Dancing on the Block Page 12

  Just like me when I was younger. The proud posture, the haughty chin, the shining eyes… Your personality takes after your mother, though.

  “How’s the service?”

  “They promoted me to knight captain.”

  “Congratulations.” Demos was sincerely happy for his brother. “I’m sure you earned it.”

  “As did you your post.”

  The conversation wasn’t going well, and Demos felt uncomfortable. Eclusum’s impregnable walls pressed in on all sides, the heat exhausting. The prayers he could hear from the ten Shrines kept him from concentrating. And he needed Ihraz and Lahel—since they didn’t follow the Way, they hadn’t been allowed past the walls of the sacred city. Demos had been forced to make the trip into Eclusum alone.

  Without his Ennians and faced by a hundred clerics, he felt helpless. Eclusum itself didn’t scare him, of course, though the fact that his younger brother had dedicated his life to serving such dubious ideals caused him much more pain. But it was too late to change anyone’s mind. Since taking his vows, Renar had done everything he could to ensure he would never return to worldly life.

  And I wasn’t in time to head it off at the pass. I couldn’t convince father to change his mind when he decided to send you into the Order, though if I’d spent more time with you, maybe you would have left when your novitiate ended. So worried about the house’s position in society, I forgot about the people who make it a home. Your fate is my doing, brother. My greatest failure.

  “It’s stuffy in here,” Renar said. “Let’s head over to a garden.”

  At least, he isn’t kicking me out right away. That’s a win.

  His brother took Demos down some narrow streets. The farther they went, the quieter the singing got, and it was there, after the rows of temples and chapels, that the real Eclusum began. The area was occupied by administrative buildings, houses belonging to the masters and novices, barracks, refectories, blacksmiths, warehouses, and storehouses. There were gardens there, as well, along with flower and vegetable beds growing healing herbs. The largest building was the Collegium of the Inquisition, the cellars of which were said to stretch several levels below ground. It was supposedly equipped with mechanisms that pulled a man’s innermost secrets out of him.

  A real state within a state. A country of clergymen. And it’s so deeply intertwined with the empire that we all live our lives under its sway. The great master, a permanent member of the Small Council. Divine precepts become imperial law. The walls of Eclusum, capable of withstanding a long siege. A Collegium that threatens even the aristocracy with the fires. An entire army of knights and brother protectors, extensive holdings across all corners of the lands governed by the Criasmor Treaty, an independent bank… All they need is a mint printing coins with the likeness of His Holiness on them. When did we let all this happen? What were our ancestors thinking?

  The pair arrived at a small garden behind an infirmary. There was no crushed marble lining the alleys or fountains decorated with sculptures, just paths trampled down by hundreds of feet, even rows of fruit trees, and beds growing medicinal herbs.

  “I know you. You wouldn’t stop by just to stop by, Demos,” Renar said when he was sure nobody was listening. “What do you want?”

  “I’m not here for confession. I need help.”

  “Really?” his brother replied with a snort. “When has the head of House Devaton ever stooped to his younger brother with a request for help? Got a dead body on your hands?”

  “Well, the emperor is dead in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Gillenai rest his soul. I did notice, actually.”

  “You said yourself that you’ve been busy, so I wasn’t sure.”

  The knight captain spun around, armor clattering.

  “You came here to laugh at me?” he hissed. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s your best way to get me to help you.”

  Demos shook his head wearily.

  “Forgive me, Renar, I wasn’t trying to offend you. Maybe I shouldn’t have just shown up… But the problem is pressing, and my hands are tied.”

  To be fair, you started it.

  It looked like surprise flashed across Renar’s face.

  Didn’t expect me to apologize, did you? What I wouldn’t do for my favorite brother, and really, I should’ve asked for your forgiveness a long time ago.

  The knight captain nervously twitched his shoulders and gave his brother a dark glance, though he eventually caved.

  “Mass is coming up. Talk quickly.”

