S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

He wanted to embrace her again. Her sorrow and distress pulled at him. Fool. You can’t afford this. Think of what you’re here for. What about Kaitlin, who said she would always wait for you, always be faithful, and you told her the same. . He forced himself to remain where he was.

He tried to think of Kaitlin, but he found that he couldn’t remember her face; it was hazy in his memory, a ghost that seemed to belong to another person’s past. You’ve been away for a year and more already; you haven’t heard from Kaitlin in months and months. She may have found someone else. .

Ana was here, though. She’s your enemy. She’s a tool you intended to use. But the reminder didn’t convince, not when he saw her this way.

Not when she pulled at him the way she did.

“What do you mean, you lost your gift?” he asked.

Haltingly, she told him. “I noticed when. .” She stopped, pressed her lips together, and he realized that she was holding something back from him. “I noticed the next time I tried to use the Ilmodo. I couldn’t.

I called to Cenzi, but He wouldn’t come, wouldn’t let me shape the Ilmodo as I used to. I felt like an apprentice again, stumbling through the simplest spell.” She looked at him, and he thought he saw both accusation and hope in her eyes. “Did you do it, Envoy?” she asked. “An enchantment, a Numetodo spell. .?”

He shook his head. “No,” he told her softly. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Ana. I don’t expect you to believe that, but it’s the truth. Even if I could manage that-and I can’t-I wouldn’t have done that to you.

No, I’m afraid you did this to yourself.”

That sounded cruel even to his ears, and he brought a hand up both against her protest and in apology. “Ana, let me explain. With the Numetodo, everyone finds their own individual path to the Scath Cumhacht. Each of us uses a slightly different technique, our own words and gestures. That’s where we’re different. You teni use your faith to open the Second World; we use a standard routine, one that we must discover ourselves, no different than an herbalist who mixes the in-gredients of her potions in the same quantities each time so that the effects are always the same. Your faith. .” He shook his head. “I think it’s just another formula. A routine. What you saw, well, it shook that faith, and so. .”

“No!” she shouted at him. “Stop. I know what you’re saying, and I don’t believe it. I still believe. I do. Cenzi is punishing me.”

“I told you the other night that I could show you our path,” Karl said. “I still could. Your gift isn’t gone, Ana. It’s still there-and it doesn’t matter whether you believe in Cenzi or not. It’s still there.” He took a stride toward her, taking her hands in his. She didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. He could see that she wanted to believe him. He brought her to him. Their faces were close. So close. Kaitlin. . “I can show you, Ana. I will.”

As he said the words, he heard the creaking of the door behind them. Ana’s eyes widened and her gaze shifted. “How touching,” a voice said drolly, and as Karl started to turn, releasing Ana’s hands so his own were free, the voice tsked in caution. “Now, Envoy ci’Vliomani, what did I tell you the last time we met? There’s no need for violence here.”

Commandant ca’Rudka stood at the door, his sword still in its scabbard and a sardonic grin on his face. In the hall beyond, Karl could see the woman who owned the building cowering against the

far wall with her keys in her hand, and two gardai in the uniform of the Bastida, both holding crossbows with bolts nocked and ready.

Ca’Rudka motioned to the two, and they lowered their bows slightly.

“O’Teni cu’Seranta,” he said, bowing slightly and giving her the sign of Cenzi. “Your driver said you would be here. Evidently the envoy’s dancing at the Gschnas impressed you more than the Archigos

believed.”

Ana’s face, when Karl glanced at her, was pale, all the color gone from her cheeks. “Commandant,” she said. She took a breath, drawing herself up. “The Vajiki and I have been discussing religion. I had hopes of making him see the error of the Numetodo.”

“Indeed, that’s a noble exercise,” ca’Rudka said. He entered the room, the two gardai following, closing the door on the landlady’s curious face. “But somehow I doubt that the Vajiki is convinced of the greatness of Cenzi and the Faith.” He went over to the sill of the window, where Karl had set the plant the commandant had given him.

Ca’Rudka touched a fingertip to the soil, then looked at the black earth clinging there. “Damp,” he said. “I’m impressed, Vajiki.” He looked at the plant. “But I’m afraid it’s only a common weed after all. You’re wast-ing your efforts.”

“Why are you here, Commandant?” Karl asked. He could feel the tension gnawing at his belly. This is what Mika feared. It’s begun. . He knew it, knew by the way the commandant glanced around the room, knew from the careful stares of the gardai whose weapons never quite moved away from him. “If it’s a social call, as you can see, I’m otherwise engaged.”

“Unfortunately, I’m here in my official capacity,” ca’Rudka answered. “Vajiki ci’Vliomani, I regret to inform you that you are under arrest. Now, you will give O’Offizier ce’Falla your hands. . Unfortunately, we can’t risk you using the Ilmodo. Please don’t move, Vajiki, nor you, O’Teni, until the o’offizier is done.” The garda moved forward quickly as the other kept his crossbow carefully aimed at Karl’s chest.

Karl held out his hands, and ce’Falla confined them in metal cuffs. He saw another device on the man’s belt: a contraption with straps and a gag. He shuddered, knowing that would be next.

“What is it I’ve supposedly done, Commandant? Am I allowed to know that?”

“Certainly,” ca’Rudka answered. He reached into a pouch on his belt, withdrawing a length of chain. On the end dangled a stone shell.

“This was found around the painter ci’Recroix’s neck when his body was discovered. Does it seem familiar to you, Vajiki?” Ca’Rudka looked at Karl’s chest, where a similar symbol rested. “You needn’t answer; I see that it does.”

Karl glanced at Ana, who was standing with her hand on her breast.

Karl suspected he knew what she hid there under her robes, and he shook his head at her warningly as ca’Rudka followed his gaze.

“I’m sorry, O’Teni,” ca’Rudka said to Ana, “but I’m afraid Vajiki ci’Vliomani is under arrest for plotting the assassination of the Kraljica.”

Ana cu’Seranta

She kept hearing what Karl had said as the commandant led him away. She clung to the words in desperation. “Trust yourself, Ana. No matter what they say to you, no matter what they do, trust yourself and what you feel in your heart. That will give you back everything you’ve lost.”

Then the carriage door closed as it hurried off toward the Bastida.

The commandant had escorted her back to her quarters, a silent ride in his private carriage. “I’m sorry, O’Teni,” he’d said finally when he’d walked her to the sheltered back entrance of the building, away from curious eyes. “We all have our duties to perform, as I’m sure you know.”

She rushed into the apartment, closing the door to her bedroom and refusing to let any of the servants in to attend to her. She didn’t cry; she felt beyond tears. Outside, the world bloomed with spring, but inside her, everything was snared in the desolation of winter. She sat, silent, watching the flames dance in the hearth. She couldn’t tell whether she had no thoughts at all, or so many that she could not hear them for the uproar they made.