"Soon," Uri said, frowning and rubbing his noble nose. "We are almost ready. By dark, or morning at the latest, we will be on the road."
"Well done." Zoë smiled again, squeezing his hand. Impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. "The city will be in excellent hands. You must write me if anything happens."
"Yes, my queen," Uri said, breathing in a heady perfume of spices, oil and sweat. "I will."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Hills Above Florentia, Italia
Vladimir crept across a drift of leaves, stomach close to the dark earth, nose up, ears flat against his angular head. Despite a thick litter of twigs and leaves under the oaks, he made no sound. Long-fingered hands set down softly on bronzed stones and sharp toes dug into black soil. The oaks were singing softly to themselves, leaves rustling, wrapped in slanting, golden light. The sun was setting, drifting towards the western horizon through ruddy smoke-stained air. Below the hill and west across the river, a city sprawled across the valley. In this deepening purple light, thousands of fires winked, filling the air with tapering gray plumes. The Walach eased to a halt, eyes slitted against the dying light, his nostrils flared.
He caught a familiar spoor. Musty, catlike, redolent of walnuts and soot and unopened houses. Vladimir smiled, skin stretching over a long jaw, exposing sharp, white teeth. He settled lower against the ground, lean body melting into stone and brush. He had been waiting all day for this moment, creeping inch-by-inch across the hillside, trying to catch furtive and wary prey.
A stand of honeysuckle stirred and something small and gray-pelted with a white chest peered out. Black eyes flicked to the left and right, then the tiny creature scuttled forward, hurrying, short stumpy legs blurring as it flitted across the slope. A bulging cloth bag was clutched in a three-fingered paw. As it ran, patterns of leaves and fallen branches flowed across the smooth fur. In the dimming light, the creature faded in and out of visibility.
Vladimir sprang, soundless, and crashed to earth, claws sweeping through the air. The little creature bolted with a squeak, springing across a downed tree, eyes wide. Long, white claws snapped fruitlessly in the air. Dirt spewed away from Vladimir's fleet. He skidded down the slope, crashing into a thicket of brambles. Hissing with pain, he tore himself free. The creature sprang up-slope, walnuts spilling from the bag. Vladimir scrambled up, leaves flying behind him. Branches lashed at his head, drawing red streaks across his muzzle. He burst out of the oaks.
The creature faded from sight as the Walach loped across a meadow of tall, stalk-heavy grass. Clouds of tan dust and feathered seeds puffed up around him. Vladimir snorted a noseful of pollen, sneezed, then came to a complete halt. Sparkling motes flooded the air, catching the sunset. They burned gold and amber as they rose, swirling around him. Heavier seed pods broke loose, flung from long stalks crushed under his feet. They drifted through the trees, shining in golden columns of light.
The gray-and-white creature was gone. Vladimir crouched down, ducking his head repeatedly. Pollen drifted from his face, falling onto crumbling, dry soil. He breathed out steadily through his nose, clearing his nostrils. The Walach slipped forward through the grass, brittle yellow stems bending away as he passed. Clusters of seed-heads swayed, but they did not break.
Ahead, near the edge of the trees, something moved. Vladimir rose up a little, craning his neck. A subtle discoloration against a low wall of fieldstone caught his eye. He focused, ears flattening, teeth baring. There! The gray-and-white creature's eyes opened, black pupils in white irises. Trembling, it looked slowly from side to side.
The crisp, clear tone of a bell rang through the twilit woods.
The creature blinked in surprise. Triangular ears canted towards the unexpected sound.
The Walach bolted forward, smooth, controlled. This was no wild leap, but a calculating lunge. The little creature bleated in surprise, faded to nothing and Vladimir's hand flashed out to the right, closing with a snap on squirming, wriggling fur. Snarling aloud, the Walach clutched the forest spirit in both hands, then stuffed it violently into a leather bag. The bag thrashed about for a bit, as Vladimir held his captive high in the air, then the creature quieted down. Panting, he tied the sack closed.
Quite pleased with himself, the Walach padded off through the oak and scrub forest. Behind him, walnuts and a ripped cloth bag lay on the ground among dry grass and faded summer flowers.
—|—
Vladimir jogged down a faint path past huge, wrinkled oaks. The forest giants arched overhead, crowns glowing with the last touch of sunlight. Below, night filled the green tunnel made by their trunks and spreading branches. Despite the gloom, he passed swiftly over round stones and broken paving. The way opened into a shallow dell atop the hill. Vladimir paused, crouching against a moss-covered plinth. Another tall stone stood on the opposite side of the path.
The Walach tasted the air, and grinned in the gathering darkness. Still clutching the bag to his chest, the quivering warm shape inside pressed against the soft nap of his fur, Vladimir slipped behind the menhir, then up through a hedge lining the edge of the clearing.
Nicholas sat in darkness, his back to the bole of an enormous, ancient oak. The Walach crept up beside him, then squatted with the leather bag in both hands. He could smell the human female—crushed rose, pressed oil, hyacinth and lavender layered over sweat and the peppery smell daywalker women wore like a wreath. His toes dug into the earth, feeling roots and dampness.
Vladimir's tongue pressed against the backs of his incisors. He was very happy to be outside.
Lights drifted in the hollow, dancing over lines of age-worn stones. They shone cold on short grass and gleamed from the woman's diadem. Empress Martina sat on a huge, toppled slab at the center of the dell, legs drawn up sideways beneath her. Silver bracelets circled both arms and her dark gown made a sable firmament for chains of jewels and gold hanging around her neck. Dragonflies blurred past and glowing motes danced and spun, rising and falling around her in gossamer veils.