  “I’m trying to find a master. From what I understand, he spoke with the empress the day before she left, and I need to get in contact with him. Unfortunately, however, he left the palace. I’ve been having a hard time tracking him.”

  “Why are you asking me instead of going to the Eclusum office?”

  Demos laughed quietly.

  “With all due respect, I have yet to see a more convoluted bureaucracy than the Eclusum office. Believe me, as someone who’s spent half his life on paperwork, it can take weeks to get an answer to the simplest question. And I don’t have that kind of time right now.”

  “So, this isn’t just an idle inquiry?”

  “Do you think I would bother you with something like that?” Demos asked in annoyance. “You serve the church; I serve the state.”

  Although, sometimes, I’m not even sure whose interests I’m acting in.

  Renar sighed heavily.

  “Fine. What’s his name?”

  “Master Tillius.”

  “That’s a pretty common name among the Keeper’s servants,” Renar shrugged. “Tell me more. Just remember, there are a lot of people here I don’t know.”

  You know the one from the palace.

  Demos told the story of the clergyman visiting the empress the night before she took off. Of course, he left out a few details—there was no sense getting his brother tangled up in the whole twisted affair. Renar listened carefully. And when Demos finished, he took some time to think.

  “There’s a Tillius in the Ulfiss cloister. He definitely fits your description, and he spends more time in Missolen than other monks.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s a female cloister. But you probably remember how women, even when they’re sisters of the Keeper, can’t conduct a number of sacraments and rituals. They always have a few church brothers there for that reason.”

  Did Renar know that Izara/Tanal supposedly left for the Ulfiss cloister? But if she isn’t there, why did Tillius come visit her?

  “It sounds like that’s my man,” Demos replied with a nod. “You said he spends more time in Missolen than other monks. Why is that?”

  “I remember, back when I had just become a full-fledged brother protector, I was contracted to guard a caravan of monks. They were on their way back to Ulfiss from Missolen, and that Master Tillius happened to be one of them. From what I was told, women don’t like to leave the cloister and subject themselves to the temptations of the outside world, and there are plenty of temptations in the capital. They’re afraid they’ll give in. And so, their cloisters generally have their outside business taken care of by men, especially since they don’t mind.”

  That sure fits. Master Tillius arrived in the capital, sold the cloister’s honey, bought some things, and just happened to grab an empress on the way back. At least, that would work if it weren’t for one thing: she isn’t in Ulfiss. And that means I’m back at square one. There’s something I’m missing.

  “Thanks, Renar.” Demos touched his brother’s shoulder, feeling nothing but the cold unevenness of his chainmail. “You were a big help.”

  The knight captain’s face darkened.

  “I miss being home, Demos,” he said quietly. “It’ll surprise you, but I even miss you.”

  Me, too. As sad as I am to admit it, sometimes, I miss you more than my dead wife.

  The treasurer sighed deeply as he collected his thoughts.

  “I’m not sure if this helps, b
ut I hold myself responsible for how your life has turned out. And I know you’re still not able to forgive me.”

  It just burst out. Finally. How many years have I been afraid to say that? Ten?

  Renar’s lips quivered. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t you who sent me into the Order; it was father. Yes, I was furious at everyone for how unfair it was back then, and I certainly didn’t want to become a brother protector. I liked what you do. Learn, develop, manage, command… Even sitting there with the ledgers was interesting, I swear! You inspired me, and I always wanted to be around you. But who cared what I wanted?”

  Demos turned away, unable to look his younger brother in the eye.

  “I was young and didn’t appreciate the time I had to spend with you. There was so much going on that needed my attention, or, at least, that’s what it felt like. I was wrong, and it’s inexcusable.”

  Renar grabbed the duke by the sleeve.

  “Listen to me, Demos! Yes, at the beginning, I was angry, but once I resigned myself to my fate, I started looking at things differently. After all, if the Keeper hadn’t wanted me to become his servant, he wouldn’t have let me pass the brother protector challenge. He wouldn’t have made me a knight, wouldn’t have illuminated my path with divine light.”

