Queen of the Night (The Revanche Cycle Book 4) (25 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

At that moment, politics and policies were the last thing on Livia’s mind. She’d fallen into a fitful sleep after her brother’s visit to the garden and the ominous warning he’d left her with. “
They said they weren’t going to follow your orders because they know what’s best for you
,” he’d said. “
Sounded like it wasn’t the first time they’ve done this, either
.”

And as she went through her morning rituals, bathing in stone-cold water and shivering while she dried her body with an ivory towel, she thought back to Sister Columba.

I told Kailani to take her into exile
, Livia thought.
Just like Carlo. And they tried to murder Carlo
.

Her brother’s blood had nearly been on her hands. Now she wondered if Kailani had made her a murderess by proxy, too.

Then there was Freda, and the “miracle” that had turned Livia’s hair the color of fresh-fallen snow. The events of that day were a maddened jumble in her mind, a tangle of screams and stampeding feet and wild magic like a firestorm in her breast—but one snatch of memory rose to the surface. As she fell, her heart pierced by the archer’s quarrel, Freda had moaned, “
Hurts. Didn’t—didn’t know how much it would—
”

A strange thing to say, under the circumstances.

Unless she’d been expecting to be shot. Unless she’d been prepared for the hit, just not the pain.

Amadeo was half right about the attack
, Livia thought as she pulled a forest-green cassock over her head, her arms fumbling into the long, flowing sleeves.
His suspicion that it was arranged so I could invoke a miracle and win the people’s hearts.

I think it was arranged, all right. FOR me
.

Her first instinct was to confront Kailani, but with one hand on the doorknob, she changed her mind. She had no proof, nothing to fall back on if Kailani denied it. Nothing but her brother’s words, and she didn’t dare reveal he was still alive; the Browncloaks would just hunt him down again and finish him for good.

There was one other place she could find the truth, though.

As Livia left her rooms, the two Browncloaks at the door fell in behind her, a silent escort. By now she’d gotten used to her self-appointed guardians and their constant vigilance, a shadow always at her back, but today she fought to suppress a shudder at the sound of their bootsteps. She knew her hands weren’t clean either; she’d used them for dirty business back in Itresca, from killing some of Rhys Jernigan’s guards and ferrying the queen to freedom, to the cold-blooded murder of Rhys’s spymaster. All the same, she’d believed the Browncloaks to be a tiger on a sturdy leash: ferocious, dangerous, but under her firm control.

Now she knew they’d been up to dirty business of their own. Shaping her reign, vanishing her enemies, ‘protecting’ her as they saw fit while she wallowed in blissful ignorance.
I’m not holding the leash
, Livia thought,
and I suppose I never did
.

Which meant she had a force of zealous killers living in her house, preparing her linens and cooking her meals. And the second they stopped believing in her, that tiger could turn and claw her heart from her chest.

In the throne room, sunlight streamed down from arched windows thirty feet above, washing across beds of black loam where wildflowers grew in a tangled riot of color. An emerald carpet led the way to the throne of carved ivory. Livia thought back to her father as she settled into the lumpy, cold seat. She remembered, as a girl, when he’d let her try it for the first time. She’d complained that it hurt her back and he should add pillows.

She’d never forget Benignus’s gentle laugh and what he said as he swept her up in his arms: “
A throne should never be comfortable, Livia. Responsibility should always be a burden, never a pleasure. That’s how a ruler stays honest.
”

A gaggle of courtiers closed in around her, but she held them back with a single, tired wave of her hand. She looked to one of her escorts.

“Bring me Freda.”

Fifteen minutes later, they ushered the freckled girl into the throne room. She looked at Livia like a wayward child caught red-handed in the middle of mischief.

“You—you wanted to talk to me?”

Livia nodded. “Everyone, leave the room, please. I need a few minutes with my friend.”

Her silent guardians cleared out the courtiers, then returned to their posts beside her throne. Livia gave them a hard-eyed look.

“
Everyone
, please.”

The great doors sealed behind them with a leaden click. And in the quiet vastness, under a shaft of dusty afternoon sunlight, Livia and Freda were alone.

