’t think you’re stupid. So why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable and talk about it? As you suggested.”
A flat stare. He crossed his arms. “I’ll get you out. But if you breathe a word of this, you’ll be right back again.”
“I understand.”
He flexed his fingers. “I could use the ley to compel you.”
“Like you did before,” she said with a touch of bitterness.
“That was only a trickle. You’ve never experienced the most extreme degree of compulsion. It wipes the mind blank. There’s nothing left but an all-consuming desire to please. But if you work with me, I’ll see we both get what we want.”
The threat unnerved her, but Kasia kept her voice calm. “What is it you think I want?”
“Your freedom, of course.”
“I want a bit more than that,” she replied. “But perhaps you can help me—”
She cut off as the doorway opened. Malach whipped around.
“Gray,” he said sternly. “I will not have Domina Novak shackled like a criminal!”
“But my instructions—” he stammered.
“Are overridden. I will keep her in my custody.”
“Of course, Nuncio.” He fumbled the key from his robe and handed it over. “But she is dangerous. I warn you—”
Malach snatched the key. “I’ll handle her.”
In three strides, he was inside the bounds of the chain. Gray watched anxiously as Malach sank to one knee and unlocked the shackle. Red weals crossed the flesh beneath. Kasia flexed her ankle, then hobbled behind him to the door. She smiled at Gray as she passed. He shrank back.
“You see, Lucas? I’m perfectly civilized.”
They passed through a series of liminal doors and emerged into a dim passage of the Arx. Malach dismissed Gray, who hurried off with a tight expression.
“I want my cards back,” Kasia said.
“Not likely,” Malach replied, steering her up a flight of stairs.
“I could tell you things.”
“And work the ley.”
“I promise I won’t.” She paused. “Is the city occupied?”
“By the Kvens. I just arrived from Bal Agnar.”
“The Kvens?”
“Trust me, they’ll come to regret it,” he said dryly. “But they are the main force at the moment.”
She felt cold. “What about all the delegations?”
Malach glanced at her. “Lezarius is locked up. Karolo has joined with Luk.”
“That conniving bitch!”
“I don’t doubt it. Do you know her?”
