Fires of the Faithful (37 page)

Sweet and gentle Lady
—the words of the prayer my mother taught me when I was just learning to speak fell from my lips before I thought about it.

I had said that prayer before bed each night until my fourth year at the conservatory, but the arms I had ached for—then as now—were my mother’s.

The prayer didn’t quite scan, I noticed suddenly, and wondered what sorts of prayers Lucia would teach her
children to say before going to bed. Something in the Old Tongue, probably.
B’shem Arka, v’barah, v’nehora kadosha
. That sort of thing.

“All right, God,” I said aloud. “I’ll make the same bargain with you that Rafi and Isabella and Giovanni and Lucia made with me. I’ll follow you as long as you’re leading somewhere I want to be going.” I knelt to touch the ground, then crossed myself. Looking up at the stars, I took out Bella’s cross, and kissed it. “I’m one of Yours now.”

I told myself that I believed. But perhaps it was just that I saw the Light in the light of Lucia’s eyes.

B
ack at the conservatory, we always played a concert for the village during the Dono alla Magia festival. Aside from the hours and weeks of rehearsals, though, I participated little in the preparations. One day it would be late spring, and then the next day the conservatory would be decked with lights and the conductors would be shouting at the strings to pick up the pace, there was only a week left.

Festival preparations at Ravenna were subtle, but visible. People couldn’t really dress up, but they washed their clothes. Some even washed their tents; Ravenna was suddenly more colorful. Tallow became an extremely valuable commodity, and lamp oil even more so. “I didn’t even know there were this many Delle Chiese in Ravenna. I thought most of Ravenna followed the Old Way,” I said to Lucia, as we watched an old woman named Betira making candles.

Lucia sighed. “Many,” she said, “but not most. There were Delle Chiese that attended the funeral … just as
there are Redentori who will attend the Dono alla Magia festivities.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Maybe. But it’s pointless to fight against it.” She shrugged. “They’ll repent next week.” We were silent for a bit. “Are you playing for the soldiers again tonight?”

“Yes.”

“How much longer do you think you’ll be able to keep it up, before Teleso starts getting antsy?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Discreetly, I eased my collar away from my throat. “Mario will warn me. I hope.”

My concerts for the soldiers had become a twice-weekly event, once for the night shift and once for the day shift. More and more soldiers attended each time. That night I played for the day shift; Mario and Tomas were there, studying me from the darkness.

“You’re not alone,” I repeated. “It’s
Teleso
who is alone. We have each other.
You
have each other. Together, you can turn any storm that Teleso can raise.
We
can turn the storm.”

The regulars were already starting to form a circle, clasping the hands of the newcomers. Some of the newcomers looked nervous—others, relieved.

“You have the strength to do what you know in your heart is right,” I said. “You have all the strength you need.”

As they stood in the circle, I played the first notes of the dance, and they started, the regulars leading the newcomers through the steps. As always, I felt the energy building, tonight like a light that jumped from hand to hand through the circle. When the dance finished, I pulled the energy down into the earth. Later, as the soldiers dispersed, Mario approached me. “Arianna—Teleso’s maid—says she wishes she could hear you again,” he said.

“Does she ever get to leave the keep?” I asked.

“No,” Mario said.

“If she can tell me the next time Teleso gets drunk,” I said, “I can stand under one of the windows to play.”

Mario liked that idea. “That should be soon,” he said. “Teleso gets drunk pretty often.”

“So let me know next time, and I’ll come play.”

He hesitated a moment longer. “The girl Giula. The other violinist. Is she a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” I said. “We went to the same conservatory. Why?”

“You should know, then,” he said. “She’s been keeping company with Teleso.”

“Keeping company,” I said. “What do you mean, ‘keeping company’?”

Mario opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “Look for her in the piazza tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”

The next morning, I took a walk in the piazza when I had finished my gruel. I didn’t see Giula anywhere, and for a moment I thought that perhaps Mario had her confused with someone else. Then the front door of the keep opened—the door only Teleso used.

