Master of restless shado.., p.18
Master of Restless Shadows, page 18
part #1 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
Fedeles opened his mouth to offer some reassurance, but then wasn’t certain of the truth in such a reply. Could he be trusted to maintain his control of the shadow curse and his grief at the same time? The shining blue spells that held him felt reassuring. He could let himself mourn Ciceron without fearing that the shadow curse would break free of his control. But he knew it wasn’t right to expect Oasia to exhaust herself just because his raw emotions were arduous to restrain.
“I’ll be fine,” Fedeles said.
“And he will not be alone.” Timoteo sprinkled a last vial of holy oil over the body and then walked to Fedeles’s side. His angular features cast harsh shadows across his face, but his voice and smile conveyed only affection. “And I would very much appreciate someone to walk with me through the gardens. The flowers are so beautiful this time of year.”
“Of course,” Fedeles responded automatically. He reached out and allowed the frail Holy Father to take his arm and lean on him. Oasia’s spells dimmed and then died away, but the shadow curse didn’t rise in their absence. Timoteo’s tender hold on his arm soothed Fedeles and allayed his anxiety.
Years earlier Timoteo had come to his aid and protected him from suspicions of “spiritual corruption” when his own parents and sister had feared to even touch him. Before then, Fedeles had only known Timoteo as the elder brother of his cousin’s best friend—little more than a stranger—so he’d been truly surprised and then touched by the man’s compassion. He’d sheltered Fedeles and sat with him for hours while Fedeles had still been literally terrified of his own shadow. When Javier had fled and the royal bishop attempted to seize Fedeles, it had been Timoteo who’d rebuffed the man and then summoned Prince Sevanyo.
To this day Fedeles didn’t understand why Timoteo had risked so much to defend him, but he was glad to do what he could to repay the Holy Father’s kindness.
“I would be happy for the company, Tim,” Fedeles decided.
Oasia took her leave. Her handmaid followed her in graceful silence. Fedeles gazed after them as their shadows retreated, leaving only golden light streaming in through the open door of the crypt.
“Come,” Timoteo prompted. “We should walk in the light while we still can.”
They left the crypt arm in arm and strolled through the winding camellia hedges. Three of Fedeles’s personal guards trailed them at a distance. For a minute both Fedeles and Timoteo watched as a brilliant, iridescent hummingbird flitted between the blossoms, flashing and sparkling like some incandescent incantation. Then a sinuous feline shape crept from the bushes and the bird fled into the bright blue sky. The black cat slunk away. Fedeles watched it go. For all that he would rather have imagined himself as that stunningly lovely bird, he felt a strange sympathy with the sinister creeping cat.
“Berto suspects that Narsi harbors a great fondness for that cat already,” Timoteo commented.
“Narsi?” Belatedly Fedeles recalled the young Haldiim physician whom he’d sent off with Atreau. The news of Ciceron’s murder had made his earlier plans as well as the intrusion of a physician into his household seem distant concerns. “Well, so long as he keeps the beast from bothering my wife’s parrot, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Timoteo bobbed his head, but his expression remained troubled. “He possesses a good soul. I believe he’s just what your household needs.”
“The cat?” Fedeles asked with a slight smile.
Timoteo laughed, but then that thoughtful expression of his returned.
“I don’t think it’s my place to judge the morality of a cat. I can only recognize that they, like most creatures, are true to their natures and likely at peace with their own souls.” Timoteo stilled at a break in the hedge and turned to gaze along the pebble walk that wound past a miniature orchard to the household garrison.
“I know that it isn’t easy for you to accept a physician in your home. But what Donamillo and Genimo did to you wasn’t the result of their interests. Their characters, not their callings, were at fault—”
“I do know that,” Fedeles admitted. Knowing was easy, but feeling it was another matter.
“Oh good!” Timoteo’s smile turned amused. “How foolish I must seem to have worried that you would offer my dear friend Narsi a less than warm welcome just because he’s a physician.”