Vladimir could hear the earth singing and he pressed himself against the ground, burying his head in the loam. Martina laughed, voice soft, raising her hands to catch the fireflies winking, shimmering, darting in the air. Full night came striding over the hills and the forest quieted.
The Walach rolled on his back, looking up. The stars burned—keen as a sword blade—between the branches of the oaks. The stiff leaves were shining, taking on their own glow from the faint light spilling down from the heavens.
Nicholas raised a finger minutely. Vladimir rolled over, soundless on the loamy ground.
A greater light entered the hollow, spinning down on starlight. Sharp-edged shadows drifted across ancient stone. Martina turned her head, alabaster neck shining, pale, psymithion-painted face radiant in the golden light. She seemed frozen, unable to move, though the Walach saw her lips part as if she spoke in greeting. Her brown hair, carefully curled and coifed, spilled back over her shoulders. Her round face, in this glamour, was suffused with beauty.
The light drifted closer, spinning and darting. The Walach squinted and then let out his breath in a soft hiss. A tiny woman, only a hand tall, swept past the Empress, jeweled wings blurring in flight. The sprite was naked, clean limbs in perfect proportion, flowing hair like gold, blazing green eyes wide in interest. Martina's eyes sparkled as she turned, following the arcing flight of the fae. Flower petals were strewn around the Empress and a wreath of holly crowned her head. The sprite darted down, finding clear water shining in hollow leaves. Keeping a safe distance from Martina, the sprite knelt to drink.
Vladimir blinked. Shadow rose behind the tiny creature, looming up out of the darkness behind the slab. A hand appeared, corpse-pale in shimmering golden light, and caught the sprite gently as she toppled over in sleep. The water on the leaf trembled, beading into rainbow pearls. Maxian—his thin face thrown in high relief by the sprite's radiance—cast the night aside like a cloak. Brilliant white refulgence spilled out, making Vladimir blink tears, and Nicholas turn away. The prince caught a sphere of perfect crystal drifting in the air with a fingertip. The glass surface swirled open under his hand. Gently, Maxian slid the sleeping sprite into the globe. Then the crystal, singing with a high, tremulous note, flowed closed again.
Martina laughed softly as she rose. Rose petals, lilies, honeysuckle fluttered to the loamy soil. The prince clasped Martina's waist, then swung her to the ground. From his vantage atop the hollow, Vladimir could see the woman blush, see the heat rise in her skin. Her fingers trailed on the prince's arm.
"I think we are done here." Nicholas rose, unfolding his lean frame from the ground. "Six iron skeletons rise in the city and now there are six shining hearts, one for each."
Vladimir growled softly, but he also stood, the bag—now quiet and still—still clutched to his chest. Together, the two men picked their way down the slope, to join the royal pair sitting on the edge of the slab.
—|—
"Good hunting?" Maxian pointed at Vladimir's bag. The prince looked a little tired, though in such brilliant, unwavering light everyone looked drawn and sallow.
"Something quick and quiet," the Walach said, feeling shy. "Not so beautiful as the starlight."
"Let me see," Maxian said, curious. He held out a hand for the sack.
Vladimir was suddenly sorry he'd spent the day hunting on the slope. He didn't like the prince capturing the moon maids. It felt wrong—the prince wasn't even going to eat them! He drew back, hiding the bag behind his back.
"Vlad." Nicholas' eyes were in shadow, the cowl of his cloak drawn up to keep him from being blinded. "Show the prince what you caught."
The Walach swallowed, hearing a strange distance in his friend's voice. "Here."
"Don't worry," Maxian said, laughing. "I won't hurt it."
The prince slid his hand into the bag, inciting a squirming bulge. He bit his lip in concentration, then slowly drew the creature out, held tightly by the ears. Maxian considered the creature, face lighting with a slow smile. It stared back with huge, frightened eyes. "An oak gardener! It's good you didn't hurt him, Vlad. They're good luck. They take care of the forest."
The Walach's eyes slid sideways to the crystalline spheres lined up beside the slab. Weighted nets held each one to the ground, else they would drift away through the trees. The moon maids were still sleeping, each one curled up at the bottom of her clear prison.
"Quiet, little one, quiet..." Maxian knelt, setting the furry creature on the ground. "We're sorry we bothered you. Martina, stroke his fur."
The Empress knelt too, brushing long tresses behind her ears. The gardener squirmed fearfully in Maxian's hands, but he whistled softly and the creature became still. Round, white eyes drooped half closed. Martina's round fingers brushed over the gray-and-white fur and she beamed in delight. "It's so soft! Softer than ermine or sable..."
"Yes," Maxian said, opening his hands. The gardener's eyes snapped open and it trembled for a moment, frozen. "Go on now."
The creature flashed away across the hollow, vanishing in the space of a breath. The prince stood, brushing clods of dirt from his tunic. Martina rose too, clutching Maxian's hand for support. Vladimir stared off into the forest, feeling queasy.
"A fruitful afternoon," Maxian said, "and the moon's not even up yet. Well, we should get back." He let go of Martina's hand, turning to his prizes laid out on the ground. "Nick, get the horses, will you?"
"Yes, sir." The Latin turned away from the brilliant light, catching Vladimir's elbow. His face was still in darkness. "Come on, Vlad, let's get packed up."
—|—
They crossed the Arno on a new military bridge. The triple arches carried a double-wide road paved with bricks. Vladimir trailed the others, loping along behind where the horses couldn't smell him. The nets were strapped to a packhorse, each sphere now padded with quilted wool and wrapped in soft hides. Care had been taken to hide the brilliant treasure. The horse did not mind; the spheres pressed up against the nets, making the load light as air.