Giula was clean, and she had ribbons in her hair. She clasped her hands around Teleso’s arm, tucking herself into his side as they walked. She saw me from across the piazza; her eyes narrowed briefly in a malicious glare, then she turned away, tugging Teleso gently in the other direction.

Michel edged up toward me. “I still don’t think this is such a good idea, Eliana,” he said.

“Shh,” I said. “Back off.”

Teleso glanced idly toward us; his face brightened slightly when he spotted me. He bent his head to whisper in Giula’s ear, then drew her across the piazza toward me.
Michel started edging up again and I stepped away from him, toward Giula and Teleso.

“Good afternoon, Eliana,” Teleso said. His smile was broad; he nudged Giula forward, like a peddler displaying his best wares. “Giula tells me you’re old friends.”

“Yes,” I said, looking at Giula. She met my eyes with a look of challenge that baffled me. “Hello, Giula.”

“Hello,” Giula said. “What are you bothering with me for? Where are your
new
friends?”

“I wanted to see you,” I said. “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” she said. “So why now, then? Are you jealous?” Again she shot me a look of challenge, then softened into a dimpled smile to look up at Teleso. Teleso gave her a perfunctory smile, then looked back at me.

“Jealous?”
Jealous?
“Why on earth would I be jealous?”
Just as long as it’s not me
. I met Teleso’s eyes evenly. “I’m delighted that you’re happy, Giula. I’m sure Teleso is taking good care of you.”

Giula glanced from me to Teleso, then huddled close to him again. “He told me what you did,” she said. Her lip was trembling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said. “It wasn’t what I did, it was what I refused to—”

“He said you tried to start a riot,” she said. “At Beneto and Jesca’s funeral.”

My head snapped up, and Teleso met my eyes with a smirk. I bit back the urge to call him a liar right then and there—that seemed unnecessarily risky. “That’s an interesting way of describing what happened,” I said. “You might try asking a few other people for their version.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Michel edging toward me again.

“Why should I?” she said. “Are you saying Teleso would lie to me?”

“Giula!” I said. Again, I glanced at Teleso, wondering if there were some way I might get her alone, but he had a tight grip on her. “We’ve known each other for five years. Do you think I’d start a riot?”

“Well,” she said, tossing her ribbons and curls back over her shoulder. “I
used
to know you. But that was
before
your best friend was a boy who beats up girls he’s never met before.”

“He’s not my best friend!” I said. “I can’t stand Giovanni. Everyone else in Ravenna knows that, I can’t understand how
you
managed to miss it—”

“Right,” she said mockingly. “Sweet little stupid Giula. Don’t worry about telling her; if she’s too much of a fool to figure it out, who cares?”

I backed up a step, stunned by her fury, and nearly stepped on Michel’s foot. “Why are you angry at me?” I said. I realized that I was close to tears. “Giula, we’re
friends
.”

“We
were
friends,” she said. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed together into a painted pout. Then she turned back to Teleso, all simpering dimples again. “Did you have anything else to say to Eliana, darling?” she asked him.

Teleso was still staring at me, looking disappointed. Giula tugged on his sleeve and he looked down at her. “No, sweetness,” he said. “Let’s go back in. I’ve had enough sun for today.”

Giula gave me a final nod, and then turned away to sweep back across the piazza and into the keep.

•  •  •

I didn’t want to go back to Rafi’s tent, after that—I wanted to be alone, which was impossible in Ravenna, but if I walked along the edge of the valley, maybe no one would
bother me. Maybe I could persuade Michel to keep his distance. Maybe. “Generale.”

“I really need to be alone, please,” I said.

“Generale!” The voice was insistent, and I turned; it was Amedeo.

“Leave me alone, crazy man,” I said.

“Leave
her
alone,” Amedeo said. “She’s already got one foot in the fire and she put it there herself.”

“Giula?” I asked.

Amedeo spat onto the ground. “She’s as good as dead,” he said. “Let her go. You’ve got more important people to worry about. Shake her dust from your feet.”

I started to turn away, but he grabbed my wrist with his bony hand.

