S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

To Ana, the Kraljica seemed impossibly regal, and Ana kept her hands clasped together in front of her to stop their nervous trembling at being in her presence.

“How has your sleep been, Dhosti?”

“As it is always, Kraljica. I’m too often. . visited during the night.

That hasn’t changed. The herbs from the healer you sent me helped for a bit, but lately. .” He shrugged.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Then the Kraljica’s gaze was on Ana again.

“She’s so young, Dhosti.”

Ana saw the Archigos shrug in the corner of her vision. “We forget, Kraljica. They all look too young to us now. But when I was her age, I was also already a teni. When you were her age, you took the throne and married. She’s adept with Ilmodo, that’s what matters. A natural talent, as strong as I was at her age.”

“I understand her matarh was. .” The Kraljica hesitated, and she lifted her chin, still staring at Ana. “. . blessed by Cenzi when you anointed her.”

The Archigos smiled at that. “Your sources are very good, Kraljica.”

“They’re also concerned.”

“I know which of the a’teni to watch, Kraljica.”

A nod. “You know, of course, that the Archigos’ life was never in real danger, not from that fool Numetodo.”

Ana started, realizing belatedly that the Kraljica was addressing her, not the Archigos. She cleared her throat, bringing her hands to her forehead. “I didn’t think about it at all, Kraljica,” she said. “There wasn’t time to think.”

“The Archigos has given you a great honor, making you an o’teni. I hope you prove worthy of it.”

The Archigos shifted in his seat and Ana glanced quickly over to him. She could still feel the way he’d touched her knee this morning, as if she were a piece of art or a bottle of fine wine he’d purchased-in that sense, it had been different than when her vatarh touched her. The Archigos hadn’t touched her since, but the memory clung to her and colored the smile she gave the Kraljica. “I will try, Kraljica. Whatever Cenzi wills, will be.” The aphorism from the Toustour was all she could think to say. She felt as if she were drowning here, lost in innuendo and hidden meanings.

“You’ll need to do better than rely on cliches,” the Kraljica said sharply, then grimaced. “Forgive me, O’Teni; I forget how new you are to your station, and that you don’t realize what is expected of you. When in private, I prefer directness and blunt honesty from my advisers. In private, I expect you to tell me what you truly think and believe. You can save polite evasions for when other ears can hear them.”

The criticism reminded her of what U’Teni cu’Dosteau had told her, back when she’d been accepted as an acolyte. “You have no idea what you’ve put yourself into. If you did, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me with that meaningless smile pasted to your lips. I know who you are and what you are, Vajica cu’Seranta. Unless you’re more than I believe you to be, you’ll be broken and gone in a few months. You’ll go sniveling back to your family. .” But her resolve hadn’t broken and she hadn’t left; now, years later, she was here.

“You shouldn’t apologize, Kraljica,” Ana said. “You’re right to criticize me. I realize that I know far too little. But I also know that I can learn what I need to understand, and I can learn it quickly. This is what I wanted-this is more than I’d dared to want-for me and for my family. I intend to do all I must to prove myself worthy of the great honor that’s been given me.”

The Kraljica gave a quick laugh that ended in a cough. “Nicely said, at least.” She patted her mouth with a linen kerchief. “You trust her, Dhosti?” the Kraljica asked the Archigos.

“She knows where her loyalty needs to be,” the Archigos answered.

“Don’t you, O’Teni cu’Seranta?”

Ana forced herself to smile. The Kraljica might indicate that she

wanted directness, but Ana wasn’t yet prepared to leave herself that vulnerable. The events of yesterday had swept her up into a whirlwind, and until she found solid ground again, she was going to continue to act as society had always told her she should. She knew from her vatarh, from her matarh, from her great-vatarh and — matarh, from her peers: the cu’ lived always on the precipice of society, looking for a path upward to the ca’ but always aware that it was easier to slide downward than to climb. She also understood the fist concealed in the velvet glove of the Archigos’ words. “I do, Archigos,” she answered. “I serve Cenzi, and I serve Nessantico.”

That, at least, seemed to mollify the Kraljica. “So what type of teni are you?” she asked. “Did the Archigos save you from having to light the Avi a’Parete every night for the rest of your life, or from stopping the city from burning down, or from driving one of his carriages, or- Cenzi forbid-from purifying the sewage or some other teni task? Are you fire, water, air, earth?”

“She could do any of them,” the Archigos said. “She could easily be a war-teni or more.”

The Kraljica sniffed. “Impress me, then,” she said. She waved an indulgent hand toward Ana.

Ana resisted the impulse to scowl angrily at the Archigos for putting her in this position. She thought madly, trying to decide what to do or what the Kraljica might consider “impressive.” You’ll need to help me, Cenzi. . She closed her eyes with the prayer, and the words evoked the Ilmodo. She felt it swirling around her, the path to the Second World yawning open, snarled energy caught in strands of violent orange and soothing blues, waiting for her to shape them, to use them. .

She didn’t know what birthed the decision. Perhaps it was the draped canvas she could glimpse through the balcony doors. There had been other paintings all along the corridors down which she and the Archigos had just walked: the Kraljica as a girl, as a young woman, as a newlywed, as a mother, as a mature woman. Ana had been most

struck by a painting of the Kraljica on her coronation. The expression on the new Kraljica’s face had struck Ana as perfect: she could see both resolve and uncertainty fighting there, as Ana imagined she might have felt herself on being handed such awesome responsibilities at a young age.

She heard the chant change, felt her hands moving, as if Cenzi Himself had taken them. She sculpted the Ilmodo. .

The Kraljica gasped audibly, and Ana opened her eyes.

Standing at the edge of the balcony, leaning against the polished stone railing a few strides from Ana as if she were gazing out into the gardens, was the Kraljica-young, wearing her coronation robes, the signet ring of the Kralji heavy on the index finger of her right hand. She turned to the three of them and smiled. “Fifty years,” she said, and it was the Kraljica’s voice, soft with youth. “I would never have imagined it.” She smiled again. .

. . and the strands fell apart in Ana’s mind, too difficult to hold in their complexity. The weariness of the Ilmodo came over her then, and she put her hand on the railing to keep her balance.

The Kraljica was still staring at where the image of her earlier self had stood. “I’d forgotten: how I looked, how I sounded. .” Her voice trembled, then she pressed her lips together momentarily. “I’ve never seen a teni do this. Dhosti? Could you?”

The Archigos was also staring, but at Ana. She could feel his appraisal. “No,” he said. “I couldn’t. At least not easily. The girl makes up spells rather than using ones taught to her.”

“No wonder A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca is muttering about the Divolonte and the Numetodo with her,” the Kraljica said.

Ana shook her head. “It’s Cenzi’s Gift,” she insisted. “It’s not against what He wants. It can’t be.”