Fires of the Faithful (6 page)

“How is your family?” Mira asked.

“They’re all fine,” I said.

“Any new nieces or nephews?”

“One nephew.” Mira was acting interested; I sighed, resigned myself to the change in subject and started telling her about the news from my village. I’m sure I sounded just like Giula, babbling on about a bunch of people Mira didn’t know.

“So your village isn’t affected by the famine, then?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “The war never came to our part of Verdia. Some of the men were conscripted to fight in the army, but even then, they got by.”

“What does your village think caused the famine?”

“They say that the retreating Vesuviani soldiers sowed salt in the fields,” I said. “That’s the prevailing theory, at least.”

“Have you heard any others?”

“There are some who believe that the Maledori poisoned the land. Others think that the Lord and the Lady are punishing them, though of course the priests say that the Lady never wishes ill upon Her children.”

“What did your family think of the war itself?”

I sighed, trying to think back to the letters my mother had sent as it was starting. “There had been raids from Vesuvia, coming across the border to steal crops and burn fields—not into my village, but still, close enough to feel as if the wolves were at our neighbor’s door, if not our own. The story that went around right before the army marched—about the farm family burned with their crops—hit my mother hard. I remember one letter where she talked about how it
could have been her and my father and brothers, even though they were a few days’ walk from the border and not really that vulnerable to raids.”

Mira nodded, not saying anything.

“What were things like in Cuore during the war?” I asked.

“The food shortages didn’t hit us as hard,” Mira said. “You probably would have guessed that.”

“What do people in Cuore say caused the famine?” I asked.

Mira’s voice was heavy. “Salt.” She didn’t seem to want to say anything more.

After Mira blew out her candle and we lay down, I lay awake for longer than usual. After a long time, Mira thought I was asleep, and in the darkness, I could hear her choking back wrenching, wracking sobs.

The next morning, the priest and priestess announced a prayer service, for Bella’s sister and all the other relatives we’d just found out we’d lost. Lessons and rehearsals were canceled, and I trudged reluctantly to the chapel.

“Lord and Lady,” the priest intoned. “Look down upon us, thy servants, and have mercy. May the hungry be fed; may the grieving be comforted. May the dead find peace in thy eternal garden.”

“So may it be,” we said. I stopped listening. Giula sat to my right, sitting on her hands to keep them warm; she’d been distracted enough by Bella’s sad news that she hadn’t even scrambled for an aisle seat. Mira sat on my left; she had a glazed look, like she wasn’t listening any more than I was. Bella sat in the pew in front of us. Her eyes were red from crying, and she did not look comforted.

As we left the chapel service, Bella caught Mira’s arm. “Our ensemble plays
today
,” she said.

Mira nodded as if she’d been thinking the same thing.

We met after the midday meal. Bella reached the north practice hall first. “You know the funeral song,” she said to me. “Teach us.”

It worked better this time. I played the song through, then played it a line at a time, the group playing the line back to me.
Da
dat da
da
dat da
wham wham wham. Da
dat da
da
dat da
wham wham wham
. I stamped out the rhythm with Flavia’s drumming. Everyone else was stamping with the beat, too. We passed the music to Bella, and she began improvising, taking the music higher and higher and higher. There was an odd feeling in the air. It was like a swarm of bees in my head, or like standing on a wooden floor right over the percussionist sectionals,
feeling
the rolling bass more than hearing it. Like I was
inside
a cello. I was breathless;
something was going to happen
.

Then Celia stopped singing and stepped out of the circle. Her face was very white. “This is wrong,” she said.

Bella opened her mouth to say something scathing, but Mira put a restraining hand on Bella’s arm. Celia went on. “We’ve crossed the line,” she said. “It’s one thing to play for the sake of the music, but you can’t say anymore that that’s what we’re doing. I’m not going to turn away from the Lady. Worshipping the old gods is wrong.”

In the silence, she put on her cloak and left the hall.

“We’d better not play anymore today,” Mira said. Her voice was gentle, and she was speaking to Bella. Bella shook her head, not saying anything.

The door to the practice hall swung open. We looked over, expecting Celia, but it was Giorgi—the cook’s assistant and the village healer. “We need to talk,” he said.

