that A’Gyula Pauli would be arriving for the Besteigung, at least—she was already dreading her husband’s arrival.
And tonight . . . tonight was the Internment.
The Kralji burned their dead; the Hïrzgai entombed theirs. Hïrzg Jan’s body was to be buried in the vault of the ca’Belgradins where several generations of their ancestors lay, a hand or more of them having shared with Jan the golden band that now circled Fynn’s forehead. Fynn was waiting for them in his own chambers; from there they would go down to the vaults below the ground floor of Brezno Palais. The Chevarittai of the Red Lancers and others of the nobility of Firenzcia were already waiting for them there.
The halls of the palais were hushed, the servants they saw stopping in their tasks and bowing silently with lowered eyes as they passed. Two gardai stood outside Fynn’s chambers; they opened the doors for them as they approached. Allesandra could hear voices from inside as they entered.
“. . . just received the news from Gairdi. This will complicate things. We don’t know exactly how much yet—” Archigos Semini ca’Cellibrecca stopped in mid-phrase as Allesandra and Jan entered the room. The man had always put Allesandra in mind of a bear, all the way back to when she’d been a child and he a rising young war-téni: even as a young man, Semini had been massive and furred and dangerous. His black beard was now salted with white, and the mass of curly hair was receding from his forehead like a slow tide, but he was still burly and muscled. He gave them the sign of Cénzi, clasping his hands to his forehead as his wife Francesca did the same behind him. Allesandra had been told that Francesca had once been a beauty—in fact, there were rumors that she’d once been the lover of Justi the One-Legged—but Allesandra hadn’t known her at that time. Now, she was a humpbacked matron with several of her teeth missing, her body ravaged by the rigors of a dozen pregnancies over the years. Her personality was as sour as her face.
Fynn rose from his chair.
“Sister,” he said, taking her hands as he stood in front of her. He was smiling—he seemed almost gleeful. “Semini has just brought some interesting news from Nessantico. Archigos Ana has been assassinated.”
Allesandra gasped, unable to hide her reaction. Her hands went to the cracked globe pendant around her neck, then she forced herself to lower them. She felt as if she couldn’t catch her breath. “Assassinated? By whom . . . ?” She stopped, glancing at Semini—who was also smiling; almost smugly, Allesandra thought—then at her brother. “Did we do this?” she asked. Her voice was as edged as a dagger. She felt Jan put his hand on her shoulder from behind, sensing her distress.
Fynn snorted. “Would it matter?” he asked.
“Yes,” Allesandra told him. “Only a fool would think otherwise.” The words came out before she could stop them. And after I just cautioned Jan . . .
Fynn glowered at the implied insult. Jan’s hand tightened on Allesandra’s shoulder. Semini cleared his throat loudly before Fynn could speak.
“This wasn’t the Hïrzg’s doing, Allesandra,” Semini answered quickly, shaking his head and waving his hand in dismissal. “Firenzcia may be at odds with the Faith in Nessantico, but the Hïrzg doesn’t engage in assassination. Nor does the Faith.”
She looked from Semini to Francesca. The woman looked away quickly but made no attempt to hide the satisfaction in her face. Her pleasure at the news was obvious. The woman had all the warmth of a Boail winter. Allesandra wondered whether Semini had ever felt any affection for her, or whether their marriage was as loveless and calculated as her own despite their several children. Allesandra couldn’t imagine submitting to Pauli’s pleasure so often. “We’re certain this report is true?” she asked Semini.
“It’s come to me from three different sources, one I trust
And tonight . . . tonight was the Internment.
The Kralji burned their dead; the Hïrzgai entombed theirs. Hïrzg Jan’s body was to be buried in the vault of the ca’Belgradins where several generations of their ancestors lay, a hand or more of them having shared with Jan the golden band that now circled Fynn’s forehead. Fynn was waiting for them in his own chambers; from there they would go down to the vaults below the ground floor of Brezno Palais. The Chevarittai of the Red Lancers and others of the nobility of Firenzcia were already waiting for them there.
The halls of the palais were hushed, the servants they saw stopping in their tasks and bowing silently with lowered eyes as they passed. Two gardai stood outside Fynn’s chambers; they opened the doors for them as they approached. Allesandra could hear voices from inside as they entered.
“. . . just received the news from Gairdi. This will complicate things. We don’t know exactly how much yet—” Archigos Semini ca’Cellibrecca stopped in mid-phrase as Allesandra and Jan entered the room. The man had always put Allesandra in mind of a bear, all the way back to when she’d been a child and he a rising young war-téni: even as a young man, Semini had been massive and furred and dangerous. His black beard was now salted with white, and the mass of curly hair was receding from his forehead like a slow tide, but he was still burly and muscled. He gave them the sign of Cénzi, clasping his hands to his forehead as his wife Francesca did the same behind him. Allesandra had been told that Francesca had once been a beauty—in fact, there were rumors that she’d once been the lover of Justi the One-Legged—but Allesandra hadn’t known her at that time. Now, she was a humpbacked matron with several of her teeth missing, her body ravaged by the rigors of a dozen pregnancies over the years. Her personality was as sour as her face.
Fynn rose from his chair.
“Sister,” he said, taking her hands as he stood in front of her. He was smiling—he seemed almost gleeful. “Semini has just brought some interesting news from Nessantico. Archigos Ana has been assassinated.”
Allesandra gasped, unable to hide her reaction. Her hands went to the cracked globe pendant around her neck, then she forced herself to lower them. She felt as if she couldn’t catch her breath. “Assassinated? By whom . . . ?” She stopped, glancing at Semini—who was also smiling; almost smugly, Allesandra thought—then at her brother. “Did we do this?” she asked. Her voice was as edged as a dagger. She felt Jan put his hand on her shoulder from behind, sensing her distress.
Fynn snorted. “Would it matter?” he asked.
“Yes,” Allesandra told him. “Only a fool would think otherwise.” The words came out before she could stop them. And after I just cautioned Jan . . .
Fynn glowered at the implied insult. Jan’s hand tightened on Allesandra’s shoulder. Semini cleared his throat loudly before Fynn could speak.
“This wasn’t the Hïrzg’s doing, Allesandra,” Semini answered quickly, shaking his head and waving his hand in dismissal. “Firenzcia may be at odds with the Faith in Nessantico, but the Hïrzg doesn’t engage in assassination. Nor does the Faith.”
She looked from Semini to Francesca. The woman looked away quickly but made no attempt to hide the satisfaction in her face. Her pleasure at the news was obvious. The woman had all the warmth of a Boail winter. Allesandra wondered whether Semini had ever felt any affection for her, or whether their marriage was as loveless and calculated as her own despite their several children. Allesandra couldn’t imagine submitting to Pauli’s pleasure so often. “We’re certain this report is true?” she asked Semini.
“It’s come to me from three different sources, one I trust
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