Varina ci’Pallo
HAD SHE BEEN FORCED into a career as a spy, she would
have been captured and executed her first day.
Varina leaned against
the side of an apothecary at the edge of Oldtown Center, staring
out at the crowds gathered in bright sunshine and searching among
them for a familiar face, one that she’d lost in the twists and
turns of Oldtown. She was panting a little from the effort of
trying to catch up to the man after he’d made an abrupt turn—she’d
come to the corner to find him gone. Vanished.
“What do you think
you’re doing?”
The question, coming
from behind her, made Varina jump. Varina spun, bringing her hands
up, ready to speak a word and release a quick push spell, but a
hand grasped her arm as she turned, stopping her from casting the
spell, and she was looking into the face for which she’d been
searching.
“Karl . .
.”
He released her hand,
stepping back. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. “You were
following me.” His storm-sea eyes held her.
“Yes,” she
admitted.
“Why?”
“Because I’m worried
about you.”
He sniffed as if
amused. That irritated her more than his expression. “You, or
Mika?” he barked. “Or maybe Sergei?”
She held his stare
defiantly, her chin lifting. She brushed back her hair from her
face. “All of us. Everyone who knows
you and likes you is concerned about you, Karl, even though you
don’t seem to see it. Following you was my idea, though. Not
Mika’s. Not Sergei’s. So you can yell at me if you’d like, but not
them. They didn’t know.”
“I’m not a child who
needs to be watched.”
“Forgive me,” she
told him. “I’ll be sure to mention that to Sergei and Ambassador
cu’Görin. They’ll both be pleased to hear how you’ve
matured.”
Karl sniffed again.
“That was a mistake. I won’t repeat it.”
“Karl, you were
convinced that it was the Firenzcians and you were ready to be
judge and executioner for them. Now you’re just as convinced it’s a
Westlander plot and you’re out chasing Mahri’s ghost. I’m worried
about you, yes. Mahri’s dead; you won’t find him. And I’m even more
worried about what you’ll do if you do find some Westlander,
someone who might be entirely innocent. I don’t know how to say
this other than bluntly: do what Sergei told you to do—let them
take care of the investigation. You’re not helping them
or yourself.”
“And what am I
supposed to do, Varina?” he asked. His face was twisted, the skin
under his eyes was baggy and dark, and he hadn’t trimmed his beard
in days.
“You said that you
were interested in what I could show you about enchanting objects.
Let me teach you. Let’s work on that, together—I could certainly
use your help and your expertise. It might take your mind away . .
.” She glanced around them. “. . . from this.”
“You can’t
understand,” he grated out. “So just leave me alone.” The look of
disgust he gave her was like a blow to her face.
“You’ve been hurt
enough, Karl. I don’t want to see you make it worse for
yourself.”
“I don’t need your
pity, Varina, and I don’t want or need your help,” he spat back at
her. The words sliced into her. “What do I need to do to make that
clear to you?”
“You just have,” she
told him. “You’ve made it very clear indeed.” With that, she
gestured at the open, sunny expanse of Oldtown Center. “Go on,” she
said. “I won’t follow you anymore.”
With that, not daring
to look back, she started walking away southward, back toward the
Numetodo House. She didn’t look back. She told herself that she
didn’t want to see whether he was watching her or not.