Our Lady of the Snow Page 22

  On the fifth night of the new reign Urss was working alone in his study, drafting and approving documents for the next morning’s meeting of the Exalted Council. The hour was late and his was the only light still burning in the seminary; nothing unusual, for he rarely took more than four hours” sleep and often went without rest altogether for two days or more. In Urss’ opinion sleep was a waste of time that could be better employed in activity, and overcoming the need for it was merely a matter of discipline.

  He had finally dismissed his yawning secretary an hour ago, and now, by the light of just two precisely placed candles, he worked tirelessly on. The pile of papers diminished steadily, until at last he signed his authorisation to the last of them, laid his pen down and sat back in his chair, looking with satisfaction at the result of his labors. For once, nothing else demanded his urgent attention. Anything still outstanding could wait until tomorrow.

  His normal custom when work was finished was to kneel down beside his desk and pray to the God before taking a few hours” rest. Regular prayer, of course, was a requirement of his calling and Urss observed it scrupulously, though more often than not his prayers were a token gesture. Tonight, though, he felt the need for a little more. He would, he decided, go to the Seminary chapel, where he could meditate uninterrupted for a while and refresh his spirit.

  The chapel lay at the heart of the Seminary, below ground level. It was an imposing chamber, square where the Sanctum of the Lady was circular, and large enough to accommodate two hundred priests. At this hour it was deserted. Closing the door behind him, Urss moved to one of the benches reserved for the highest Fathers, and sat down to absorb the peaceful atmosphere before beginning his devotions. Candles burned softly in sconces around the walls, undisturbed by any draught. They cast peculiar shadows on the central statue of the God, and a more fanciful man than Urss might easily have imagined that the carved figure’s blank face now sported features: piercing eyes, broad nose and relentless mouth. Urss, though, saw only the slight flaws in the stonework and the fact that there was a thin film of dust on the surrounding pedestal. He made a mental note to discipline the Little Brothers whose task it was to clean the chapel, then knelt down, hands clasped and elbows resting on the ledge before him. Wetting his lips, he started quietly to pray. Proficiently, almost perfunctorily, he ran through a litany and a sanctification, before turning his mind to a more personal invocation. Then, in an obscure comer behind the statue, something moved.

  Through half-closed eyes Urss glimpsed the movement, and the prayer stopped as his head came up sharply. Someone else in the chapel? It seemed unlikely. His gaze shifted carefully to either side of the statue. No untoward shadows, as of a lurking intruder. And the movement had ceased now. A trick of the light; it must have been. There was no one there.

  A little annoyed at having allowed himself to be distracted, Urss bent his head over his hands again. But his concentration was gone. Through the blur created by his latticed fingers it seemed that there was something wrong with the chapel’s dimensions, and the anomaly disturbed him. At length he gave up the attempt to return to his devotions, and instead rose, stepped down from the bench and approached the statue on its plinth. He would light a votive candle, and use the flame as a focus for an exercise in self-control. That would deal with the problem.

  He crouched down, a little stiffly, took up one of the unlit candles and touched it to the shrine lamp that burned ceaselessly at the statue’s feet. Then, sitting back on his haunches, he focused his gaze and his mind on the small flame. It seemed to burn more brightly than was usual, and there was a crimson pinpoint at its heart, like a tiny, feral eye. Urss concentrated on the eye. He could feel his mind relaxing, the exertions of the day slipping away and settling to quietness, and he began to breathe with a controlled, regular rhythm. Better. The feeling of disquiet was receding and his equilibrium coming back. He would offer a prayer to the God, and then he would return to his quarters.

  “Great lord, hear the words of your servant and envoy in this world of men.” His voice murmured through the chapel and the walls sent whispering echoes back. “I pray for strength and guidance in this time of change, and ask your blessing upon our new Imperator as he begins—”

  He stopped, as in his mind, silently, a voice said: “Father Urss.”

  A shock like a knife-stab went through Urss. His gaze was.. still on the candle flame and suddenly he found that he could not tear it away. A force beyond his control was holding him motionless; he was unable to move, unable to speak.

  “Father Urss.”

  Sweat broke out on Urss’ face and body; he could feel a rivulet of it trickling down his spine under his robe. He started to shake as, slowly, he realized what was happening to him. It had been many, many years since he had experienced this…but tonight, here in the chapel, it was happening once again.

  The God was speaking to him.

  “Lord…” Urss found his voice with a vast effort, though the word quavered. “Lord…your servant hears you!”

  “Then listen, Father Urss. Listen, and take warning.”

  With an icy rush the paralysis released Urss. His head jerked, the movement so violent that it almost threw him off balance, and he found his stare being pulled up, up, to the statue towering above him.

  The statue had a face. Later, Urss would be unable to recall even the smallest detail of it, but it was no trick of the candles. There were eyes, set in deep, dark hollows and burning into him like brands. There was a nose, high-bridged and arrogant, like the beak of a bird of prey. And there was a mouth, moving and curving in the slightest of smiles.

