Mother of Lies (55 page)

Most curious!

Chies had given the man no money that Dantio had noticed, but it very much looked as if Chies had bought or rented whatever lay behind that ugly, warped little door. Or could he be going to meet someone there? Dantio left the store and strolled past the door, but all he could sense inside it was a squalid little room, mostly below grade, with a tiny barred window and plentiful roaches. Its only furnishing was a sleeping platform. Chies was in there, but Dantio’s sight could not determine what he was doing, which was ominous.

What could a boy who lived in the palace want with such a pesthole? Not to take girls to, surely? The temple of Eriander was still in business and male adolescents worshiped there fervently. If it were a shrine to the Old One, Dantio would not be able to see inside it at all, but it certainly looked like the sort of obscure crypt She favored. No doubt a Chosen could consecrate it to Her, although the Witnesses were almost certain that the ritual required human sacrifice.
Chies?
Was he? Could he be? Did the ducal family now include two Chosen?

He had not been a Chosen in Veritano, or Marno’s men could not have kidnapped him so easily. So what had happened since then? The story of his escape and the wild ride down the Puisa on a stolen boat, all the way to the city—was that credible? Dantio had heard it from people who believed it, not from any who knew the truth of it. It might be worth dropping a hint to Fabia.

Toward dusk on that day, Dantio was tracked down by a Witness as he studied the ducks in the river park. He sensed her approach and went to meet her. She was a bony, aging woman, unveiled in Florengian style.

“Brother Mist, I am Sister Edviga from the palace.” She smiled as she read his annoyance. “The doge has called a meeting and requests that you attend.”

“What sort of meeting?” He fell into step beside her.

“Your family,” she said. “He received his own family this morning, his mother and brothers.”
(amusement)

“And?”

“And I am astonished you did not feel it, brother. He practically threw his brothers out bodily.”

In fact Dantio had picked up a trace of that rage and ignored it. “Greed? They want their cut?”

“They are all Ucrists.”

He laughed aloud. How long had it been since he did that?

The Council Chamber was a pentagonal room on the second floor, with three great windows overlooking the grounds and a huge fireplace, which was making the room unpleasantly warm. It was furnished with a single low wheatwood table in the center, also pentagonal, surrounded by cushions. Dantio surveyed the scene with nostalgia, recalling how his father had brought him there once, treating him as an adult when he broke the news that he would have to go as hostage to the ice devils.

His mother stood there alone, staring out a window. Hearing him clear his throat, she spun around, then came rushing to him, arms open. She almost drowned him in a torrent of emotions so turbulent that he could barely distinguish them. He hid his revulsion as best he could.

“Where have you been? I was so worried. Why didn’t you come and see me ….” And so on.

“I needed time to recover and I knew you had the others. We have years ahead of us, Mama!” In fact, he had decided he must leave the city very shortly. He had not been struck down, so either the Eldest in Vigaelia had decided to overlook his sins or her anathema carried no weight on the Florengian Face. Next sixday he would set off to visit the Florengian mother lodge and offer to add to its Wisdom, revealing what he alone knew about the war and Saltaja’s death in the Edgelands.

Oliva was shaking her head. “I don’t have Fabia, Marno has. Maybe in a thirty or two she will find some time for the rest of the world. Orlando is lost forever. So cold, so hard! Oh, what did they
do
to him, Dantio?”

“They made a monster out of him, that’s what. They dehumanized him. But he’s much better than he was, Mama. Give him time. Give him love, but not too obviously. He is trying, I promise you. He will recover. Mothers all over Florengia have the same problem, or soon will have.”

She bit her lip and made an effort to smile. “Marno praised him so generously yesterday! And he is going to give you all rich estates to support yourselves and raise fam … live in proper royal style.”

Chies was approaching. He paused outside the door, flashed some hypocrisy at the guard, who responded with a flicker of distrust—Dantio could not hear the words, only feel the emotion. Chies lifted the latch and entered silently, barefoot.
(fear, anger)
That reaction must be to Dantio himself, for the undercurrent of uncertainty and resentment was the easily recognized response of an adolescent male to his mother. Why fear? And what was behind the anger? It was not just from the demotion in status he had taken when his half-siblings returned; that was chronic, this was acute. He wore a youth’s loincloth, although that morning in the town he had been sporting an adult chlamys.

