The capital greeted them with a warm evening. The carriage climbed the gentle slope of Colle Alto, past cypress avenues where ancestral estates showed through gaps in sandstone walls. The air up here was fresher than in the city below. A sea breeze brought the cool and the scent of magnolias. Lights from neighbouring villas flickered through the trees, and laughter drifted down from someone's terrace.
Below, in the valley, the capital spread out beneath them. Cathedral domes, a sprawl of terracotta rooftops, squares with fountains. Magelights were winking on in the dusk, turning the city into a shimmering carpet of flames.
The carriage swept past the bronze griffons flanking the familiar gates, rolling into the courtyard of the Dantes estate to pull up at the foot of the broad white marble steps. Dusk was falling rapidly, yet the three-storey facade still basked in the warm glow of magelights set beside the heavy, bronze-studded oak doors.
Jacopo waited at the entrance, spine straight as a ramrod in his immaculate doublet, hands clasped behind his back. Exactly as he had stood fifteen years ago, the day Jean first arrived here after the exile. Benedetto, the butler's familiar, stood at his shoulder like a younger print from the same plate.
Sophie looked around. The estate was just as she remembered. A broad courtyard paved in pale stone, a burbling nymph-fountain at its centre ringed by terracotta tubs of laurel. The three-storey house rose before them, its facade dressed in arched galleries and marble balustrades. To the left, a covered arcade led to the service buildings. To the right, a wrought-iron gate opened into the garden, and from there came the scent of plumerias and evening cool.
Jean stepped down from the carriage first. His thoughts were still somewhere in the jungle; his body moved without consulting him. He set his boots on the paving and looked around.
Fifteen years this house has been his sanctuary. A place to rest from questions and condemnation.
Had been, he corrected himself, and offered Sophie his hand.
Behind them the horses thrashed in their harness, the whites of their eyes catching the lamplight. The groom hauled on the reins, barely holding the panicked four-in-hand together.
The butler stepped forward, ready to deliver the ritual greeting.
"Welcome home, Messire. I trust the expedition was a success?"
The words died on his lips when Kali appeared in the carriage doorway. Jean watched the servants stop breathing. The young groom nearly dropped the reins. Jacopo took a half-step back before he caught himself.
Kali set foot on the flagstones, and the silence became a solid thing. The wind died as though the air itself were waiting. Even in a plain travelling cloak she filled the courtyard with a presence that left no room for anything else. Moonlight seemed to thicken around her, and her green eyes smouldered in the twilight. The air tasted of ozone, as if lightning were about to crack.
Sophie watched the effect with curiosity. This was their home now. All three of them.
"Jacopo," Jean said, keeping his voice level. "Allow me to introduce Lady Kali."
My familiar, he nearly added, but caught the word behind his teeth. They could pretend it was an insignificant detail for the moment. With this many witnesses, explanations were a liability.
"She will be staying with us."
Kali peeled off one glove finger by finger and extended her bare hand to Benedetto. The familiar fought the urge to bolt, bent into a bow, and pressed his lips to her fingers. The instant his mouth touched her skin, Jacopo flinched backward and nearly went down. The butler who could have greeted the Emperor without blinking now stood wide-eyed, fists clenched white at his sides.
"Madame... an absolute... honour to welcome you to our home," Benedetto managed.
Kali released him and turned. She surveyed the frozen staff, then settled on the horses. The animals were still fighting the harness, the groom straining against them. She took a step in their direction.
"Madame, careful, they're spooked..." Jacopo began, and stopped.
Kali walked up and reached for the wildest horse. It whinnied, hauling the traces bowstring-tight, trying to shy away. Her fingers brushed its muzzle and it froze. It dropped its head and went meekly still. The rest of the team quieted at once. The groom watched, jaw slack, as Kali scratched behind the ear of the animal he'd been wrestling with a minute ago.
"Good girl." Kali patted the mare's neck and stepped back.
The horses stood rooted. Not a twitch. Only a fine tremor ran down the flank of the mare she had touched.
"Messire... if you will allow..." Jacopo attempted a bow, but his eyes would not leave Kali. His hands shook slightly. "Congratulations on a safe..."
Kali glided past the motionless servants with the grace of a big cat. One shrank against the wall. Another dropped a tray. A third forgot to close his mouth. Jean and Sophie caught a pulse of her pleasure through the bond. She drank in every trembling hand, every blown pupil, savouring the bewilderment and the awe. Only what she could subjugate did she embrace as her own.
"Jacopo," Kali said, "I am quite certain we shall get along famously."
Her voice had the texture of velvet. The kind they used to line cases for exquisite poisons.
"Prepare Lady Sophie's room," Jean ordered. "And no visitors until morning. Not a soul."
"Of course, Messire." Jacopo bowed, his composure snapping back into place. "Everything will be arranged."
The butler threw a quick glance at Kali, then raised an eyebrow at Jean. The question needed no words. Jean gave the barest nod.
Jacopo turned to a footman at once.
"Move the small daybed from the green drawing room into the master's chambers."
When Kali walked into the house, the staff parted like a flock of sparrows before a hawk. Jean caught scraps of whisper. "...who is she...", "...did you see her eyes...", "...the master's finally...", "...so magnificent..."
"Come," Jean said quietly, touching Sophie's elbow.
The new life is going to be far more complicated than I imagined, he thought.
They stepped into the vestibule. The marble floor with its geometric pattern threw back the light of overhead magelights nested high in the vaulted ceiling. A broad staircase with carved balusters led upward to a gallery visible through arched openings on the second floor. No bloodstains, no bones, no dust. Jacopo would never allow such a mess. Only polished wood and varnish, Monsieur Investigator. No clues.
Through open doors on the left, a small inner courtyard with a fountain showed flowers glowing white in the dusk.
"Do you feel it too?" Sophie whispered, already knowing the answer.
"I've always thought of myself as a self-absorbed egotist," he said with a dry half-smile. "But this kind of intoxication with power is new."