Winters looked out over the room. The faces were a blur of grief remembered and anger refueled. Jin Li Tam leaned onto her podium. “What are you proposing, Esarov?”
Esarov smiled. “I am proposing a full investigation, authorized by kin-clave and with the full cooperation of all nations, into the destruction of Windwir, any and all acts leading up to and following that event, including oath-testimony by your father, Lord Vlad Li Tam, and all others relevant to the subject at hand. We try everyone-not just one man. Or”-here he paused and Winters heard the whispered voices sweeping the room-“we mourn our dead, move forward and rebuild our nations, restore balance to the Named Lands, heal the broken kin-claves and work together to assist Queen Winteria with the resurgence that has grown up in her territories. Either course is proper, but do not think for a moment that what we do today even scratches the surface of truth and justice.”
Winters shifted in her chair, and as she did, the Firstfall axe shifted in her lap. For the briefest moment, she thought she saw movement reflected in the polished surface of its blade.
Then, suddenly, they were at Third Alarm as a mighty wind shook the tent, and a young woman entered as Gypsy Scouts fell back from her magicked escort.
“I bring you tidings of peace and grace,” she said as she raised her hands. She wore gold-scaled armor, and her brown hair was braided with bone and shell and stick. Her face bore similar markings to Ezra’s-the painting was more careful, using dark earth tones that accentuated her large brown eyes. She was unarmed. “Forgive my tardiness,” she said. “I’ve been tending to matters of salvation. I had hoped to join you at the very beginning.” The girl looked first to Winters, and when their eyes met, she smiled with warmth and affection. “Winteria,” she said, inclining her head. “A strong and prophetic name.”
She knows me. Winters studied the woman and quickly returned the nod, hoping her eyes would leave hers if she did. There was something in them that frightened her. Something masquerading as love.
The others were standing now, and Winters watched as scouts from the Delta and Turam applied their powders and vanished while drawing their blades. Gypsy Scouts, unmagicked for now, moved in closer to Jin Li Tam and Petronus, their hands upon the handles of their knives.
“I petition the council for audience,” the woman said.
She saw Jin Li Tam wince. “Silence the alarm,” she said, turning to the girl. “You have come into our kin-clave of peace, uninvited, with magicked escort that I can only assume stands ready to commit violence. Who are you and what is your business among us?” The Gypsy Queen’s level of calm amazed Winters.
“I am about the business of our redemption and atonement, Great Mother,” the woman said. “I am Winteria bat Mardic, first and true heir of the Wicker Throne and Queen of the Machtvolk.”
Winters heard a stifled gasp and realized it was her that gave it.
Petronus
Petronus looked to the newcomer and then to the Marsh girl Winters. The resemblance was uncanny, though the woman who announced herself was easily five years older. She carried herself with a confidence and abandon that he could read easily in her posture and stride.
“My escort is indeed magicked-you would have not admitted me otherwise-but if we intended violence,” she said, “we’d have made those intentions clear without introduction and without losing the advantage of surprise.” Around them, he felt the tension crackling like electricity in a storm. The woman smiled. “May I have audience?” she asked again.
Jin Li Tam frowned. “You already have it.”
The woman who shared the young queen’s name bowed. “Thank you, Great Mother.” She looked to the others and her voice rose. “The salvation of a people is difficult and painful work. Kinship must be healed. Blood must be let. Sacrifice must be made.” As she spoke, Petronus watched her eyes travel the room, settling last upon Meirov of Pylos. The rage upon Meirov’s face gave him pause, and for a moment he thought she might lunge forward to attack the woman with bare hands. Of course, it would be her death sentence if she did. He remembered the strength and ferocity of just one blood skirmisher and knew this so-called queen must have dozens of them with her and perhaps a hundred more nearby. She would not have walked into a kin-clave otherwise.
The woman continued. “You believe that you gather here upon the plains of our handiwork to judge the Last Son of P’Andro Whym and to hear my sister’s plea for help. But this is not true. You are here-called and set apart-to bear witness to the grace and mercy of House Y’Zir and the Crimson Empress whose advent is nearly upon us.”
Jin Li Tam’s eyes narrowed. “You speak in riddles.”
“No,” the woman said firmly, “I speak of prophecy and destiny for those who have ears to hear. She raised her voice: “ ‘And it shall come to pass that the city of P’Andro Whym shall become a pyre and in the shadow of that pyre, a child of great promise shall be born to make ready all people for the advent of the Crimson Empress and the Homecoming of House Y’Zir.’ ”
The words were unfamiliar to Petronus, but they had the ring of age about them. And they had a similar tone and cadence to other words he’d heard not so long ago. Thus shall the sins of P’Andro Whym be visited upon his children.
The woman continued, and her smile warmed when she fixed her eyes upon Petronus. “Last Son,” she said, “you know what I speak of. You chose this time and place for a reckoning you have felt calling you for some time now. Is this not true?”
Yes. He found himself nodding. “I have felt it,” he said in a quiet voice that only he and Esarov could hear. Some Franci corner of him spun the Rufello ciphers on this lock, but a deeper voice pulled at his will like a tide. How can she know this?
Petronus glanced around the tent to see what others were doing. Surprise and confusion still dominated most faces. Jin Li Tam watched carefully, her eyes moving from the woman who called herself Winteria, to the guards positioned at various points around the tent. He saw the briefest flash of fingers and hands moving to give orders. The Marsh girl Winters sat still, her eyes wide and her mouth open-it was obvious to Petronus that she was as surprised as anyone by this sudden turn of events, but the resemblance between them was unsettling. Last, he caught Ignatio’s eye and saw him lean forward to whisper something into Erlund’s ear. When the spymaster leaned back, his eyes locked with Petronus’s and he understood the smile some twenty days earlier in the council chambers on the Delta. He is a part of this.
The Machtvolk Queen walked to Petronus’s table, trailing her fingers across the surface of it as she strolled past. He caught the heavy scent of blood and mud and ash from her and from her invisible escort. “The time for kin-clave is past,” she said, “and the time of kin-healing is upon us all.”
Even as she said it, there arose a clamor beyond the tent. It was as if a thousand voices gathered just outside, raising up in a shout all at once, and then a frightened-looking girl entered the tent, a baby clutched in her arms. Behind her, an old man followed with upraised hands, singing loudly in an ecstatic burst of glossolalia. Around them, snow flurried as magicked skirmishers swept into the tent around them, forming an unseen wall between the audience and the infant.
Erlund’s general-Lysias, Petronus remembered-plunged forward and called out a name that was lost in the gasps and cries that filled the tent. Invisible hands pressed him back. And the loudest cry sounded from the front of the room, where Jin Li Tam clung to the podium with ice in her eyes and a snarl upon her lips. “Release my child,” she said, “and I will spare your life.”