Queen of the Night (The Revanche Cycle Book 4) (28 page)

If he guessed wrong and held his troops back, though, Imperial soldiers already inside the walls would die because of his inaction.

“Damn it to the Fields,” Reiter snapped. “All right, I’m taking full responsibility. Rally the signalmen and get that ram into position. We’re going in
now
.”

And so began the invasion of Mirenze.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

On the road back from the church, a slow rain began to fall. Light, and bitterly cold. Livia tilted her head back, catching droplets on her face and feeling them trickle down her neck like fingers of ice.

The priest had heard her laughing down in the cellar. Then screaming. Eventually she’d found her center, smoothed her skirts, and bottled up the seething cauldron of emotions in her heart. As she left the church behind, he watched her go with confused, frightened reverence.

Saint Elise had been just like her.

An accidental witch.

Or perhaps just untrained, sloppy, as Livia had been.
Where did you find your doorway?
she wondered.
When did you take your first steps into the dark? You performed so many miracles on the battlefield, Elise, and now I understand why.

That’s where the blood is.

But when they brought you to that ailing, dying child, you knew what you had to do. Just like I did. And you gave part of your life to save him. Just like I did
.

And then you died, not long after, before the Shadow could twist you into a monster. Or maybe you were just good at hiding it
.

People thought Livia a holy woman, mistaking her witchcraft for the intercession of a loving Gardener. And now she knew Elise had done the same things she had. A realization that walked her mind down corridors darker than the empty streets.

Out of all the saints and all the miracles
, she thought,
what are the odds that we were the only two people faking it?

She stopped in the street, the iron-wrought fence of the papal manse just ahead. Livia tugged back her hood and looked up to the heavens, as if her gaze could pierce through the storm clouds and the firmament and the stars. Searching for an answer to the question she dreaded to speak.

“Are you really up there?” she whispered.

No reply. Not even thunder.

She returned home. Back to her rooms, hanging up the brown cloak, sorting through her wardrobe for a dry cassock. She eyed herself in the sitting mirror. The Imperial envoy was due at any moment, and no doubt the door would soon open, attendants insisting on painting and primping her for the occasion.

They would have to wait. It was time to set at least one wrong to rights. It was time to confront Kailani.

Livia put her hand on the door, then paused. She walked back to her wardrobe and found a long, needle-thin hatpin. She fixed it carefully under her sash at the hip. Out of sight but easy to reach. Just in case.

She didn’t have to go looking. Kailani found her, racing up a hallway with two Browncloaks in tow.

“Mistress,” she said, bowing deeply at the waist, “we have to get you ready for the envoy. Will you be receiving him in your throne room, or—”

“I need to talk to you.” Livia faced her with eyes of stone, ignoring the hammering in her chest. “Alone.
Now
.”

Whatever Kailani saw in Livia’s gaze, it made her take a half step back. She waved off her escorts. “It’s all right. Meet us in Her Holiness’s chambers. We’ll be along shortly.”

They stood beside one of the open arches leading to the papal gardens, in the light of a guttering torch. The rain was coming strong and fast now, a drumbeat keeping pace with Livia’s heart.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” Livia said. “And you’re going to answer it.”

“Anything,” Kailani said.

Livia stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

“Did you murder Sister Columba?”

Emotions washed over Kailani’s face in a torrent. Livia read fear, shame, anxiety—and then pride. Kailani lifted her chin and met Livia’s stare.

“Yes,” she said.

Livia cradled the memory of Columba’s face in her mind’s eye. The woman who had helped raise her, guide her, teach her right from wrong. Columba had betrayed her in the end, but for the best of reasons.

And Livia had been the unwitting instrument of her death, sending her off with her executioner.

She tried to speak, but the best she could manage was a broken-hearted “
Why?
”

Kailani’s voice was cool and even. “Because we know what’s best for you. People like Columba, people like your brother—they’re threats to your rule. You are the Saint Returned. You need our protection, so you can set the world right.”