“Besides,” he said. “We’ve still got each other!” He kissed my hand and leered at me.

I snatched my hand away. “Leave me alone!” Michel started toward us, then backed off.

“Oh,” Amedeo said, disappointed. “Scorned again! You prefer Mario, is that it? Or is it Lucia?” He smirked at me. “Bad luck there. Something the Redentori are going to have in common with the Lady—they won’t like that sort of thing. Two girls, two boys, you know. Like witchlight.” He held out his hand and a glow sprang into it. “It’s a sin.” He stared at the light in his hand as if it were a snake, screeched once, and put it out, shaking his hand as if he had touched something nasty.

I stared at him. “Do you have anything sensible to say to me, old man? Or are you just raving again?”

“God bless you,” Amedeo said, and went off back down into the valley, humming to himself.

Prefer Lucia? I sat down on the hill, staring down into Ravenna. Two girls? I wasn’t sure what Amedeo meant,
what the Redentori were forbidding. I clasped my arms around my knees. Ten paces away, Michel stood idly, glancing around every few seconds to make sure nobody was getting into position to take a shot at me. I closed my eyes, trying to block out Michel, Ravenna, everything.

I’ve reached out and felt His hand grasp mine
, I could hear Lucia’s voice saying. What was it that made Lucia seem to exude light?
There are some things that are never meaningless
. I thought of her face, brown from the sun and the wind, her hair bleached to straw. I wanted to dance with her, I realized. I wanted to do more than dance with her.

I opened my eyes and stood up, starting to walk again, remembering the feeling of Lucia’s hand in mine. I wanted to touch her face; I wanted to feel her skin, softer than the velvet dress. I wanted to touch her hair, windblown and tangled, to run my hands through it.

My hands were shaking, and I wrenched my thoughts back to Ravenna, the reform movement, Michel’s patient step behind me. I stopped walking and closed my eyes again, trying desperately to focus. But instead of Ravenna, the image that flashed through my mind was Mira—Mira, by the conservatory wall, clasping my hand and looking into my eyes, giving me the smile that warmed me to the soles of my feet. Only this time her smile was knowing, and she took my hand tight enough to make me wince.

I opened my eyes again. Was that supposed to be against God’s will, like witchlight? I didn’t want to know. Walking quickly, like I could leave behind whatever part of myself Amedeo had seen, I headed back to Rafi’s tent.

I saw Giula the next day, from a distance. I was crossing the piazza when she came out for a walk, simpering on Teleso’s arm. They were inspecting the preparations for Dono alla Magia. I recognized the dress she wore; it was
the wine-red velvet dress Teleso had tried to persuade me to put on. As I watched her, she looked over her shoulder and our eyes met. I could see her eyes flicking over me, looking me up and down, taking in my shabby clothes and dirty face. She had a little smirk on her face, and I knew what she was thinking.
Look at her. I am so fortunate, and she is so foolish, to turn her back on all that I have gained
. With a toss of her smooth-brushed hair, she turned back toward Teleso, who smiled down at her with pride in his most attractive possession.

I was going to be sick if I watched this much longer, so I strode off toward Isabella’s tent and didn’t look back.

A few nights later, Mario sent word for me to meet him on the hillside, a few hours after his shift ended. “The grain arrived,” he said. “Late last night.”

“I can move soon, then,” I said.

“You can move
now
, and you should. You’re going to be in serious trouble soon, Eliana.”

“I’m going to wait until after Dono alla Magia,” I said. “That’s only another three days.”

Mario shook his head impatiently. “There is exactly one thing that has kept Teleso from stringing you up like Jesca, and that’s your old buddy, Giula. She’s kept him distracted. She’s done more for you than anyone else here—remember that when she’s cringing at your feet.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you’ve led the uprising. When you’ve led the breakout.” Mario’s face was stormy and I avoided his eyes. “That is what you’re planning, isn’t it?” he asked. I hesitated for a moment, and his voice grew impatient. “It’s a bit late to decide you don’t trust me. Those soldiers you’ve been lecturing on morality—are you going to lead us against our fellows? Against Teleso?”