Dantio greeted him and was rewarded with a bow, sweet words, and a blast of manly contempt for a gelding.

Next came Orlad with brass collar and a red chlamys pinned under his right arm. Only the seer could sense the abysmal despair hidden behind his cheerful greeting. He was taking Waels’s death very hard. At the memorial service yesterday he had been close to tears, which was unthinkable for a Werist. He addressed his mother in quite passable Florengian. Even if he had memorized the words beforehand, his accent was improving.

Oliva embraced him. He registered disgust at his own hypocrisy. Chies bowed to him.
(detestation)
Orlad nodded back.
(contempt)
Then Fabia arrived. In the resulting social gavotte, Dantio managed to draw his brother aside. He was careful to exaggerate his smile, for Orlad was slow to pick up signals.

“Congratulations on your promotion, packleader!”

“I killed Stralg for him. He couldn’t make me anything less.”

“He didn’t have to take you into his horde at all.”

Orlad scowled. “On probation! I have three thirties to learn the language and show that men will follow me.”

“You’re doing well on the language, and I bet they’re all eager to kiss the Stralg-killer’s, um, ankle already.”

The Werist shrugged
(satisfaction)
, then smiled. It was a good smile, not deliberate. “You’re not so far off at that. But a season isn’t long for a language.”

“You have ten years to wait, I’d say,” Dantio said softly, provoking the avalanche of suspicion that was Orlad’s inevitable reaction to any remark he did not understand. “Even Therek wasn’t as battle hardened as Cavotti. He won’t live to anything like old age.”

Orlad nodded, and now the smile was genuine
(ambition)
. “True.”

“So no matter how many sons Fabia gives him, the next conclave of elders will have only one candidate to consider.”

(pain)
Orlad turned away. He had no interest in sons. It took very little to remind him of his lost lover.

A Hero opened the door wide and peered in. Then Marno lurched through, leaving it to be closed by his guards, who remained outside. He wore a chlamys of royal purple, pinned on his shoulder in civilian style, and belted with a silver cord. It did little to hide his ghastly scars and twisted bones, and his half boots could not possibly contain human feet. He glanced around the company from under brows like eaves. How was he ever going to manage to get the coronet over that horn?

As the giant limped over to the table, the other men bowed and the women curtseyed. Ruling families were more formal than most, and this one had stronger emotions than most, too, so many that Dantio could not analyze them all. That was why he must leave Celebre—seers went crazy if they let themselves become entangled in family ties.

Fabia’s disposition interested him most. Five nights ago in the Hall of Pillars, her attitude to Cavotti had been one of calculation and resignation, mixed with some Ucrist-type greed, undoubtedly—how could she not think that way after being raised by Horth Wigson?—but also a surprising amount of sexual interest in the monstrous hulk, tempered with a virginal dread very reasonable in the circumstances. Fortunately Fabia had seen long ago that Orlad could not possibly wear the coronet. Even if the elders gave it to him, the city and Freedom Fighters would rise and impose a change of dynasty. Cavotti was Piero’s only possible successor, and it was up to her to make it happen in a way that would preserve the family line. Privilege brings responsibility. Responsibility needs sacrifice.

And now? Much had changed in five days; much more in the intervening five nights, likely. Cavotti took her hand to steady her as she sank down on a cushion. Then he dropped nimbly at her side and they exchanged the knowing smiles of lovers:
First my relatives, now yours.

The old mating magic was working again. Dantio would never experience it, but he had seen it happen many times. Two people could not shed their clothing and normal dignity, embrace each other in the most intimate ways possible, rollick like small children while performing the most adult of actions and exulting in the most potent of pleasures—not without being changed and bonded by common memories. Two personal walls had been breached and joined, so that now a single wall enclosed them both, shutting out the world.