Fedeles frowned down at his own hands. No doubt Timoteo knew about the ox ears he’d sent to the physician for his supper. Despite that, the young man had looked well rested and even a little excited when Fedeles saw him this morning. Though more than anything it had been the physician’s physical resemblance to Elezar and Timoteo that had made the greatest impression upon Fedeles. He might be a Haldiim, but he was also obviously bred from Grunito stock. Fedeles cast a sidelong glance at Timoteo. Could he be the father? No. Fedeles couldn’t credit the notion. In all the time he’d known Timoteo, never once had he observed the Holy Father to betray any interest in worldly pleasures of any kind. He was a man who hardly partook of necessary sustenance. Fedeles just couldn’t imagine him succumbing to infatuation, much less indulging in an illicit affair. Probably a cousin’s bastard then. Anacleto was well stocked with men of Grunito blood. It would be like Timoteo to shelter a young relative, regardless of his of mixed race.
“Atreau says you’ve known him a long while,” Fedeles prompted. They walked out under the neat rows of snowplums and pear trees. Despite the darkening sky, bees still hummed through the branches. Small blessings and charms scattered across the grounds grew more visible as the sun sank. Oasia’s blue and green blessings flickered around the chapel like waking fireflies, and far in the distance a faint golden glow emanated from the peak of Crown Hill.
“Yes. Since he was only an infant.” Timoteo sounded both nostalgic and sad. “His father died before Narsi could really know him. Wadi, his mother, she was just brilliant in her grasp of ethics. She taught me so much and was never afraid to challenge my assumptions . . .” Timoteo stopped and to Fedeles’s surprise he appeared to struggle to keep tears from his eyes. “She died last year, and that has left Narsi in a rather poor position.”
“How so?” Fedeles asked.
“His father’s family doesn’t recognize him—”
“Could they?” Fedeles asked.
Timoteo nodded.
“He’s legitimate?” Fedeles hadn’t expected that and belatedly recognized the unconscious bigotry that had led him to assume a child of mixed heritage resulted from an assault or an affair. Kiram would have been embarrassed of him. Fedeles’s face warmed with an ashamed flush. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply that his mother was—”
Father Timoteo’s laugh cut him off short.
“Wadi wouldn’t have given a fig about our prudish Cadeleonian expectations of women. She only bothered with a Cadeleonian marriage because she knew how important it was to her husband.” Timoteo’s smile faded. “But she would have wanted the best for her child, and I gave her my word that I would do all I could for him.”
“Are you hoping that I could pressure Narsi’s father’s family to recognize him?” Fedeles asked. He wasn’t certain how well that would go, particularly if that family was some branch of the vast, stubborn Grunito clan. “For an inheritance I presume?”
“No! Nothing of the sort.” Timoteo responded almost too quickly. “I simply thought that he would do well here, under your protection. He’s a charming young man. Clever, kindhearted and most pleasant company, I think. He possesses all the attributes that I believe could make him a good friend to you. Perhaps one day even a companion, as Captain Ciceron was.”
The comparison to Ciceron brought Fedeles up short. He studied the earnest intensity of Timoteo’s expression.
“You feel Master Narsi might desire to become an intimate of mine?” Fedeles chose the words carefully, not quite sure if he actually understood Timoteo’s meaning or if he’d wildly misconstrued. He’d never spoken of his physical desires to the Holy Father—why would he?—but neither did he take great pains to hide his inclination from those in his inner circle. He couldn’t really. His face betrayed him always. If he loved a man, he looked in love. His dislike was equally appreciable by all who cared to notice. Sevanyo had once told him that honesty was one of his best traits and should be cherished. Though he had been quite inebriated at the time, and had even proclaimed his intention to adopt Fedeles as his own.
But for the Holy Father to attempt to . . . what? Make him a match of his Haldiim foster child? It defied belief.