  The duke threw his hands up in the air. “So, you think all this is just divine will?”

  “Of course,” Renar smiled. “Everything that happens to us is his will. A long time ago, I forgave everyone and started living in peace, because this is what the god I serve has for me. You’ll come to realize that, too, in time.”

  Okay, Demos, that’s two pieces of news. The good part is that your brother isn’t mad at you. The bad part is that it looks like he joined the religious fanatics.

  “You never know,” Demos shrugged. “And I really miss you, too. I want you to know that.”

  Obeying a sudden impulse, the knight captain hugged his brother tightly.

  “Then stop by more often,” he whispered. “It hurts much more that you stopped visiting than that you let father sent me into the Order. I was starting to think you disowned me, and I didn’t know why you were so angry.”

  What an idiot! Two idiots, in fact. What a pair of brothers.

  “Mother would be happy for you to visit us,” Demos said.

  Renor shook his head.

  “I can’t. Order policy… It’s very strict over here, and they don’t let us go into the city unless we have a good reason. Better you all come here.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  They headed back toward the gates leading to the city. The crystal on the Great Shrine’s spire glowed with white flame in the light of the midday sun. There was very little time left before mass, but Renar offered to walk Demos all the way to Cathedral Square.

  The duke was breathing easier for the first time in many years.

  You idiot. What did you wait so long for? What were you afraid of?

  They hugged as they said goodbye, that time warmly and sincerely.

  “Please, come by more often,” Renar said. “I know you’re a big guy in the palace… But for the love of the Keeper, don’t forget about me.”

  “I won’t,” Demos replied with a nod. “I promise.”

  If he’d had strength left for sentiment, he probably would have let a tear drop. It would have been doomed to sizzle into nothing, however, as the street was hot as hellfire. But that didn’t even matter. Demos Devaton felt immense relief. There may have been an entire pile of stones weighing him down, but that day he’d rid himself of one, at least.

  After watching his brother walk away, the treasurer turned and stepped out onto the square. Ihraz and Lahel were waiting for him not far away.

  “You’re practically beaming, Master!” the Ennian woman said in amazement. “Did the church really do that to you?”

  “A clear conscience,” Demos replied. “I scrubbed one spot clean.”

  Chapter 16. Ellisdor

  Aldor stopped in the middle of the stairs, took a deep breath, and convinced himself to keep climbing. Irital’s invitation to dinner had caught him unawares. The steward’s head was tossed between refugees from the Disputed Lands, Gregor’s trip, and everything else the bureaucracy entailed, leaving him poor company for a noble woman bored and alone.

  He did his due diligence as he prepared for his meeting with the most beautiful woman in the world: combed his hair, changed his tunic, and practiced his most charming smile. And when Aldor stepped into the cozily outfitted quarters, Irital left her chair, curtseyed, and greeted her guest.

  She walked over to a large, stained-glass window that opened toward the northeast. Lancet windows took up almost the entire wall of the room, which featured all the hospitality Ellisdor had to offer—thirty years before, Rolf Voldhard had rebuilt the house’s guest wing all for just one special guest. Gregor’s father wanted the view from his future wife’s chambers to look out onto the Vagran Mountains. Back then, Rolf had hoped the view of her native mountains would help the future duchess cope with her homesickness. The woman the whole thing had been for was named Artanna nar Toll, and her marriage to Rolf was supposed to strengthen the alliance between Vag Ran and Highligland.

  But it didn’t happen. Document scraps said the Vagrans were the first to turn their backs on the union, and, according to a paper in the Ellisdor chancery, House Toll was accused of treason. The entire clan was executed with the exception of Artanna, who was then in Highligland. And even though the wedding was off, the Vagran girl stayed in Ellisdor, afraid of what would happen if she returned home. Rumor even had it that she become Duke Rolf’s lover and maintained that status until he died. When Rolf was forced to marry a different woman, Artanna won the right to carry a sword, swore fealty to Rolf, and followed her lord around for twenty years as a bodyguard. That was typical for Vagrans—they saw no difference between men and women when it came to war. But for Highligland, the path Artanna chose was eccentric, to say the least.

