Children of Earth and Sky (21 page)

What saddened her was that she was beginning to forget what Miucci had been like, after only a few days. She remembered kindness, and his gratitude in the dark. Both had been new to her. A gentle man.

But this morning in the Rector's Palace she needed to be clear and alert, and she wasn't feeling so. Clarity was beyond her just now. Or, rather, she was clear only on what she would not do—and had told them.

She had no idea what she
would
do with the life Jad seemed to have ordained for her, this unexpected path, so far from what she'd imagined as a child, daughter of a distinguished family. Loved. Or at least seen as valuable.

She didn't know how to attach value to herself now, and it needed to be done or they would send her back to Seressa. Andrij Djivo, Marin's father, had explained this over dinner the night before. He had assumed it would be what she wanted.

She had cried then, at their table, explaining that she could not go back. Actually, she hadn't explained it, only told them, and begged that they'd honour her privacy by not asking why. Pleaded that Gospodar Djivo might cause the Rector's Council to allow her to stay, at least for a time.

He'd shown great sympathy, the elder Djivo, along with perplexity. He obviously liked her, her appearance, manners, accent, breeding. Liked her much more than Danica, of course.

She saw him standing now beside the older son, near the rector's chair at the front, under the tall windows. He was talking to a man with a walking stick. That one, in fur-trimmed green, would be the rector of Dubrava, she guessed.

It was a handsome room. Not as large as the council chamber in Seressa where she and Miucci had accepted their tasks, but it was beautifully fashioned, and on another morning Leonora might have paused to admire the windows facing the sea.

Just now she couldn't. She was too afraid. She stole a glance at Danica. The other woman was scanning the room and upper gallery. Danica was standing in front of Marin Djivo, who was greeting one of the younger councillors.

She had already considered—and dismissed—the idea of marrying here in order to remain. It was almost impossible. She was in mourning, was not a member of their nobility, even though she would certainly count as a good marriage. Or, she might have done so if there hadn't been a child somewhere in the world and if her father hadn't disowned her entirely.

And if the Council of Twelve across the water didn't hold her life in its hands, like something easily shattered. They could make her do what they wanted to. Or so they'd think.

Leonora had spent two nights trying to work it through. If they revealed her false marriage they exposed themselves as having arranged it. If
she
revealed it . . . she wasn't sure what followed. But she'd be self-exposed as a spy, and also as the sort of woman who slept with a man not her husband for a state purpose.

A whore, it would be said.

“Go step by step,” Danica had told her. “We can't know what is to come. Do you think,” she'd added, “that I expected to be here?”

Right now, Leonora thought, Danica might be thinking only as far as tomorrow. They had both seen the gallows and headman's block, just outside the city gates.

Nobles were allowed beheading and a burial. Common thieves—or Senjani pirates—were hanged and left to rot. Messages were sent that way everywhere in the world. There was no reason to expect Dubrava to be different.

It occurred to Leonora that death could be very close to a person, even someone young, as she moved under sun or moons, over a blue-green sea, along city streets or wilderness roads past forests with dark leaves hiding the god's sun, or between red marble pillars under tall windows.

—

DANICA KEPT LOOKING
at the men gathered in the chamber and those still entering. The problem was, she wasn't trained for this. Simply being Senjani didn't make you a capable guard. On the other hand . . .

Zadek, help me, what do I need to see?

Be aware of the younger ones. And the gallery above. Watch that.

The gallery was a concern. There were guards up there, she saw some with crossbows. But what could she do if one of them . . . ?

She motioned to Drago Ostaja. He was still holding her weapons. The captain hesitated, obviously startled that she was ordering him about, but he did approach. Marin was behind her, talking to another man. She was trying to screen him from the gallery; he would be exposed if she moved.

She said quietly to Drago, “Stay in front of him, where I am now. I do believe there is danger.”

“For Marin?” His tone was somewhere between dismay and anger.

She nodded. “Yes. That's what I learned in the street. From the girl. It may have to do with women, that is why they knew.”

She left him, walking quickly back to the guard at the door, the one who had made her yield her weapons but had done so with
courtesy, perhaps even respect. He also had a crossbow, against the wall beside him.

She waited for him to finish admitting three men, who eyed her with expressions that could not be called courteous or respectful. The guard—his name was Jevic, she remembered—turned to her.

“I need your help,” Danica said briskly.

“Mine?”

“I am speaking as a guard for the Djivo family. I have reason to believe there is danger, or there might be.” She was in a hurry to get back, had no time to make this easier.

“For the Djivos? In
here
?”

“I have reason to believe,” she repeated. “I am not allowed my weapons. I understand. But may I ask you to keep alert? You don't want violence while you are on duty.”

“Here?” he repeated. But he wasn't a stupid man, and Danica saw that he had already glanced past her towards Marin, with Drago in his red cap standing in front of him watching the chamber—she hoped.

She hesitated. “One more thing. A kindness. If . . . if they condemn me in here, put me in irons, I need you to kill my dog. He will go wild seeing that, there will be no way to stop him. People will be hurt. You'll . . . need to do that for me. For him.”

Is that necessary, Dani?

Yes
, she said shortly.

The guard's expression was odd. He looked outside to where Tico would be. Danica had stopped where her dog could not see her. This had become extremely difficult.

“I will do that,” said the man named Jevic. He looked as if he'd say more, but people were approaching the doors.

She'd been away long enough.

“The galleries,” she said. “There are weapons up there.” She turned and started back.

What followed happened extremely fast.

You could go from nothing occurring to terrible danger in no time at all. It had happened on the ship, too.

Danica!

I see him!

