Mage's Blood

12

Council of War

The Gnosis

The gnosis is the power of God, granted unto the magi to uphold the Kore.

THE BOOK OF KORE

The powers of the magi come from Shaitan himself.

THE KALISTHAM, HOLY BOOK OF AMTEH

The gnosis is a tool. There is no evidence that Kore or any other deity was involved in its discovery, nor that any divinity has moral control over its wielders.

ANTONIN MEIROS, ORDO COSTRUO, 711

Forensa, Javon, on the continent of Antiopia

Octen/Noveleve 927

9–8 months until the Moontide

Elena saw Cera change day by day as responsibility was thrust upon her. She helped where she could, but there were so many new challenges, decisions and crises that Cera was forced to cope with. Borsa became a substitute mother, wiping away tears of grief and frustration and fury, and she kept Timori sheltered and happy and away from Cera when she needed to focus on the tasks at hand. She had a knack for knowing when seeing her little brother, hugging him close and reassuring him, was just what Cera needed too. That reassurance was becoming harder and harder as the silence out of Brochena stretched into weeks.

The succession laws meant Timori was legitimately king, with his elder sisters legally regents until he turned sixteen – but laws needed swords to enforce them, and a good portion of the Nesti Army had been left in Brochena with Olfuss. In the meantime, Paolo Castellini was charged with readying the Nesti for war. He threw himself with smouldering intensity into drilling the men. He had all the archery targets painted in Gorgio colours; the soldiers liked that.

Lorenzo recovered swiftly, thanks to Elena’s healing-gnosis. She was pleased at his recovery, but worried that he saw the shared ordeal as something that bound them together. She did not let him kiss her again – though he didn’t stop trying. She didn’t quite know why she resisted, especially when she thought of Gurvon and Vedya together, but she resisted the temptation. It would be an ill use of Lorenzo’s affections.

At his request, Harshal ali-Assam became their liaison with the Jhafi. When the Rimoni families quarrelled, the Jhafi were usually happy to watch the fracas and align themselves with the winners afterwards. ‘This is different,’ he told Cera, rubbing his smooth scalp anxiously, and outlined a proposal to bring the Jhafi properly into the Nesti fold. ‘The Gorgio won’t expect that.’ The Gorgio detested the Jhafi, prizing their own ‘racial purity’ – even if that made them ineligible for the elected kingship. ‘There will be a price,’ Harshal warned. ‘If I can get you Jhafi aid, it won’t come free.’ He vanished into the desert next day, with Cera’s approval.

‘Let us learn who our friends are, if Brochena is now hostile,’ said Cera, and despatched messengers not just to Brochena but to Loctis and Baroz and even Krak di Condotiori. The couriers were hand-picked by Paolo, and Elena scryed them, following their progress gnostically until distance swallowed them. They were beaten home by a crowd of refugees, including high-ranking Nesti officials with tales of regicide and invasion. The Nesti soldiers had been surprised and overwhelmed in the small hours by a Gorgio army they’d never even suspected of being there. The survivors were chained and sent north to the Gorgio mines.

The refugees confirmed the fate of the king: Olfuss Nesti was dead, and Alfredo Gorgio was in Brochena, surrounded by his soldiers and supporters. He had told the court that Cera and Timori were also dead, and that news had paralysed the people. Fear kept the peace, for now, and the presence of Gurvon Gyle, Rutt Sordell and other magi he’d brought in reinforced that fear.

Solinde was alive, to their relief, though the traders told her the princessa was aligning herself publicly to the new regime. ‘She is whoring herself to the Gorgio,’ they muttered darkly, telling tales of Solinde dancing with Fernando Tolidi at court, and the handsome Gorgio knight emerging from her bedroom every morning.

Elena tried to reassure Cera. ‘There are dozens of ways the gnosis can be used to seduce someone, Cera. You must believe in her.’ She could see Cera’s faith in her sister wavering. Solinde was legally a regent too; the Gorgio could use her to give their presence the semblance of legitimacy.

Cera created a new Regency Council. Elena was appointed to it, as were Paolo and Harshal ali-Assam, and Lorenzo, Cera’s newly appointed chief of her personal guard. They met in the meeting room of Krak di Faradi, though the noise of reconstruction after Samir’s rampage was audible through the walls. Elena and Cera let the men settle first before entering. Elena’s cheeks were smeared with two bloody lip-prints, which drew first curious and then understanding eyes from those already present.

Several Nesti nobles who had escaped Brochena after the coup were also there: Pita Rosco, the balding and cheery Master of the Purse; sour-faced Luigi Ginovisi, the Master of Revenues, a counter-point to Rosco’s optimism; Comte Piero Inveglio, a well-moneyed merchant-prince with wide experience and sound judgement, and Seir Luca Conti, a grizzled knight, representing the landed nobles. He’d brought many of the Nesti men-at-arms safe out of Brochena with him. Signor Ivan Prato, a young intellectual Sollan drui, sat opposite the suspicious and pricklish Godspeaker Acmed al-Istan. They were still hoping to hear from other Jhafi, from Riban and Lybis, but that would depend on Harshal, who had just returned, looking tired but satisfied.