Bella stepped forward. “About what?” she asked.

“I don’t think you realize the sort of trouble you could get into for what you’re doing,” Giorgi said. “Celia’s right; you’ve crossed the line. The Dean and the teachers know
that students play the Old music—they did the same, when they were students—but alone, and in secret. Not like this.”

“This is the way the music is
supposed
to be played,” Bella said.

“Of course,” Giorgi said. “That’s why you need to stop.”

Bella was shaking her head and I said, “I don’t understand.”

Giorgi gave me an exasperated look. “You probably have grandmothers who bless themselves to ward off the evil eye, don’t you?”

Flavia touched her forehead, heart, left shoulder, and right shoulder. “B’shem Arka, v’barah, v’nehora kadosha,” she said in the Old Tongue. “Like that?”

“Yes. For a long time, the Fedeli have carefully ignored some small amount of Old Way practice, mocking it as superstition instead of treating it as a serious threat. But that’s changing—in Cuore, and elsewhere. Conservatory students are kept deliberately isolated, so you had no way of knowing that.” He turned to Mira. “You, however, had an obligation to warn these children what you were getting them into. And you did not.”

I glanced at Mira, expecting her to look defiant. Instead, she looked crushed.

Giorgi went on. “If Celia decides to make a fuss, the Fedeli could be summoned to the conservatory, to look for heresy, apostasy, disloyalty—anything and anyone they could find. You could get far more people killed than just your little group. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Now even Bella had lowered her eyes.

“This is not the time for this music,” Giorgi said. “This is not the place. You are children, and you are playing
with fire. I just hope you don’t all
end
in fire.” He turned his back on us and left the hall.

“I’m sorry,” Mira whispered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Bella said. “This was the right way to pray for my sister.” She packed up her trumpet and put on her cloak. Giula slipped out after her, her face white.

Flavia wrapped her drum and put on her cloak. Mira was still staring at the floor, her face bleak, and Flavia took Mira’s chin to lift her face. “I knew we could get in trouble,” Flavia said, “and I’ve never believed that conservatories are somehow invulnerable to the Fedeli. And I chose to play with you. Take heart.”

Alone with Mira in the north practice hall, I touched her hand gently. “I’m not sorry, either,” I said. “Come on. If we’re not going to do something illegal, let’s go somewhere warmer.”

A few days later, I overheard Bella talking to Giorgi, and paused to listen. And to warn them, of course, if anyone else tried to overhear their conversation. “Teach
me
, then,” Bella said. “I don’t care how dangerous it is. I don’t care what the Fedeli could do to me.”

“You have to promise me that you won’t play the songs anymore,” Giorgi said. “Faith is more than music—and faith is more important.”

“I swear,” Bella said.

Giorgi had her swear in the old way, kissing the crux of an X. Then Bella blessed herself: “B’shem Arka, v’barah, v’nehora kadosha.”

“That blessing means
In the name of God, and Her son, and the Holy Light
,” Giorgi said. “It’s not a prayer, exactly—it’s a blessing, a dedication.”

“Teach me a prayer,” Bella said.

“Rachamin, Arka. Rachamin, Gèsu,”
Giorgi said, and I
recognized the words of the healing song we’d played together. “It means,
God, have mercy; Gèsu, have mercy
.”

“Protect us from the Maledori,” Bella said. “How do I say that in the Old Tongue?”

“There are no Maledori,” Giorgi said. “All that happens is the will of God.”

I felt a sudden cold uncertainty in my stomach.
Everything
? The priests and priestesses taught that the Lord and the Lady wished only good for us; all suffering came from the Maledori. What sort of God would send pain to Her followers?

“B’shem Arka,” Bella said. “God’s will be done.”

You really are an apostate
, I thought. But that night, staring into the darkness, I whispered Giorgi’s prayer—“Rachamin, Arka. Rachamin, Gèsu.”

T
oday we’re going to work on dancing,” Domenico said. “Pair up.”

Mira and I grabbed hands without so much as looking around the room; Giula cast a longing look at Domenico before partnering off with Bella, who was rolling her eyes at Giula’s wistfulness. Celia danced with Flavia. There were other girls in the conservatory class on courtly graces, but Mira’s arrival meant there was an even number now, so no one had to dance with the teacher. Not that Domenico had ever picked Giula as his partner, but that didn’t stop her from hoping.

