Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Light pours through the stained-glass ceiling, spilling over the table like an ethereal river of colour, flowing and swirling as we lean over the city map. The High Chamber hums with activity, and for once it feels … good. Like we’re making progress, like I’m not the person holding everything up.
Idris isn’t here. He’s taken Alfieri and Tahira to seek out some agitators he’s tracking.
His absence is like a gaping crater in the room.
I’ve grown so used to him being close again, like a devastating black sun that screams for my attention, the two of us orbiting each other unable to ever break free.
“Here,” Otta says, pointing to an empty church. “We’ve converted it into dormitories. We’ve filled it with bunks to create more room.”
“We’ve divided it into women’s and men’s,” explains Maggia. “We’ve tried to make it so families can stay together, but if desperate or difficult situations arise, then they can get the space that they need.”
“I suppose tensions are high everywhere right now,” I says, folding my arms across my middle.
“We’ve also managed to set up a few community schools, with everyone taking turns to teach the children. It’s … well, the kids are having fun at least, and we know they’re getting fed at least once a day.” Otta and Maggia laugh together as though sharing a secret. I nod.
“If they’re happy, that’ll give their parents one less thing to worry about,” I say. “This is great work, guys.”
“All we need is for you to sign off on this sanitation budget,” says Maggia, handing me the bill.
“Has Giulia seen it?” I ask as I take it, scanning it quickly. Seems reasonable but five new spaces seems excessive. We are at war and they are emergency fixtures.
“Not yet. We wanted you to see it first.”
“Okay, well, this looks great but do we really need five? Narrow it down to three, strip it to the essentials. These are emergency stations, not permanent fixtures, and I’ll sign it off this afternoon,” I say, handing it back. Maggia’s shoulders fold down.
“But if we build them as permanent fixtures, the long-term impact—” Maggia begins.
“Maggia,” I interrupt with a kind but firm smile, “right now, we are just trying to get to High Winter and still be a free city. While I would love to see more of this when we’re in peacetime, this is not the right moment.
But this is great work. It’ll be so useful for a bill when the High Chamber is restored and we’ve sent the Holy Mother and her Church Militia packing.
But right now, we need to protect lives more immediately, okay? ”
Maggia nods but still looks disappointed.
“Alright.”
“Great. I’ll speak in a bit—”
“Signora Di Maineri. Signora!” comes a hurried voice. I turn around to see a teenager running into the room, cheeks flushed and floppy hair slick with sweat. He holds up a letter in his hands as he weaves through the people, but gets blocked by the City Guards who swarm to bar his way towards me.
“An urgent letter for the Maestrus of Halice. From the Holy States,” says the messenger, his skinny arm holding it up over the wall of steel between him and me.
People start muttering as I walk forwards, reaching across to take the letter. I turn it over, spying the black and white marbled wax seal, the three-headed eagle stamped and dusted with gold.
“Someone find Idris Patricelli. Tell him it’s not an emergency but I need to speak with him,” I say, tapping the letter between my fingers. A few guards hurry about my order as I turn around, eyes jumping around the room until I meet my sister’s. Giulia stands, encouragement on her face.
I snap the wax and open up the pages to see the fine black script curling over the page.
To the temporary Maestrus of Halice, Renza Di Maineri,
In her magnanimous grace and wisdom, Holy Mother Marchella Abbati has decided to send a diplomatic envoy to your city.
Her Holiness insists that this envoy be given all due safety befitting a peaceful, diplomatic effort.
This diplomat will be charged with carrying formal word between you and her esteemed Holiness.
With the Grace of Fate,
Her Holiness, Marchella Abbati, rightly elected Holy Mother, Interpreter of Fate, Leader of the Great Holy Faith and lands
Hmm, well, I wasn’t expecting this.
I look up and the entire room is waiting for me to respond. I clear my throat.
“Thank you for your concern, but please don’t pause our preparations,” I say, encouraging people to go about their business.
People spring back into action, realising that I won’t be publicly sharing the contents of this letter.
I turn back to the page in my hands, rereading the words before me again, chewing over what this could mean.
The Holy Mother is the divine leader of the Holy States, with king-like power, but it’s not absolute.
Upon the death of her predecessor, a council of cardinals chose her as the new successor.
She has to keep these powerful cardinals happy to ensure their continued support for her reign and prevent their attempts to stage a coup or kill her off.
That’s likely what this is, a show of diplomacy for those she needs to placate. Or some kind of trap.
A hand comes to my shoulder and I turn to see Michelle. She offers me a warm, encouraging smile. I look past her to see Emilia, Serra and Giulia waiting for me with expectant expressions.
“Everything okay?” Michelle prods gently.
I nod, looking around to make sure no one is listening in.
Uncertain, I hand her the letter, which she shares with Giulia, Emilia and Serra.
I wait a moment as their eyes fly over the page in a frenzy.
Giulia’s face ripples with concern, Emilia’s with surprise, and Serra is flooded with contempt.
Michelle, however, narrows her eyes, the spark of an idea there.
I’ve seen that look amongst all my friends so often, I’d recognise it anywhere. But what she has in mind, I don’t know.
“You could send a letter back refusing,” says Giulia as Michelle hands me back the letter.
“Or send back a wagon of dead agitators – that’ll get the message across and is rather your style,” snorts Serra, only half sarcastic. I throw her a withering look, bracelets jingling softly as I fold the letter and slip it into my tunic pocket.
