Turning the Storm (19 page)

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I woke, breathing heavily, my face still pressed to the cloak. Had I shouted out loud? I pressed my hands to my lips, wondering if anyone could have heard me. It was very late, and the building around me seemed silent; I pressed my ear to both walls, but heard no one stirring. Even if I had shouted in my sleep, I thought, trying to calm down, “Mira, please don't do it” wasn't anything all that incriminating. If anyone asked, I'd say that Mira was a bully from my home village, someone who'd hurt me as a child.
No one will ask
, I told myself.
No one heard you
.

I lay back down, unwilling even after the dream to
put the cloak away, and closed my eyes. I imagined Mira in her own room, in the Circle's citadel. Was she lying awake right now, too? I rubbed the lining, thinking of the touch of her hands against my neck, the calluses on her fingertips catching in my hair.

No. Damn you
. I got up and yanked the cloak from my bed, balling it up and stuffing it into my wardrobe.
You destroyed the Lupi. You killed Vitale before my eyes. You
—

I lay back down on my bed, breathing hard.
It's Lucia I wish I could see
, I told myself.
Not Mira
. But as I faded back into sleep, it was Mira's scent I thought of one more time, and the feel of Mira's hair under my hands.

But then I dreamed of fire again, and woke with my pillow wet from tears.

∗    ∗    ∗

On the afternoon of the Mascherata festival, Valentino and Quirino insisted on helping me with the wig and the face paint. Before letting Valentino and Quirino into my room, I bound my breasts, then put on the dress and padded the chest with obviously fake material.

Quirino helped to arrange the wig on my head, and feathers in the yarn strands of the wig. I tied on my mask; below the mask, Valentino painted my lips and cheeks. Finally, I looked into the mirror. I was relieved; I would never recognize myself as Eliana, or as female, or even as human. Fedeli priests traditionally dressed as Maledori for the Mascherata festivities; I could probably pass for one as well.

Valentino and Quirino had both dressed as Lupi.
Valentino was also dressed as a woman, sort of—he wore men's clothing, but with a wig of long, dark hair. I decided not to ask if he was supposed to be dressed as Eliana. Quirino wore a rough brown tunic with a sash of wine-red velvet. When they were done with me, Valentino and Quirino both tied on their masks. Quirino's was tinted red, to match his sash; Valentino's was plain white, like mine. “Come on, ladies,” Quirino said, offering his left arm to Valentino and his right arm to me. I watched Valentino carefully to see how he took Quirino's arm. This was ridiculous; I could give myself away by playing a woman too convincingly. Or, I could give myself away by failing to play a woman convincingly enough, and raising someone's suspicions enough to take a good hard look at me. It probably would have been best to get sick the week before Mascherata and stay sick until after the festival was over, but it was too late now.

The Mascherata festival was celebrated in the streets of Cuore; we all tucked our eagle medallions inside our costumes and left the enclave. The streets were brightly lit. Torches leapt and witchlight gleamed, and bonfires burned in the center of every intersection.

“Do they really run wine in the fountains instead of water?” I asked Quirino, shouting to be heard over the din in the street.

“No,” he shouted back. “There's no shortage of wine, though,” and he handed me a flask.

Yet another thing to worry about; drink myself to insensibility and get found out that way. Or draw attention by staying sober. I took a careful swig and passed the flask back to Quirino.

Back during Dono alla Magia, in Ravenna, Giovanni
had described the revelries that took place in Cuore. The Circle made colored lights in the sky, he said. As we rounded the corner, I saw what he meant; vast colored flowers bloomed suddenly in the dark night. “Oooh!” Valentino said, and stopped to look.

Three mages stood on the street corner, clasping raised hands. Two wore ragged tunics made of scraps of stitched-together velvet, carefully frayed at the edges. The third, a woman, wore nothing but her mask. “Isn't she cold?” I whispered to Quirino.

“Mages doing magic don't get cold,” he said. “My old lover Silvia told me that.”