  That all happened so long ago that it was shrouded in speculation and legend. Still, the large stained-glass windows served as a reminder of the unwritten history everyone in Highligland knew, one the minstrels opined on in tearful ballades. Rolf’s legal wife, Duchess Viviana, didn’t spend a single night in the luxurious chambers out of contempt for the woman who really loved her husband. Even Artanna nar Toll herself had to move to more modest quarters in order to avoid giving rise to rumors, though it’s also possible she just didn’t want to see the Vagran Mountains every day. On the other side of them was the homeland she could never return to.

  Irital was staying there then, most likely dreaming that one day those very same chambers would become hers and Gregor’s.

  “I’m glad you were able to find time for me at last, Your Grace,” the ambassador said with a bewitching smile as she took Aldor by the hand. “Thank you for everything you’re doing for me. Would you like some warm spiced wine?”

  “Of course,” Aldor lied. He didn’t want alcohol at all, though he wanted to risk ruining the uneasy truce even less.

  They were seated at opposite ends of a small table. The servants had already brought several dishes loaded with appetizers and filled their pot-bellied glasses made with colored Gatson glass. Irital’s food wasn’t close to what they offered in the main hall—the variety of herbs turned every bite into a thing of beauty.

  “I was very sad to find out that you don’t like poultry,” Irital said, “so I had them make you brisket on greens. We’ll have to leave the second partridge for the servants, I suppose. A shame.”

  “You shouldn’t have changed your plans on my account,” the baron replied, smiling and suppressing his rising annoyance. “But your attention is flattering.”

  Irital raised her glass.

  “I’m just happy to host you. I’ll admit, I find it inspiring how much you care about the refugees. It was not my expectation that the castle would have any interest in them, but you, Aldor den Grauer, always find a word of
comfort, shelter, and a bowl of soup for everyone in need. That is generosity befitting the Keeper himself.”

  “I’m sure Lord Gregor would do the same.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” the ambassador nodded. “I’m starting to understand why you’re such close friends.”

  In reply, Aldor raised his glass and took a small swallow. The spicy liquid burned his throat as it cut a fiery path down to his stomach.

  “There are starting to be too many refugees,” the baron continued, valiantly fighting to keep from grimacing. “Soon, Ellisdor won’t be able to take any more. Ekkehard is full, Urst is packed. They’re going to have to go farther south.”

  “There’s Grauer, Mirvir, Kelbu. Even Ultsfeld if it comes to that.” Irital got to work carving up her partridge. “And there’s the port, Gorf, for anyone who wants to try their luck in the empire or Ennia. Is there any news from Gregor, Your Grace? He’s been gone an entire moon, and I’m starting to worry.”

  “The last thing I heard was that he’d arrived in Missolen. There hasn’t been any news since then, though Lady Rhinhilda writes regularly.”

  Aldor used his tiny fork to spear something resembling pâté rolled up in a piece of bread.

  “Her position is much simpler,” Irital replied. “It’s Gregor I’m really afraid for. Missolen is a cruel city.”

  “Forgive my impudence, but everything he’s doing is for you, my lady.”

  “Of course, I understand that. And I’ll admit, the longer I wait, the more nervous I get, and the more doubt I feel. Was I right to accept his reckless gesture? Am I going to get Gregor killed? He’s definitely a soul ablaze, burning brightly…”

  “But not for long?”

  “To continue the metaphor, I’m afraid they’ll extinguish him.”

  Hot food was brought in. The smell of roasted meat and fragrant foreign herbs flooded the room, and a servant girl placed a plate of juicy brisket carefully in front of the baron. Irital watched her sternly, only nodding in satisfaction when she was sure the service had been impeccable. Their glasses were again full, though Aldor hadn’t even noticed when that had happened. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and his mouth watered traitorously.