“Freda…we’ve been friends for a while now, haven’t we?”

She tilted her head, uncertain. “We—we have, yes.”

“Do you remember the day we met? Amadeo brought you to the manse, to pick the lock on Carlo’s office door.”

Freda smiled at the thought. “He was so amazed I could open a simple lock. I was amazed he
couldn’t
. And you—I mean, I knew you were the Lady in Brown, but I didn’t know how important you really were.”

“That’s right. You didn’t know I was the pope’s daughter. And it didn’t matter, did it? We were all there, risking our lives to try and protect this Church. To do the right thing.”

Freda’s head bobbed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Every step of the way, through the escape from the Alms District to Itresca to here, you’ve been at my side. You were right there with me when we landed at the beach, remember?”

“I was so scared,” Freda told her. “But you didn’t seem scared at all, holding that sword high and walking right into the fight. That made me feel better.”

“I was scared, too.” Livia rose from her throne, stepping up to the girl. She took Freda’s hand. “But I felt stronger,” she said, “because my friend was with me.”

Freda’s bottom lip quivered. She avoided Livia’s gaze as she asked, “What…what did you want to see me about?”

“I think you already know.”

“I don’t.” Freda’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Honest, I don’t.”

“You’ve been carrying a burden, Freda. A burden that I think somebody forced you to carry. And that’s not fair. I’m going to make it easy for you, all right? You don’t have to confess. I’m just going to tell you what I think happened, and all you have to do is say yes or no.”

Their eyes met.

“The day of the procession,” Livia said, “you knew you were going to be shot. So that I’d be forced to invoke a miracle and save your life. I think it was Kailani’s idea. And it was another Browncloak who was up in that window, with the crossbow. You did it so the people would see what they saw in Itresca.”

Freda’s lips parted, voiceless, the denial slowly dying in her throat. Then she threw her arms around Livia’s waist and squeezed tight, the tears flowing like water from a burst dam.

“I’m
sorry
,” she cried. “I knew you’d be mad if you found out, but she said it would fix everything, that they’d look at you the way they did in Itresca when you saved her life. They’d all know you’re really the chosen one, that you’re Saint Elise returned to us—”

“Freda, Freda, shh.” Livia’s hand rubbed a slow circle against her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not angry. But—listen to me, all right?”

She held fast as Freda wept, letting it all out, letting go of the guilt she’d been dragging behind her like iron chains. Then she gently untangled herself from the girl’s grasp, holding Freda at arm’s length, stooping a bit to look at her eye to eye.

“Listen to me. I’m not a saint. I’m not anything special. I’m just Livia.”

Freda snuffled. “But…there
was
a miracle. The Gardener
did
save my life.”

“That’s right. Because
you’re
special.”

Freda wiped her hand across her nose, her eyes red. “I…I am?”

“You are,” Livia said. “But, Freda, please—never do that again. I can’t just…command a miracle to happen. It doesn’t work like that. You could have been killed.”

“I know.” She swallowed, snuffling again.

“Did Kailani order you to do it?”

“N-no.” Freda shook her head. “I volunteered. If it wasn’t me, somebody else would have. I wanted…I wanted to prove my faith.”

Livia took the sleeve of her cassock and mopped at Freda’s cheeks, smearing the tears away.

“That is one thing,” Livia said, “you never need to prove. Not to me, not to the Gardener, not to anybody.”

“You’re not going to tell Kailani I told you, are you? She’s going to be so mad at me.”

Livia’s thoughts turned to Kailani. And to Sister Columba.

“Let me worry about Kailani. What else has she been doing behind my back?”

“I don’t know.” Freda held up her open hands. “Swear it, I don’t know. She talks to a few of us to more than the others. In private.”

Livia remembered the names of Carlo’s escorts. “Are Berenice and Corrado two of them?”

Freda nodded.

“Thank you.” Livia took a deep breath. “I’ll take care of everything. Just…go on with your day, and forget we ever had this discussion. Everything is going to be all right.”

Easy words to say. She just had no idea how.

