Sergei ca’Rudka
HE FOUND THE CAMP IN AN UPROAR. The Hïrzg’s new aide,
Paulus, gave him the news in a rush. “The White Stone murdered
Rance, my predecessor, back at Brezno Palais. We moved to Stag
Fall, then out here into this forsaken emptiness, and now Rhianna,
who was one of the most trusted servants we had, has stolen a
dagger that dates all the way back to Hïrzg Karin, taken it from
the Hïrzg and threatened him with it, and now she’s gone. I’m
terribly understaffed as it is, and out here where there’s just
nothing, and the Hïrzg and Hïrzgin are
in a terrible upset, and it’s just an impossible situation . . .”
Sergei soothed the
whining man as much as he could—thinking that Paulus wouldn’t last
another turn of the glass as aide if it were up to Sergei—and asked
that word be sent to the Hïrzg that he had arrived.
The journey from
Nessantico had been long, made even more tedious by finding that
the Hïrzg had abandoned Brenzno first for Stag Fall and then the
southern border with the army. He’d followed that trail, escorted
by a few dozen chevarittai from the north of Firenzcia who were
belatedly joining the army.
He’d expected that
Jan and Brie would be delighted by the agreement he carried in his
diplomatic pouch. Now, he was not quite so certain. Jan, behind his
field desk, had a dour look as Sergei entered. Despite that, Sergei
caned his way into the tented room and set the pouch on the desk.
He opened the lock—noticing how old his hands looked, holding the
key—and slid out the rolled parchment inside. “Your treaty, Hïrzg
Jan,” he said. “Signed by the Kraljica. She has agreed to all the
major points and had it read publicly in the temples of Nessantico.
All it needs is your signature and the Holdings and the Coalition
will be one again.”
Jan stared at it. His
finger stroked the seal that held it closed. “Tell me, Sergei,” he
said. “Do you think that the past must always haunt the future? Do
you think we can ever escape what we did before?”
Sergei frowned. “I’m
not certain what the Hïrzg is asking, I’m afraid. If you’re
referring to your relationship with your matarh . . .”
“We tell ourselves
that we’ll make our own history, that we can completely change
things. But all we do is continue to weave from the same threads
we’ve been using all along.”
Sergei waited,
silent. Jan took a long breath, seeming to stare through Sergei.
“The White Stone killed Rance.”
“I heard that from
Paulus.”
“You wouldn’t know
who hired her, would you, Sergei?”
The accusation buried
there was obvious—and startling. Sergei straightened himself as
well as he could, pushing against the knob of his cane. In truth,
he had complained to Allesandra about Rance’s stubbornness, and had
laughingly suggested that if the man slipped down the palais stairs
and died, he wouldn’t mourn. He wondered, for a moment, if perhaps
Allesandra had hired the White Stone.
But he allowed none of that suspicion to show on his face. “Hïrzg
Jan, I assure you that I had nothing to do with Rance’s
death.”
“Rance advised me
against this treaty and against any reconciliation with the
Holdings,” Jan interrupted, tapping the scroll. His eyes smoldered
with a dark fire. “You knew that, and you knew the high regard I
had for Rance’s opinion. Perhaps it wasn’t you who hired the Stone,
but surely you told Matarh about Rance’s stance. Perhaps
she decided to silence the man? Perhaps
she would decide to silence me as well, once this treaty is
signed—that would relieve her of any obligation to abdicate the
throne, wouldn’t it? Did you happen to mention that to her, Sergei?”
Sergei was already
shaking his head. “Hïrzg, who has been whispering this poison to
you? Is it Paulus? Frankly, I don’t think the man’s competent to
judge whether his eggs are sufficiently cooked . . .”
Jan stopped Sergei
with a sharp slice of his hand, halfrising from his seat. The field
desk shivered with the motion, the scroll rolling across the
polished surface. “Not Paulus,” he said. “The man’s a dullard; I
know it. I’ll replace him as soon as I can. But I have my reasons
for this suspicion, I assure you.”
“Then tell me what
they are, so I can refute them. Hïrzg Jan, I had nothing to do with Rance’s death. I swear it before
Cénzi.”
“And my matarh? You
can swear for her also?”
Sergei lifted a hand
from the cane, let it drop again. “No, but I believe that if
Kraljica Allesandra were responsible, she would have told me her
plans, and she has said nothing.” That, at least, was the truth. He
was fairly certain that Allesandra would have told him. At least,
he hoped so.
Jan sniffed
derisively, as if he’d read Sergei’s mind. “Oh, believe me, Matarh
is quite skilled at keeping her intrigues to herself. I know
that one from my own history. I know it
very well.” He tapped the treaty again. “I don’t know that I’ll be
signing this, Sergei. I might be signing my own death
notice.”
“Hïrzg, I assure
you—”
Jan scowled and
stiffened in his chair. “With all due respect, Ambassador, your
assurances mean very little at the moment. I will look at the
document with the Hïrzgin, and we will talk.”
Sergei nodded. “Then
I will meet with you tomorrow, Hïrzg. It’s been a long ride here .
. .”
But Jan was shaking
his head. “Not tomorrow. I’ll give you my answer in my own time,
when I’ve had a chance to investigate other matters, or when . . .”
He stopped. Frowned. “You may return to Stag Fall or Brezno if you
wish, Ambassador, or wait here. I don’t care which. I can have
Paulus give you field accommodations, if you feel you can trust him
that far.”
Stag Fall would be
far more comfortable, and Brezno would be more pleasing in other
ways, but Sergei shook his head. He had no choice here; over the
decades, Sergei had become well-versed in the reading of faces and
the lies and half-truths concealed in words. There was something
Jan wasn’t telling him, something else that was driving his
conviction that Allesandra had hired the White Stone. Sergei
couldn’t entirely deny the possibility, but found it unlikely. He’d
never mentioned Rance in such ominous terms that Allesandra would
have felt compelled to take action. No, if the murder had been the White Stone’s work and not that of
some impostor, then there was another explanation.
And if there was
something else driving Jan’s anger and irritation. Sergei couldn’t
uncover that in Brezno or Stag Fall. “I’ll remain, Hïrzg,” he said.
“I would like to talk with you further on this—the choice we make
here is crucial for both the Holdings and the Coalition, and is
time critical. The Tehuantin attack is an issue that can’t
wait.”
“That’s an issue
critical for the Holdings, yes,” Jan agreed. He tapped the scroll
again, staring at it as a miner might inspect a chuck of rock for
the presence of gold. “But for the Coalition?” He shrugged. “I
assure you, Ambassador, the Coalition will survive that problem,
whether the Holdings does or not. Good day, Sergei,” he said, and
pointedly began to examine a map laid out on his desk.
Sergei watched him
for a breath, then bowed to him. His cane pressed deeply into the
carpet-hidden grass as he left.