The Amteh had a ceremony, used for public meetings when Jhafi women were present: the Mantra of Family. By naming all present as family before Ahm, the women were allowed to bare their faces. Cera gestured to Scriptualist Acmed, who spoke the words in Jhafi and Rimoni, then Elena and Cera lowered their cowls and Cera brought them to order.

‘My lords, you have all heard the news: my father is dead and his head has been placed on a pike on the walls of Brochena Palace.’ Her voice quivered with outrage. ‘Alfredo Gorgio has come south with his soldiers and occupied the city. Half our soldiers were slain or made captive. There are hundreds of new widows, and I hear the wailing of the women day and night. My sister has become the plaything of Fernando Tolidi. If he marries her, Tolidi could claim to be rightful regent.’

Comte Inveglio leaned forward. ‘Permit me, Princessa: were you yourself to wed, even such a union as proposed by the Tolidi to Solinde becomes irrelevant.’ Inveglio had a young and eligible son. ‘Your husband would be Pater-Familia, and therefore regent, until Timori is of age. If she weds, then so too should you.’ A graceful gesture encompassed those about the table. ‘Simplicio!’

‘I assume you would propose one of your sons, Piero?’ remarked Luigi Ginovisi, provoking a storm of comments from all sides.

Cera raised a hand and tried to get silence, but got none until she slapped the table.

‘Gentlemen! You can disagree all you like, but I will have quiet, as my father would!’ She glared, and the men mumbled sheepish apologies. ‘“Do not marry or war in haste”,’ she quoted. ‘So said my father, and so say I. I do not need to wed: I am Solinde’s elder, and she is not yet of age. Without my approval her marriage is illegal. And since Alfredo Gorgio is telling the people that the real Cera and Timori Nesti are dead, that we are imposters, even if I did marry, it wouldn’t sway anyone.’

Everyone acknowledged the truth of her point.

‘What we need to do is retake Brochena. There are Gorgio in the Royal Palace, and that is a gauntlet thrown in our faces. That is what concerns me: my father cut down the Dorobon banner six years ago! Do you want to see it raised again?’

The men growled and clenched their fists at the thought.

‘Do not marry or war in haste, the princess says,’ said the Godspeaker, ‘words from The Kalistham. Your father must have read them there. I agree, you should not marry in haste – at least, not in such haste that you do not consider more options than Comte Inveglio’s son. There are many strong princes among the Jhafi, and many more swords to be won than an Inveglio could bring you. You have been a virgin long enough, Princess. It is time for you to become a woman, for the sake of your kingdom.’

Cera frowned, uncomfortable at having her virginity discussed so frankly. ‘I repeat, I will not marry in haste, to anyone, no matter race or creed. I am not a prize on a game-board! This meeting is about military solutions to a military problem. Am I understood?’

The hawk-faced Godspeaker looked ill-pleased, but Cera pushed onwards. ‘Seir Luca, what are our numbers and dispositions?’

Luca tugged on his beard, and reported, ‘Princessa, the Nesti maintain a standing force of some one thousand spears, but we can deploy seven times that number at need. The Brochena civic guardsmen stood aside when the Gorgio struck. Who knows where their loyalties lie? Their officers must’ve been bought off by Gyle before his magi struck.’ The knight glowered up at Elena. ‘Yet here we have one of his agents at our table.’

Elena glared at him in the sudden silence. ‘What are you trying to say, Seir Luca?’

The old knight looked her in the eye. ‘Your “colleagues” have killed our king. Rutt Sordell sits at the right hand of Alfredo Gorgio. But here you are amongst us, just as Sordell sat beside King Olfuss.’ He stabbed a finger at her. ‘Did you know what was planned, Donna Elena?’

Every eye turned to her. Elena took a deep breath, spread her hands placatingly and said, ‘That is a fair question – I was, after all, in the pay of the enemy. But let me stress that word: I was. I had no more idea what was to happen than anyone here. I believed we were here to stay. And I swear to you all: I had no idea that he was about to do this.’

‘He?’ repeated Comte Inveglio. ‘What “he” is this?’ Although he knew the answer, of course.

‘“He” is Gurvon Gyle, Comte.’

‘Your former employer?’ Comte Inveglio enquired, rhetorically.

‘As you know.’

‘And your lover,’ he added, and a small hiss ran around the table.

She felt herself redden, though she’d expected the question. ‘No, that was long over.’

‘“Long over”, is it? When did you last lie with him?’

