S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

That night, the Archigos summoned her to a private viewing for the a’teni of the Kraljica’s body. Watha handed her the robes the Archigos had sent over: not the traditional green, but off-white: the color of bone, the color of death. She put them on dully, without feeling them. At the temple, Kenne, also robed in that sad white, brought her to the Archigos. The dwarf asked nothing; he only looked at her with sorrow, as if disappointed. “Come,” he said. “Let us say our good-byes to Marguerite.”

She walked with him. A river of bone white flowed through the doors up to the flat, polished granite stone that was the altar of Cenzi.

The body of the Kraljica lay there, resting on cushions of brilliant yellow with trumpet flowers arranged around her. Her face was already covered by a gold-plated death mask sculpted in her likeness. Her hair, brushed and perfect, was caught in the ornate hairpin of abalone and pearls that Ana had seen the first time she met the Kraljica, and the scent of incense and perfume hung heavily about her. The iron rod of Henri VI lay cradled in her left hand; in her right hand, the palm upturned, was the signet ring of the Kralji. Around the Stone of Cenzi, wreaths had been laid, and from the forest of greenery and ribbons rose seven candelabra of crystal from the mountains of Sesemora, each with teni-light globes so furiously alight so that the Kraljica seemed to recline in the radiance of the sun.

Seeing the Kraljica so still, composed, and masked, Ana finally did cry. Unashamed, she let the tears flow as she knelt in front of the bier, her head bowed. She didn’t care that the Archigos, the gathered a’teni, and ca’Cellibrecca and all the others were watching and making their own judgments.

It was my fault. I should have been able to save you, Kraljica, but I had betrayed Cenzi. .

But she did not pray. She didn’t think Cenzi would listen to her.

The Archigos touched her shoulder in sympathy, though he had said nothing to her as they left beyond the necessary talk: no rebukes, no accusations. She was certain that he knew she’d been with Karl when he’d been arrested. The commandant would have told him, and Watha or Sunna or Beida must have whispered to him about how distraught she was when she returned.

“Tomorrow,” the Archigos told her and the rest of his staff as they left the temple, “the doors of the Archigos’ Temple on the South Bank will open at dawn, so that the A’Kralj and all the Kraljica’s nephews and nieces may have their first official viewing. You’ll accompany me there, Ana-the rest of you will be taking your shifts this evening and tonight in attendance to the Kraljica at the temple. After the A’Kralj has paid his respects to his matarh, there will be the day-long procession of the ca’-and-cu’-again, you’ll be required to take shifts in attendance while the ca’-and-cu’ file through. Kenne, I’m placing you in charge of the scheduling. Ana, you’ll be needed again for the funeral carriage’s procession at midnight around the Avi a’Parete; you’ll accompany me in my carriage. Is that understood?”

She and the other teni of his staff nodded.

Ana stared at the lamps of the city as she walked back to her apartments, and she gazed from her windows that looked west, trying to see if she could pick out the Bastida among the clustering of rooftops. She could not.

That morning, after a sleepless night, Watha brought the news that all the Numetodo within Nessantico had been rounded up, that squads of the Garde Kralji, on the A’Kralj’s orders, had entered Oldtown while she and the Archigos had been at the temple, taking all those suspected to be Numetodo into custody. The Bastida, it was rumored, was full of them.

This was for the safety of Nessantico during the Kraljica’s funeral, the A’Kralj had declared, according to Watha. No Numetodo would be allowed to mar the elaborate, ritualized display of grief and affection for their fallen ruler. They would remain in the Bastida during the three days of official mourning, after which the new Kraljiki would make a ruling regarding them.

While Ana waited in the Archigos’ outer room with Kenne and the other teni of his staff, she could hear them whispering the gossip and rumors, each of the statements wilder and more unlikely than the next:

“. . I’ve been told in confidence that it was a Numetodo servant who poisoned the Kraljica. Yes, I’m certain; my sister’s husband works in the palace and they all know it there. .”

“. . my vatarh told me that the Numetodo were planning to steal the Kraljica’s body and hold it for ransom. That’s why the commandant is so upset. .”

“. . No, they wanted the Kraljica’s body to desecrate it in a bizarre rite of theirs. I’ve heard that from four people who would know. .”

“. . what happened was that the Numetodo were caught using their sorcery to poison the entire drinking water system of the city. Several people have already died from it in Oldtown. That’s why they’ve been rounded up. .”

“. . I’ve heard that the Numetodo are rising up in all the cities of the Holdings in celebration of the Kraljica’s death, the bastards. Why, in Belcanto, they were running through the streets singing. .”

Ana could not listen to their chatter; she saw Karl’s face in each of the rumors.

The Archigos came out at last, leaning heavily on his staff of office, and as Ana and the others descended the stairs from his apartments, she could detect nothing in his glances to her. She wondered at that.

She wanted to ask him what he was thinking; she wanted to tell him that she’d rather he screamed his anger than to have this silence between them, but there was no time. They came out onto the square outside the temple just as the A’Kralj was being helped from his carriage, accompanied by the commandant and several of the city guards. The

early morning sun illuminated an orderly chaos-the a’teni all moving their own people into position for the formal procession; the press of onlookers past the ring of guards; the ca’-and-cu’ families awaiting their moment to view the body of the Kraljica.

“Ah, A’Kralj ca’Mazzak,” the Archigos said as the A’Kralj approached, the quartet of Garde Kralji with him pushing aside those citizens and teni between the A’Kralj and the Archigos. The A’Kralj wore a white, silken bashta over which hung a heavy cloak brocaded in gold filigree. Against the white, his dark beard and hair stood out in harsh contrast, the jaw jutting forward characteristically. Around his neck was a golden chain from which depended a pendant set with ambergris and a yellow diamond. His fingers were bare of rings, but Ana knew that later this night, before the public procession, he would take the signet ring from his matarh’s hand and place it on his own finger. Renard walked alongside him, carrying the A’Kralj’s gilded mourning mask should it be needed. The mask was to allow the A’Kralj privacy in his grief, but to Ana, the A’Kralj seemed more exuberant than sorrowful.

The commandant, accompanying the A’Kralj, nodded faintly to Ana. She shivered and gave no sign that she noticed. The Archigos

gestured, and his retinue bowed as one and gave the A’Kralj the sign of Cenzi.

“A’Kralj, I am so sorry for your loss, but I know you will follow her and take Nessantico to heights beyond even her dreams,” the Archigos said as they rose from their bows. He looked like a wizened child against the athletic bulk of the A’Kralj.

“Thank you, Archigos,” the A’Kralj answered in his high, nasal voice. It sounded like an adolescent’s. “I know Matarh appreciated your long service and devotion to her, and I look forward to the same service from you.”

The Archigos bowed again at that, though Ana knew that he heard the same lack of conviction in the A’Kralj’s words-ritualistic, too polite, and ultimately meaningless. The man’s deep-set eyes flickered across Ana’s face, and she thought his lips tightened with the glance.