Duskfall (6 page)

“I understand,” Winter said.

Lian turned to her. She could tell he had expected her to argue.

“What? You’re not wrong
all
the time.” She attempted a smile.

C
INZIA
O
DEN STOOD AT
the doorstep of her family’s home for the first time in seven years. A strange sensation had budded in her chest when she left Triah, weeks ago. It had grown steadily as she traveled north, but only this morning, as she entered her hometown of Navone, when the feeling seemed to fill her entire being, did Cinzia recognize it as dread. She never knew that coming home would be so difficult.

Of course, she had never imagined her homecoming taking place because her sister had supposedly begun one of the most dangerous heretical movements since the Parliament had taken power, either.

She removed one of her gloves and touched the carved oak door she remembered from her childhood, now worn and weathered. She felt the wood, smooth and cold beneath her fingers. The carving depicted Canta’s first sermon; the listening crowd were faceless except for the nine female figures in the corner, representing the women who would become the Nine Disciples. One of those disciples was Cinzia’s namesake. In Khale, firstborn daughters were traditionally named after one of the Nine. Her father had made the disciple’s carving to look very much like Cinzia.

She remembered helping her father with his woodworking, and the crisp smell of freshly carved timber. She remembered going to Ocrestia’s cathedral with her mother and siblings, her father waving goodbye to them and smiling. She remembered Jane, the sister she had always been closest to, both in age and temperament, crying on the doorstep as Cinzia left for Triah.

Cinzia shivered, pulling her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. She glanced at her Goddessguard, Kovac, standing by her side. “This is my home,” she said, if for no other reason than to stall. “I grew up here.”

“It is a beautiful residence, Priestess,” Kovac said.

“It is, indeed,” Cinzia whispered.

No use delaying
. Then, before she could knock, the door opened swiftly to the sound of someone shouting.

“Do not forget! Return before supper!”

And there, standing in the doorway, was Ader. Her youngest brother, the youngest in the family. He was taller now, of course, and his once bright-blond, almost white hair, had darkened to a sandy color. But he had the same long, bony face, the same wide mouth, so prone to smiling.

“Hello, Ader,” Cinzia said, the feeling of dread threatening to burst from her. He looked at her blankly for a moment, his eyes moving from the Trinacrya she wore, to Kovac, to her face, and then back to the Trinacrya again.

Then he grinned.

“Mother,” he shouted over his shoulder, “Cinzia’s home!”

* * *

Inside it was warm; a flurry of faces, hugs, laughs, and tears greeted her. She had grown up as the second oldest in a family of nine, and when her elder brother had died when she was eleven, Cinzia had taken the mantle of eldest child. Their family had been large, but always close.

Cinzia raised her eyebrows as her mother served tea. The gesture was welcome after her long, cold journey, but growing up, the servants always took care of their needs. Cinzia had not seen any since arriving home. She made a mental note to ask about that later.

Once everyone calmed down, Cinzia and Kovac were invited upstairs to the drawing room. Ignoring the polished wooden chairs and carved, padded benches her younger brothers still elected to sit on the floor. Ader had stayed home instead of going wherever he had been off to when Cinzia arrived. Eward, the oldest of the brothers, stood with arms folded, watching her intently. She noticed that there was one face missing.

“Where’s Jane?” Cinzia asked.

Her parents glanced at one another. Their age was showing, much more than Cinzia remembered. Ehram’s hair had always been thin, but now it was gone, and his scalp seemed to shine. Even her mother’s sun-blond hair looked paler than she remembered.

“Jane had some… business, this evening,” her father said carefully, still looking at her mother.

Cinzia looked back and forth between them.
Business?
She did not know what kind of business her sister would need to be worrying about. Jane was in her twenty-first year, two years Cinzia’s junior. Old enough to be meeting young men, attending parties, even considering marriage. That was the extent of the “business” Jane might have.

Unless it had something to do with the rumors.

Cinzia was about to inquire further when she heard the front door slam. Quick footsteps padded up the stairs.

“Well,” Ehram said with a smile, “it appears she has returned.” He looked relieved, of all things. “Jane,” he said loudly, just as a woman rushed past the door to the drawing room, long blond hair flowing behind her, “there is someone in here you will want to see.”