‘A year ago, or more – he has another, and frankly, she is welcome to the lying prick.’

‘Was King Olfuss aware of your entanglement?’

‘Probably – you were, obviously,’ she said dryly. ‘But I still didn’t know of these attacks. Why did you not see it coming?’

‘Maybe because no one was whispering it in my ear over a soft pillow,’ said the Comte. ‘Yes, I know you are still here, Donna Elena, and I know that you fought and killed Samir Taguine – but how do we know he wasn’t an expendable pawn in your schemes? How do we know this is not a ruse to win our greater trust and fool us yet again? I believe Gurvon Gyle is the subtlest of men, and such a scheme would be typical of him – so what guarantee do we have that your continued presence here is not part of his master plan?’ He looked around the table. Heads bobbed, some slowly, some quickly.

Cera’s face was tight and drawn. ‘Ella saved my life, and Lori’s and Timi’s – I saw what she did!’ she cried, and Lorenzo nodded emphatically in agreement as she continued, ‘This is a waste of time, Comte. I trust Ella, and so should you: she has given up all she owns to stand beside us now. She has lost her fortune, forsaken it to protect my brother and me. She deserves our trust. She has my trust.’

Inveglio frowned. ‘Has she really forsaken her fortune? If it is held by the man she says is no longer her lover, then what has supposedly been “lost” can as easily be restored.’

Elena slapped the table and stood up. ‘Fine. I will leave the wards intact. If you want my advice about your enemies and what they will do, send for me. If you don’t trust me, work it all out for yourselves. I am at the service of Cera and Timi. The rest of you can do what you like.’

‘Stay!’ snapped Cera. ‘I decide who comes and goes here: I am regent. You have pledged your service to me, so you come and go at my pleasure.’ She glared about her, looking every inch her father’s daughter. ‘Understand this: Donna Elena is my trusted protector. Without a mage here this meeting cannot remain secret – remember why Father hired magi in the first place! Without Elena we might as well invite Alfredo Gorgio to join us here and now.’ She looked up at Elena. ‘Last night, before both Drui Prato and Godspeaker Acmed, she swore loyalty to the Nesti, under the highest and holiest blood-oaths, before Sol and Ahm. Her life is mine to command, her hand is mine to give in marriage, her wealth is mine to bestow. Is this understood? Ella is one of us now, until death.’ She pointed to the bloody lip-prints on Elena’s cheeks. ‘Do you wish her to swear again, before you?’

The men mumbled into their laps and shook their heads. Cera motioned, and as Elena sat down she met Inveglio’s eye and he gave a tiny nod. Good, well done. The conversation had gone as he and she had planned it earlier: if she were to be of use to them they needed to remove any doubts the men might have about her loyalty. Her mind went back to the chapel last night: the incense, the knife slicing open her palms. I give my life to the Nesti. It hadn’t been a hard decision – in fact, she had taken it the moment she intervened against Samir. Yet she had still felt an almost religious joy as she spilt her blood into the Nesti family chalice cup and watched Cera sip it, then press bloodied lip-prints on both cheeks. Among Rimoni there was no higher binding. To doubt her now was to doubt Sol himself.

‘Very well. I will hear no more on this matter. Onwards!’ said Cera. She turned to her left. ‘Harshal, you’ve been talking to the emirs. What is the Jhafi reaction to the death of my father?’

Harshal bobbed his head a little nervously. ‘Naturally, they are concerned. They believe the Dorobon will return, and keep Javon neutral in the shihad. They are unhappy about this. The Harkun tribes are talking of an uprising against all Rimoni, a purging of the land. The nomads see no difference between Nesti, Kestrian, Gorgio or any other Rimoni House.’

The Nesti men exploded in disgust at this. ‘This was a barren desert with a few nomads scuffing around the water-holes before we came,’ Ginovisi snarled. ‘There was no wealth here, nothing at all! We planted the olives groves and the vineyards; we found the mines and developed them! This land thrives through Rimoni sweat and toil!’ Heads bobbed in agreement.

Harshal scowled. ‘With respect, these are the words that exacerbate the anger of my people. You speak like there was nothing here before you came, but every city in Ja’afar stood for centuries before your arrival. You built none of the Dom-al’Ahm, none of the palaces of the emirs. The wealth you generate here seldom touches the Jhafi, though our men labour in your mines and vineyards and olive groves. We have a truce between us, and some intermarriage amongst nobles, but most Jhafi have few dealings with Rimoni. We are separate nations who happen to occupy the same land.’

