Jeweled Fire

  “What is happening? Why are Welchin troops in Palminera?” Corene asked. Suddenly she registered the intermittent, echoing booms rolling across the city from the direction of the docks; suddenly she remembered the flashes of light she’d seen from the harbor. She gasped. “Are we invading Malinqua?”

  “Not us,” Nelson answered.

  “Berringey?”

  “Cozique,” Leah said.

  Corene felt that the night had left her too stupid to absorb information. “But—why?”

  “For the same reason I’m here, and Welchin warships lie a few miles out in the ocean,” Nelson said dryly. “Because Filomara has been careless with the safety of her guests.”

  “Melissande’s mother,” Corene realized. “She sent a navy to retrieve her.”

  “So it appears.”

  Corene gestured at Captain Sorren. “But then you—did you battle the Coziquela navy to come find us?”

  “That wasn’t necessary,” he replied.

  Still confused, Corene glanced at Nelson, who was pursing his lips. “Let’s say I might not have been entirely truthful with Filomara,” Nelson said. “Before I came ashore, I had some conversations with the Coziquela admirals. It turned out we were basically in agreement and we saw no need to fire on each other.”

  Corene rubbed her temple. Maybe she had been wrong when she told Foley she hadn’t hit her skull on the stone. She was starting to get a headache. “So then—what’s happening now?”

  Captain Sorren replied. “It’s been a busy day. Coziquela forces made short work of the Berringey blockade before confronting the Malinquese navy. Welchin ships were not far behind, and we met very little resistance. Coziquela forces now occupy the harbor and by now, I believe, control most of the city. If the empress calls up her infantry, we could see a great deal of bloodshed, but my guess is she will make terms. It’s not like Cozique wants anything from Malinqua except the queen’s daughter safely returned.”

  Corene listened closely, nodding a few times. Well, it made sense, but what a disaster for Filomara! Every one of her complex plans in tatters—one of her nephews dead, her trusted steward revealed as a bloodthirsty traitor—and now her city in the hands of a wealthy rival. This night of celebration had turned Palminera to ruins.

  “What part did you and Leah play in all this?” Corene asked the captain.

  Leah answered for him. “I saw the Coziquela ships in the harbor. I knew that a Welchin warship lay at anchor in the smuggler’s port, and I thought you might need your own guards to see you through this night.” She took a deep breath. “We were heading for the palace when I saw the red tower go up in flames. I didn’t know what that meant—but when the flames suddenly died down, I knew the sweela prime had to be nearby.”

  Nelson was grinning. “It is rather my signature style.”

  Captain Sorren spoke again. “Now that we’ve found you, let us escort you back to the ship. There’s enough chaos on the water that I’d prefer not to cast off until morning, unless you’re in a desperate hurry to pull out.”

  “We can’t leave,” Corene said. “We have to go to the palace.”

  All of them frowned at her with various levels of disapproval. Nelson said, “If you think there’s chaos on the water, you can bet it’s five times worse on land.”

  “The palace will be nothing but mayhem,” Foley added. “No one is there to keep order.”

  “Best to leave now,” Leah agreed, “before things get any worse.”

  Corene’s mouth set in a mutinous line. “I’m not leaving until I know how the situation stands at the palace,” she said. “They’re my friends—Garameno and Jiramondi and Liramelli. And Steff! And the empress! Her whole life has fallen apart tonight. Alette already disappeared and Filomara has no idea what happened to her. I’m not going to do the same thing. I’m going to say goodbye to her—to all of them. And even though you think you can pick me up and drag me back to the ship, you can’t. I won’t go. I’ll break down a locked door and I’ll jump into the ocean and I’ll swim back to shore, and I’ll walk back to the palace on my bare feet, if I have to, but I’m not leaving.”

  She was so angry she couldn’t read their expressions. She thought maybe Leah and Captain Sorren were eyeing her speculatively, wondering how much she would resist if they tried to kidnap her, but Foley was smiling and Nelson was openly laughing.