A rapping sounded at the throne-room doors. One parted a few inches, and Marcello poked his head in.

“Is this a bad time?”

“I don’t know,” Livia said, folding her arms across her chest. “Were the doors closed?”

He ignored her and let himself in.

“I do apologize,” he said, “but you wanted to know as soon as the College had a response. And according to your minders, there’s an Imperial diplomat coming this evening. I assumed you’d want to talk to me first.”

Livia sighed and looked to Freda. “I do need to handle this. Go on. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Freda gave her a quick hug, then pulled away. As she scampered out of the throne room, dodging around Marcello, Livia tried to project an air of quiet confidence.

She only wished she could feel it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Marcello watched Freda go, an amused look on his face, and shut the door. He carried a small sheaf of papers, each ornately inked, some stamped with Livia’s personal seal and some with the rust-red mark of the College of Cardinals.

“Doing some counseling?” he asked. “You know, that’s what you have priests for.”

“Spending a few minutes with a good friend. So, you were able to get everything I asked for?”

Marcello winced. “Everything is a lot to ask for. We talked about this, Livia: there’s going to be a lot of give-and-take if you want to keep the College on your side. They need to feel respected; they need to know you’re not going to just yank the rug out from under their feet.”

“It is an old and dusty rug,” Livia said as she strode toward him. “Do you know what you do with old and dusty rugs, Cardinal? You take them out behind the house and beat them clean.”

“I did my best. For a first try, I’d say we came out better than expected. They said yes to funding two of your proposals.”

Livia stopped in her tracks, frozen as if she’d been struck by an arrow.

“Two?”

Marcello nodded.

“Out of
seventeen
?”

“I told you,” he said, “it’s too much, too fast. People are afraid of change, especially when their livelihoods depend on the status quo.”

“This shouldn’t be about their
livelihoods
, Marcello; it should be about making people’s lives better. It’s a church, not a countinghouse.”

“I hear a lot of ‘shoulds’ from a lady who ought to know better. Politics are about what
is
, not what should be. And the situation
is
that you can’t come storming in like a conqueror. You need to play the game. Try to be more like your father.”

Livia’s hands clenched at her sides.

“My father,” she said, her voice strained, “was a good man.”

“Yes. Yes, he was. And if you think that means he didn’t get the job done just like every other pope before him, you’re a damn fool. He knew every man in the College. He knew what they wanted and he knew what they needed, and he traded favors like a master. Hell, when he needed to make nice with Emperor Theodosius, know what he gave him? A nice juicy war.”

“That’s not true,” Livia whispered.

Marcello bore down on her, feeding on her uncertainty. His gestures growing bigger as her voice grew smaller.

“Of course it’s true, and you know it. All that prime real estate in Belle Terre, just outside the Imperial noose? Theodosius’s prick got hard every time he thought about it. And then your father just
happened
to write an encyclical condemning Terrai paganism, and it just
happened
to get waved under the noses of the Imperial faithful, building a groundswell of support for an invasion. Know what came next? Twenty years of war, bordering on genocide. Your father did that. He condemned the Terrai to slavery and death, and do you know why? Know what he got out of it?”

Livia didn’t respond. Marcello’s voice dropped as he moved closer, his eyes like a bird of prey’s.

“Land and money for a shiny stone cathedral in Diefenbach Province. See, he needed
that
to pander to a voting bloc of influential cardinals whose families lived in Diefenbach. And in turn, they approved the funds to build a string of foundling houses to shelter and feed Verinian orphans. He traded the lives he didn’t care about for the ones he did. And he did it many, many times.”

Livia turned her back on him. She couldn’t keep the horror from her face, couldn’t stop the tears from stinging her eyes. She wanted to rage at him, to shout that he was wrong, lying, anything but right about her father.

But she knew he was telling the truth.

Marcello’s voice was gentle now. “It’s not your fault, you know. If you’d been born a man, you would have been taught these things. Who expected you to be anything but someone’s trophy, another favor to trade away? You were never
meant
to make decisions. You’ve had to learn all of your lessons the hard way.”