The Nascenza Conspiracy (3 page)

“What do you mean?”

It almost made Petro laugh—she was genuinely puzzled. “You can’t be serious.” With a sweep of his hand, he gestured to the finery she wore, from the sparkling circlet in her hair, to the gown woven at the Millefiori looms, to the pretty points of her slippers. “You look like a fairy-princess engraving in a Catarre book. When I last saw you—what was it, only three months ago?—you were wearing a lace ruff.”

“That was for a holy feast!” Risa narrowed her eyes. “I’ll have you know that I’m clothed rather plainly, by court standards. I don’t wear jewelry, really.” Her fingers sought out the circlet studded with the tiniest of Divetri glass beads. “Rings and necklaces, anyway. And brooches. I don’t wear those.”

“You’re wearing a gown! Your hair is actually tidy!” Petro laughed. “Do you remember how much of her own hair Fita tore from the roots, trying to keep you out of boys’ breeches?”

Risa’s lips twitched. She and the Divetri housekeeper had never seen eye-to-eye on most issues. “You’re the lucky one,” she finally said, after an awkward pause. “You’re not in the public eye like I am. Remember how Fita always said we’d besmirch some mythical Divetri family honor if we stepped outside the caza with a smudge on our faces? I live the real version of that now. Everyone looks at me to see what I’ll do. And if I make one misstep
…
”

The door opened to admit two servants, both bearing trays. One was a sweet-faced girl who silently glided over to where they sat and placed before them a plate of toasted, buttered bread squares, spread thickly with crushed olives and fiddleheads, and a bowl of stuffed figs. The other servant was a thin, pinch-faced man who set a pitcher of iced ginger beer in front of them, then went to stand in a position of attention by the door.

“How is your daughter, Gloriana?” Risa asked the girl, taking one of the fruits.

“Very well, thank you, miss,” she replied, curtsying prettily. “She sends thanks for the books you were so kind as to give her.”

Risa beamed, happy to hear the words. “They’ll teach her well. I hope she enjoys them.”

Petro knew his sister. She’d probably spared no expense to give the girl books directly from Caza Catarre—books magically enhanced to speed and aid learning. His own family’s glass creations were likewise renowned for their special enchantments; Caza Divetri’s stained glass windows were not only beautiful but could withstand a battering that would reduce normal glass to mere shards, its wedding cups could help ensure a couple’s fidelity, and its extraordinary wine flutes could prevent any citizen wealthy enough to purchase them from being poisoned by an enemy. While all objects created by families of the Seven and Thirty carried enchantments, the creations of the Seven were especially sought-after.

The girl curtseyed once more and vanished, with a nod of her head to the servant remaining. Risa watched her go with a smile.

While Petro ate, he studied his sister.
She is unlike anyone else
, he thought to himself, and not for the first time. Unlike anyone in recent centuries, Risa Divetri had the ability to enchant objects in ways that the Seven and Thirty could not, nor even imagine. She’d had success in ensorcelling reflective surfaces (Divetri’s glass bowls, mirrors) into devices through which people could conduct entire conversations from leagues apart. While Caza Piratimare, the ship builders, could construct a frigate from wood and ordinary materials that was almost unsinkable, Risa had once used a lapful of paper boats to create an armada of fireships to defeat an invasion from Pays d’Azur. Since then, she had invested much of her time and attention in maintaining various illusions designed to convince allies and foes alike that Cassaforte had a strong navy. Few would guess that of the many mighty warships anchored in the city’s harbor, more than half were disused gondolas enchanted to appear infinitely larger and more fearsome, or that the fortifications erected on Cassaforte’s outermost islands were actually illusory.

“You really are lucky. Everything’s so simple for you,” Risa said again, once the servants had departed. “You don’t have the Seven and Thirty watching your every move, waiting for you to make a mistake. All you have to do is attend your lectures, and do your turns in the workshops, and answer questions
…
”

Petro’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, questions. I get them all day, every day. What are you going to
do
, Petro? Don’t you have a
purpose
for your life, Petro? You’re a Divetri who doesn’t like glass!” Unlike Risa, Petro had never experienced any joy from the family craft. Glass blowing was hot and dangerous work, and all his efforts invariably ended up recycled as cullet. “And then there’s the problems I have because of you.”

“Because of me?” Risa colored.