  “She’s sweela, but never forget that her father is the most hunti son of a bitch of all hunti sons of bitches ever born, and she’s every bit as stubborn as he is,” Nelson said. “I admit I’m curious to see the aftermath of this night’s work. Let’s go back to the palace.”

  • • •

  They formed an actual cavalcade as they navigated the streets back to the royal residence. Foley drove the elaymotive and Nelson insisted on sitting up front, so Leah and Corene crammed themselves onto the narrow bench in back. Nelson had given Corene his jacket to wear, because the night was chilly and she had, of course, sacrificed her own. “I’m never cold,” he said when she tried to protest, so she accepted it gratefully. She snuggled into it as she watched Captain Sorren deploy his men—half ahead of the elaymotive and half behind. They were all mounted on horses they’d acquired in some fashion. Corene hadn’t asked.

  Unlike Corene’s first manic dash through the city, this journey took them down streets that were oddly quiet and wholly deserted. All the windows were dark and no one peered out to investigate the noise of their passing. It was as if—through some mysterious but reliable method of urgent communication—every resident had learned of the betrayals at the palace and the invasion at the harbor, and everyone was hunkered down to wait out the consequences of disaster.

  It was easier to see on this trip, though; thank the sweela prime for that. Every gaslight on their route flared to sudden brightness as they approached and sank back to a muted glow as soon as they passed. No one even bothered to comment.

  Things got livelier as they approached the walls to the inner city, where the gate area shone with an artificially white light that owed nothing to Nelson’s careless magic. There were dozens of soldiers camped on both sides of the wall, and in the ample illumination Corene could tell that their blue-and-gold uniforms were neither Welchin nor Malinquese. Captain Sorren was correct: Cozique had control of the entire city.

  Their contingent met with a few cursory challenges, but once they were recognized as Welchin, they were waved on without fuss. Corene craned her neck, trying to peer down the labyrinthine alleys inside the gate, but those roads were just as dark and silent as the ones outside the walls. The whole city seemed to be holding its breath.

  It was a different story once they made it to the palace grounds, where there was so much activity it was hard to figure out who was doing what. The whole place was a wreck of trampled shrubbery, abandoned furniture, discarded wine bottles, dropped clothing, and spilled food. An army of servants moved through the welter, trying to set things right. Coziquela soldiers prowled the perimeter, but Malinquese guards stood at the palace entrance and took strategic positions throughout the grounds as if daring the foreign invaders to come one step closer. The wide front doors were propped open, admitting a steady stream of traffic both in and out—soldiers, servants, and the well-dressed members of Malinqua’s elite.

  The first person Corene recognized was Melissande.

  Before the elaymotive had even come to a halt, Corene was on her feet, shouting and waving. “Melissande! Melissande!” she cried. She hopped over the low door and ran toward the palace.

  “Corene!” Melissande shrieked, racing toward her. “I have been so worried! You cannot even imagine!”

  They collided just outside the door in a violent embrace and clung together, laughing and crying.

  “You do not know—you do not know—so very much has happened,” Melissande panted, still clinging to her.

  “Greggor
io is dead. Lorian killed him. Your mother has invaded,” Corene replied, equally breathless.

  Melissande exhaled a shaky laugh and released her. “Then you do know. The big things, at least. And when we could not find you—oh, we were so afraid. Lorian admitted that he had sent soldiers after you, but we could not find a body, and we have been wild with worry. But we could not find Foley, either, so we were a little hopeful.”

  By this time, the rest of the occupants had climbed from the car, and Melissande had had enough time to identify their military escort. “I see it is not only my mother’s men who have invaded Palminera,” she said sadly.

  “Welchin troops haven’t attacked,” Corene replied. “They’re only here for me.”

  “That’s exactly what my mother’s troops are saying.”

  “Where is everybody?” Corene demanded. “What happens next?”

  Before Melissande could answer, someone else stepped through the door. “Who are you talking to?” Steff asked. “Has there been any word of— Corene!”

