The Spirit Gate (38 page)

“I
don’t know. If I
knew, maybe I could block it more effectively.”

Zakarij passed her a look that was slyness itself. “There are ways we
could find out.” He started to rise.

Kassia was beyond endurance. She wilted back into her chair.
“Oh, please,
Zakarij. I must sleep. Morning will come too soon as it is, and I’ve had enough
traveling for one day. I’ve
already been from Dalibor to Tabor to Khitan and back again.”

“Khitan?”

“Lukasha
took me to see the kagan. So I could tell if he was being manipulated by magic.
He is.” She yawned. She was slipping from the grasp of consciousness even as she
spoke. “He is,” she repeated, and slept.

She awoke the next morning in the soft comfort of her bed
and felt deliciously warmed by the thought that Zakarij must have so carefully
arranged her pillows and nestled her among them. She assumed he must have
returned to Dalibor in the night, and was surprised to find that instead, he
had gone directly to their Master’s
room to make his presence known and had drawn the task of trying to discover if
there was, indeed, more than one sorcerer sent them from Avignon.

They broke fast together in Master Antal’s private quarters, a
pleasant little manor in the shadow of the palace’s eastern wall. There, Master Lukasha announced
that he had devised a plan to protect the king from Benedict’s manipulations. It
was a plan that devolved entirely on Kassia’s ability to teach others to block the bishop’s touch.

“Teach
you?” she repeated, feeling suddenly stupid.

“You’ve taught me much more
complicated things, child,” Lukasha reminded her. “I
had thought Antal might block Chancellor Bogorja while Zakarij and the other
Aspirants and Mateu at court could provide protection for other individuals
near Zelimir. How did you block the bishop before?”

Kassia took a deep breath and considered that. She had never
been asked to define or describe the process. “I . . . I imagined a wall between
the bishop and Zelimir. An elemental wall. I was with the king the first time I
did it. That was when I formed the image.”

Lukasha nodded. “What
incantations do you use? What equations?”

“I . . .
there are none.” Embarrassment made her cheeks burn . . .

Antal’s
brows squirmed into a frown. “You
have no incantations? How can that be?”

Kassia lifted a wing of white hair back from her forehead. “I don’t know. I simply form
the image and put it where I want it.”

Lukasha and Antal shared a glance, then Lukasha said. “Well, there is surely
an equation that goes with this spell and we shall find it. If we dissect the
elements, we’ll
discover the spirits that control them.”

They spent the next hour or so doing just that, after which
Kassia worked to teach them the spell. It was not very hard after all; the
Mateu and their Apprentices seemed to comprehend the principles behind the
spell well enough, but the proof would be in the doing. Though they took turns
practicing on each other—blocking
suggestions and thoughts—they
would not have the opportunity to prove themselves until Zelimir convened his
court.

That moment was delayed. Zelimir was reported to have had a “bad night,” and so the conspirators were forced to dally until their king called for
them. Zakarij and Kassia strolled the cesia’s lush gardens, a part of Kassia’s mind ever aware of
her adversary.

“How
can you tell,” asked Zakarij as if he sensed her mental division, “when Benedict is
working his will on Zelimir?”

She chuckled and shook her head. Once again, she had to
ponder her own processes. “I
hold a constant awareness of the king,” she said at last. “When
Benedict intrudes on him, I feel it.”

“A
constant awareness,” Zakarij murmured. “I
envy our king more every day.”

She glanced at him out of the tail of her eye. There was
that irritating smile-not-smile again. “Well,
you might certainly envy him his home or his gardens or his place of worship. I
don’t think I’d envy him his
political problems just now.”

“I
wasn’t thinking
of any of those things . . . as you well know.”

“How
should I know? You’re
a bigger mystery to me by far than Michal Zelimir. You’re so . . . opaque. You close so
much of yourself away.”

“Whereas
you don’t?”

She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “I didn’t think so.”

“Well,
you’re wrong. You
do. You hide things deep in your eyes where I can’t reach them.”

“You
want to reach them, do you, Zakarij?”