The others instinctively spread around the table, choosing a side apiece. It was a very large table, able to seat the whole council, and with a mere six people they were spread far apart.

Cavotti looked very tired. He smiled his ogreish smile.
(contentment)

“I apologize for taking so long to find time for you. This get-together should have happened much sooner, but you know what has delayed me, or some of it. I have promises to make to all of you. You, Oliva, will have equal precedence with my mother, and your children will outrank my brothers. That includes you, Chies. Second, a new doge must confirm his predecessors’ land grants, meaning your appanages, although I expect most of you don’t even know about those. Wife?”

Smiling happily, Fabia took over. “Mama, on your marriage you were granted an estate at Lacema, a short distance down river from Celebre, so we understand. Is it sufficient for you? Have its revenues suffered from the war?”

“I honestly do not know, dear,” Oliva said. “In the last year I have had no time to visit it or talk with the tallymen.”

“Please do both and let us know your wishes. Marno will grant whatever support you need to maintain yourself in proper state. Celebre owes you that and much more. Also, choose suitable quarters in the palace to be your city home.”

Oliva expressed gratitude, while emitting waves of alternating happiness and loss.

Marno was enjoying himself, sharing out the spoils of war. “Also, my lady, I am appointing you to the council, as deputy-president. We need your wisdom and experience. Is there anything we have overlooked?”

“No, no! You are most generous.”

“Dantio, your appanage at …” Fabia saw him shake his head.

“No?” “No. My lady, my lord, I cannot own land. The use of a room in the palace when I am in the city—that I would appreciate. Possibly a small pension if the Eldest does not accept me into the Florengian cult, but no more than that. I am very grateful for your offer and for your generosity to my mother.”

Cavotti frowned. “You could be invaluable to me and my government.”

“I betrayed my oaths once, but I am still bound by them, my lord. I must witness and not meddle.”

(annoyance, disappointment)
“Very well. Carry on, Dogaressa.” Fabia turned to Orlad
(caution)
and spoke in Vigaelian. “Packleader Orlad … You wish to remain Orlad or revert to Orlando? Orlad, then. You were granted an apanage called Guiniama. Go and visit it, then come and report to me or Marno. If it is insufficient, or has been wasted by the Vigaelians, we shall find you another.”

Orlad said, “Thank you.”
(envy—that should be me wearing purple)

“Marno very much wants to have you as leader of the city host, a job he feels should be held by a member of the family. He promises to promote you as soon you have proved yourself, and to appoint you to the council at that time.”

“My lord is very kind,” Orlad growled in Florengian.
(distrust, pleasure)
“You amply earned it all.”

Marno turned to look at Chies.
(abhorrence!)
Dantio was startled by the intensity of the doge’s hatred. And Fabia, too? Her smile at their half-brother concealed intense distrust and suspicion. Judging the situation only as a Witness and not as a family member, Dantio would conclude that Chies Celebre was in grave danger of his life.

What had changed? At Veritano Cavotti had been openly contemptuous of the boy, while in secret regretting the need to bully him. Indeed, his hidden sympathy for Chies had been the most startling of many startling things Dantio had noted about him, qualities unexpected in a Werist. At Veritano Fabia had not faked her support for her half-brother. Why had he suddenly fallen so drastically in their estimation? How had he alienated them both so quickly?

He obviously knew whatever was going through the ducal minds, for his polished, boyish smile hid screaming terror and murderous hatred.
Mother of Lies!
How was a boy like him managing to dissimulate so skillfully?

“Lord Chies,” Fabia said with careful formality, “you should have been sworn in as an adult citizen last New Year. The person responsible for your absence—” She shot a smile at her husband. “—regrets the inconvenience. He has ordered the chief priest to arrange a private ceremony, for you alone. Congratulations on reaching your majority, brother.”

Chies thanked doge and dogaressa profusely.
(contempt, distrust)

“Congratulations,” Orlad said.

Chies turned the same false smile on him. “Thank you, too, packleader.” In perfect Vigaelian, he added, “Does this mean that you don’t want to tear my head off any more, brother?”
(detestation)

“Not as much, anyway.”
(scorn)