  For the fourth time in this tumultuous night, Corene was swept into a hard embrace, this one almost as crushing as Foley’s. Steff’s cry brought more bodies through the door, and soon she was being passed from Steff to Liramelli to Jiramondi and back to Steff. It was odd how much she enjoyed the experience; she had never been one to seek out casual contact.

  “Enough—enough—let me get my balance,” she said finally, pulling herself from Steff’s arms but keeping one hand on his shoulder and one on Melissande’s. “Can we go somewhere and talk? Then you can tell me everything that’s happened.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Nelson went off to find the empress, but Jiramondi shepherded the rest of them to a small bookroom on the second floor in the white wing. Foley and Leah followed them up the stairs, as did half the Chialto guard, though none of them stepped inside the room. Melissande fussed over Corene, smoothing back her disordered hair and using a delicate handkerchief to brush smoke and soot from her face.

  “And your hands!” Melissande exclaimed. “They are so raw!”

  “I’ll take care of all that later,” Corene said impatiently. She was too tired to stand any longer, so she sank to a chair at a small table, and the other four all followed suit. She demanded, “Tell me everything. Tonight. Lorian. What happened?”

  Jiramondi nodded and folded his hands before him. He looked thin and exhausted, as if this night had lasted years instead of hours. “Greggorio is dead,” he said, the simple words holding pounds and acres and years of silent grief. Corene knew that his emotions must be too complex to sort out easily. Greggorio had been his rival, but also his cousin; she had witnessed between them competition, exasperation, but also affection. Behind the deep shock Jiramondi would be feeling a sense of bewilderment and loss.

  “I know,” Corene said, glancing at Liramelli. The other girl was leaning back against her chair, eyes closed, cheeks pale with sorrow. Steff reached over to take her hand and Corene saw Liramelli’s fingers close convulsively over his. Here was someone else whose loss too big and too complicated to calculate in a single night. “And Lorian killed him. But how did events get to this point to begin with?”

  “We’re still piecing it together,” Jiramondi answered. “And it is so much more complicated than we thought.”

  “It seems simple enough to me,” Corene said. “Lorian started assessing the next candidates for the throne and eliminating the ones he didn’t like.”

  “Maybe, but he wasn’t the first,” said Jiramondi. “If Lorian is telling us the truth, Morli started this game.”

  “Morli?” asked Steff.

  “Greggorio’s father,” Liramelli explained, opening her eyes, though she still wore an air of fragility.

  “He was the oldest of Filomara’s brothers and always believed he should be her heir. But not only did she intend Aravani to take the throne after her, Morli himself was childless.”

  “Until finally his third wife gave birth to Greggorio,” Liramelli said, her voice breaking only slightly when she spoke his name.

  “The very year Aravani and her daughters died of a mysterious fever,” Jiramondi added.

  “Morli killed them?” Steff demanded, his voice thick with horror. “Once his own son was born?”

  Jiramondi nodded. “Or so Lorian says. Lorian has not admitted that he helped Morli plot the murders—but he was always fond of Morli. Always close to him. It would not surprise me to learn he was somehow involved.”

  “But then did Lorian kill Morli, too?” Corene asked. “It makes no sense.”

  Jiramondi sighed and rubbed his forehead. “What appears to have happened is that Morli was murdered by Donato—Filomara’s second-oldest brother, who had always wanted the crown for himself. And Lorian was so heartbroken and enraged by Morli’s death that he poisoned Donato just a day or two later.”

  “Filomara’s other two brothers got blamed for the deaths and were banished from the palace,” Liramelli said.

  “While Lorian remained at court, now convinced that it was up to him to make sure Morli’s son was the next one to take the throne,” Jiramondi continued.

  “Which meant eliminating the other contenders,” Corene said. “Starting with Garameno.”

  Jiramondi nodded. “Yes. Lorian admits that he arranged for the accident that left Garameno crippled.”

  “Except it didn’t!” Liramelli exclaimed, straightening in her chair and regaining a little animation. “All this time—Garameno has been able to walk! He has been completely whole! Why pretend otherwise?”

