The Spirit Gate (30 page)

“Yes,” he said to her revelation that Zelimir believed he loved her, “I know. Actually, it’s quite hard to miss.”

“Well,
I
missed it,” Kassia told him, irritated by his coolness. “I’m
afraid to be alone with him, now. I’m
afraid of what he’ll
say to me. I’m
afraid he’ll ask
me to stay in Tabor.”

Zakarij’s
face at last showed some expression. He frowned. “Afraid? That’s a peculiar reaction to finding out that a king is
in love with you. Most women would be pleased, or at least flattered.”

Kassia sighed, pressing her back against the cool stone wall
of the window embrasure in which they stood. It only just held her up; her
bones felt as if they were made of willow wands.

“I
suppose I am flattered. But I’m
not most women, Zakarij. Most women aren’t apprenticed to the realm’s foremost Mateu. Most women aren’t pursuing a life of
religious study, or hoping to spend that life molding spells instead of bread
dough. I have a destiny, Zakarij. I don’t
know what it is, but I don’t
believe it’s to
be the concubine of a king, or even his queen.”

“Then . . .
you aren’t in
love with him?”

She shook her head, her eyes going to the small, iron-bound
panes beyond which she could see the palace cesia. “I’m
fond of him. I find him . . . charismatic and compelling and, of
course, he’s very
handsome. But I don’t
love him.”

Zakarij’s
eyelids cloaked his gaze. “Perhaps
in time . . .”

“Perhaps.
But I don’t think
so. My heart . . . isn’t
here.”

“And
where is it, then?”

She didn’t
answer him. “Help
me, Zakarij.”

“What
can I do?”

“Don’t let me be alone with
him.” She put her hand over his where it rested against the window lattice. “Stay near me, Zakarij,
please.”

He met her eyes, his own giving up nothing. “I promise I shall not
leave your side.”

He was true to that promise. When Zelimir placed Kassia on
his left hand at a meal, Zakarij put himself at
her
left hand. When she
journeyed to the cesia for her morning devotions, he was at her side. He made
himself party to every conversation and moved with her in a harmony so
complete, he might have been her shadow.

Her constant companion seemed to annoy the king at first,
but as the week wore on and plans for the Solstice Festival and the parade of
brides intensified, he seemed to become more and more distracted. Kassia,
feeling once again like a mere member of Lukasha’s entourage, relaxed. Her Master never mentioned
their conversation in the streets of Tabor or pressed her to reveal her further
thoughts about Zelimir, and Kassia began to look forward with happy
anticipation to their homeward journey.

Then, on the eve of their departure, Lukasha announced that
they had been invited by the king to stay through Solstice. He had accepted the
invitation, apologizing to Zakarij for putting off his Investiture
examinations, and dispatched the news of their delay to Lorant via kite. Master
Yesugai, he said, was more than capable of handling the details of Dalibor’s village festival.
Lukasha’s place
was at his King’s
side.

While Kassia was still reeling from his announcement,
Lukasha called her into the private parlor of his chambers.

“I
realize you are eager to return to Dalibor, Kassia, but we are needed here.
There is the possibility that his marriage will require a heavy price of Zelimir.
The last of the bride candidates will be arriving in the next day or so and he
has asked me to help him . . . evaluate them. I, in turn, need
your help. You were able to divine Bishop Benedict’s gift. If there are others who may pose an arcane
threat to our king, we need to know. Further, I suspect that Benedict will use
his gift to give the Lombard duchess an advantage over the others. You must
prevent him.”

“I
understand. Then . . . the King’s invitation had nothing to do with me?”

Lukasha’s
sober expression lightened. “Dare
I hope that is disappointment in your voice? Well, I wouldn’t say it had
nothing
to do with you. I am certain he . . . calculated your continued
presence here to be a benefit derived from mine.”

“Then
he still believes . . .”

“That
he loves you? Of course, he does. Why would his feelings change? But after
speaking to you, I counseled him to patience. I told him he should let time and
distance clarify his emotions. I suggested that perhaps his affection for you
was a reaction to the pressure he is enduring to wed a politically beneficial
stranger. He agreed that he should meet the various candidates and, above all,
keep an open mind. He promised he would say nothing to you of his feelings.”