“In a moment, Father.”

Cinzia felt another twinge of nostalgia at her sister’s voice, as if a void she had not realized was there was suddenly being filled. The dread she felt waiting outside the door had quickly dispelled in the presence of her family, who neither seemed to have forgotten her nor begrudge her long absence. But she felt the first fingers of it again as she worried what Jane might think of her, after all these years.

Or, perhaps more importantly, what her sister thought of herself. Not just anyone could start a religious uprising that drew the attention of the High Camarilla.

“Hi, Janey,” Cinzia heard herself saying. The name tumbled awkwardly from her lips; it was what she had always called her sister, since they were little.

The movement from the hall stopped. There was silence for a moment, during which no one seemed to breathe. Then Jane poked her head into the room.

Her eyes widened as she stared at Cinzia. Then Jane’s face broke into a grin, though Cinzia was suddenly not convinced the smile was genuine. Jane laughed her musical laugh and rushed towards Cinzia. Cinzia rose to meet her, and they embraced.

Cinzia inhaled sharply. The tension between herself and Jane was almost tangible. And why would it not be? Cinzia was a Cantic priestess. Jane was a heretic. There was plenty of tension to be had.

Nevertheless, the affection Cinzia felt for Jane was irrepressible.

“I have missed you, sister,” Jane whispered in her ear.

“And I you.”

They remained together for a moment, Cinzia not wanting to let go. Letting go meant facing reality. But, slowly, they separated, and looked at each other.

Jane was a woman now, no denying that. She had inherited their mother’s light-blond hair, the only girl in the family to do so, as well as their mother’s pale-blue eyes. Jane had grown nearly a span taller than Cinzia, which was not overly difficult considering Cinzia hardly rose above Ader, now—her parents had always joked that she was the runt of the family.

Jane wore a simple dress, woven wool with no embroidery or decoration. Cinzia suddenly felt very conscious of the crimson-and-ivory folds of her Cantic dress, with Canta’s intersecting gold-and-silver triangle and circle embroidered on her chest. The symbol, the Trinacrya, was the universally recognized crest of Canticism, and she had never felt self-conscious of it until now.

The younger siblings gawked at the Trinacrya on her dress, and risked occasional, furtive glances at Kovac in his red-and-white tabard and steel plate armor. His helm rested at his feet, and Cinzia couldn’t help but notice Ader taking particular interest in the longsword Kovac had unstrapped from his waist to lean against the wall, within easy reach.

Their family had never lacked money. Ehram had not been born a noble, but Pascia had fallen in love with him despite his low birth, and while his woodworking business was successful, her management of her family’s estates in the country had always paid for anything they needed. Nevertheless, Ehram and Pascia had always insisted on a quiet modesty, in appearance as well as demeanor. Cinzia and her Goddessguard’s elaborate Cantic dress did not exactly adhere to those standards, and she felt the contrast as she stood by her sister. It was another point of tension between them. Another competition, whether they meant it to be so or not.

And yet, despite their differences, their faces were the same. People had often asked whether they were twins. Looking at her sister now, Cinzia almost felt as if she were facing a looking glass—the same high cheekbones and full lips. Their hair and eyes were different, of course, but otherwise they were nearly identical.

“I have so much to tell you,” Jane said, her eyes sparkling the way their mother’s always did when she grew excited.

Cinzia sobered, remembering what had brought her to Navone in the first place.

“But first,” Jane continued, motioning to Kovac, “introduce me to this handsome young man you have brought along with you. I know that priestesses of the Ministry are not allowed to marry, so either you have some explaining to do, or…”

Cinzia blushed. Jane had always been one to tease, or flatter, or both at once. She saw Kovac shift uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye, his chainmail clinking.

“This is Kovac,” Cinzia said. “My Goddessguard.”

Kovac had remained silent by her side since they had entered her home, apart from introducing himself quietly when asked. Cinzia noted the slight red tinge to his cheeks. Her sister’s comment must have struck a chord; Kovac had passed his fortieth summer. His graying beard was close-cropped, and the beginnings of wrinkles creased around his blue eyes.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jane said, grinning at Kovac. He bowed his head in return.

