Allesandra ca’Vörl
ALLESANDRA HAD COMMANDEERED a balcony that overlooked
the plaza. The Old Temple loomed across the way, though it was
difficult to see much in the driving rain and the gloom of the
storm. Erik stood behind her and at her shoulder, and his
solicitude nagged at her.
“Really, Allesandra,
you should move back from the window. Those are war-téni inside the
Old Temple, and you’ve no idea what they can do, especially if they
notice that the Kraljica is watching.”
“I know exactly what war-téni are capable of,” she told him
tartly. “Probably better than you, Erik. And I don’t appreciate you
talking to me as if I were a child.”
“I’m sorry,” he said,
but there seemed to be no apology in his voice at all. “I’m just
concerned for your safety, my love.”
“And I’m concerned
for the safety of my people,” she answered. “The Garde Kralji isn’t
the Garde Civile. Their job is to police Nessantico—they’ve never
faced war-téni before, they haven’t faced an armed insurrection in
a century and a half, and their Commandant is a prisoner in the
place they’re about to assault.”
“That’s why I
suggested that you place me in charge of them,” Erik said. “They
need a strong hand guiding them.”
So I’m not a strong hand, in
your estimation? “You’ve never commanded an organized force
either,” she reminded him. Truly, the man was becoming tiresome.
She was beginning to wonder what she’d seen in him. “I’m the symbol
of Nessantico. I rule the Holdings. They deserve to see that I am
here, with them. I’d appreciate it if—” She stopped, peering into
the rain. “Ah, Varina’s returning . . . And there’s the signal from
A’Offizier ci’Santiago—Morel has refused to negotiate.” Allesandra
sighed. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that somehow Varina
would be able to negotiate the removal of the Morellis from the
temple—she couldn’t see this ending well, no matter how it was
resolved. Yet she had no choice. She especially had no choice if
Jan were bringing the Firenzcian army here—she had to end this now
or she would appear to be extraordinarily weak.
Talbot had placed two
flags on the balcony on which she stood: one a deep blood-red, the
other a pale green. Both dripped rain from sodden folds. Allesandra
plucked the green flag from its holder and let it fall on the
stones of balcony. As if in response, a red star rose from below,
arcing high above the plaza. It lingered there for a moment,
lending a bloody hue to the gloomy afternoon and hissing audibly in
the rain.
A breath later,
triple arcs of flame shot out from nearly directly below the
balcony—from the Numetodo. The flames guttered and spat, trailing a
noxious smoke, and arrowed away to slam into the front portico of
the Old Temple. There were terrible explosions as they hit their
target, flashes of white that shook the entire plaza. Allesandra
could feel the balcony shudder under her feet. A moment later, a
wave of heated air rushed past Allesandra, lifting her hair.
Through the rain and the smoke, it was difficult to tell what had
happened, but now the gardai of the Garde Kralji were rushing
toward the Old Temple from all around the plaza, shouting as they
ran. She could see ci’Santiago leading them—whatever she might
think of the man’s competence, he was at least brave.
The gardai were only
a quarter of the way across the plaza when the response came from
the Old Temple. A dozen fireballs shot from the smoke surrounding
the main entrance and from the windows of the buildings attached to
the temple. Allesandra heard the Numetodo call out their release
words, and all but two of the fireballs from the war-téni sputtered
and failed. But those two careened down into the mass of onrushing
gardai. Shrill screams rent the storm as they exploded. For a
moment, there was chaos in the plaza, the gardai pausing. She could
hear ci’Santiago shouting orders as the Numetodo sent their own
spells shooting forward toward the Old Temple. The gardai surged
forward once more, but choking, acrid smoke was now obscuring the
temple plaza, making it difficult to see. Allesandra leaned
forward, her hands grasping the rails.
Almost too late, she
saw a globe of fire rushing out of the smoke toward her. She
recoiled, throwing herself backward into the room. The fireball
crashed against the side of the building, billowing out in a great
gout of flame a little below and to the right of the balcony where
she’d been standing. The building shook, knocking Erik from his
feet. The chandelier in the room swayed madly, the cut-glass
ornaments clashing and falling. Chunks of plaster and lathework
cascaded down from the ceiling, and two long, gaping cracks snaked
from floor to ceiling of the outside wall. Part of the balcony on
which she’d been standing fell away.
She could smell
sulfur, and smoke was billowing up from outside. “Allesandra!” Erik
was shouting, pulling her to her feet as she coughed in the fetid,
choking air, and the gardai who had been in the corridor outside
came rushing in, surrounding her with drawn swords. “We have to
leave!’
“Wait!” She staggered
to the opening of the balcony, looking out through the shattered
doors. The plaza was all a confusion; she could see nothing, though
there were flames and explosions around the Old Temple. On the
floor below, flames were crawling up the outside of their
building.
“Filthy bastardos!”
Erik was shouting gesturing toward the Old Temple. “Kill them! Kill
them all!”
She stared at him. He
grimaced and subsided. “All right,” she told Erik and the gardai.
“I’ve done all I can here. Let’s go.”
