The Fall of Ventaris (47 page)

As the death watch beetles settled back on the ruin of the Atropi’s dress, Violana pushed slowly to her feet. Her eyes burned like pale fire, and her voice was like the stroke of doom. “What. Is. This?”
 

The Atropi shrank away from her ire, the crowd gaped, and the herald seemed unable to reply, hands fluttering and mouth drawn into an
O
of surprise. The Whites cast about for some target and found none, while the beetles, heedless of all, continued their noisy feast.
 

First Keeper Jadis alone kept his composure, and he stepped before the dais and plucked one of them from what was left of the Atropi’s dress. Belatedly, the herald cried in a voice that trembled only slightly, “First Keeper Jadis!”

Jadis held up the beetle for all to see. “If it please your Majesty, there is no harm in them,” he assured, as the insect crawled over his fingers and down to his wrist, “but they herald change. Mayu, the mistress of birth and death, and the changing of the seasons, is their mother, as she is the mother to us all. Change is never easy, but it has arrived.”
 

Duchess thought of the scroll the facets had given her, and she nudged Tremaine. “Now’s the time, or everything we’ve done is wasted.” Tremaine tightened her lips, took a deep breath, and stepped out to join the First Keeper. Violana’s eyes fixed upon the elegant woman as she made graceful obeisance.
 

“Your Imperial Majesty,” she said, her voice betraying none of the fear she’d shown but a moment before. “If it please you, I agree with the First Keeper, and I respectfully remind that this change was prophesied. In summer, Anassa spoke of a new thread in the tapestry, one that would lead us to unknown glories. I humbly propose that what we have seen here today is another sign of that change.” She beckoned, and a servant in imperial livery – the Atropi’s shop was evidently not the only place the guildmaster had placed a spy – stepped forward, bearing a simple wooden box. Tremaine turned back to the dais. “If Your Highness will permit?”

Violana gestured impatiently to the herald, who descended the stairs, circling wide around the ruined dress and the beetles that gnawed noisily at it. No one dared try to remove the insects, Duchess noted, as if they feared to incur the wrath of Mayu. They never guessed this was the work not of a goddess, but of a scholar’s daughter turned thief.

The man opened the box and his eyes went wide. He turned back to the empress, who nodded impatiently, then reached in and removed the dress that had been folded neatly inside. He shook it out gently and held it up for all to see. It was all the Atropi’s dress she had imagined was not. Where that dress had been severe, in black and red, Tremaine’s was a gentle plum, embroidered in flower patterns with delicate silver thread. Tremaine’s dress was more youthful and lively than its ruined counterpart, while still appropriate for a septuagenarian. The garment would fit snugly, and yet clever folds of cloth would obscure a thickened middle, and a sweeping collar hide any imperfections. The crowd murmured its appreciation, and Duchess released a pent-up breath; her guess, made from the absence of evidence, had not led her wrong.
 

Violana was silent for a long moment, then she gestured for the herald to approach. He did so, holding the dress up for her inspection. She reached out a gnarled hand and stroked the fabric, and her gaze softened. “What is this cloth?” she asked, turning back to Tremaine. “Soft as silk, though not quite so smooth.”

Tremaine bowed her head. “Wool, your Majesty, like none other. It was woven by the newest member of my guild and donated to me for the express purpose of honoring you. This fabric will kiss the skin like silk, yet protect against the chill damp of autumn.” She bowed her head. “The same wisdom that moved my guild to embrace change kindled in me the desire to make you this dress. I hope it pleases you.”
 

“And this new member?”

“A Domae named Jana, your Highness.” Tremaine replied.

Violana’s eyes went distant, as if she were occupied with some inner calculation. She did not resume her seat, and the Whites flanked her, sliding their swords back into their sheaths. “A most unusual omen, and a most unusual dress,” she mused aloud. “We are pleased to accept it, Guildmaster Tremaine, and we heed the wisdom of Anassa, as we heed the winds of change blown by Mayu.” The Atropi blanched, but the empress paid them no heed. She regarded the remains of the dress at the foot of the stairs. “Take this from our sight,” she commanded, and servants rushed to clear away the cask and the partially eaten cloth. They seemed fearful of the deathwatch beetles, until Jadis nodded reassuringly.
 