  “I am pleased with all you have done,” the dizembodied voice whispered. “But you must have a care. Be wary of her, Father Urss. Be wary of the fair child. Your Imperator is young, and the young must be protected from their own rash follies. If such a folly threatens, I charge you to do what must be done. Do not displease me, Father Urss. Do not fail. Watch the fair child, and have a care.”

  As the last calm, indomitable sentence was uttered the voice began to fade, and the final words sank away into profound silence. Urss felt the power that had overtaken him sliding back, freeing him from its grip, but though his body was his own again he still stood motionless, gazing up at the statue, his face blank with shock and awe. The statue’s face, too, was blank again, the shadow-features wiped away as though they had never manifested. But Urss knew what he had seen. He knew what he had heard. And he had no doubt whatever that he had experienced a true vision of the God.

  Who had given him a timely warning.

  Urss knelt, then dropped to the floor and prostrated himself before the carved figure. It was a mute thanksgiving for the God’s approval of all that he had done, and a solemn acknowledgement and acceptance of the new task with which he had been charged. Be wary of the fair child. Urss understood; and the warning was a vindication of his own forebodings. Now

  though, he knew that he could freely act, if need be, to remove that danger. He had the highest sanction of all.

  For some minutes longer he stayed prone and motionless, completing his silent prayer of gratitude. Then he raised himself, climbed with dignity to his feet, and moved with a measured tread towards the door of the chapel. He did not look back; there was no need. But he smiled to himself, a smile of certainty and contentment, as the door closed gently behind him.

  ****

  Two days later, Nanta had an official duty to perform.

  The summons came in the form of a folded parchment bearing the Imperator’s seal, and was delivered by a sober-faced herald in full livery, who asked that he might wait for the Dowager’s formal reply.

  Nanta broke the seal and started to read the message. The first paragraph commanded her to attend the throne room that evening, where she would be required to pledge her allegiance to the new Imperator, Kodor VI, and his consort, the Imperatrix Pola. She had been expecting this. It was a necessary protocol, to put on record the fact that she relinquished any
claim to power and acknowledged Kodor as her rightful liege, and once the pledge was made, Kodor would by right have the authority to decide and dictate her future. Effectively, she was throwing herself on his mercy.

  It was simply an observance, and generations of imperial widows had done it before her. But as she continued to read, Nanta felt a cold premonition touch her. Ask your brother. The frost sprites” words; an unequivocal warning. What did Kodor mean to do with her now? She had no useful function; she was just a relict, and a reminder of things that Kodor, perhaps, would prefer to forget.

  Then, as she reached the message’s last paragraph, she saw that there was something more. When the ceremony in the throne room was over, the Imperatrix Dowager was invited to dine with her loving brother and sister in the small winter hall of the palace. The phrase “loving brother and sister” and the use of the term “invited” gave a kindlier impression, but Nanta knew that this, too, was a command she could not disobey.

  Nanta went into her office, where she wrote a brief, stilted answer to the message. She had no seal of her own now, but signed the reply with a flourish and secured it with plain wax. Outside the herald was waiting, restless and in a hurry; she had seen him trying not to fidget. Nanta frowned at what she had written. She did not want a personal encounter with Kodor. She wasn’t ready for it yet, not while there was still so much uncertainty in her mind. But a refusal was out of the question. She would simply have to make the best of it. And there was one consolation—by coming face to face with Kodor she would have the opportunity to watch and listen for any untoward hint,

  any small clue, that might betray his involvement in Osiv’s death. For Kodor was involved, she was sure of it. And no matter how long it might take, or what risks she might run by her investigations, Nanta was determined to find out the truth.

  ****

  The strange, stiff masque of Nanta’s formal pledge of allegiance took place as planned on the following evening. Everything was done according to custom. Kodor, looking somber and a little uncomfortable on the colossal, gilded throne, sat unmoving as the veiled Nanta was led in by two high officers of the Imperial Household. Nanta then curtseyed to her knees and stayed down while the officers formally presented her to the Imperator and he, equally formally, made a stiff speech of welcome. Pola, also veiled, sat beside her husband on a lesser chair, while behind and to either side of them the entire Exalted Council, in strict order of rank, stood watching and bearing witness. Nanta saw Father Urss at the head of the assembly. His face wore a very thoughtful expression and he seemed to be watching her with an unusual degree of interest. But there was no time for her to wonder what might be in his mind; the officers were respectfully raising her to her feet again, and a cold fanfare rang from the gallery overhead, signalling the moment for her to approach the throne. Slowly forward, head bowed: six paces and stop. She had been carefully schooled this morning in the minutiae of the ceremony, and the words she must say came so easily that she was barely aware of them. Then down again, kneeling this time, to kiss the gloved hands that were extended to her. First Kodor’s, his middle finger bearing the Imperator’s ring of office, and then Pola’s, which felt cold even through the glove’s velvet. The fanfare sounded again, and Nanta raised her head so that Kodor could reach forward and lift the veil back from her face. For one moment Nanta gazed into his eyes, and what she saw there startled her. There was sorrow in Kodor’s look; sorrow and wistfulness and a strange, suppressed hint of eager hope. His eyes closed as he kissed her forehead, and he said, so softly that only she could hear, “My dearest Nanta.”