When the colors faded, the mages bowed, passed a wine flask, and stumbled off down the street, already thoroughly drunk.

“Come on,” Valentino said. “There's dancing in the market piazza. Ulisse said he'd look for us there.”

“How's he going to recognize us?” I asked. Valentino just laughed.

The market piazza was ringed with masked men and women beating drums, mostly on a regular beat. Despite the masks, I thought I recognized some of them as musicians from the enclave.

“Dance with me, signora!” commanded a strange woman dressed as a man. I clasped her hands as she pulled me away from Valentino and Quirino. We spun back into the crowd. I thought of the time I'd danced with Mira, in the class on courtly graces at the conservatory. This woman danced with far more skill than Mira, but less grace. At least it was easy to follow her lead. She had drawn a moustache onto her upper lip, and played the rude rogue throughout the dance, squeezing the padding I'd stuffed into the dress to mimic a
bosom. I slapped the hand away with a cry of mock indignation. We tussled briefly, then she dropped my hand, announcing that she would find a lady who appreciated a fine lusty gentleman.

I had lost track of Valentino and Quirino, which was just fine with me, since without them I could try to fade into the paving-stones. I started for the edge of the crowd, but someone else grasped my arm. This time, it looked like a genuine man. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, signora?” he asked. His velvet tenor was oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it. Perhaps he was a noble that I'd played for.

“But of course, signore,” I said. “I am always happy to dance with a gentleman.” I took his arm as awkwardly as I could, and he spun me back toward the center of the dancers.

My new partner was an excellent dancer; he danced rather as I imagined Michel would, if I had ever danced with him. He was confident enough to lead me in a complicated series of twirls and flourishes, and skilled enough to ensure that I never stepped on his feet. I worried, as we danced, that I should be more clumsy than I was, dancing the woman's part—but to deliberately misstep in the hands of such a skilled partner seemed like it would be more suspicious than decently competent dancing. Besides, I had danced both a girl's part and a boy's part, learning to dance at the conservatory. Undoubtedly the boys had done the same in their classes.

My partner wore a red sash with a black tunic, and a mask that covered almost his entire face. He was short and a little stout, with boxy shoulders. But he was unquestionably a nobleman; his hands were even
softer than Mira's. I wondered suddenly if he might be a mage. Well, if he were, I'd give him the slip as soon as I could.

“Would you care to rest for a bit, signora?” he asked some time later. I nodded; I wasn't out of breath yet, but my legs were tired. He steered us through the crowd to one of the less-crowded streets. “You play the violin, do you not?” he asked me.

“Yes, signore,” I said.

He held up my hand and brushed my fingertips lightly with his own. “I could tell from your calluses.”

I gave him what I hoped was a boy's imitation of a girl's flirtatious smile. “You're very observant, signore.”

“Sit and drink with me,” he said, so I followed him to a quiet spot off the main street, and we sat down in the shadows. He gave me a flask of wine and I took a cautious sip. It was excellent wine, some of the best I'd ever had. I took another swallow, then another, then passed it back.

“I love Mascherata,” he said. “It's my favorite night of the year.”

“You love to hide, then?” I said.

“I hate to hide,” he said. “It's only with the mask on that I can be my true self.” He turned his head to look at me. With the mask that covered his whole face, I couldn't see whether or not he was smiling; it unnerved me.

“Strange,” I said. The wine was strong; just the little I had drunk was making me light-headed. “My mask makes me feel exposed. I'm afraid of what I might reveal.”

“What does it matter?” he said. “With your mask on, no one will know who you are.”

I smiled at him and shrugged.

He clasped my hand and bowed to me briefly. “Dance with me, signora.”

I stood up again and we danced slowly in the alleyway, moving to the pulse of the now-distant drums, as I had once danced with Mira. “Tell me who you are not,” he said to me.

“I am not a Fedele priest,” I said. “Nor am I gentle-born. Who are you not?”

