The Spirit Gate (29 page)

It seems I have lied about writing of nothing but Leliwa. There
are yet other things that interest me.

Kassia stared at the entry for a long moment, wondering what
to make of it—feeling,
she suspected, much as young Marija must have when she made it. Had Pater
Honorius made a slip of the tongue, or was there some arcane means by which he
could go from Dalibor to Tabor in a single day? Heart beating a bit faster, she
scanned ahead in the diary, seeking other places where Marija mentioned the
monk’s name. At
length she found one.

Januarius 5:
It seems Pater Honorius was not merely being absent
minded or sloppy of pen. According to his journal, the monks regularly traveled
between here and Tabor, apparently often going to and fro in the same day.
Imagine that! They took it as much for granted as I might take a stroll to the
Pavla Yeva, and yet, here am I, Dalibor-bound unless I care to make a week long
journey. I asked Master Boleslas about the reference, but he was as stunned as
I was—he’d never heard of such a
thing. Which leaves me with the question: Why do we no longer possess this
knowledge? Was the spell destroyed by the arrival of the Khan, or was it
something known in particular by the monks that was never part of our magic at
all?

I somehow doubt this last conclusion—Pater Honorius has made such a point of how contact
with the local shaman and shai so greatly increased his knowledge of the arcane
arts. To hear Honorius (or rather to read him), you’d think all the monks ever did was construct wards
to protect themselves from the ill effects of using the local magic they
dabbled in. Master Boleslas has charged me with finding whatever I can of the
monk’s work. I
don’t believe he
holds out much hope of my success. He is of the firm opinion that the monks must
have destroyed their store of knowledge to keep it from falling into the hands
of Batu Khan and his shamans. But I dare to hope it is only well-hidden.

Kassia’s
heart skipped a beat. Here she sat, over half a century later, charged with
what was essentially the same task—ferreting
out the ancient knowledge—and
facing the same questions Marija had faced so long ago. She savored the
connection for only a moment, then bowed over the book once again, intent on
finding any further references to the traveling spell. She was interrupted by a
tap on her chamber door. Slipping the journal into the pocket of her azure
surcoat, she rose from the window seat and went to receive her visitor.

It was Master Lukasha, come to take her on a tour of the
city. Zakarij was not with him—he
had other duties this afternoon—so
the two of them began their walking tour just outside the gates of the palace.
They chatted amicably at first, Lukasha pointing out this or that landmark and
Kassia responding with honest, if distracted, pleasure and interest. She was
both impressed and amused by the large plaques many of the civic buildings
sported, proclaiming that this or that benefactor had been instrumental in its
construction. Still, more and more her mind turned to the matter of Pater Honorius
and his traveling spell. How could she bring up the subject with Lukasha when
he knew nothing of Marija’s
journal?

When, after a while, they had fallen into a protracted, if
companionable silence, Kassia finally screwed up her courage and opened her
mouth to speak.

“Tell
me, Kassia,” said her Master, before even a whisper of sound had escaped her mouth, “what do you think of
King Mishka?”

Surprised, relieved, frustrated, Kassia shifted her mind to
the new trail. “He
seems . . . a very good statesman. A good king. He’s done much for the
darughas—for
Polia.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry, Master. Was
there something in particular you wanted me to have noticed about him?”

Lukasha chuckled. “I
had hoped for a more personal assessment. What do you think of him as a man? As
a soul?

“He’s a good man, I think.
Kind. Gentle. Intelligent. He seems to genuinely care about us—about his people.”

“He
certainly seems to care about you.”

Kassia flushed, feeling as if the sun had burned her cheeks.
“He was most
grateful for the web spells.”

“Kiska,
are you teasing me or are you really so blind? Michal Zelimir looks at you with
more than mere gratitude.”

Hearing Lukasha put into words what she had not even allowed
herself to notice, caused every drop of blood to drain from Kassia’s face. She met her
Master’s eyes,
fearful of seeing censure in them. “Are . . .
are you certain?”