  Pola had also cast back her veil, and she too kissed Nanta’s brow, though her smile was feigned and she did not speak. Again Nanta rose, and to the sound of a third fanfare she backed away six paces before making her final curtsey. Then the thin bark of the trumpets faded and died, and the ceremony was over.

  Kodor rose and the entire company made obeisance to him, even the scribe who had been absorbed in noting the proceedings springing to his feet and bowing deeply. A nod, and the doors that led to the winter hall were opened. Kodor looked at Nanta where she waited, and he smiled.

  “We shall dine now. Sister, will you take your brother’s arm?”

  What followed then was a small indiscretion, but it was noticed. By the correct protocol Kodor should have offered his right arm to his wife as he led her forward, signifying her precedence over Nanta. Instead, he gave her his left. Pola stiffened as sharply as if someone had slapped her face, and for a moment it seemed that she would spurn him and walk away. But Pola was not the kind to make a public scene. Her face tightened into a look of dignified indifference, and as Kodor proffered his right arm to Nanta she looked straight ahead and smiled another synthetic smile. Nanta could only accept Kodor’s arm and go with them both. But as they passed the senior councillors, she saw Father Urss again. He was watching her still. His face was as cold as a glacier. And in his eyes was a dark and dangerous glint.

  ****

  Twelve people in total sat down to dine in the winter hall. Nanta was surprised; from the wording of her invitation she had assumed that this would be a private function for the imperial family, reminiscent, perhaps, of the meals they had all taken together when Arctor was alive. The fact that it was not was a relief in one sense, for those occasions had usually been struggled through in an awkward and stagnant atmosphere, with little conversation and many long silences. It also gave her more scope for observing Kodor without making her interest too obvious. However, she could have wished for better table companions. Three were high-ranking officials of the Exalted Council; old men with prim faces and dry minds, who had nothing to say to her that was of any possible interest. Four were aristocrats of the court, two men and two women with exaggerated manners and glib tongues; invited, Nanta surmised, as a matter of grace and favor. The party was completed by Exalted Father Urss and Grand Mother Beck.

  Kodor and Pola sat side by side at the head of the great polished table, with their guests in strict order of precedence down its length. Nanta was placed immediately to Kodor’s left, and as she took her seat she was dismayed to find herself directly opposite Father Urss. Urss bowed to her before lowering himself on to his chair, but the bow was perfunctory and his eyes held more than a hint of disdain. Already, she thought, there was a subtle but distinct difference in his attitude towards her. While she was Imperatrix he had treated her with punctilious deference, but now that she was a mere dowager her status had been diminished. Though on the surface Urss would doubtless behave as respectfully as ever, there was a new authority in his manner, a tacit implication that the balance of power had shifted in his favor.

  Matters progressed well enough, if dully, as the meal began. For all their pretensions the four courtiers had robust appetites, and Beck more than kept pace with them. Urss ate fastidiously, Pola barely touched her dishes, and Kodor seemed to prefer the wine to the food. In fact he was drinking a great deal, and by the time the third course was served the effects had started to show. The look in his eyes became darker and more introspective with every glass he drained, and as conversation progressed along its bland, careful lines he made less and less effort to hide his boredom. When addressed by Urss or one of the nearer councillors his replies were terse, and on the few occasions when Pola spoke to him he did not answer her at all.

  The one person he did wish to talk to was Nanta. Time and again he claimed her attention, and as the wine did its work the contrast between his interest in her and in the rest of the party became all too conspicuous. He smiled into her eyes, he told her stories and anecdotes; twice he even reached across the table to touch her hand. Nanta was acutely aware that both Pola and Father Urss were watching intently. Urss’ eyes, when she ventured briefly to glance at him, were wrathful, while Pola only glared steadily and silently at her husband’s display, her mouth narrowed to a thin, tight and painful line. Nanta was horribly embarrassed—and in her turn as angry as Urss and Pola. Kodor was manipulating her,
using her as a pawn in some game of his own devising which seemed deliberately calculated to humiliate Pola. Nanta, too, felt humiliated. She tried to rebuff Kodor’s attentions, withdrawing her hand from his reach and attempting to strike up a meaningless conversation with the councillor on her left. Kodor, though, would have none of it. He wanted to monopolize her and he would not brook rejection. Nanta desperately wished that she could get up and walk away from the table, leave the hall and let him find another target for his perverse amusement. But Kodor was the Imperator, and to snub him or give offence to him in any way was unthinkable. She had no choice but to stay and suffer this for as long as it pleased him to continue.

  To her astonishment it was Pola who eventually came to her rescue. One of the women courtiers had just asked Kodor a simpering and facile question, and for courtesy’s sake he felt obliged to reply. Pola took her opportunity. She smiled at Nanta—outwardly it was quite convincing—and said in her clear contralto, “Sister, I believe we owe you an apology.”