Another eruption, this time more defensive, and again Cera had to slap the table to get silence. She motioned to the Godspeaker, who gave her a grudging nod of thanks. Stroking his long beard, he said, ‘I too have spoken extensively with my people after services at the Dom-al’Ahm. Our people share your sorrow, Lady. Our grief and anger at the murder of your mother and aunt is real. They were Jhafi, and they were well-loved. We remember the unjust rule of the Dorobon. We are with you in spirit. But we wish to know these two things: what of the shihad? Your father had not given his pledge before he was murdered. And, more importantly, when will you Rimoni finally become one with we Jhafi?’ He raised a hand to forestall interruptions. ‘Yes, you have followed the Guru’s stricture and intermarried, but always as the superior partner: you take a Jhafi noblewoman and make her into a Rimoni so that you can breed people eligible for the kingship. But you remain Sollan, and the young Jhafi girls taken to wife must convert. All of your customs are Rimoni. You attend our religious ceremonies if you must, and then run off to find a drui to cleanse you! You pay lip service to the Guru.’

He ignored the rumbling from around the table and said sternly, ‘You sit on the wealth, you do not spread it: there are no Rimoni poor, but among the Jhafi, except for the ruling families, there are no rich! Your rules prevent all but a few Jhafi from voting when the kingship comes up for election! You look to the Jhafi for support when you are desperate, but do nothing to earn that support beforehand. So now we say: Why should we support you?’

A hubbub burst out, but Cera immediately slapped the table and shouted, ‘Silencio! Silencio!’ She glared about her. ‘Gentlemen – stop and think before you speak. Stop jumping to defend us as your first reaction: I asked Godspeaker Acmed to join us because it is time we discussed the questions you don’t like to hear.’ She pointed to a bust of her father. ‘One of my father’s favourite sayings was “Truth is Perception”. It means that what you believe, however right or wrong, that is your truth, and it will be shaped by who you are, what you’ve seen, your gender, your race, your religion, your history. So when Godspeaker Acmed tells you that the Jhafi don’t love the Nesti, do not tell him that he is wrong and they do! Listen to him, and ask yourself: “Why is this their Truth?”, and “What can I learn from this?”’

The room fell silent. Elena shivered; it was as if Olfuss Nesti were speaking through his daughter from beyond the grave. She watched them, reading their reactions. Pita Rosco, who hadn’t said much yet, was nodding slowly. Luigi was scowling. Lorenzo and Harshal were exchanging harmonious glances.

Finally Rosco spoke up, rubbing his chubby chin thoughtfully. ‘So, what is it that would align the Nesti and the Jhafi, Godspeaker? What is the price?’

Acmed narrowed his eyes. ‘Spoken like a man of money, Master Rosco. I do not talk of coin, though: I talk of faith and brotherhood, and equality before law and before Ahm. We have been bought with gold before, but the money always finds its way back into Rimoni coffers. We have been gifted land that was ours anyway and never yours to give. Rimoni gifts always come with price tags! What will seal an agreement between Nesti and Jhafi must be more fundamental, and though it must start at the top, it must reach the common people.

‘Let the Nesti embrace the Amteh Faith. Let the Princess marry a Jhafi prince and bear him Amteh children. Let the Rimoni share the secrets of the vines and olives and mines that make them so wealthy! Let the bread of the Rimoni feed the Jhafi poor. Let the iron of the Rimoni mines find its way into the armouries of the emirs. Let seized land be returned, or at least purchased at a fair price. And let the Rimoni and the Jhafi join our brethren in Kesh and purge the lands of the infidel. These are the things that will win the hearts of the Jhafi and finally make us one nation.’

Cera raised a hand, cutting off the opening mouths of her advisors. ‘Wait, gentlemen, for one minute. Reflect on what the Godspeaker has said, then give me considered responses, not emotions.’

Elena watched her and wondered just where her gentle young princessa had gone. Cera was acting like some Senator of Rym, not a virginal young woman. But this part of her had always been there, in the way she bossed her siblings, and how she had gobbled up every word her father spoke. It was in the way she would argue the world’s faults and injustices with Elena for hours on end in the blood-tower, surrounded by scrolls of the philosophers and Rimoni senatorial speeches, texts on the deeds of the emperors and religious tracts. She was always a thinker. I just hadn’t realised she could be a leader. And I bet she won’t want to give it away when the time comes, either …

As soon as the minute was up, Comte Inveglio raised his hand. ‘There is no way we’ll be giving weapons and armour to the Jhafi. The output of our mines is the basis of our power – we found ’em, we’re mining ’em. Our soldiers must have superior equipment to compensate for our numerical disadvantage. Impossible! Suicidal!’ He glowered at the Godspeaker.

The drui, Prato, said gently, ‘A person’s faith comes from the heart. All Nesti children are exposed to both religions. They have chosen to be Sollan – this is what is in their hearts.’ He gave a faintly superior smile. ‘I have no objection to their being educated in both faiths, of course, but they must be permitted their own choice.’

Pita Rosco was frowning. ‘I can’t see how we can do more to feed the people. We Nesti have always prided ourselves on our generosity to the poor. We distribute bread, we give water from our wells. If the Jhafi can’t see that …’ He shrugged helplessly.