Lukasha canted his head, fixing her with a bird bright gaze.
“Quite certain.
He spoke to me not an hour ago and was most effusive in his praise of your . . .
considerable charms. He believes he is falling in love with you Kassia. How do
you feel about that?”

She felt . . . panicked. “I’m sorry, Master. I did
nothing to encourage it. I realize how inappropriate it is. But we’ll be leaving soon and—”

“Inappropriate?
Is that what you call it?” He was all but laughing at her now. “Why inappropriate, child?”

“Michal
Zelimir is my king.”

“Hmm.
Yet you deem being loved by him ‘inappropriate’ rather than an honor? It would be an honor, Kassia. An honor no woman of
Polia has yet known.”

Kassia swallowed, trying to rein in her galloping heart. “Master, he’s to be married.”

“Of
course he is. And his advisers are expectant that he will marry one of several
women they have selected for him—good
political matches, all. Many of them women he has never met. Pity him, Kassia.
You married for love and bore a child into love. Imagine what lies in store for
Mishka.”

Kassia could not imagine. The idea of marrying for
expediency was abhorrent. The thought of marrying for politics, strange, alien.
“I do pity him.”

“It
is more than marriage to a stranger he faces. At least one alliance would mean
that, along with a wife, he will take a new religion.”

Kassia glanced at him sharply. The bright spring day seemed
suddenly darker and colder. “Would
he really do such a thing?”

“I
have no answer, Kiska. I know only that the Bishop of Tabor will use every
power at his disposal to force the issue.”

“Master,” Kassia murmured, “about
Bishop Benedict . . .”

She stalled, not knowing how to complete the thought. But he
was looking at her askance, a slight frown furrowing his brow, and so she
pressed on, trying to scrape together words to describe what she had felt this
morning returning from the cesia. “The
bishop has . . . some sort of powers—some magic.”

The frown deepened. “How
do you know this?”

Kassia’s
heart quivered. She had expected him to laugh, to say, “Well, of course he does! Isn’t it obvious?” Instead, he seemed honestly
perplexed. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, perhaps he was merely surprised that
she had divined it.

“I
felt it. This morning as Mish— . . . as the king and I returned
from our devotions. Benedict came out to meet him. He wanted to talk to him,
and when the king refused, he pressed him—with magic. It was like lightning in the air—like cold fire. I
could feel it around me, pulling at Mishka trying to divide us, to draw him to
Benedict. But somehow, he fought it off. It didn’t affect him. He sent the Bishop away.” She puzzled at that. “It
made me wonder if the king might have some gift of his own that I couldn’t sense.”

Lukasha was no longer looking at her. Instead, he studied
the stone walkway beneath his feet. He sighed deeply, then said, “Kiska, do you remember
when you said, jokingly, I think, that it was too bad a ward couldn’t have a mind of its
own?”

She grimaced. “Yes.
It was a silly thing to say.”

“No,
Kassia. It wasn’t
at all silly. It was, in fact, quite astute. You were right. What Zelimir
needed was a living ward. A ward that could protect him from the willful
manipulation of others. A ward who could not only sense that manipulation, but
resist it, defuse it. Someone he would allow . . . close to him.”

He paused for a moment and she could feel him reading her.
She held her breath. Was he about to suggest—?

“I
provided him with such a ward.”

It took a moment for her to realize what he meant, but when
the words sunk in, when they formed a coherent image, Kassia’s universe came to a
complete halt. Her body continued to move; she breathed, walked, but within her
head all was still.

Finally, her lips formed words. “Master, what have you done?”

“I
have done what I could to protect my king. It worked. With you at his side,
Benedict couldn’t
touch him.”

She had to be certain. “I am the ward?”

“Yes.
I daresay it’s the
strongest warding spell I’ve
ever produced. I was afraid your powers might interfere with it, but instead
they amplify it. It is more successful than I had hoped.”

“But
Master, I will return to Dalibor in a week, and he will still be here,
surrounded by the same people and faced with having to choose a stranger as a
wife.”

“He
need not choose a stranger, Kiska.” His gaze was eloquent; there was no mistaking his meaning.

Still . . . “Surely, you can’t mean . . .
me
.”