“I cannot believe our daughter is home,” Pascia said. She was still teary-eyed from her first emotional encounter with Cinzia.

“Home at last,” her father said. Then he cleared his throat, and Cinzia was surprised again at how easily she fell into the old habits of home. When Ehram cleared his throat like that, it was time to listen. Cinzia faced him, and she felt Jane’s fingers entwine around her own. Tension pulsed through the room, and Cinzia wondered if the rest of her family could feel it as well. Nevertheless, she squeezed Jane’s hand in return. There was friction between them, but more besides.

“Cinzia, having you back in our home makes us happier than we could have imagined,” her father said. “To see that you have done so well, that you are successful, makes us truly proud. But priestesses do not just up and leave their congregations, and as much as we know of your love for us, your arrival here cannot be due to simple affection.” He paused before continuing, glancing quickly at Kovac.

Cinzia caught the meaning. “Do not worry, Father,” she said. “Kovac is trustworthy.”

Ehram nodded. “We assume you have heard something of the happenings here in Navone?”

Cinzia nodded, and she felt Jane’s grip tighten around her fingers. “Word has spread. The High Camarilla is taking action, I do not know how soon.” She stopped. Breaking this news to her family was more difficult than she had anticipated. She had debated coming here at all; her faith was her faith. She
believed
in Canta, in the Denomination. Hearing rumors of heresy from her hometown had been agonizing.

“I do not know the details of what has been going on here, but rumors say some of you might be involved. I have come here for two reasons. The first is to discover what
really
is going on.” She paused, not sure what to say next. Best to be honest. Blunt, even.

“The second reason is to warn you. It appears the High Camarilla have enough information to send a Holy Crucible to Navone. A full company of the Goddessguard and the Sons of Canta escort her.”

Some of the younger children gasped. Cinzia’s parents, Jane, and Eward remained straight-faced. They did not even nod. Cinzia tried not to think about what that meant. Usually the mere
mention
of a Holy Crucible sent shivers down a person’s spine.

Cinzia sighed. Whatever her family’s reaction, she was glad to have said what had weighed on her for so long. But saying it did not change much. She looked around at her family. Jane still squeezed her hand tightly.

Finally Ehram spoke. “We knew this day would come,” he said. Cinzia felt her cheeks flush, this time from anger. Could it be true? Was her family truly at the center of this?

“We have spoken about what we would do, about our plans when this day came. Now we must put them into motion.” Cinzia was aware of her family nodding. Eward’s jaw was set. Even the children, eyes wide, watched their father with resolve.

Goddess
, she thought,
it is true. There really
is
something happening here.
Did she belong to a family of heretics?

Or, if these people were heretics, were they still truly her family?

“Jane,” Ehram said, “this is your decision, but I think now would be a good time to let your sister in on what you have been doing for the last few years.”

Cinzia, eyes wide, looked at Jane. “The last few
years
?” Familiar dread flooded back into her.

Jane nodded. “Yes, Father. It is time.”

“Canta’s breath,” Ehram exclaimed, “I had completely forgotten about where you were this evening. Were you successful?”

Jane smiled. “I was. And showing Cinzia what I found tonight is an excellent place to begin.”

“I
CAN
’
T CHANGE YOUR MIND
?” Ildur had asked the same question two or three times already. While the old man had cut a commanding figure on the snow-swept plains between Pranna and Cineste, he looked suddenly very out of place on the streets of the city.

“No,” Knot said.

“Too bad. Could use a set of hands like yours. Someone who knows how to handle animals. Good in a fight. A caravan runs into trouble every so often, out on the road.”

Knot had joined Ildur’s caravan on the way to Cineste. They’d found Knot during a windstorm, the snow and ice whipping fast enough to cut flesh, and offered him shelter. Soon, they’d discovered his usefulness. Leading oxen, loading and unloading supplies, even driving the teams of animals that pulled the three wagons: it all came as naturally to Knot as working Bahc’s boat, as naturally as killing the men in the Cantic chapel in Pranna and the two watchmen.