S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

“And what would you know of Mara?” he asked her.

She gave him a look of exaggerated scorn, her mouth pursed, her

head shaking so that the soft curls around her cheeks swayed. “I’m eleven and I’m not stupid, Vatarh. And I don’t have to pretend I don’t see things, like Matarh does.”

Jan hugged her to him, and her arms clasped around his waist. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, my dear. You’ll be a fine Hirzgin when the time comes.”

She turned her face up to smile at him. “I know,” she said. “You will teach me, Vatarh, and I’ll learn everything from you. You’ll see.”

He kissed her again.

“I’m looking forward to going to Nessantico for the Kraljica’s Jubilee, Vatarh,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see Nessantico.”

Jan smiled at that. “Oh, we’ll be going there, Allesandra,” he answered. “Soon enough.”

Ana cu’Seranta

“Your problem, Ana, is that your abilities make you too visible.”

“I’m sorry, Archigos.”

The dwarf chuckled. “I didn’t say that to reprimand you. Simply being with me makes you visible, also, and doing what I ask you to do also makes you visible. Most often, it’s not possible for a person to hide their power. You shouldn’t hide it. I’m telling you this so that you know: those people who are against me or against the Kraljica will perceive you in the same light they cast on me. You need to be aware of that fact, and prepare for it.”

“I. . I think I understand, Archigos.”

In truth, she wasn’t entirely certain what he was warning her against.

They were in a teni-driven closed coach, traveling toward the Pontica a’Brezi Veste and the Grande Palais on the Isle A’Kralji, the coach’s springs complaining metallically as they bounced over the cobbles on the bridge’s approach. The Archigos sat on velvet cushions across from her; she huddled against the side of the coach. The last few days had not gone well: the incident with her vatarh, then the visit with her matarh, which had left her emotionally drained. Her servants Beida, Sunna, and Watha had all been solicitous and comforting, but she also suspected that everything that was said or done in her apartments was being reported back to the Archigos. As if he’d overheard her thoughts, the Archigos took a long breath through his nose and smiled at her.

“Your matarh. . She understood what you told her?”

“No,” Ana answered. “She doesn’t want to believe me.”

“Give her time,” the Archigos said. “She heard what you said, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. She’ll be thinking it over and she’ll be asking questions of those around her; she may already realize it’s true.

She’ll listen. She’ll believe. In time.”

The Archigos’ figure swam in Ana’s suddenly-starting tears, and she turned her head away from him, pretending to look out the window of the carriage. She heard the rustle of cloth, then felt the dwarf’s hand touch hers. She drew her hand back with a hiss, and his withdrew. Neither of them said anything else for the duration of the trip.

Renard escorted them to the Kraljica’s inner apartments rather than to the Hall of the Sun Throne, passing through the knotted clusters of courtiers and supplicants. Ana could feel their appraising glances on her even as they bowed and brought clenched hands to their foreheads, but they were quickly past them as Renard conducted them down a long hall to where a duo of servants waited to open the doors for them.

The Kraljica was in the outer chamber, holding up a cloth draped over a canvas set on an easel. She let the cloth drop as they entered and Renard announced them. “How well has ci’Recroix captured you,

Kraljica?” the Archigos asked. “May we see?”

“No.” The refusal came perhaps too loudly and quickly, and the Kraljica frowned. “I’m sorry, Dhosti. That sounded harsh. It’s just that ci’Recroix doesn’t want anyone looking at the painting yet. It’s not done.

But I figure that since it’s me he’s portraying, I have some privileges.”

“Of course you do, Marguerite,” the Archigos answered. Ana saw that his glance went to the jars of paints, oils, and pigments on the table near the canvas, the jar of brushes and the smell in the room, and then to a large painting of a peasant family hung over the massive fireplace in the room. Ana found herself startled, looking at the painting: it was as if she were staring through a window into a cottage room. The figures seemed nearly alive, so vivid that she expected them to breathe and talk. “I thought ci’Recroix was painting you in the Hall.”

“I haven’t been feeling well lately, I’m afraid, and so he’s been working in here.” The Kraljica walked across the room toward the fire crackling in the hearth, and Ana saw the slow caution in her steps, the way her body stooped visibly, and the heaviness with which she leaned on the filigreed, silver-chased ebony cane she carried-not the way she’d appeared even a few days ago. She had shriveled, she was collapsing in on herself. She coughed, and the cough was full of liquid. Her face was pale, the skin of her arms so translucent that Ana could see the tracery of veins underneath. She seemed to have aged suddenly, the years she had held back so well for so long crashing down on her. Her voice trembled. The Kraljica stared up at the painting over the hearth, standing before the fire as if she were absorbing its heat. “I’ll be fine by the Gschnas. You’re coming, of course?” she said to the Archigos, turning with evident reluctance away from her examination of the painting.

“And you, Ana? Have you been to the Gschnas Ball before?”

“Never to the one here in the palace, Kraljica,” Ana told her.

“We’ve always gone to one of the other halls when we’ve gone at all.

Once, though, four years ago, the A’Kralj made an appearance where my family was celebrating. I remember that.”

“I should introduce the two of you,” the Kraljica said. She cocked her head in Ana’s direction. “In fact, I’ll make certain of it.”

“Don’t go making plans for her, Kraljica,” the Archigos said. “Ana’s still getting used to being one of the teni. I chose her for the Faith and I don’t want you planning to steal her from me for your own purposes.”

The Kraljica sniffed at that as Ana felt her cheeks redden. “I’ll do what’s best for the Holdings, no matter what you might say.” Again, she glanced at Ana. “Dhosti, let’s talk. Ana will wait here; Renard, you’ll get her whatever she’d like. This business with Hirzg ca’Vorl is troubling me. I wish I were more certain of his intentions. . ”

With a final glance at the painting on the wall, Marguerite shuffled away from the fire toward a set of doors on the far wall. Ana caught a glimpse of another room beyond, with velveted red wallpaper, heavy sconces, and heavier furniture. The Archigos lifted a shoulder to Ana and followed.

“O’Teni?” Ana turned at Renard’s voice. He seemed nearly as old as the Kraljica, and the years seemed to have sucked him as dry as a length of smoked meat. He picked up a chair sitting next to the painter’s jar-littered desk and placed it between the hearth and the doors through which the Archigos and the Kraljica had vanished. “You’ll be most comfortable if you sit exactly there,” he said, with an odd emphasis in his voice. The chair he’d taken looked neither particularly comfortable nor well-placed; it certainly was less appealing than the cushioned, padded leather chair set before the fire. “Please sit here, O’Teni cu’Seranta,” he said again. “I’ll bring you tea and something to eat.” With that, he gave her the sign of Cenzi accompanied by a slight bow and left the room.