He didn’t
answer, but his eyes were, for once, transparent as glass, and while Kassia
tried to absorb what she read in them, he framed her face with gentle hands,
lowered his head and kissed her mouth. It was a touch that left Kassia with no
doubt about what either of them felt. Time and place were swept away as surely
as if she’d
stepped into her bespelled corridor, though there was no swirl of light. She
heard the sough of wind and the song of bird and the chatter of courtiers
beyond the garden wall as if those things had been suddenly amplified. Passion
flooded the kiss—from
both sides equally—and
she felt his hands drift from face to neck to shoulders, warm, sensuous,
caressing, seeking to draw her into a full embrace. On the verge of giving
herself over to that embrace, she realized they were being observed.

She lowered her head, regretfully breaking contact with his
lips, and murmured, “Someone’s watching us.”

He didn’t
move apart from her, but merely leaned his forehead against hers, returning his
hands to her neck. “Are
you sure?”

She nodded. “I
can’t tell who it
is.”

“Does
it matter?”

“No.”

It didn’t
matter, she mused, as they continued their walk. If Shurik looked down on them
from the world of God, would he disapprove?

“What
will Beyla think of me?” Zakarij asked as they wandered back toward the palace. “Will he accept me?”

Kassia smiled. “Beyla
thinks you’re
quite wonderful. He’s
said he wishes to be a Mateu just like you . . . and me.”

“Ah,
but there’s a
difference between finding someone wonderful when he’s your mother’s friend and finding him wonderful when he suddenly
becomes your mother’s
husband.”

Kassia felt a soft tingle of unnameable emotion at the
words. She had been without a husband for three years that felt like twenty.
She had never thought to have a husband again. That she loved Zakarij she had
no doubt, but so different was it from what she had felt for Shurik . . .

“I
doubt Shurik wants you to live your life a widow,” murmured Zakarij, “or to have his son
grow up fatherless when there’s
someone who will love you both. If I were in Shurik’s place, I wouldn’t want it.”

Kassia paused below the stone gallery that flanked the
palace’s northern
wing and peered at Zakarij through narrowed eyes. “Do you plan to continue reading my mind, Aspirant
Zakarij? I find it . . . disconcerting.”

He only smiled at her—as close to a grin as she’d ever seen on his face—and escorted her up the gallery stairs and into the
palace. They had crossed the atrium and were approaching the main entry hall
with its elaborate stair, when Master Lukasha came upon them. He seemed
agitated to Kassia, though there was nothing that she could point to in his
manner that told her so. She was instantly alert, wondering if something new
had happened to alarm him.

“Ah,
there you are! The king will be in his council chamber soon.” He put his arms about their shoulders and turned to Zakarij. “I have a task for you,
my son. A task of critical importance. You must come with me this moment.
Kassia, the king wishes to consult with you prior to the council meeting. Find
Chancellor Bogorja. He’ll
escort you to Zelimir’s
quarters.”

Even with Lukasha between them, Kassia could feel Zakarij
stiffen at the mention of the King’s
summons. She smiled, thinking how dear it was, marveling at how love for the
man had snuck up on her so unobtrusively.

“At
once, Master,” she said and went to discharge her duty.

oOo

Lukasha and Zakarij watched Kassia go off to pursue her
own mission, then the Mateu escorted the Aspirant to his private quarters.

“We
shall be able to speak here unheard,” he told him. “I’ve warded these rooms
against listeners.”

Zakarij was immediately wary. “What’s
wrong, Master? What’s
happened?”

“As
you know, Benedict is working his will strongly on the Gherai Khan. If nothing
is done, the Horde will move again, striking further into Khitan province or
even moving into Teschen.”

“What
can we do? I’ve
yet to discover any hint of arcane ability among Benedict’s colleagues or staff.
Even Kassia is unable to block this new intrusion.”

Lukasha fixed him with an appraising gaze, a frown growing
between his brows. “You
have become very fond of our Kiska, have you not?”

Heat crept up the back of Zakarij’s neck. Dear Mat, he was blushing! “Yes, Master, I have.”

“Does
she return this fondness?”

Zakarij nodded. “It’s rather more than
fondness, Master. I love her. And she, for some mysterious reason, loves me. We
wish to be married when we return to Dalibor . . . if Beyla will
have me as a father.” Lukasha’s
expression was so grim, it raised a chill across Zakarij’s back. “Do
you disapprove, Master?”