Then a murmur passed through the chamber as Violana stepped forward on unsteady legs, alone. The Whites at her side moved to accompany her, but she waved them away. She steadied herself and stood silent, her back perfectly straight. The whispers stuttered to a halt as she glanced about the room.

“Anassa has claimed a change is come, and Mayu has borne it upon the wings of her children. Ventaris has left us for yet another year,” she said, her voice echoing in the chamber. “And with him go the tattered remnants of the summer, and all that time has known. No one may say what the gods have in store for us, nor what the new year shall bring, but here, in this moment, in the dying of days, we declare that we shall now plant the seeds for the next harvest. We shall sow what is to come.”
 

There were many loaded glances exchanged, for what reason Duchess could not quite make out. However, the High Lambent had gone pale, and even Jadis seemed taken aback.

But the empress was not finished. “It is momentous that it has taken an outsider” — she gestured to Tremaine’s dress — “to show us what we should have known all along. We have slept too long,” she muttered, almost to herself and Duchess found herself uncertain whom she meant by
we
. Then Violana’s voice sharpened. “But whatever the signs, and howsoever the winds may blow, I say there is one thing that is eternal.
Our empire
. Rodaas shall stand until man is gone from this earth and all else is dust. Here between the seasons, between the fall of the sun and its rise, between death and wisdom, I stand before you and say that we shall see our empire outlast the stars themselves.”
 

And with that, she slowly made her way down the steps and along the aisle, attended by her daughter, her servants, her guards. As she went, she looked left and right, as if daring any to meet her gaze. None did. The assemblage went to one knee as she passed, and remained there as she clicked across the suddenly quiet courtyard. Before she passed from view she turned and scanned the crowd, her gaze sweeping over noble and lowborn alike. Her mouth was twisted into an angry frown, as if she did not approve of what she saw. Then she was gone.

The herald, still standing upon the dais with Attys and the mortified Atropi, lifted his voice. “The Fall is concluded,” he said simply. He seemed about to say more, evidently decided against it and moved after the imperial procession, leaving the guests to mill and murmur in his wake. Attys did not join him, but rushed to the High Lambent, who leaned close, lips moving furiously. The Atropi stepped away from the dais as well, and the guests gave them a wide berth, as if their disgrace might be catching. Their eyes were empty and their faces ashen. Duchess had won.

*
 
*
 
*

With the departure of the imperial contingent, chaos held reign. The courtyard was filled with shouts and whispers and everything in between. The radiants were largely avoided, but the keepers were the recipients of many smiles and nods, and the First Keeper himself was surrounded by well-wishers. Around them, intrigue swirled like incense. In moments alliances were made, broken, and reforged. Messengers hurried from one end of the hall to the other carrying promises, assurances, threats. As far as Duchess could tell, the only consensus was confusion. Had this been a move by the keepers, the facets, or both? Was this a sign that the faiths were in league with the guilds? Or just with Guildmaster Tremaine? A hundred theories were discussed and discarded, and as she moved through the crowd to find Tremaine, Duchess heard them all.

Although she was relieved to note that none of those theories included her, she was far from complaisant. Though much had transpired that evening, she alone had been the catalyst, the pebble that starts the avalanche. Even now word was no doubt racing down the hill faster than the water that had once borne her from House Eusbius. That current had dropped her in the harbor; where would this one take her? The tiger stalked a pace behind, gnawing at her worries.

She found Tremaine clearly in her element. Nobles who’d started the evening paying her veiled insults were now showering her with rapt attention, following in her wake as seeds behind a dandelion. She engaged them all with cool courtesy, accepting compliments and deftly turning aside any request that might commit her to anything.
This
was how a lowborn woman became guildmaster. Tremaine seemed pleased with the day’s work, so Duchess hoped she would be spared any more disdain, at least for as long as their journey back to Scholars District.

Tremaine caught Duchess’ eye as she approached, then politely but firmly dismissed her well-wishers with a nod and a muttered word. Duchess fell in step with her as the older woman strode calmly towards the exit and the waiting line of carriages. “Well played,” the guildmaster murmured, her tone rich with pleasure.