“Why
not? Why shouldn’t
the King of Polia take a native daughter to wed? You are the essence of Polia,
Kiska.”

“I
am shai, Master. There are those who would sooner see their lord married to a
foreigner than to me. Besides which, I have no title, no land, no stature. I’m a commoner.”

“There
is nothing common about you, Kassia—a
thing Michal well knows. As to your returning to Dalibor, I suspect he will not
bear the separation.” He set a hand on her shoulder to stop her and turned her to face him. “Kassia, if he were to
ask you to stay, would you do it?”

She trembled. “My
life is in Dalibor, Master—at
Lorant—with
Beyla, with you. I wish to become a Mateu.”

“It
would be a great service to your king, Kassia, and to your people. Close to
him, you could protect him in ways no one else could—and there is no doubt he wants you close to him.”

Something in his tone sent a swift chill up Kassia’s spine. A question
pressed at her lips; she held it back. Instead, she asked, “What sort of ward did
you place on me?”

He raised his eyes to the clouds that scudded overhead. “It is a simple thing,
really. A strong wall ward with an element of . . . webbing. I’m surprised that no
one has tried it before. I suppose we all thought of wards as things one must
set on inanimate objects, never on people. No one has ever considered that a
ward might live and breathe and have volition . . . and powers.” He inclined his head, giving her a searching look. “So you see why I ask
you what you feel about Michal Zelimir.”

“If
you ask me if I love him, then the answer is ‘no’. I don’t know him well enough to love him.”

He frowned slightly. “You once told me you loved your husband on sight,
or very nearly so. What has time to do with love?”

“Perhaps
nothing. Perhaps the answer is that what was enough time for Shurik Cheslaf isn’t enough time for
Michal Zelimir.”

“And
if he loves you? If he asks you stay in Tabor . . . if I ask you
to consider it, for his sake and the sake of Polia?”

Kassia put her hands over her ears. “Please, Master. No more. You have given me too much
to think about and my mind reels. Let me go back to my rooms and rest.”

“You
will think about what I have said?”

“I
will think,” she agreed.

She was silent during their return to the palace. Silent
until they stood before the door to her rooms. Then, Lukasha took her by the
arms and turned her to face him, bringing her face up so that he might look
into her eyes. “Don’t think harshly of me,
Kassia. What I did was unorthodox, I know. I should have asked your permission.
But it worked. It has the potential to protect Zelimir from the political
pressure that surrounds him.”

“I
don’t think
harshly of you, Master,” she told him in all honesty. “But . . .
I wish you had told me what you were doing. I would have willingly let you ward
me to protect him.”

He moved deeper into her eyes. “Would you have, Kiska? Ah, yes, I believe you would
have. Forgive me, then, for my lack of faith.”

Within the safe confines of her room, Kassia pressed cold
hands against her flaming cheeks and tried to calm her soul. What she had told
Lukasha was true—she
did not love the king. Yet, there was something between them, something that
vibrated in the air and brought vague disquiet to her soul. Perhaps it was the
beginning of love, but it felt nothing like what she once had with Shurik.

She tried to contemplate all that Master Lukasha had
revealed to her, but she could not. In the end, she fled to the cesia again in
search of composure and guidance.

Though Kassia gave her Master’s wishes every consideration, she grew no more
comfortable with them. Worse, she was no longer comfortable with her king. She
must still be near him, for the Bishop, who now seemed to fathom her protective
function, pecked at her self-conscious defenses, trying to slide past them. As
if that were not enough to contend with, she could also feel a change in
Zelimir’s regard.
When his eyes were on her she knew without doubt that what had been simple
fondness was now freighted with urgency and tension. She sensed the questions
that threatened to escape his composure and feared that at any moment he would
take her aside and ask her to declare her own feelings, perhaps even request
that she stay in Tabor.

At all costs, she avoided being alone with him, a difficult
task, for her private attentions were something he obviously craved.

Finally, she was compelled to take Zakarij into her
confidence so as to enlist his aid. She feared he would think she’d taken leave of her
senses and greet her fears with disbelief or even derision. His total lack of
expression when she finished her tale came as a complete surprise.