“Surely you know.” Petro could feel his own face reddening. With their identical chestnut-hued hair and red cheeks, they looked very similar. “You think everyone watches you for a misstep? Try walking in my sandals for a day. It’s all right for our older siblings—they’re out of the aspirant’s wing and working in the insula proper. Romeldo’s a priest but he’ll be Divetri’s cazarro sometime, so no one’s going to bad-mouth him. Vesta and Mira both have their own lives. If you feel watched, all you have to do is hide in here, behind the palace walls. Or bury yourself in the libraries of Caza Cassamagi. Or hide in Papa’s workshops. You’ve got that freedom. Me, though? At the insula we don’t have privacy. I share a room with eight other boys. If I say something in a foul temper, it’s all over the aspirant’s wing before I can blink an eye.
Oh, I always knew those Divetris weren’t as nice as they pretend to be.
If I don’t pay attention and get called on in a lecture, and I say something witless?
It’s such a pity that Petro turned out to be the least of the Divetris
. The brothers and sisters of the insula watch me like a hawk, and I know what they’re thinking.
Is he going to turn out like Risa? Why isn’t he talented, like Risa the Sorceress?
Gods. All I want is a chance to prove myself at something instead of being compared to you.”

He hadn’t intended to say so much. He certainly hadn’t intended to say it quite so loudly. For a moment Petro considered stuffing another of the toast squares into his mouth simply to shut himself up, but he suddenly wasn’t hungry.

“I had no idea,” Risa said slowly.

Petro looked away from her. She was staring at him in a way he didn’t like, as if she’d never really noticed him before. “It’s bad enough, with half of the Thirty in the insula looking for reasons to despise me,” he continued. “But then the other half are busy trying to get into my good graces, because I’m Risa Divetri’s brother. There’s one girl, of the Settecordis. Talia. I can tell that in her mind, we’re already married and raising a whole nest of Divetri insula babies. I could have the worst case of cabbage wind imaginable and she’d only sniff my gas as I walked by and say,
By Lena’s grace, that Petro Divetri smells like cakes and rainbows!
” Risa’s eyes blinked rapidly, as if she was torn between horror and wanting to laugh. “I’m glad I can tell who my enemies are. But gods, Risa. Not being able to separate the sycophants from my real friends is awful.”

Risa’s lips seemed to have settled into something resembling sympathy. She looked slyly to the side as she whispered, “Is she pretty? This Talia Settecordi?”

He glared. “Not a bit. She’s practically a leper. You’re horrid.”

“Oh, Petro.” Risa’s hand shot out and stroked his cheek, then chucked his chin. “I’m a ninny. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems. It never occurred to me you would have a whole battery of your own.”

“I don’t like standing out. That’s all.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.”

Slightly mollified by the apology, Petro shrugged. He felt as if he could manage one of the figs now. It was stuffed with some sort of honey-sweetened cheese and proved stickier than he’d expected.

“I’m very self-centered to think you wouldn’t have your own problems,” Risa said. “But now I fear I have to add to them.”

At the sound of those words, Petro’s heart sank. “Wha’ do oo ’ean?” he whuffed out, his mouth full of sticky curds. Risa’s mouth pursed as she thought how to proceed, and the action only made him more anxious. “Ritha? Wha’ ith it?”

“I’m very sorry, Petro.” His sister smoothed the fabric of her gown. “I know how you hate to stand out from everyone else.”

His mouth finally clear, Petro gulped with apprehension. “What have I done?”

“Nothing,” Risa said. “But you’re not going to like this at all.”

From the highest voice of our land comes permission to set the plan into motion. Little do they know that the weapon for their destruction is one they themselves planted, and which we have nurtured as our own for nigh upon ten years.

—The Baron Friedrich van Wiestel,
in a secret parcel to the spy Gustophe Werner

Will they rough up whoever you tell them to?” Adrio asked. He and Petro had managed to attract quite a crowd in the minute and a half since they’d returned to the insula. Almost immediately after entering through the front gates, they’d collected a crowd of gawkers, youth and instructors alike, who formed a curious train. By the time they reached the door to Elder Catarre’s chambers, the procession seemed to include half the lower insula. “Because that would come in handy.”

“No, they will not.” Petro’s reply was curt and to the point. He reached up to knock on the door, but hesitated.

“They’re guards!” Adrio said. “They’re trained to fight. You should use them to beat up Pom di Angeli. And the Falo twins. And Brother Michelo. I could come up with a list.” He licked his lips at the thought. “A long list. With codicils to be added later.”

The sight of two youths accompanied by palace guards was nothing unusual upon the city’s streets, but both the Insula of the Penitents of Lena and the Insula of the Children of Muro were so independent from the city that it was rare for either palace guards or city guards to invade the sanctity of the insulas themselves. The two guards that Risa had sent back with Petro had no chance of blending in among the grubby aspirants. In their crimson and gold uniforms, they stood out like two shining ingots among a bucketful of dull sea pebbles.