  Corene could guess. “He needed to appear weak,” she said. “He needed to seem like he wasn’t a threat so Lorian wouldn’t try again to kill him.”

  Liramelli looked confused. “So all this time Garameno knew that Lorian was a murderer?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jiramondi replied. “He had noticed that everyone near the throne was being systematically eliminated, but he didn’t know who was responsible for the deaths. So he turned himself into an unlikely candidate so that he would draw no unwanted attention.”

  “Why weren’t you eliminated?” Corene asked him.

  Jiramondi responded with the ghost of a laugh. “But I was,” he said. “Lorian is the one who made sure everyone knew I was . . .”

  “Sublime,” Melissande supplied.

  He gave her a crooked smile. “Yes. Sublime. It was a kinder way to disinherit me than murder, I suppose.”

  Steff stirred in his chair. “So, really, up until then, Lorian wasn’t so bad,” he said. When they all looked at him in disbelief, he shrugged. “He killed one person, Donato, who’d already poisoned someone else. He tried to kill Garameno, but he didn’t succeed—and maybe he wasn’t trying to kill him. Just to frighten him. So at that point he wasn’t so terrible.”

  “Unless he was involved in Aravani’s death,” Corene pointed out. “But even if he wasn’t, his murders didn’t stop with Donato, did they?”

  Jiramondi shook his head. “He had made up his mind that Greggorio should take the throne—and he was equally determined that Greggorio should marry Liramelli. Who was also his favorite.”

  Liramelli was staring down at the table. “When I was a little girl, he would take me anywhere in the palace I wanted to go. He showed me the jewels in Filomara’s vault. When ambassadors came from Welce and Cozique and Dhonsho, bringing gifts for Filomara, he would sneak bits and pieces of them for me—sweets and ribbons and jars of perfume. I still have an opal from Yorramol that he brought me when I was seven years old.”

  “So when Greggorio lost interest in Liramelli,” Corene said. “When he began flirting with Sarona—”

  “That poor unfortunate girl.” Melissande sighed.

  “Lorian intervened,” Jiramondi summed up. He glanced at Steff. “So now he’s up to at least two successful murders, and he starts to think he can cont
rol everything. He doesn’t like the fact that Filomara still relies so heavily on Garameno. The night Nelson Ardelay arrives, Filomara invites Garameno in to assist with negotiations. Lorian decides Garameno is still considered a viable candidate for the throne and must be eliminated—not just crippled, but killed.”

  There was a little silence while they all contemplated how badly that plan had gone wrong.

  “One thing I don’t understand,” Corene said finally. “What about Steff?”

  “What about me?”

  “Why didn’t Lorian see him as a threat? Why is Steff still alive?”

  “Indeed, yes!” Melissande exclaimed. “If I am Lorian, I get rid of Steff the very first nineday he is in the palace!”

  Liramelli made a choking sound and clutched Steff’s hand even more tightly, holding on as if she could protect him with her own sturdy body.

  “I believe he took other steps to try to discredit Steffanolo,” Jiramondi said.

  “The men who tested Steff’s blood!” Corene realized. “Lorian bribed them to say Steff wasn’t related to the empress! I always thought that was Garameno.”

  “I thought so, too,” Jiramondi confessed. “But now I think it was Lorian.”

  “And yet, another expert certified him as Subriella’s son, so the question remains,” Melissande pointed out. “Why is Steff alive?”

  Jiramondi lifted his eyes to give Steff a long, considering look. “I think because he is an untutored, inexperienced country bumpkin who does not understand the impossible complexities of court life.”

  “That’s mean!” Liramelli cried.

  Steff laughed. “It’s fair.”

  Melissande nodded. “We who like Steff see his many good qualities, of course, but it does seem unlikely someone as canny as Filomara would force a crown on his head when he does not seem—entirely—suitable to rule a country.”

  “So Lorian had no reason to kill him,” Jiramondi said. “But that could have changed in a year or two if Filomara started to favor him.”