Next Lorenzo spoke. ‘We understand that before he was murdered, the king had elected to join the shihad. But until we can oust the Gorgio from Brochena, we are powerless to do so, even if we did wish to incur the wrath of the Rondian legions and battle-magi. Neutrality may not sit well with any of us, but prudence demands it.’

‘And our princess refuses to marry,’ remarked Comte Inveglio. ‘It would seem that none of the Godspeaker’s suggestions are practical.’ He looked about him. ‘Do we need the Jhafi to win?’

Alfredo Gorgio has you outnumbered about ten to one, thought Elena. You bet you do.

Godspeaker Acmed snapped, ‘Typical Rimoni – all you offer are sops to buy our souls, and you don’t even bother to conceal it.’ He turned to Cera. ‘If these terms are not suitable to you, perhaps Massimo di Kestria will find them more palatable? Or Stefan di Aranio in Riban?’ He started to rise. ‘I knew it was a waste of time talking to you.’

‘Please, Godspeaker,’ Cera said quickly, ‘I have not said that I reject your ideas, nor that I agree with what my advisors have said. Ahm willing, we can find a path through this maze.’

‘Ahm does not negotiate,’ Acmed muttered.

‘But men do,’ replied Cera calmly, ‘and so does this woman.’ ‘Personally, I find the Godspeaker’s suggestions to have great merit. Obviously, these ideas challenge us, and your concerns are all valid. They are a step into the unknown, a leap of faith. We have always dealt with the Jhafi as we would an outsider, yet the Godspeaker is correct: we share a nation, and so their concerns must be heard and addressed. Here is what I propose: we take each one of these suggestions and examine it closely, but not from the perspective of what is wrong with it, but what is right about it. You will have until the end of the month, and your guiding mantra must be: How can I make this happen?. I want your most open minds, gentlemen. I want practical, positive plans. We need the Jhafi – and they need us.’

Gurvon Gyle had used this method with his team in the past, and Elena had suggested it to Cera. The men didn’t like the idea, but grudgingly agreed to try it. They parted, arguing softly, but their steps were purposeful.

Cera sagged into her chair. Suddenly she looked seventeen again. ‘They wouldn’t have argued with Father,’ she muttered.

‘You’ll just have to get used to it, Cera. Men argue – but arguments are good; they give you options to choose from.’

Cera exhaled. ‘But they’re so exhausting!’

‘You did well.’ She squeezed the girl’s cold hand. ‘They argue, but they gave respect too.’

Cera lifted her chin a little. ‘They did, did they not?’

Promises of aid came in from the provincial lords who feared the return of the racist, oppressive Dorobon family. Massimo di Kestria, Lorenzo’s older brother, was the first to respond to Cera’s call for help, but the most important response came from Emir Ilan Tamadhi of Riban, a way-station town the Rimoni had never settled in great numbers. Lord Stefan di Aranio was the Rimoni ruler there, but the emir was far more influential. The hard-line Jhafi believed him a Rimoni servant, while most Rimoni saw him as a Jhafi troublemaker. He came east with a large contingent of Jhafi fighting men and built a great tent-city and camel-yard outside Forensa.

Ilan Tamadhi also brought the news they had been half-expecting. ‘I have news of your sister, the Princess Solinde,’ he told Cera apologetically as she greeted him on the palace steps. ‘She is to marry Fernando Tolidi. This has been proclaimed in Brochena Cathedral.’

Cera hung her head. ‘Does she seem at all unwilling?’ she asked, so softly that Elena, standing close behind, barely heard the question.

‘I am sorry, Princessa, but she seems willing. Alfredo claims Tolidi’s marriage to Solinde gives Tolidi legitimate claim to Forensa. He says they will march after the wedding and take what is theirs.’

As soon as they were alone, Cera surprised Elena by throwing her arms about her and sobbing tearfully, ‘They’re going to try and kill us all, Ella – Timi, me, you, all of us! They’re going to kill us all!’ She clung to Elena like a child.

She’s been holding all her fears inside her … I forget she’s still just a girl. Elena stroked Cera’s long hair uncomfortably, thinking, Borsa is better than me at this, and murmured, ‘We’ll be all right, Cera. Next week the Regency Council reconvenes. We will find a way to win.’

‘What if there isn’t a way?’ Cera whispered.

Yes, Elena, what then?

Elena lay on her bed in her tiny chamber outside the nursery. There was no light but the tiny lamp beside the bed. She had lowered her wards, and now she held a little piece of wet clay, a conduit for Gurvon, an Earth-mage, to help him channel. It was slightly risky – he was the more powerful mage, and could do real damage if she wasn’t careful. But she had never been one to shy away from risks.