“I am not a mage,” he said. “Nor am I a musician.” He traced my face with one hand. “Come with me,” he said, and so I followed him again, as he led me through the alley, and through another alley, and another. We were alone in the darkness. He stroked my arms, running his hands along the velvet. “Tell me what you are,” he said.

“I am a musician,” I said. “Tell me what you are.”

“I am a man who loves other men.” He laid his hand on my face gently. “Are you as I am?”

I froze. “I think,” I said, and my voice squeaked, “that I am not as you think me.”

He dropped his hand and turned away. “Refuse me without fear,” he said. “I'm a fool.”

“No—” I said. The sadness in his voice was heartbreaking. “It isn't that. I find you very—” I paused. “I actually really am a woman.”

The alley was dead silent for a long moment. Then witchlight flared in the man's hand, as he turned to study me. I couldn't read his expression behind the mask, and began to feel frightened. With the hand that wasn't holding the witchlight, he reached up and in one smooth motion pulled my mask off. “Daniele,” he said. “I was right, it is you.”

Someone knows. Someone knows my secret
. My mind soared into panic, and I did the first thing that occurred
to me. Ripping my knife from its concealed spot under my skirt, I launched myself toward the man. He was drunk and unsteady already, and I knocked him flat on his back in the alley.

“Wait—” he said, his words garbled with fear. “Wait, Daniele—”

Holding my knife to his throat, I tore his mask off.

And stared into the face of the Emperor.

M
y stomach lurched. “Oh my God,” I said. My words came back to me a heartbeat later and my stomach lurched again. Now I had
really
done it. My knife was trembling, and I couldn't tell if it was Travan or me that was shaking. I couldn't kill the Emperor; he was the one that I had desperately hoped for an opportunity to get on my side. But I couldn't let him live. He knew
everything
.

I held the knife-edge at his throat, paralyzed by fear.

“Wait, Daniele,” Travan said. “Don't you know me?”

“You're the Emperor,” I said.

Travan stared up at me desperately, shaking his head. “I am one of you.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

Travan licked his lips and his voice sank to an even fainter whisper. “I am Redentore. You spied on the Mass when I was there. I kept the others from killing you.”

I dropped the knife. Gathering my skirts around me, I climbed off of the Emperor. “Your Imperial High—”

“Shhh,” he said. “There are people about, and anyone might overhear. Call me Travan.”

My mouth was dry. “I'm so sorry—”

Travan sat up wearily and leaned against the building. With one hand, he clasped my skirt and tugged, urging me to sit again. I sat down beside him.

“I've been watching you since before you visited the Mass,” Travan said. “I knew who you were when I approached you in the piazza. I'd thought for some time that you might be like me.” He formed a light and studied me again, then flicked the light away. “You make a rather attractive boy, you know.”

I swallowed hard and tried to convince my head to stop spinning long enough to let me speak. “Travan,” I said. “You have the courage to defy the Fedeli, to follow your conscience and the true God. Do you have the courage to defy the Circle? If it's not for nothing?”

Travan turned toward me. “You're one of the Lupi,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. Travan was silent, so I took a deep breath, then another, and started talking. “You know that your father was murdered by his political enemies. And you know that could happen to you; both the Circle and the Fedeli are looking for ways to force your hand. You're caught between them but you don't
have
to be. You could rule in truth, and not just in name. You could take revenge on those who arranged the death of your father. If you have the courage to join us. If you have the courage to defy the Circle.”

Travan met my eyes, and I saw fear in them, but also trust. “Who are you?” he asked.

Please, God, let this be the right thing to do
, I thought. “Eliana,” I said. “I'm Eliana.”

“If you're Eliana, what are you doing here?” he said. “Why aren't you with the Lupi?”

“The opportunity presented itself to send a violinist,” I said. “I was a conservatory student, once. And— before I left, the Circle had nearly destroyed my army.”

“I had heard that,” Travan said, and looked away. “So why should I join a losing cause—even one that offers me a true throne?”