“I am
not
,” Livia said through gritted teeth, “a saint.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not. I am not a saint. I am not special. I’m just a woman, Kailani. No different from you.”

Kailani’s jaw clenched, her steely facade cracking like a plaster wall.

“Yes, you are. You’re the Saint Returned. Say you are!”

“No,” Livia said. “You’re wrong. I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.”

“Yes, you
are
!” Kailani shouted. She turned and ran, storming out into the garden, into the rain.

Livia ran after her. Thunder pealed in the churning skies overhead, the clouds lit by blankets of lightning. The rain poured down, spattering across leaves and wildflowers, trickling down the gutters. The centerpiece of the garden, the great tree of black iron, glistened in the dark.

“Why can’t you just face reality?” Livia demanded. “Why do you have to make me into something I’m not? Why won’t you stop putting me on a pedestal? I’m just
me
.”

Five feet ahead, Kailani whirled to face her, her hands balled into fists. “
No!
” she shouted.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Kailani, but it’s true—”

Tears streamed down Kailani’s cheeks, mingling with the rain. She threw her head back and screamed, “
Why can’t you be what I need you to be?
”

Livia didn’t have an answer. She took a step closer, eyes wide, watching Kailani fall apart.

“I told you, back in Itresca,” Kailani said. “My family. They died in the Alms District massacre. They…every morning I wake up, and I expect to find my husband lying beside me. I expect to hear my son laughing. And then I remember, and it
hurts
, it hurts
all over again
.”

She spread her hands, helpless.

“But it happened so that you could rise to power. And it happened so that I and the others, so many of us, so many of us alone now—it happened so that we could serve you. Because the Gardener knew you’d need our help. And someday, when I return to the Garden, I’ll see my family again. And they’ll know that their deaths weren’t in vain. They will know that
I walked with a saint
and made the world right.”

Livia approached her. The rain battered down, matting her ice-white hair to her shoulders, drenching her gown. All that she’d learned weighed upon her like chains of iron.

And what if there’s no Gardener, and no Garden?
she asked herself.
What if it’s nothing but lies, and all we have, all we are, is here and now?

She paused, looking into Kailani’s eyes.

Does it matter?

It wouldn’t change what’s good. It wouldn’t change what’s right. And it wouldn’t change what I set out to do.

Kailani threw herself to the pebbled walk, kneeling, grabbing the hem of Livia’s cassock and pressing it to her face as she wept.

And nothing changes the fact that her heart is broken. Nothing changes her sorrow, the hole in her world. Nothing changes the truth: that I did this to her
.

“Please,” Kailani sobbed, her voice ragged.

I may be damned if I speak a lie
, Livia thought.
But then again, I may be damned anyway. And in the end, as long as my work is done, what happens to me doesn’t matter.

“Kailani,” she said softly. Kailani lifted her head. Raindrops rolled off Livia’s shoulders, down the strands of her snowy hair, and fell onto Kailani’s upturned face like a baptism.

“It is true,” Livia told her. “I am who you say I am. I am the Saint Returned.”

Then she lifted Kailani to her feet, and pulled her close, and held her in the storm as she poured out the last of her tears onto Livia’s shoulder.

“Hear me,” Livia said, her voice barely louder than the rain. “I have plans, and wheels turning. Nothing can ever be done outside my sight, lest those plans go wrong. You will
never
take a life unless I command it. Never again. Do you understand?”

“I was just trying to protect you—”

“I know.” Livia gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I know. And I forgive you. But if you are called to serve me, then
serve
me. That means trusting my judgment and knowing there may be matters outside your understanding. Never kill again, not unless I command it. Tell me you understand.”

“I do,” Kailani breathed. “I understand. No more killing.”

In the dark, in the heart of the storm, Livia felt the dawning light of hope. She could take on the mantle they’d given her, false as it was, if it meant bringing the Browncloaks under her control. If it meant steering their zeal toward the good and the right. They’d all seen too much violence, too much bloodshed on the long hard climb to the papal throne. That was over now.