“Oh no . . . Narsi isn’t so calculating as to consider who he should befriend or what power his companions might wield.” Timoteo gazed up at the green branches overhead. Then he returned his attention to Fedeles. “This is my wish for him. It’s one of the reasons I asked him to come here. His mother was very concerned that after she passed on, Narsi’s aunt would attempt to marry him off to a rather unsuitable person. And though Narsi has resisted such a marriage, he is still so young and prone to youthful attachments. He’s inclined to feel sympathy for rascals and ne’er-do-well sorts whom I fear would embroil him in trouble but be nowhere to be found should he need them.”
“You’ve put a great deal of thought into this young man’s future.” Fedeles couldn’t help the remark.
“Narsi deserves a good life,” Timoteo announced as they passed beneath the snowplums. “A safe life. His father’s death robbed him of that, and now without his mother . . . I fear that there’s no one but me who truly loves him or wishes to protect him.”
“You think he needs protection? He struck me as a rather strapping young man.” Fedeles hadn’t noticed the lives of physicians as being particularly filled with misadventure or close brushes with the jaws of peril.
Although that was exactly where Fedeles had sent him just this morning. The veil of shame that had settled over him at the price Ciceron had paid for being of use to him and all those who supported Prince Sevanyo reasserted its weight. The young physician had been in his household only a day and already Fedeles had delivered Narsi into the hands of his spymaster with hardly a thought to the physician’s safety.
Although to be fair, Master Narsi had struck him as excited for the excuse to ride off with Atreau. Perhaps that eagerness was what actually worried Timoteo, or maybe it was the physician’s sympathy for rascals, as the Holy Father called them. Atreau had mentioned that Master Narsi had read his books, hadn’t he? And enjoyed them? So, yes, perhaps Timoteo really did just hope that Fedeles would provide the young man with safe, tedious company.
Timoteo sighed heavily, like a greatly burdened packhorse. Fedeles couldn’t help but reach out to pat his bony back.
“The royal bishop’s latest edicts worry me greatly,” Timoteo stated. “His intolerance toward Haldiim beliefs and people must be challenged.”
“Yes, I know,” Fedeles agreed. But how best to do that, Fedeles wasn’t certain.
“I cannot fight him, if I am the only protector whom Narsi can rely upon,” Timoteo said.
Fedeles nearly missed his step on the pebble path. He caught himself and tried not to gape at Timoteo. The Holy Father’s gaze remained fixed out upon the distant camellia hedges.
“We in the holy orders are responsible first and foremost to ensure that the grace of God is never misused to inflict harm. It falls to each and every one of us within the church to resist him. My position allows me to publicly engage the royal bishop in debate and, if necessary, demand that he be deposed.” Timoteo’s voice shook with the intensity of his emotion and, belatedly, Fedeles realized that his eyes were glassy as he lifted his gaze heavenward. “He must not be allowed to instigate another purge of the Haldiim people. Such evil has no right to hide behind a guise of piety. If I do not act soon then the harm he does—the lives he destroys—all that blood will be on my hands as much as his.”
“You can’t take responsibility for the royal bishop’s actions.”
“No. But I am fully responsible for my own inaction. I must oppose him. I feel the certainty of that as if our Savior has placed his hand upon mine and stands beside me urging me to decry the royal bishop.” Timoteo made a slight motion of his hand and Fedeles wondered if perhaps the Holy Father wasn’t speaking at all metaphorically. “I’m ashamed of myself for hesitating, but I’m afraid. I couldn’t bear it if anything I did harmed Narsi . . . or Berto, if it came to that. I need to know that they have a protector.”
Timoteo turned his wide-eyed gaze on Fedeles. Despite his white hair and hollowed features, there was a childlike quality to his silent entreaty.
“I have witnessed immense power and compassion within you,” Timoteo said quietly. “If I had your word that no ill would befall Narsi, then I could gladly face the flames of—”
“Before we prick our thumbs and promise blood oaths or plan our fiery demises,” Fedeles interrupted, “will you give me a little time to see if Prince Sevanyo and I can’t bring the royal bishop to heel? Once Sevanyo is king he will be better positioned to restrain the royal bishop, as will you.”
“But will Sevanyo intercede on the behalf of Haldiim citizens?” Timoteo asked.
“Of course he will,” Fedeles replied with complete certainty.