As the teacher who’d spent the longest time in Cuore, Domenico had for years been stuck teaching this class. Few of us (if any) would ever play in Cuore, but certain etiquette would be expected among the nobility even in Pluma.

“You’ll take turns dancing the woman’s part,” Domenico said, and reviewed the steps to the dance. “One-two-three, one-two-three, left-right-left, right-left-right, got it?”

I didn’t have it. Mira was supposed to be dancing the man’s part, but I was so busy watching my feet that I failed to follow her lead and we collided. Mira laughed. “How are you going to flirt with your partner if you’re staring at your feet, Eliana?”

“Would it be better if I batted my lashes at you while stepping on your toe?”

“You’re supposed to trust me to keep my feet out of the way.”

I tried looking up at Mira, and she gave me a look of mock gallantry. “You look lovely this evening, my dear,” she said in a husky voice, and I started laughing again and tripped over the hem of my robe.

Mira actually knew how to dance court-style, which startled me a bit; I wondered if she was worried that the other girls would notice. I was fairly certain that dancing was not taught at most seminaries. Still, when I managed to relax enough to actually follow her lead, I found that I didn’t step on her feet, or trip over my own. Domenico stopped counting and started playing his violin for us to dance to, which was distracting enough that I fell out of step again. “Hey,” Mira said, and let go of my hand to punch my arm. “Pay attention to your
partner
, not the music.”

“Again,” Domenico said. “One-two-three, one-two-three.”

Mira cupped her hand lightly against my waist and gave me a grin. “You’re allowed to smile while you’re dancing, you know.”

I grimaced at her, knowing that if I tried to answer I’d fall out of step again.

“You’re supposed to be
enjoying
yourself, or at least convincing your partner that you’re enjoying yourself.” When I didn’t answer, Mira pulled a solemn face and said,
“Oh, the horror, the horror! I could be practicing my violin, but instead people are making me dance!”

That did it. I started laughing again and fell out of step. Domenico stopped playing. “Do I need to separate the two of you? Mira, why don’t you dance with Giula; Eliana, you and Bella can partner up.”

Bella was a more competent dancer than I was, but not as skilled as Mira; I had to watch my feet again. She was preoccupied and didn’t make much eye contact. I wished I knew what she was thinking about.

“You aren’t telling us what
some
of us most want to know,” Giula said when Domenico called for us to stop. “How do we get young men to
ask
us to dance?”

Domenico returned her pout with a wry smile. “You flirt, Giula! Do you really need instructions?” Giula blushed and pouted some more. “Well, all right, then. There are a hundred ways to flirt, but one of the most popular these days, or so I hear from my friends still at court, involves flowers.”

Giula was now paying rapt attention, as was most of the rest of the class. Bella still looked preoccupied; Mira caught my eye and made a face to get me to laugh again.

“Many of the ladies and gentlemen at the Imperial Court carry flowers, either in their hands or fixed to their clothing,” Domenico said. “They’re used to cover up unpleasant smells; fresh flowers are preferred but expensive, and sachets of dried flower petals the less pricey alternative. If you find a young man attractive, you can buy a flower—a rose, ideally—and drop it when he’s nearby; with luck, he’ll pick it up and bring it to you. If a young man wants to approach you, he might buy a flower, then bring it to you saying that he thinks you might have dropped it.”

“And if I’m not interested?” Bella asked.

“Then you say—” Domenico put on a squeaky falsetto voice “ ‘—You must be mistaken, signore, that isn’t mine.’ ”

“What if you drop your flower, and the wrong man picks it up for you?” Celia asked.

“Then you’re probably out a flower,” Domenico said. “And the man who brings it to you will probably be quite embarrassed, just as you’d be in his shoes.”

Domenico moved on to talk a little about proper forms of address if we happened to want to flirt with a member of the Imperial family, or high-ranking members of the Fedeli or the Circle. “The Emperor rules,” he said, quoting an aphorism we’d all heard before. “The Circle protects, and the Fedeli guide.”