A compliment from Gloria Tremaine? “I got a job done,” she replied, “nothing more.” The yard was crowded with others waiting for their own carriages, so she kept her voice down.

“Was the plot entirely yours, or did it originate in the Gardens of Mayu?”

She took a breath, trying to keep her rising panic under control. “There
was
no plot, or at least not what you’re thinking. I needed something to deal with the dress....discreetly, and the keeper was the best source.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know precisely what was going to happen.”

“Clearly not. Still, all’s well that ends well.” Tremaine smiled, clearly satisfied with herself.

Duchess blinked. “Are you mad? How can you be so calm at a time like this?”

Tremaine laughed. “You’re never pleased, are you? The battle’s over, and we are quite clearly the victors.”

Duchess could hold it in no longer. “And the war is about to begin,” she hissed.

Tremaine’s smile did not falter. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Before today, the cult of Ventaris was ascendant. When the empress left that dais, she said — and I quote —
No one may say what the gods have in store for us
.”

Tremaine nodded. “Her first proclamation in an age. Clearly, she does not intend to declare her preference as to which faith may replace Ventaris at court.”

“And how will they decide that? When the keepers struggled to select their leader it ended in murder. What will they do if preeminence at court is at stake?”

Tremaine shrugged. “We’ve not seen such a conflict for eight years or more.”

“During the War of the Quills,” Duchess finished, her heart sinking. “If the empress decides Ventaris’ fall is our fault, she could have both our heads on pikes.”

Tremaine shook her head. “You’re overreacting,” she replied. “Violana said many things, but she never mentioned you, nor the Atropi, nor Jadis. You’re in the heart of Garden District, surrounded by Whites. If the empress wanted your head she’d have taken it.” Their carriage finally appeared at the end of the line. “Still, you should not be too hard on yourself. For a Shallows girl this was a surprisingly subtle piece of work. You have potential, even if you still have much to learn.”

Duchess pinched her nose against worry and weariness. “Such as?”

Her ill humor touched Tremaine not at all. “That you are not half as clever as you think you are. You do realize that pitiful drawing you gave me did not fool me for an instant, yes?” Duchess gaped, but the guildmaster merely smiled. “I knew quite well the dress was no longer in the Atropi’s shop, but what I did
not
know was whether you would have the nerve to actually try to find it.”

“How did you know I was ever there at all?” Duchess countered, trying to hold steady although the world was falling away beneath her.

“The colors you named were consistent with what Rebecca had already told me.” Duchess blinked. “I know Rebecca spies for the Atropi, but unlike them I don’t rely on my birth to get what I want. Rebecca knows that, as guildmaster, I can do far more for her than a trio of nattering old women, so her true loyalties are not hard to secure. She feeds them information about me, of course, but in the final balance, I end up ahead.”

“Then why send me at all?”
 

Tremaine’s mask of cool contempt dropped for a moment. She looked at Duchess plainly as their carriage slowly approached. “In Rodaas, the likes of us do not thrive without sacrifice. It is more than merely hard work, it is a certain — numbing, a coldness required to stand against our foes and triumph. Your work at the shop, and your willingness to lie to me when you did not succeed, showed me that you were beginning to learn that lesson.”

Duchess was spared the need to reply by the arrival of their carriage. Tremaine accepted a hand up from the coachman and Duchess climbed in after her. It seemed that she was not the most skilled player in this game, not by far. Both Jadis and Tremaine had outmaneuvered her.

“So what happens now?” she asked.

Tremaine looked out the window as the carriage lurched into motion. “Now you and your friend will run your business, I shall move to fill the void left by the Atropi, and the cults will fight for supremacy.” Tremaine turned to her, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Yes. I believe that my first act shall be to order my guild brothers and sisters to produce as much roughspun cotton as we can manage,” she said at last. “After all, with war coming, someone will have to weave the shrouds.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight: What she left behind

From the comfort of Tremaine’s carriage Duchess watched the beauty of the Garden District pass, but the wonder around her could not displace the tumult in her mind.