She was already running. A well-dressed man (a young one) had begun moving too quickly, grim-faced, with a directness not that of a man strolling across a council chamber to have a conversation before a session began.

“
Drago!
” she cried.

But Drago Ostaja was a fighting man himself, and he'd been warned. He'd seen this man as well. He backed up a stride, body between Marin and the one approaching. Marin was turning, having heard Danica's cry. Leonora was a few steps away: too near, in fact, endangered, but you couldn't position every piece on a gameboard. Or maybe you could, if you were better at this than Danica was? She didn't know.

She did know that the man heading for Marin carried a sword, which meant he was a councillor, allowed that honour. And yes, he was drawing it now—and quickening to a run. Someone turned, bemused, as he shouldered past. Someone spoke a name, startled.

Drago, awkwardly holding Danica's bow and quiver, could only stand between this one and Marin—who was also weaponless, being only a younger brother, not a member of the Rector's Council.

You could get a warning in the street, Danica thought, but you still had to be able to
do
something with it—or someone would die.

She thrust her left arm up, on the run across the floor. Her tunic sleeve fell back. She claimed her third dagger from its thin sheath strapped to her inner arm and she threw it, running, and it buried itself (as if in ripening fruit on a tree outside Senjan) in the eye of the one who had drawn his sword.

Men cried out, in horror.

One man fell to a marble floor.

I am
, Danica Gradek thought—coming to a halt beside Drago, breathing hard—
killing so many people this spring
.

None of them Osmanli. Not one. None of them any part of her life's sworn purpose. Grief took many forms, was her thought.

She glanced at Drago. She turned to speak to Marin.

“
Above!
”
she heard. Leonora Miucci, pointing up and across the way—at the gallery.

Danica grabbed for her bow, knowing she was too late, that it would take her too long.

“Down, Marin!” she screamed.

She had the bow—Drago didn't fight her for it. She had an arrow, she was turning, nocking, pulling, looking up—

In time to see a crossbow fall between pillars to smash on the floor. A chip of stone cracked loose. And now—now there was a man falling, over the railing, both hands to his chest, making one slow turn in the air—to land on his back with a blunt, flat sound. Men scrabbled away in terror.

There was an arrow in his chest, Danica saw.

She turned, her own arrow still on the string of her bow.

She saw the man named Jevic calmly scanning the overhead gallery, a second arrow slotted to his weapon, and he was winding it again.

There was, given that this was a crowded room of frightened people, an extreme stillness.

It didn't last. Noise exploded like a fired cannon.

I don't believe there will be a third, granddaughter.

Why? Why not?
She was trying to be calm.

I think the second was in the event the first one failed.

He did fail.

That was
, her zadek said quietly, in her head,
a very good knife throw.

I would have been too late to stop the one above.

Maybe. Djivo was shielded. By you, by the captain.

So one of us would have died? Then him?

Maybe
, he said again. The room was so loud now. She saw Marin's father hurrying over, his face a book in which to read anger and fear. Her grandfather said,
We can't defend everyone, child.

And she knew he was remembering the same fires she did, awake or asleep. When he called her
child
he was often back in their village on the night the hadjuks came.

—

HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN K
NOWN
as the clever son, if wayward. His brother has never appeared to resent this, although it is possible he does. Perhaps you need to be clever yourself, or value it, to be resentful. His father swings like a pendulum, even now, between a growing trust in Marin's judgment in business and suspicion of his views and behaviour in other matters.

But if you are thought to be intelligent—and feel that way about yourself—it can be disturbing to realize that you'd been unaware the target this morning was you, and that others had known it, or deduced it, which is the reason you are still alive.

There are two dead men in the Rector's Palace. There is chaos. Marin sees his father hurrying towards him. His face might have been diverting at another time: it conveys fear and anger and confusion, chasing each other. His brother, standing back, shows only the last of these.

He tries to school his features. He looks at Drago, and then at Danica Gradek. She's in front of him, bow to hand now, scanning the tumult of the chamber like—well, like a raider, or a guard. Both of which she is. She's the one who just saved his life, it seems. In his mind, that thrown knife is still flying.

He is pleased to discover that his breathing appears normal enough. He has faced down danger before. But all the other times he had
known
a threat was present. Abroad alone one night in
Khatib, recklessly. In Seressa among the bridges and canals, also after dark. Three times on a raider-boarded ship (just a few days ago, one of those). Other nights, fleeing a room where he ought not to have been.

This morning, walking here, he had been oblivious to everything, missed any threat entirely. He'd thought the Senjani woman might be a target, though had decided it was unlikely before the council judged her. Why kill someone who might soon be hanged?

Belatedly, he understands why the two women had turned back on the Straden and walked off with Kata Matko. Something women would know first, before the men? And now he considers the fact that it was the oldest son of Vlatko Orsat who just rushed across the floor, drawing a sword and snarling Marin's name.

He believes that when they identify the man who has fallen from the gallery he will be a guardsman of the Orsat family, who slipped in among the other guards up there. He thinks,
Someone will be punished for allowing that
. He thinks . . . he is having difficulty arranging his thoughts.

Vudrag Orsat, lying with a knife blade in his eye (in his eye!), had been a friend since childhood. And he had been coming to kill Marin just now. There is no avoiding it. The sword lies beside him.

He looks towards the guard by the door—who has just killed the man in the gallery—and he now recalls Danica walking back that way as well. The man is still alert, another crossbow arrow slotted and wound back. All the guards bristle. Swords are drawn.

Men have been killed, with the rector and much of the nobility of the republic present. Alertness seems called for, yes, on the whole.

“I think it is over,” Danica Gradek says, over the noise, though she continues to face forward, her back to him. “I think it is all right.”