An eye formed in the clay, then another and a mouth. ‘Elena.’ His voice was in her mind, not her head, despite the movement of the lips in the clay.

‘Gurvon. Where are you?’ There was a faint echo: he was distant, then.

‘Not telling. You?’

‘In Pallas, rukking the emperor.’

He didn’t laugh. ‘By the Kore, Elena, what are you doing?’

‘Following my conscience. How could you imagine that I would just stand aside and let you murder the children I have been protecting for all these years?’

‘A conscience?’ he sneered. ‘Whatever passed for your conscience you kept in your coin-purse.’

‘I found something worth more to me than money, Gurvon. You wouldn’t understand.’

Those clay lips pursed. ‘Do you even know how rich we are? We’re richer than kings, Ella! We’re set for the life we always dreamed of. Remember that manor by the lake where we were going to grow old together?’

‘You and me, Gurvon – and Vedya makes three?’

‘Just you, Ella. There’s never been anything between Vedya and me.’

‘I’m not a fool, Gurvon.’

‘You love me, Ella – you told me so yourself.’

‘And you laughed!’

‘Elena Anborn in love? I thought you jested – but it was true, wasn’t it?’

‘What would you know of love?’

The clay face grimaced. ‘Touché. Well, there is no doubt about who has come out of it better, is there? I have all the money, and you’ve nothing but a death sentence.’

‘Do you have something pertinent to say, Gurvon? If not, I’ll just break this link—’

‘No, wait! I do have something for you: a final offer. Walk away, Ella. Go to Hebusalim, and I’ll send you your money there, every fennick of it. You’ll get an Imperial Pardon and you can walk away a free woman. You can go anywhere on Urte you want – except Javon. You’ll be out of the game.’

‘More lies.’

‘No, Elena, I swear this is a genuine offer. They want you out of the way, Ella.’

‘I’m not abandoning Cera and Timori to you, Gurvon, or your emperor, so you can tell his Majesty to go and screw himself. And I never want to see you again.’

The little clay face pursed into a regretful expression. ‘But you will, Elena: mine will be the last face you ever see, right as the blade goes in. We’re going to come after your little princessa and her kid brother. I’ve got the whole team here with me: Rutt, Arno, Vedya and the rest. Abandon them, Elena – leave now. It’s your only chance.’

‘You know I’d never accept such an offer.’

‘No, I don’t know that. The Elena I knew would.’

‘Then you never really knew her, did you?’

‘Damn it, Elena, listen to me! Surrender to me and I’ll protect you – you’re my link to the old days, to the Revolt. They were glorious times, Elena: the joy of living, the thrill of the hunt, the best days of our lives. I don’t give a shit about Samir, or Vedya. It’s you I want, Elena. It’s always been you.’

She stared into the little ball of clay and her eyes misted over. Yes, there were good memories, hiding under bridges, screwing beneath the stars, that fox face inches from hers, taut with anxiety or laughing ironically, Gurvon kissing her; sliding into her, making her feel …

But there were other things she had tried hard to forget: plunging her blade between the ribs of unsuspecting watchmen; blood spurting from the throat of a farm boy who’d blundered into the middle of a raid; men burning like torches, or drowning as she flooded their lungs; a Rondian officer, screaming as Sordell burned out his eyes with a poker. Things she needed to forget.

‘Go rukk yourself, Gurvon. I will be the last thing you see, not the other way around.’

Those clay lips pursed angrily. ‘So, it’s true then: you have gone safian. Have you fallen in love with your little princessa?’

‘Oh, grow up, Gurvon.’ She felt a ball of fury working its way up her throat. ‘There is something here you wouldn’t recognise: something worth preserving. These are good people, and now they’re my people, and that’s worth more to me than your money – or your so-called “love”.’

‘When did Elena Anborn ever give a rukk about “love” or “goodness”? What the Hel happened to you?’ He sounded genuinely bemused.

Good question. Not sure I even know the answer myself, and yet here we are. ‘I could never explain it to you, Gurvon. I’d need to use too many other words you don’t know the meaning of.’

‘Then you’re dead, Elena. You’ve signed your own execution order.’

The clay ball suddenly became a fist-sized flea-shape that leapt at her face. It splattered against her shields, but as it fell back it was already reforming to spring again. She encased it in blue fire and burnt it dry, smiling grimly at his grunt of discomfort.

‘Was that your best shot, Ella?’ he taunted as the clay fell to dust, then he was gone.

She lay on the bed for a few minutes and reran the conversation in her mind: Analyse and question. What had he hoped to achieve? Did he really think he could turn her this late in the game? Where was he – and what was that faint echo? That echo …

She sat up, suddenly excited, wrapped a gown about her and went to find Cera.