Kassia relaxed against the high back of her chair. “Thank you, Master. I
was so afraid he’d . . .”

Lukasha’s
dismay was apparent. “Afraid?
Then your feelings for Zelimir haven’t
changed?”

Kassia lowered her eyes. “Master, I don’t know what my feelings are. I’m confused.”

“Might
your confusion not be masking love?”

“I’m drawn to him,
certainly, but . . .” She shook her head. “With
Shurik, I was so certain. This . . . “ She closed her eyes to free
herself of her Master’s
intent gaze, grappling for a moment with the chaos in her heart. Through will,
she calmed it. “I’m sorry, Master. I
want to protect him. I’d
give my life to protect him, but—”

Lukasha’s
mouth tugged wryly at the corners. “It
is I who should apologize. I . . . overstepped myself and placed
you in a most awkward position. What I asked you to consider . . .
clearly it was too much to expect.”

A part of her wanted to rally to that call—to declare that
nothing was too much to expect, that she was not the coward those words seemed
to imply. But she couldn’t
bring herself to protest—she
was too
relieved
to protest.

Lukasha, watching her face, said, “We will find other ways to protect Polia from those
who would compromise her. Right after Solstice, we will return you to your
studies and research. And to your son.”

She parted from her Master with relief flooding every vein,
and returned to her study of Marija’s
journal. That had become a source of frustration, for she was at an impasse
with the book. Obviously, it did not contain the traveling spell, but according
to one of the other woman’s
more cryptic notes, a tiny, crude drawing indicated where Pater Honorius had
hidden it and where, centuries later, Marija of Ohdan had found it. Lamentably,
Marija was no artist; the smudgy picture was indecipherable.

Kassia’s
study was interrupted again and again throughout the day. It wasn’t until late evening
that she had any significant time alone with the journal. She tried looking at
the drawing from every conceivable angle; she tried tracing it on a fresh sheet
of paper. It was near dawn, and Kassia near wilting, when the scrabble of lines
and squiggles and elemental symbols finally swam together in her head. This
symbol was a Tree, and those the four points of the compass, and that wobbly
rectangle a cesia altar, and this one a bench.

Marija had found the spell tucked beneath a bench-top in the
cesia. Kassia’s
yearning to return home increased tenfold, for she suddenly realized where the
spell was at this moment. She had held it in her hands not that long ago and
felt its energies surge through her fingertips before Master Lukasha had
returned it to a leather bound folio and locked it away in his warded cabinet.

oOo

Two bride candidates arrived the next day. One was from
the eastern darugha of Silesia, the second was the Duchess Fiorella Orsini of
Lombardy. She had both a name and a title, but to Master Antal and Chancellor
Bogorja she was merely The Lombard or The Orsini. She was installed in a wing
of the palace far from the one Zelimir and his more favored guests inhabited
and, according to Joti Subutai, who made it his business to know, she was
almost immediately ushered into the presence of the Bishop who then escorted
her to their sanctuary.

Later that day, Bishop Benedict himself came before the king
and asked to present his ward. The king politely but firmly put the Bishop off.
When all the candidates were assembled, he told him, they would all be received
as equals. They were still three candidates short of that goal.

This did not dissuade the Bishop. The duchess strolled the
lawns below the windows of the King’s
private wing, visited the stables at the precise time he prepared to take his
morning ride and was seen briefly on an upper gallery as the king passed
through the audience hall on his way to supper. Kassia, trailing behind him at
Master Lukasha’s
side, had the impression of a childlike woman, petite and rounded with a
heart-shaped face and large solemn eyes. Whether Michal Zelimir noticed her at
all, she had no idea.

The morning after the duchess’ arrival, Kassia steeled
herself against her discomfort and accompanied her king to morning devotions at
his invitation. She was beyond surprise when they came upon Fiorella Orsini
strolling the perimeters of the cesia. Michal acknowledged the woman’s presence with the
most polite of nods and, wrapping Kassia’s fingers about his arm, escorted her up to the
altar. He said nothing as they knelt in prayer, but Kassia could feel the
turmoil within him. It troubled her so much that, when they rose to leave
sometime later, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, hoping he would accept it as
a sign of her empathy.