“I think perhaps one wagon with a corpse is enough for this year,” I mutter, and beckon them to follow me. I walk away from the crowd of people. The five of us huddle against the back wall, lowering our voices so no one can hear us.
“What will you do?” asks Emilia quietly, pushing her dark hair back away from her face. I press my lips together and narrow my eyes.
“I think … we’ll hear what she has to say. Most likely it’s the official declaration of war. No doubt she’ll come up with some reasons why she absolutely must invade our country, like her greed is justified. But if there is any last chance for peace, I should take it…”
“Surely this is some kind of trap,” Giulia argues. “Like the last time they offered peace?”
“Perhaps, but don’t I owe it to the people to do everything in my power to reach a peaceful resolution?” I ask. “Isn’t that better?”
“Depends on what you give up in exchange,” Michelle answers. “But even if you can’t come to terms, you can use it as propaganda.”
“That’s good.” Giulia nods. “We can inflate how prepared we are, show them we’re not scared.”
“We can make fake rumours of weapons and numbers they can take back to their armies, make them scared. We could even accidentally allow them to see a fake map—” Serra starts.
“I don’t think they’ll trust any information that delegate takes back with them – particularly if it’s tactical,” I answer. “I certainly wouldn’t. I would know it’s been planted.”
“Well, it might be worth a try, if they’re coming regardless,” Serra reasons.
“Idris won’t like this,” Emilia says. “Inviting the enemy here.”
“Idris isn’t the Maestrus,” I answer. “Besides, most likely they’ll come and declare war and then leave. All we have to do is allow this speaker safe passage.”
“What if the speaker is Nouis?” asks Giulia. My heart drops and my throat closes.
“That would be … bold.” Emilia shuffles uncomfortably.
“And exactly the kind of thing that psycho would do,” Serra agrees. “We can’t allow that.”
“That will be a stipulation,” I answer, already feeling the words of the letter I’ll write in response.
“Nouis Rizaro will be executed the moment he steps foot on Halician soil for his part in the murder of six Electi. It must be someone else, someone completely unaffiliated with the explosion of the Great Temple.”
“What if they send Lysa or Bash?” asks Emilia darkly. Serra snorts.
“They’re welcome to try, but there is no chance they’d leave alive,” Serra answers confidently. “Tahira wouldn’t allow it.”
“Perhaps you should set out the condition that the choice be non-aggravating,” Michelle offers. I nod.
“If they wish to remain safe in the city, the selection of spokesperson should be done with their reception in mind,” I offer, looking to Giulia who nods.
“That wording works.”
“Should I write that down?” asks Michelle but I shake my head.
“I’ll remember it—”
A wave of fire runs from my scalp to my toes, cutting off my breath like a thousand bee stings.
“Renza?” Idris’s searing voice calls through the crowd. The afternoon light catches his swept blond hair, shoulders heaving – he’s clearly run here. Those golden eyes land on me, and relief washes down his body.
“What part of ‘not an emergency’ didn’t make it into the message?” I ask, walking towards him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately.
“Nothing,” I say slowly and deliberately. “You really need to take a deep breath. When I say it’s not an emergency, it isn’t.”
Idris nods, shifting his weight and raking a hand through his hair as he forces himself to take several deep breaths. I take his hand and pull him to the side, his fingers in mine almost scalding the sensitive skin. But he holds me tight, refusing to let me go.
I retrieve the letter with my other hand and offer it to him.
“I’ve already decided what’s going to happen. I’ll let you read my response before I send it but I’ve agreed with certain conditions. I’ll set Leone about preparations once the date is confirmed,” I say as he scans the letter, face contorting unhappily.
“But—”
“No”—I hold up a hand—“my decision is made. I will allow it. On our ground, on our soil. You and Leone can work on the arrangements if that’ll make you feel better about security?”
Idris scowls but nods sharply, handing the letter back.
“What do you think this is?”
“I think this is a formal declaration of war with an insistence for us to surrender,” I say. “If we’re lucky it’s an attempt to bargain. It would be foolish to hope for an apology or admission of guilt in any form. I imagine Otta’s new church will be on the chopping block for negotiations.”
Both our gazes travel to the slight young woman helping arrange the refugees’ accommodation.
“So that’s why you did all this,” Idris says, smirking. “To have something you’d be willing to surrender.”
I sigh, unease settling across my shoulders at Idris’s words.
My relationship with Fate and my faith might be complicated but my intentions were genuine.
But the possibility has occurred to me lately – a quiet thought lurking in the back of my mind – that this new faith, fledgling though it is, could be a real weapon if properly, patiently encouraged.
He’s right, I would be willing to give this new religion up if it means Halice had safety again.
No matter how this war ends, there will be a price to pay. And if I have to banish this new faith and smuggle Otta to safety … the guilt might bury me alive but maybe that’s a risk worth taking. To save lives, Otta might even agree…
Idris squeezes my fingers, pulling me away from my thoughts.
“I’d best craft my response letter,” I say, heading for a table. “Can you handle anyone who might need my attention for a bit?”
“As you command, Maestrus,” Idris mutters so quietly it’s barely audible as he presses a swoony, blistering kiss to my cheek. Blood rushes to the spot and to my lips as I lean into him. He chuckles as I meet his eyes, masking my naked reaction with a glare.
“If you want to play this game, Patricelli, you will lose,” I promise him. His eyes sparkle at that, and he sweeps a stray lock of hair behind my ear, leaving a trail of searing embers in his wake as his fingers sweep down to my jaw, lifting it higher so I face him fully.
“Well then, Maineri, let’s play.”