The midmorning light was pouring into the council chamber from the high windows. They were all prepared for another long day, but there was a new energy about the Regency Council today. Elena and Cera had been awake a lot of the night, cocooned in blankets as they discussed Gurvon Gyle, and now there were plans to be laid.

‘All right, gentlemen, Time for you to report.’ Cera looked at Pita Rosco. ‘Pita, you and Paolo were looking at the question of the poor relief for the Jhafi. You may go first.’

Pita Rosco outlined a scheme for wealth distribution that would gradually enrich the Jhafi without sending the marketplace into chaos or impoverishing Rimoni families. There was much about shareholdings and ownership rights and the renegotiation of land-based voting that made Elena’s head hurt, but Cera followed with what looked like real interest, then commissioned a sub-committee to follow through. As the day passed in intense but largely civil debate, Elena and Cera began to believe they might just get through the day without serious conflict.

Naturally, that didn’t happen.

Drui Prato started the last item of the day: religion. ‘Princess, you asked Godspeaker Acmed and me to find the land some sort of religious accommodation. Clearly this is impossible. Our faiths are so divergent.’ He looked disdainful, while the Scriptualist folded his arms and stared into space.

Cera leaned forward. ‘So how have you spent the last three weeks, Signor?’

The drui blinked. ‘I have prayed, Lady, for wisdom.’

Cera’s eyes glittered dangerously. ‘Did anything come to you? Any great insights, Signor Ivan? The wisdom of doing as your Regent demands, perhaps?’ she asked acidly.

Prato’s face went red; he was clearly unaccustomed to criticism from any but a more senior cleric.

She turned on the Godspeaker, who was smugly enjoying his rival’s discomfort. ‘And what of you, Godspeaker Acmed? How did your attempts to engage with the Sollan brothers go?’

‘They would not have wished to talk with us,’ the Godspeaker replied flatly.

‘That is not what I asked.’

‘I am not accustomed to being spoken to thus by a woman – or any man. My status—’

‘Your status is beneath mine when you sit at this table. You should be grateful I listen to you at all. I have endorsed your right to speak here, and I have backed your proposals—’

‘This is not endorsement! This is a sham!’ the Godspeaker interrupted. ‘Negotiating – swatting around fanciful ideas? This is nothing but a frivolity, a girl’s game. A strong leader would not do this!’

Ah, thought Elena, and here it is. It’s a shame it’s him. Inevitable, though …

Cera’s face went still and cold. ‘Only a strong leader, Godspeaker? Is that what you respect –strength?’ She almost spat out the word. ‘So what exactly is strength to you? Is strength tyranny? Is strength screaming at servants, beating them? Is strength sending armed troops against the weakest to crush bread-riots? Or inciting violence and calling it God’s will?’

The Godspeaker’s face went white with anger. ‘Princess—’

‘Silencio,’ she roared. ‘I have not finished!’ She got up and began to circle the table. ‘Is strength the ability to wield a sword?’ She snatched a blade from one of the guardsmen and tossed it to Elena. ‘Ella, deal with this toy.’

What are you doing, girl? Then she understood, and exerted the gnosis. Both Earth and Fire were needed and she was a poor Fire mage, but her power would suffice … She twisted the blade of the sword into uselessness, then handed it back to Cera, who dropped it onto the middle of the table. The men looked uneasily at Elena as she sought to conceal the effort the spell had cost.

‘Maybe strength is in gold?’ Cera plucked a diamond ring from her finger and threw it out of the window. A dozen pair of eyes watched it sail away. Their mouths hung open.

Elena grimaced inwardly. I suppose she’ll want me to go and find that for her afterwards.

‘Maybe strength is in holy books.’ Cera picked up a Sollan Holy Book from the table. For an instant Elena thought she might throw that away too, but instead she dropped it next to The Kalistham and pushed them both away from her. ‘All of you have been looking at me, thinking you can bully me into doing whatever you want. Well, I can do that that too: I have at my back the greatest warrior in this kingdom. Shall I ask her to show you how completely I can bully you if I so choose?’

Elena walked softly to her side, thinking, Careful, Cera: you need their hearts, not their fear.

Almost as if hearing Elena’s thought, the princess let her voice soften. ‘If this is about respecting force, then you may try me – but like my father, I believe leadership is not about bullying, but about consent and about vision. I am legally the regent of Javon. If I am not, then who rules? Alfredo Gorgio? Or maybe one of you?’ She looked pointedly around the table. ‘Would you like to fight with one another for supremacy and weaken us all? Or will you follow this woman, who has never turned away advice? Who is determined to find a solution that unifies us all?’

The men swallowed, then looked at each other. Finally Inveglio said, ‘Princess Cera, though I am uncomfortable with your frankness, I recognise what you are trying to achieve. I give you my support.’ He looked about the table. ‘We of the Rimoni all do,’ he added, a challenging note in his voice, daring his colleagues to disagree, but they all nodded.

