“You might be surprised,” I muttered.
I joined the sisters in the parlor, while Annette hovered by the door, hand on her hip where her petite rapier had hung on board ship. “Welcome to Galitha City,” I said. “What brings you to us?”
Tantia stepped forward, the default representative of the group, speaking the most Galatine. “You bring us to Galitha.”
“I—there may have been some misunderstanding?” I said. “I didn’t ask you here.”
“No, that is not my meaning.” Tantia shook her head. “We come to find you. We come to work with you. To learn. To continue.”
I hesitated, their aim slowly becoming clear. “You want to continue learning to cast.”
Tantia nodded. “To learn from you.”
“I see,” I said slowly. “What about your order?”
“Order is—what is the word?” She conferred with Immell, who stood beside her. “Hurcuthi.”
“Hurcuthi-set,” Immell replied. “Is like mess. Mess of garbage.”
“After Alba left,” I guessed. “The leadership is undermined? Compromised? Fighting?”
“Fighting, yes. No,” Tantia said, holding up her hand. “Not in the open. Behind doors, whispers. But we fear. If some win, we are—are crime.”
“What you did was illegal by Kvys laws, and religious laws,” I supplied. “We would say ‘you are criminals’ in Galatine.” I sighed. “Excepting, of course, that in Galitha, we have no such law and would say no such thing.”
“Is more than doing illegal thing,” Immell said. “Is that we are illegal.”
I caught Annette’s eye across the room. She studied the sisters intently, as though their stoic posture or plain gray gowns and white veils might reveal something more for her to read.
“If we stay, we fear—we fear—” Tantia struggled to find the words, tugging at the blackwork cuffs of her fine linen shift.
“You fear they will kill you,” Annette said bluntly. “Execution. You fear execution. Simply for having your abilities.” I started, but Tantia dipped her head, grateful for the right words, grateful someone else had said them. Immell bit her lip. Her shift was worked in black embroidery at the cuffs, too, but the edges were frayed and her boots scuffed and battered. The other sisters, despite carefully starched veils, had similar wear in their appearance—torn hems and stained collars, holes in the soles of boots and dusty skirts.
I turned to Annette. “They’re refugees. Political refugees.”
Annette crossed the room in three long strides and answered in my ear, low and rapid so that the Kvys couldn’t hear. “We’re a newborn nation knee-deep in our own troubles at the moment.”
“I know.” I looked back at Tantia and Immell, their modestly clasped hands growing white at the knuckles.
“They are here because they have violated whatever archaic laws the Kvys still maintain. That isn’t our doing.”
“They are here because of me and because of our war, Annette.”
“The Serafans may see this as consolidating some sort of magic army. The Allied States may be suspicious of our motives. And who knows what questions this raises with Kvyset.”
I caught Annette’s arm, steadying both of us. “I know. But there’s nothing we can do to stop them from raising those questions now. The Kvys casters came here. The questions are already raised.”
Annette pressed her rosebud lips together. “We have to protect Galitha first, Sophie. We can’t—”
“It’s not our decision. My only choice right now is whether to offer them tea or supper, and then commend them to the council.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Annette backed away from me with a wary look toward the Kvys nuns waiting silently for my answer.
“I’ll have tea ready in just a moment,” I said, a barely audible tremor in my voice. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”
64
“NIKO IS ABSOLUTELY APOPLECTIC,” KRISTOS SAID, LANDING IN HIS chair at the dinner table with a resounding thud. “He’s convinced you’ve invited them to form some sort of cabal of magical influence.”
“It doesn’t,” Annette said judiciously, “precisely not look like that.” She cut a thick slice of oat bread and handed it to Kristos. Despite the elegance of eating on the polished wood table of a former noble’s dining room, our meals were more rustic than sumptuous. I didn’t mind; there was something comforting about split pea soup and meat pies and porridges, like those I had made in our shabby kitchen to share with Kristos, long ago.
“But it isn’t factual, and that is what matters,” Theodor fumed.
“We both know that isn’t true,” I replied.
“Perhaps you should form a cabal of magical influence,” Viola said, delicately spooning some ham and bean soup. “Then at least they would have a real reason to be worried.”
“That’s not funny,” I replied. Viola shrugged with an impish smile.
“It’s not funny, but it’s also not a terrible idea,” Kristos said. “No, not the secret underhanded part. I mean some sort of cabinet post or committee overseeing Galatine magic use.”
“It might just be the most valuable angle we can play—with Pellia as part of Galitha and the Kvys refugees seeing us as the natural place for practitioners of casting to go, it gives us a certain cachet.” Theodor raised an eyebrow at me. “We will eventually need to develop some legal framework around that.”
“Lovely,” Viola said with a light snort, “you’ve only just recognized that casting is anything more powerful than an old wives’ tale, and you’re going to form a bureaucracy around it.”
I shook my head. “There will be time enough for that eventually. But for now—what does the council say we do with the Kvys nuns?”
“They can stay, provided they are not found to be attempting to ‘influence’ our politics—in any way, including magical. From what I knew of Alba, I’m more worried about them lining pockets or making alliances, frankly.” Theodor stirred his soup. “I don’t know that anyone likes the idea of playing host to ousted nuns, but most of the council felt we couldn’t refuse without looking as though we’re incapable of accommodating them.”
“And we wouldn’t want the Serafans to think we’re weak,” supplied Annette. “Ah, well. I hadn’t considered that side of it.”
“Or the Allied Equatorial States. Dira only represents her own interests, not the whole nation, and plenty in the States are watching carefully to see whether we can stand on our own two feet before they commit to any alliances or trade agreements.” Theodor shrugged. “Back to politics as usual.”
“Are you telling me that you dragged me through that horrid Five-Year Summit and we’re back to square one?” I teased.
“To some extent.” Theodor grimaced. “All those agreements were made before we were the Republic of Galitha—sweet Sacred Natures, that probably means we’re going to have to renegotiate the Open Seas Arrangement.” He groaned into his soup.