“It’s bad enough that we’re attracting the attention of every person inside these walls,” Petro growled at his friend. He felt too acutely aware of every gaze upon him at that moment. Assigning him guards for the indefinite future had indeed been the cruelest thing Risa could have done. “Do you really think I want to create enemies?”

“Aren’t the guards supposed to protect you against enemies?”

Though they spoke in whispers, afraid of being overheard, Petro could barely contain himself. “Every person who already dislikes me is going to think I’ve gone and blubbered to my big powerful sister!” he hissed. “This is awful.” Adrio appeared as if he might reply, but then shrugged. Petro shook his head, cleared his throat, and, before knocking, said to his new watchmen, “I’d prefer if you stayed outside while we visited the elder.”

“Those are not our orders, Cazarrino,” replied the older of the two guards. His hair was shaggy enough that Petro had mentally begun to refer to him as “Mop-Head.” “Your sister and the king himself have ordered us to accompany you
…
”

“ … At all times, in all places, yes, I know.” Petro sighed. Elder Catarre had already responded to his tap at her door, and he couldn’t delay the confrontation much longer. “Blast my luck.”

“You’ll be fine,” Adrio assured him. “She probably won’t even notice.”

Whether his friend was deluded or merely optimistic, Petro had no idea. What he did know for certain, however, was that the moment he opened the door to the elder’s book-lined chambers, she looked up from her writing table and, peering over the tops of her tiny Cassamagi spectacles, absorbed the tableau just beyond the door frame. First, she saw the two boys—one with the Divetri chestnut hair and an expression like he had bitten into a lemon, the other quite short and unkempt. Then she took in the large, muscular guards accompanying them, and finally noticed the people crowding in the arched corridor to see what was happening. At last, her lips parted and she spoke. “My assistants did not inform me the circus had come to town.”

“I beg your pardon, Elder Catarre.” Petro attempted to sound as though he weren’t surrounded by madness. “You wished to see us?”

Though she didn’t lose her considerable composure at all, it was obvious that the elder was at a momentary loss for words.
She rose from her cluttered table and leaned forward, her palms flat on its surface. “Indeed I did, Divetri. Indeed I did. What I did not expect to see, however, was the ringmaster of a carnival accompanied by his toy monkey, touring the provinces and dazzling the yokels. Nor an illusionist awing his audience, nor a pasha who treats the world as his harem! Are those what you think you are, Divetri?”

There was no answer to any of those questions, save, “No, Elder?”

“Close the door.” At her flinty words, Adrio leapt to obey, though not before the two guards glided smoothly inside. Once they had some privacy, the elder continued. “Why is it, Divetri, that I cannot take ten steps within my own insula, a large enough establishment, to be certain, without constantly encountering reminders that you are here? Who are these men and why are they in my insula?”

“The guards are … I didn’t ask for them!” Petro protested. When he looked at the men in crimson, they stared blandly into space, offering no assistance. “She
…
I
…
” His voice trailed off as he tried to think how to explain.

Back at the palace, Risa had sighed deeply and sincerely before breaking the news to him. “I’m going to say this as quickly as possible. Milo is hosting a delegation from Vereinigtelände. They arrived last night. We have it on the best authority that they plan to suggest something truly appalling. They will be proposing that a close alliance between their country and Cassaforte is the best way to avoid war. They would gain access to our ports and harbors; in return, they would pledge their armies for our protection.”

“That doesn’t sound appalling at all,” Petro had said, not understanding. Vereinigtelände shared Cassaforte’s northern border. Only the
pasecollina
—a one-hundred-league stretch of farmlands and dense woods belonging to Cassaforte—lay between the city and the foothills of mountainous Vereinigtelände. “It seems everyone gets something.”

“Except for me.” No castor-bean elixir was as bitter as Risa’s words. “Everyone except me.” She sighed once more. “This close alliance they are going to propose will come about through a marriage. The marriage of King Milo of Cassaforte to one of the Emperor of Vereinigtelände’s daughters.”

Petro had blinked, staggered. Milo and Risa had been in love for years. “What does Milo think about this? I can’t imagine you’ve hidden your reaction from him.”

“What does that mean?” Risa had snapped.

“Risa! You’re not exactly known for concealing your emotions. You yell. You throw the most amazing tantrums.”