Lukasha shook his head. “Not at all, Zakarij. It’s only that I find myself about to ask you to
undertake a very dangerous task. Benedict is controlling the Gherai Khan. I
need you to go to Khitan province. I need you, not to block, but to place a
tight shield around the Mongol lord. Do you think you can do this?”

An elemental shield was an extension of the energies of the
one who wielded it. As such, it had to be controlled directly and closely. “I would have to get
very near him,” Zakarij said. “Even
then . . .”

“I
see no alternative.”

Zakarij would sooner have thrust his hand into a fire than
refuse his Master’s
request. Uncertain of his powers, frightened of the unknown, he packed up his
wits, carefully constructed a Traveling spell and went to Khitan.

oOo

Within the royal wing, the corridors were paneled with
golden-warm oak and lit by frequent, if narrow, windows and even more frequent
ensconced candles. Kassia saw the hand of Master Antal in those, for it was
obvious the mellow puffs of flameless light glowed without consuming the
pristine wicks. There were flowers here, as well, kept forever fresh and
aromatic in nearly invisible bubbles of enchantment. Their perfume mingled
pleasantly with something spicy, giving Kassia the impression she was passing
through trailing banners of incense smoke. It was unutterably pleasant, and she
would have gladly lingered here, for she dreaded meeting Zelimir.

Still, by the time the royal courier, a spritely young man
named Sapieha, had led her to the colorful gilded doors of the King’s most private
chambers, she was fully in control of her trepidations. She did not doubt that
Michal Zelimir was truly fond of her. She also believed him to be a man of
honor. She could only pray that fondness and honor would not allow him to
demand her unwilling compliance.

The King’s
dresser had just settled a wrap of white silk about his lord’s shoulders when
Kassia entered. He was a courtly creature a good head shorter than the king and
as he exited the chamber he fixed Kassia with a gaze at once curious and
censuring, reminding her once again that she was a peasant, regardless of her
education or aspirations. His superior expression brought Damek to mind and
Kassia smiled involuntarily.

“Forgive
Komar. In his mind he is the king and I the servant.”

“He
reminds me of someone at home,” she said and bid herself relax when Zelimir motioned her to a seat upon
a broad padded couch near a tall set of atrium doors. They were open just now
and a balmy breeze wafted into the room stirring the air pleasantly. She moved
to the couch, but was distracted, before she could sit, by the view she was
afforded of the King’s
private garden.

“Would
you like to see it?”

He was directly behind her, his breath fanning the hair that
lay across her shoulders. With a will, she kept herself from pulling away.

“Very
much.”

The garden, full of exotic flowering plants and artfully
sculpted shrubs, was beautiful in the extreme. She marveled at everything,
forgetting for a measure of time the suffocating embrace of Michal Zelimir’s attentions. At
length, they entered a vine draped arbor, moving single file through a curtain
of ivy that obscured the palace. Kassia gasped in renewed wonder at the
corridor of living green that lay ahead, its walls and ceiling shot through
with muted sunlight. Before she could turn to him, an exclamation of pleasure
on her lips, Zelimir’s
hands were on her shoulders, drawing her back against him.

Through his fingertips, through the flesh of her back, she
could feel him quiver like a taut bowstring. His breath came quickly and
lightly past her ear.

“Do
you like my garden, Kassia?”

Suddenly overwhelmed by him, she was unable to answer.

“It
could be your garden as well.
Our
garden.” His hands moved softly up and down her arms, sending static charges
through the fine linen that covered them. “Come, let me show you a place.” He moved quickly to take her hand and led her, his face boyish, beneath
the canopy of green toward some unknown wonder.

Kassia, though she all but staggered with relief, was
bemused that she could inspire such quaking passion in a man of Michal Zelimir’s sophistication. No,
she realized, as she followed him through the garden passage, their fingers
linked. This wasn’t
right. She had known passion with Shurik, had felt it less than an hour ago in
Zakarij’s touch.
She knew the feel of passion—from
warmth to blazing heat to tiny tongues of sensual fire—this was different.