Varina ci’Pallo
“WHERE ELSE WOULD YOU GO?” the Regent said, and she
heard Karl scoff.
“To one of the
northern countries, where they’re more sympathetic to the Numetodo.
Maybe Il Trebbio.”
Sergei sounded like a
teacher instructing a slow student. “That’s still in the Holdings,
and Audric will have sent word to them to capture us if we’re
seen.”
Varina,
half-listening to the argument, stirred. She interrupted them with
her eyes half-open. “And Firenzcia won’t do the same?” she snapped
back at Sergei.
“We could take ship
from Chivasso to Paeti, or keep going north out of the Holdings
into Boail,” Karl added—she was glad to hear him support
her.
“And what are our
chances of making that long trek without being noticed?” The
Regent’s voice was nearly mocking.
The argument only
sapped what little strength she had left. Let
Karl deal with him—Karl won’t go to Firenzcia. He won’t. . .
. As the argument continued, her attention returned to the
weariness of her body and the throbbing, insistent pain in her arm
that stabbed her every time she moved. Varina leaned her head back
against the stone wall running alongside the road, not caring that
the ground underneath her was soaked and cold, closing her eyes as
the two continued their argument, feeling the occasional cold
splash from the persistent clouds on her face. The rumble of the
two men’s voices, wordless, was like distant thunder in her head.
She was shivering and miserable.
She wondered whether
or not death might actually be an improvement.
She didn’t know when
she thought to look to her right, back toward where the city’s glow
painted the low, scudding clouds. At the same moment, she realized
that the faint warmth that had been there was gone.
“Nico?” She sat up,
stifling the scream that wanted to tear from her throat with the
movement. Then, louder: “Nico?”
Karl and Sergei
turned from their discussion. “Varina?” Karl began, then he cursed.
“Merde! The boy’s gone.” He looked over
the stone wall, and Varina—getting slowly to her feet—looked that
way also. The meadow grass showed the dark, trampled path from the
boy’s feet, arrowing back toward the city until she lost the trail
in the murk.
“I’ll go after him.
He can’t be far.” Varina started to scramble over the low wall in
pursuit, grimacing as the motion pulled at her wounded arm. But she
felt Karl’s hand on her good arm, holding her back.
“No,” he said. “You
can’t. He’s heading back into the city and he’ll get there before
you catch up to him. You can’t go there. They’re not looking for a
boy, but they are looking for
you.”
Varina was frantic.
She pulled at Karl’s grasp but was too weak to break away from him.
Sergei watched, impassive, from the road. “He’ll be all alone
there. I can’t leave him like that. I promised.”
“He was alone when
you found him. The boy’s nothing if not resourceful.” Karl pointed
with his chin back to the city-glow on the clouds. “He thinks his
matarh or Talis will find him if he stays there. He might be right.
Let him go, Varina. Let him go. We have other issues to worry
about.”
Varina sagged. She
sat on the stone wall looking at the trail of Nico’s retreat. Karl
released her arm, and she cradled her wounded limb with it. The
rain had begun again; the drizzle masked her tears. “It’s my
fault,” she said. “My fault. I should have been watching him. I
promised I’d take him somewhere safe. I promised him—”
“Varina.” She turned
to Karl. He shook his head. “This is my
fault,” he told her. “You’re hurt; you needed the rest.
I should have been watching him. Not
you. It’s my fault.”
She wished she could
believe him. She sniffed. She turned her head away, back to the
fading trail. Already, the grass in the meadow was lifting, hiding
Nico’s retreat.
“Be safe,” she
whispered after him: into the darkness, into the rain, into the
light-touched distant haze. “Please be safe.”