His smile was eloquent with hope for more, but when he
turned and saw the duchess watching with her huge, hazel eyes, the smile fell. “Duchess Orsini, you
are welcome to offer your prayers in our cesia. It is a most peaceful place in
which to seek closeness with God.”

The words, spoken in lyrical Frankish, brought an expression
of fleeting surprise to the delicate face. “You speak my language. How kind of you to learn it.”

“I
speak several languages, my lady. Language is the mother of diplomacy. If you
will excuse us—Kassia
and I have not yet dined this morning. Again, I invite you to worship here. I
believe you will find the cesia . . . inspiring.”

“I
fear it would not be appropriate for me to worship here. However, you are
forever welcome within the precincts of our church. All souls may find
forgiveness and release there.”

“Not
appropriate to give praise to God where heaven and earth meet? To meditate
beneath the Tree of Life? I’m
afraid I don’t
understand your concept of propriety. I have visited your church. It is quite
beautiful, but does not allow one to see the sky.” He gave her no opportunity
for further comment, but whisked Kassia into the palace.

Moments later, when they passed by a window, Kassia glanced
out into the gardens. The duchess had gone to the root of the cesia’s tree-lined approach
and stood there, peering up toward the circle of gleaming pillars.

Following her gaze, Michal said, “The Bishop has evidently forbidden her to enter.”

“Would
you also allow him to forbid you?” The question left Kassia’s
lips before she could think better of it. She felt him tense and pressed on,
driven. “That
cesia is your heart of hearts, Majesty. Could you let anyone bar your entry to
your heart of hearts?”

“An
alliance with Avignon—”

“Is
not worth your soul. Don’t
wed her if it means you must lose your self.”

“I
could pretend to believe as they do and keep my heart of hearts to myself.”

“That
would be a lie, a lie that would dishonor your beliefs and theirs. Please,
Majesty—Mishka.” She clutched his arm tighter than she meant to, surprised at her own
sudden desperation. “Please
don’t be
manipulated. Not by anyone.”

He peered down at her, his dark brow furrowed with thought. “Do you care about my
soul, Kassia? Do you care about me?”

“Of
course I care,” she said, nearly choking on the confusion the words evoked. “You are my king . . .
and my friend.” Could he not be more?

He nodded, patting her hand. If he was disappointed at not
drawing from her a declaration of passion, he hid it well. She parted from him
trembling, and did not know why.

Over the next several days, the last three bride candidates
arrived in Tabor. The Byzantine—a
girl still in her teens—arrived
last, in the company of the Imam Sadiq, a handful of mullahs, a mujtahid and an
elderly female companion. There were thirteen noblewomen in all—one from each of the
ten darughas, one from the neighboring Teutonic Order, the Orsini and the
Byzantine. Their number complete, the would-be queens were invited at last to
attend the King Michal Zelimir at a feast the evening following the arrival of
the delegation from Constantinople. They turned Michal Zelimir’s banquet hall into a
garden of color and beauty. In a veil of dancing radiance that fell like false
sunlight from myriad candles, they were a feast for the eyes. Jewels glittered,
rich fabrics of every hue vibrated the air. Perfumes, subtle and exotic,
tickled the nose.

Kassia, more splendid than she had imagined ever being, sat
between Zakarij and Master Lukasha watching the pageantry, but feeling
disconnected from it. The ladies were presented, one and all, by Chancellor
Bogorja, his tone giving none favor or disfavor. They came forward on the arms
of darughachi or ambassador or clergyman, or flanked by maids-in-waiting to bow
before the throne of the Zelimirs. The King’s eyes scanned each one expressionlessly, as his
lips mouthed well-worn platitudes. He was determined, Kassia thought, nearly
smiling, not to be impressed with any of them.

The women watched each other, they watched Zelimir, and they
watched Kassia, who was the only woman seated on the King’s dais. Kassia, for
her part, did not gloat, though she acknowledged with some chagrin that it was
within her nature to do so. The women intimidated her more than anything she
had yet experienced since coming to Tabor and the King’s fondness for her was a shield against that
intimidation.