Harshal ali-Assam raised a hand before the Godspeaker could draw breath and said clearly, ‘I too also support you, Princess Cera.’ His action forestalled whatever else the Jhafi lords might have said. Ilan Tamadhi gave his nodded approval with a faint frown, then all eyes turned to Godspeaker Acmed.

He sighed, then said grudgingly, ‘We continue to talk, for now.’

Cera smiled. ‘Excellent. Then here is what we will do. I will pledge to you that within a year, whether we have reclaimed Brochena or not, we will have implemented as far as possible all of Godspeaker Acmed’s proposals. Will you accept that? My father said that a ruler must have legitimacy, will and vision. I have the legal right to rule, until my brother is ready to take the throne, and I intend to do so. Signori, I am a woman, but I have the heart of a man and strong men about me. I have a vision that I believe in our hearts we all share, of a united people. This is my quest, my lords: to regain and hold what belongs to Javon – to Ja’afar. Our sovereignty.’ She glared at the Godspeaker, who was clutching his holy book protectively. ‘Do you still think me weak, Godspeaker?’

He smiled a little. ‘No, Lady. The princess is … formidable.’

‘If it helps, don’t think of me as female, signori; just think of me as Regent. For I tell you this: I will not wed until Timi comes of age. Get used to it. Everything else might be negotiable, but that isn’t.’ She half-smiled. ‘I enjoy doing this and I’m not going to throw it away,’ she said lightly, earning small grins from the men. ‘Signori, look at yourselves. You are the best men I have. I look at Pita and Luigi and I see cleverness and knowledge of the forces of the market. Luca and Lorenzo and Elena, you are my weapons and my armour. Ivan and Acmed, you are my wise owls, who will show me a path that is right and seen to be right by the people. I look at Paolo and I see unquestioning, undying loyalty. When I look on Harshal I see my mother’s people, unbroken generations wedded to this arid soil, and likewise I see my father’s line when I look upon Comte Piero. And when I look upon Timori, I see my own heart, beating in my chest.’ Hand to her breast, she went down on one knee. ‘I ask you to serve, signori. I ask you to serve and I will serve you.’

Of course, no one could refuse her. Elena had seen officers win over unruly squads before. It took gumption and confidence and, more than anything, purpose. Cera had done that: she’d made them feel special and important, but she had left no doubt that she was in charge.

She looked around her Regency Council again and smiled. ‘Signori, we have achieved much today. We have a commission to examine grain prices and how we can affect them. We will declare the Senate at Brochena invalid and illegal, and having resolved this, we are free to amend the Legalus Re as we will until normal rule is restored. And my religious guides will progress their investigation into religious accommodation.’ She eyed Prato and Acmed meaningfully.

‘But more importantly, I want you to reflect on this: Your voice is being heard, by me. You have the ear of the power who guides this land. Speak and I will hear you.

‘In ancient Rimoni when war was declared we would go to the fields and throw a javelin into a piece of land that represented enemy territory. I will do that, before the people, tomorrow afternoon.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Now we have one last item to discuss.’ She turned to Elena. ‘Ella?’

Elena raised her hand, ‘Signori, I have had contact from Gurvon Gyle.’ She heard their intake of breath. ‘He offered an Imperial Pardon and to return my gold if I abandon you.’ She made a disdainful gesture. ‘I hope it goes without saying that I refused – I’m sure Gyle knew I would. But I learned one important thing: he contacted me via a relay-stave – we magi use them to boost our energy when talking to each other over extreme distances. They create a small echo during contact.’ She learned forward and looked around her. ‘Do you understand what that implies? Gurvon Gyle is not in Javon – he would not need a relay-stave if he were. He has gone home!’ She grinned. ‘Probably to explain to his employers why Cera Nesti still lives. We have an opportunity, signori, to take the fight to our enemy.’ She lifted her head. ‘This is not an opportunity I intend to pass up.’

On the last day of Noveleve, following the ancient tradition of her people, Cera threw a spear into a piece of ground festooned with Gorgio flags while thousands of Rimoni and Jhafi cheered. Drui and Godspeakers hectored the crowds, though the people were already simmering with rage. They shouted angrily as they were reminded of the Dorobon’s past outrages, the murder of King Olfuss and Queen Fadah Nesti, and the plight of poor Princess Solinde, being abused in captivity by the cowardly, Jhafi-hating Gorgio. Cera was proclaimed Queen-Regent before the people, and both Rimoni and Jhafi cheered enthusiastically, then she sat with Emir Ilan as food and wine were distributed. Traditional music began and the people danced as one. They were at war.

If anyone was looking for the Rondian mage-woman and wondering why she wasn’t at Queen-Regent Cera’s side, they would have looked in vain. For Elena Anborn was already hundreds of miles away, soaring towards Brochena on a windskiff.