Timoteo looked like he might argue, but then he simply bowed his head and continued to walk in silence. Fedeles strode alongside him into the maze of camellia hedges. Somehow Timoteo’s quiet undermined Fedeles’s certainty more than any argument might have.
He loved Sevanyo and believed him to genuinely hold egalitarian ideals. But he also knew that Sevanyo was not absolute in his power. Even as king he would choose to make some sacrifices to maintain a peace, if not with his brother then with his son Remes. The Fueres family too controlled vast incomes as well as powerful alliances. Sevanyo couldn’t afford to alienate them before his reign was secure.
Timoteo’s fear wasn’t unfounded.
“If you choose to oppose the royal bishop”—Fedeles took Timoteo’s large, frail hands in his—“on my honor and before the Savior, I swear to you that I will shield you and those who look to you for protection. Even your physician, Master Narsi.”
Timoteo’s somber expression brightened into guileless delight.
“Thank you.”
Fedeles simply nodded.
When Brother Berto found them, he offered his condolences and made amiable conversation. Neither Atreau nor the physician, Narsi, had yet returned, it seemed. But there had been no news of Hylanya being discovered either, so Fedeles did not let himself worry. There was plenty in the city to keep both Atreau and anyone else occupied. At last Brother Berto managed to convince Timoteo to join him for supper. Fedeles wished them both a good evening.
He studied the night closing in around him. In the soft glow of the blessings ringing the chapel, he could just make out the silhouettes of groundsmen lowering Ciceron’s corpse into his fresh grave. A glossy black crow alighted in a tree near Fedeles and seemed to consider him. Fedeles felt the shadow within his body flutter. Very purposefully, Fedeles turned away from both the grave and the crow. He’d already had too much of both death and magic this day.
Chapter Fourteen
Atreau watched Narsi’s straight, broad back as the master physician departed the Green Door. He’d obviously been offended by his offhanded dismissal—who wouldn’t have been after risking so much and succeeding so well—but he’d not drawn attention to the slight. Instead he took his leave with the cool dignity one would expect of a physician. Several experienced agents in Fedeles’s service still didn’t possess that level of restraint.
Atreau considered that for a moment. As a Haldiim raised in a Cadeleonian household, Narsi had likely cultivated self-discipline early on. Atreau had noticed that even broad-minded Cadeleonians often griped about lack of decorum among Haldiim—even when they behaved twice as poorly themselves. The same kind of bias inspired many Labaran poets, authors, and playwrights to hone their writing to elegant perfection to compensate for their supposed national character as uncultured vulgarians.
Atreau didn’t bother; publishers and readers alike expected to be scandalized and offended by his writings. It was what they paid him for.
Though, from the notes he’d written and his comments, Narsi seemed to have appreciated far more than just the passages detailing ecstasy in varying forms and positions.
Curiosity roused in him as he wondered what Narsi would think of the city and its people. Under different circumstances Atreau would have happily followed Narsi out onto the street and offered to oblige as his guide. What might he have told Atreau about the Haldiim District, and what might they have discovered together if they ventured into the secret little shops where pearl-drop sellers traded in pornography and sedition?
“Oh, unknown. How tempting your distant figure. The allure of mystery: all the promise of shadows and whispers,” Atreau murmured to himself.
Suelita cast him a curious glance, then asked in a hushed voice, “Do you wish to join the master physician?”
“And abandon my current company? Never, my dear!” Atreau replied. He poured himself another cup of kaweh and drained the bitter drink. Far too much hinged upon Yago and his spies dismissing Narsi as some anonymous Haldiim of no importance beyond treating merrypox. His exit needed to pass without remark or any sign of regard.
At the table, Enevir made a comment about Narsi’s height and Jacinto offered an approving reply; then he turned the conversation back to casting his play. Sabella informed him flatly that she’d not scamper across the boards like some puppet. Inissa on the other hand agreed to accept a role if it would please Jacinto, but she pointed out that her skills in other areas might serve the prince’s pleasure far more. Atreau glanced away from her, thinking of Spider.