“This woman—she’s almost thirty!” His sister’s indignant tone had subsided a little bit. “I’ve tried to think of a hundred reasons why Milo shouldn’t do it, and I can only come up with one. One single, selfish reason.” She didn’t have to say what it was. Petro already knew.

“Doesn’t he love you?”

“Love … love isn’t always easy and sweet, like the songs from the broadsides.” Risa spoke in the softest voice possible. “I’m more
myself
with Milo than I am with anyone else, even family. That’s what’s important. Oh, don’t be offended. You’ll know how it is one day. But love is not the only consideration. I’ll be here for him when he needs me, and that dreadful old wrinkled crone will be up in the mountains and the snow in Bramen, eating pickled radishes and sausages and playing with her bunions. They’ll meet twice a year and produce an acceptable heir, while I continue to work with him and be whatever it is he wants me to be. I won’t stop loving him! I just won’t be married to him. That’s all.” His sister toyed with the hem of her sleeve and smiled, but Petro hadn’t been fooled. Her face was that of a little girl pretending to be brave.

Watching his sister capitulate had been almost worse than the marriage scheme itself. Even now, it was difficult to think about. After some gargled sounds in his throat, Petro finally managed an explanation for Gina Catarre. “There is a situation at the palace, Elder, that my sister—as well as King Milo and the High Commander of the guards, Lorco Fiernetto—feels warrants the presence of guards for the Divetris.”

“Oh, she feels that, does she?” The elder looked as if she had an opinion on that subject.

Petro tried to explain with as few details as possible. “My sister feels that someone overzealous might use the Divetris to attempt to influence her opinion, with, um, violent means.”

“Like cutting off Petro’s ear to make Risa agree to something she doesn’t want to do,” Adrio added, trying to be helpful.

The elder stared at them both. In a voice so dry it could have withered a plump melon, she inquired, “How likely, Cazarrino, am I to stumble across your disembodied appendages in the course of my daily events?”

“It’s a formality, and only until the wedding—I mean, not likely at all,” Petro mumbled, looking at the floor. “I don’t want these guards. If they’re a bother, send them back to the palace.”

“Your entourage is out of my hands at this point,” she replied. “What I mind is that very much of my life of late has revolved around Petro Divetri. I have instructors from the upper insula applying to me constantly, asking if they might have you in their workshops.”

“Really?” asked Petro, suddenly interested.

“Requests made not due to your academic fumblings, but rather from a desire to test any skills, latent or active, in the younger brother of Risa the Sorceress.”

Petro’s shoulders slumped. Better to have remained unexceptional than sought-after because of Risa.

The elder circled her desk until she stood directly in front of Petro. Adrio scooted to the side to give her room. “Several glass workshops in the outposts are already squabbling over which of them will eventually be graced with your presence, though I have seen no evidence you have the skill or desire to work glass. I constantly receive requests from the parents of aspirants asking that you become friends with their children—as if I could arrange such a thing. And just when I believe I am having a quiet morning’s walk away from Signor Petro Divetri, I find him dangling from the insula masonry.”

Although the crowd was out in the hallway, Petro could feel their curiosity through the closed door. It almost seemed to suffocate him. “I don’t mean to be a problem.”

“I have ledgers and correspondence,” continued the elder, in an increasingly strident tone. “Fifteen outposts look to me for guidance. I manage the everyday concerns of our residency wing. The vast number of my concerns should push you to the fringes, and yet I find you impossible to ignore, much less avoid.” From his position slightly behind Gina Catarre, Adrio held up his hands and, as if they were stocking Pulcinella puppets, pretended to make them talk. Without turning her head, Elder Catarre grabbed Adrio’s ear and gave him a rough shake.

“Ow!” Adrio squawked. “And to think I never believed when they said you’d eyes in the back of your head.”

Elder Catarre released his lobe and sent him reeling to one side. “Cazarrino, it is for these reasons, and not because of your new attendants, that I have decided to declare the Insula of the Penitents of Lena completely Petro Divetri–free, beginning two days from tomorrow.”

The small hairs on the back of Petro’s neck all stood in alarm. Risa had worried about what their parents thought when she was denied admission to the insulas, but that was absolutely nothing compared to the things they would say when Petro was sent home from his. “But I … you can’t … !”

With another sigh, the elder relented. “Oh, don’t look so stricken. It’s not forever. I’m merely sending you to Nascenza for the Midsummer High Rites.” As Petro blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes of panic-induced haze, she added, “Surely, as a member of one of Cassaforte’s leading families, you are aware that the Midsummer holiday is not simply an excuse to stay out until sunrise, drinking and wenching?”