Turning the Storm (34 page)

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Giovanni said. “Does that mean you don't hate me anymore?” He opened his eyes again; they glinted with tears of pain.

“I haven't hated you for ages,” I said.

“Do you like me?” he asked.

“Don't push it. You need to move; we're still in the middle of a battle, you know.”

Giovanni stood shakily and drew his sword. “I can fight,” he said. “It wasn't my sword-arm that was hurt.”

“Trying to prove your manliness?” I asked.

“Oh, shut up. Some of us have a battle to win.”

We swarmed into the enclave like wasps, terrified Fedeli priests scattering from our path. The trumpeter blasted a signal,
to the Circle's Citadel
. We made our way through the smoke. My eyes were watering, and I saw the gardens through a blurred haze. I hardly recognized where I was, but the Circle's enclave would be ahead and to my left. I touched my violin once or twice to be sure that I hadn't lost it.

The Circle had fortified their building as much as they possibly could, and laid in supplies for a siege, just in case we could come up with a way to wage one. Placido's machine was not going to work against these walls, but that was all right; I had another idea. I ducked into one of the circles of dancers that danced by the edge of the Circle's fortress. The piazza was thick with dancers. We spread out around the fortress, making room as more circles arrived. Frustrated mages occasionally threw magefire at us, but it sparkled harmlessly off the edge of our circles.

“Now,” I said, and raised my whistle to my lips, blowing a single long blast. Every circle dropped hands, flattened into a line, and reclasped hands to form a single vast circle around the entire building.

Flavia pounded out a drumbeat that echoed through the streets, even over the noise of the battle, and I started to play.
Rachimin Arkah—Rachimin Gèsu
. This was
the dance that turned the storm; this was the dance that turned back magefire.
Rachamin Arkah
. The power surged around me and through me, like a river, an ocean, a hurricane.
Rachamin Gèsu
. I stretched out my arms, holding my violin and bow out like dagger and sword, my fists to the sky, and I focused the power on the walls.
This is the dance that crumbles walls
. I heard thunder, or the roaring in my ears. The barricaded doors and windows of the fortress blew open with force enough to knock back anyone who'd stood too close, with the crack of split wood and broken stone.
Burn
, I said to the walls, and I could smell bitter smoke, hear cries of fear from inside.
Burn, like you burned my family. Burn, all of you, burn
.

We broke our circle to let soldiers into the building. I shoved my violin into its case and drew my sword, following the soldiers in. The Circle had designed their fortifications to keep us out, not to provide themselves with escape routes. They had worked out strategies to fight us if we got inside, but the strategies were easy to guess and exploit. If they used magefire, they'd kill their own. If they didn't use magefire, they'd never stand against us. They were trapped.

The hallways were narrow and so at first I found myself behind a knot of people, with more pushing from behind. Members of the Circle Guard had blocked the hallway; the knot broke loose as they turned and fled. I was swept quickly past the remains of the fight, scattered bodies and slippery blood. The mages would be upstairs, with the guard down here to protect them. I headed for the staircase, backing off as a gout of sudden flame billowed down the stone spiral. It was only one mage, maybe two, but I frantically gestured the approaching
soldiers to stand back. I yanked out my violin and started to play, loud enough for the sound to carry upstairs. Some of the soldiers formed a clumsy dance circle, but it hardly mattered. The mage couldn't see around the curve and fled at the sound of the music.

Dancers and other musicians arrived and began forming dance circles in the Circle's Great Hall, so I shoved my violin away and drew my sword again, charging up the steps. The mage had fled ahead of our advance, and the staircase opened onto a long hallway of closed doors. “Knock them down,” I ordered.

The doors had been barricaded, but one after another they collapsed in on themselves. I ran to the end of the hallway, following Lupi through that door. The room was dark and quiet, and richly furnished. “Is there anyone here?” the man beside me asked.

“Search,” I said.

That room led to another room, and then another, this one brightly lit. I came in and saw a blue-robed man raising his hands to summon magefire, his eyes closed. It would take a moment for the fire to come, and I ran forward, slamming my sword into his gut. He cried out, his fire dissolving like red mist. I pulled my sword out and he slipped to the floor.

“Give me a clean death, damn you,” he choked out. “Don't leave me like this.”

I drew back my sword to cut his throat, then paused. “Open your eyes, old man,” I said. “Look at me. Liemo. Look at me.”

The mage who had held me hostage—who had forced Mira to return to the Circle—opened his eyes and squinted at me through his pain. “Do I know you?”

“You should,” I said. “You made me your prisoner.

You tried to have me maimed. And you took from me the woman I loved most in the world.”

Liemo's eyes widened slightly. “You're Miriamne's friend, aren't you?”

“I am Eliana,” I said. “Generale of the Lupi and, yes. Mira's friend.”

Liemo's lips twitched into almost a smile and he motioned for me to bend closer. I leaned down. “Do you want your friend?” he whispered. “She's not here. She slipped away just before the battle. I don't know where she went.”

“What makes you think I want to find her?” I said.

Liemo laughed, then flinched from the pain. “The woman you loved most in the world?” He shook his head. “Do as you please, girl, but give me a decent death first. I'm sorry I took your friend, and I'm sorry I threatened you. It was—necessary.” He closed his eyes and turned his face away from me.

I braced my sword briefly against his chest, then thrust it into his heart. He gave a brief jerk, then was still. I wiped my sword on his robes and then stood, dazed. The Lupi waited, watching me.

“Search the rest of the room,” I said. “Kill any mages you find.” I sheathed my sword and stumbled back down the stairs.