I can do this
, she thought.
Next I’ll come to terms with the College of Cardinals somehow, and heal the Church once and for all.

A long and terrible night is almost over. Daybreak is coming
.

“Let’s go,” she said to Kailani. “We’ve got to dry off and get changed. That Imperial envoy should be here any minute now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The Imperials arrived two hours later, drenched from the storm and wringing out their cloaks on the puddle-spattered marble of the manse’s foyer. “I’m so sorry,” said the young Browncloak who rushed to greet them. “Most of the staff is sleeping now, but I could wake one of the maids and bring in refreshments—”

Kappel gave the man a winning smile, running fingers through his rain-slicked hair. “Nonsense, don’t bother a sleeping soul. This is entirely our fault. The roads were thick with mud, and the horses had a devil of a time getting through. Will it still be possible to see Her Holiness tonight?”

“Yes, sir. She waited up for you. If you’ll follow me?”

Kappel nodded, a gracious guest, and waved for his men to file in behind him.

*     *     *

Amadeo couldn’t sleep. His dreams rejected him, throwing him out of slumber and out of his rumpled bed. When reading didn’t help, he thought a stroll through the manse might tire him out. That was how he happened to be coming up the hall toward the foyer just as their late guests arrived. He approached, curious, thinking he’d introduce himself.

Then one of the men in Imperial armor turned, showing his face, and Amadeo froze.

Those bloodshot eyes. That hyena smile. Amadeo felt like he was falling, tumbling back in time, hearing the roar of flames as the stench of burning wood and smoldering corpses clogged his throat.

“Hello, hello,” the axman had said, striding from the billowing smoke with gore dripping from his blade. “Hope you didn’t think we forgot about you.”

“Who are you?” Amadeo asked as the Alms District burned around them. His voice barely audible over the screams.

“We’re the Dustmen.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

The axman shrugged.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?”

And when the refugee fleet pushed away from the harbor, leaving the Holy City behind, he’d been there. Standing on the dock, locking eyes with Amadeo as he offered a grim salute.

Amadeo watched the delegation pass, following one of the Browncloaks.
Heading straight for Livia
, he thought, his muscles petrified but his mind racing. What could he do? Shout? Raise an alarm? He’d seen what the Dustmen were capable of. No telling how many of the household staff they’d butcher on their way to the throne room. Besides, almost everyone was asleep; they’d timed their late arrival perfectly, ensuring that even if things went wrong they’d have plenty of time to get to Livia.

Livia wasn’t alone. She’d have her elite with her. And as much as Amadeo feared their manic zeal, the Browncloaks could stage an ambush. Take the Dustmen down before they revealed their true intentions.

But only if he got there first.

He turned and ran up the hall, heading the other direction. Picturing the layout of the vast papal manse in his mind, its twists and turns, making his way to the throne room.

*     *     *

The axman had a name. Tresler. It wasn’t the one he was born with; like all the Dustmen, he’d abandoned that on the night of his initiation, shedding his meaningless past in favor of a meaningless future. A nihilistic creed suited his temperament: he moved through life like a shark on the prowl, devouring everything in his path. Making the world
less
in his wake.

Tresler wasn’t pleased about tonight’s mission. Kappel wanted everything quiet, smooth, in and out without a fuss. Not even any killing, if they didn’t have to. Boring. Still, the idea of getting back on Weiss’s good side had its own appeal. So did the thought of a two-day ride to Mirenze with Livia Serafini as their unwilling guest. They weren’t allowed to kill her, but that left all
kinds
of fun in the realm of possibility.

A glimmer of movement in the corner of his eye jolted him from his idle fantasies. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, battlefield instincts kicking in. As he walked along with the pack, he lifted one cupped hand and flashed a string of hand signals behind the Browncloak’s back.

Maybe trouble. Left. Checking it out
.

Then Tresler silently broke ranks, one hand on his sword belt, and stalked off in search of fresh prey.