Songs of Love & Death

To my surprise, my instructor was not Master Strozzi, but Maestro Gonzago, the Aragonian historian who had dubbed me Antinous. He had a keen mind, and I admired him. When he asked me to aid him in compiling research for a treatise on the history of relations between Aragonia and Terre d’Ange, I was flattered.

Less so, when I learned the truth.

“Why, Maestro?” I asked him. “Why this…” I gestured vaguely, having no idea what this meant. “This… vast scheme?”

“The currents of history may turn on a single branch,” he said in a pragmatic tone. “Many branches together may form a dam. The patterns of influence interest me. Do they not interest you?”

I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. “I think so, yes.”

Maestro Gonzago gave me a shrewd glance. “I am a mere scholar, but you are a well-positioned branch. I will teach you to leverage your placement wisely. What you do with this knowledge is your choice.”

All my life, I’d been reckoned clever and observant; but I never learned to see the world as I did until Gonzago de Escabares taught me to do so. He taught me to look and to listen, to distinguish a man’s trade by his clothing, his success at it by the set of his shoulders, his origin and history by layers of accent and dialect. To gauge a man’s state of mind by his gait; to gauge a woman’s happiness by the tone of her voice, the tilt of her head. He taught me to study faces, to watch for the myriad minute expressions that we make unawares, and the meanings thereof.

He taught me the nine telltales of a lie.

He quizzed me mercilessly about what I had seen throughout the day until observing and memorizing became a force of habit. He sent me on errands with my ears filled with wax plugs, forcing me to rely on my eyes; and when I had mastered that skill, he sent me out with drops of belladonna in my eyes, rendering the world over-bright and my vision blurred, painful and useless, forcing me to rely on my ears as I blundered my way across the city.

Later, both. I had to trust my nose.

And I learned; day by day, week by week, month by month. All the while lying to Rolande and feeling sick in my belly about it; but I learned.

Come spring, Maestro Gonzago revealed the scope of the puzzle and the final price to me.

The Unseen Guild.

HOW MUCH OF what I was told was truth, and how much lies? That is another thing I will never know.

All these long years, I saw no evidence of the Unseen Guild’s hand in Terre d’Ange, no sign that their reach extended as far as they claimed, was as dire as they claimed.

But someone is behind the plot that took my life.

I may have made a terrible mistake.

IF ROLANDE HAD not been recalled to Terre d’Ange, things might have fallen out differently. I was there when he received the official missive from a royal courier clad in the dark blue livery of House Courcel, a silver swan on the insignia on his breast. I watched Rolande read the letter, his face turning pale.

He raised his head and met my eyes. “Father orders me to return forthwith. The Skaldi are raiding along the border of Camlach, and the realm takes it amiss that the Dauphin gallivants in Tiberium while D’Angelines die. I’m to take command of the border patrol.”

“Then you must go,” I said promptly, knowing his sense of honor would permit nothing less. “And I with you.”

Rolande hesitated. “You would be safer—”

“Don’t even suggest it!” My voice was fierce. “Would you dishonor me? I’m a lord’s son, trained to the sword. My place is at your side.”

He looked relieved. “I’ll have word sent to the University.”

Guilt pricked me. “I’ll tell Maestro Gonzago myself. I owe him that much.”

“Ah, your research project.” Rolande gave me a curt nod. “Go, but be swift about it, Anafiel. We’re meant to leave in a day’s time.”

Maestro Gonzago winced at the news. “So soon!” he said in dismay. “I knew it was a possibility, but I prayed we’d have more time.” With unwonted urgency, he clutched my hands. “You’ve a choice facing you, young Antinous. All that I’ve taught you is in the service of an organization committed to gathering and sharing information that might alter the paths of history. Do you swear loyalty to the Unseen Guild, its resources will be at your disposal.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked softly.

“You can walk away from this. As ever, silence is the price.” His grip tightened. “If you break it, death.”

I’d come to love the lessons, to love the insight into human nature I’d gained; but I hated living a lie. Hated lying to Rolande.

With sorrow, I withdrew my hands from his grasp. “I’m sorry, Maestro. I did not mean to waste your time. But I think… I think if I swear this oath, I will come to regret it one day. One day, it will pit my oath against my love for Rolande, and there will be no winners in that battle. So… I choose silence.”