Outside, the air was gray with smoke and dust. I had seen enough battles now to know we would win. There were Fedeli soldiers and Circle Guards stumbling through the haze, crying threats and searching for their fellows, but most had fled or fallen. I wandered toward the gardens. They had been trampled in the fighting; I could see scattered bits of rosebush and leaves of flowers that would have bloomed yellow and white in a few weeks. As I looked around at the devastation, I heard
music. It was just a few notes, very faint, on a wisp of a breeze that stirred the dust and blew more choking smoke into my face. There was music all around me, but this was not a Redentore song. Straining to hear, I caught another snatch of music on the breeze.

I wound my way through to the other side of the gardens, into the shadows of the buildings that had once housed guards, servants, and musicians. The fighting had left this part of the enclave almost untouched. No one was here, though I saw a terrified guardsman who cried out and fled when he saw me. I ignored him. The doors of the musicians' dormitory stood open; inside was shadowed and hazy with stray smoke, but oddly peaceful. The music was louder here—I could identify the music now. Finger exercises. I stepped carefully around the corner, as quietly as I could, but Mira heard me, and the music changed.
Rachamin Arkah. Rachamin Gèsu
. I slipped the door open.

Mira was alone.

She stood by the shuttered window, her back to me. She finished the song and lowered her violin and bow, holding them slack at her sides. “Hello, Eliana,” she said, still not turning around.

“Mira,” I said.

Mira turned, and met my eyes. She set her violin and bow down and reached her hands out to grip mine. I stepped forward, grasping her hands with my own, and she pulled me toward her, her lips soft against mine. I wrapped my arms around her, my heart pounding. Mira broke the kiss and pushed me away. Her eyes were frightened but resolute, and they burned with dark fire.

“Go ahead and kill me,” she said. “Just make it fast.”

I shook my head. “I'm not—”

“You have no choice. Please.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to look at me again. “I mean it. I'm as much a prisoner to magery as you were to the Fedeli. You have no choice. If you want to destroy the Circle, you have to kill me.” Her eyes scorched through me to the soles of my feet.

I drew my sword. Mira clasped my face and pulled it to hers again. I felt her breath mix with mine, the heat from her cheeks. Touching Mira was like drawing the power of a thousand dancers; my head spun and I could see light like a million stars. She took my hand and drew the tip of my sword to her heart. I felt her tense, and brace herself—

I jerked my sword back as Mira threw herself forward, catching her with my other arm before she could fall. “The destruction of the Circle is nothing to me if it doesn't mean your freedom. Mira. I will not kill you. If you have the will to die for me, you have the will to defeat magery again. I know your heart. Some things are stronger than magefire.”

Mira swallowed once, and I saw her cheeks grow pale. I picked up her violin and bow and put them in the case that lay on the floor. She made no move to take the case, so I slipped the strap over her shoulder. I would need to hide her robes somehow; I glanced around the empty room, then opened her violin case again, shaking out the blanket that padded the violin inside and wrapping it around her shoulders. “You'll have to carry your violin in your arms,” I said. Mira took the violin as I handed it to her, but made no other movement. “Come on,” I said. “I'm getting you out of Cuore.”

The enclave was awash with smoke, dust, and blood; the haze rose red from the streets. I slipped one arm
around Mira, pulled her arm over my shoulder; I would look like someone assisting an injured companion. I ducked my head to hide my face, but I didn't see anyone looking at us. Mira played the part of a wounded soldier well enough, stumbling through the streets like someone drunk and blind.

The fight was in the center of Cuore; the edge of Cuore looked like the battlefield's frayed hem. Fleeing Circle guardsmen and Fedeli, terrified Lupi and Imperial soldiers, had flung themselves down here to catch their breath. The air had begun to clear, and you could see that Cuore was cloaked in swaths of thick smoke. Most important, there were riderless horses that had found their way here from the battle. They were skittish, but I managed to persuade one to come to me, and to let Mira take the reins.

“Go,” I said.

Mira started to mount the horse, then turned back. “Why did you save me?” she whispered.

I took Mira's face in my hands and gave her one last gentle kiss. “You know why,” I said. “Go.”

∗    ∗    ∗

By evening, the dust had settled, and a gentle rain put out the smoldering fires. The enclave was secured. The mages and Fedeli, slaughtered. I went to find Isabella, and discovered that she was among the dead; so were Severo and the mad prophet, Amedeo. I felt as lost as I had the night I returned to the ruins of my village. We had won.

PART FOUR
Then Follow Me

C
lara, a word with you.” The enclave's gardens had come through the battle for Cuore surprisingly well. Two months after the war had ended, there were no flowers in the garden, but many would bloom again next year. In the meantime, damaged benches and fountains had been repaired, to allow for precisely this sort of informal mingling, maneuvering, and toadying.

“Of course, Eliana, I'm always happy to spend time with you.” Clara sat down at the edge of the fountain, gesturing for me to join her. She wore the dark blue dress that had become the uniform of the Servi, with a huge jeweled cross. Though it was a hot day, she seemed perfectly comfortable: no sweat on her dress, and not a hair out of place.

“I understand Valentino has somehow gotten in trouble with the Servi again,” I said, sitting down.

“Has he.” Clara's eyes were distant as she toyed with her cross.

“Yes. It seems that someone interpreted the phrase
‘Lady's tits’ as a fervent prayer. That seems odd to me. Is this the sort of enforcement your people usually engage in?”

“I imagine there were some … less-than-mitigating circumstances, perhaps?” Clara said.

“I'm confident that it was all just a misunderstanding,” I said. “Would you look into it for me?”

“I'd be glad to,” Clara said.

“Also, you know,” I said, “this is the third or fourth time that Valentino has been in trouble? It was only two months ago that we took Cuore. Each time it's been for something truly petty. I'm sure the vast majority of the Servi don't use their office to pursue personal grudges, but …”