S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

“The traders I traveled with said that there were even greater cities, farther west and south, all the way to the shore of the Western Sea two hundred days’ or more march from where we were. They said

that they were part of an empire larger, richer, and more powerful than the Holdings. I don’t necessarily believe those stories-I know as well as you that travelers’ tales grow with each telling, and that it’s our nature to make ourselves sound more like great adventurers than simple tourists. But this city. . I saw it with these eyes, and I’ve never seen its like anywhere else. I know this, Commandant: there are more mysteries in this world than the Concenzia Faith will allow you to believe.”

Ca’Rudka smiled indulgently at the long speech. “Sometimes, to young eyes, the small looks larger than it is. I would think that if such a great empire exists beyond the Hellin Mountains, we would have met its armies or at least its envoys when we came to the Hellins. I may not have been there myself, but I met the Governor of the Hellins when he was last in Nessantico, and he said that the natives there were little more than savages.”

“He sees them with the wrong eyes, then,” Karl answered. “Like looking through the stained glass of the temple, he doesn’t see the true colors beyond.”

“And you do? I find that rather arrogant, Envoy ci’Vliomani. It surprises me to find that quality in you.”

“We all have colored glass through which we view the world, Commandant,” Karl answered. “Our society and our upbringing and our

experiences place the glass before us, with the Numetodo no less than the Concenzia Faith. I don’t deny that. But I think we Numetodo have more shades of color from which to choose and that, as a result, we are closer to the truth.”

Ca’Rudka laughed again, though this time the guards remained quiet. “You are a fascinating creature, Envoy ci’Vliomani.” He took a long breath. “I enjoy listening to you, and no doubt we’ll have ample opportunity to continue our conversation. But for now. .” He picked up the silencer from the table, its metal buckles jangling. The taste of foul leather filled Karl’s mouth, just seeing it.

“Commandant, I will give you my word. .”

“And I would accept it,” ca’Rudka answered before Karl finished.

The silencer swayed in his hand. “The Kraljiki will want a confession from the Kraljica’s assassin. Are you prepared to give that to him, Envoy?”

“I can’t confess to what I didn’t do,” Karl answered, and ca’Rudka smiled at that, with the indulgent expression of an adult listening to a young child.

“Can’t?” he said. “I’m afraid that happens all the time here in the Bastida, Envoy. I think you might be surprised what a person would be willing to admit under the right encouragement. Why, give me six lines written by the hand of the most honest man, and I could find something in them to have him hanged.”

Karl’s breath vanished. He felt suddenly cold. “Open your mouth, Envoy,” ca’Rudka said. “I promise you that I’ll be back tomorrow, and each day until the Kraljiki tells me what I must do with you, and as long as you give me your word, I’ll take the silencer from you so we can talk more. I will cherish those times, truly. Now. . I need you to open your mouth, or I will have the gardai come in and put on the silencer in their own fashion. Which would you prefer?”

There was nothing but despair in Karl’s heart now. He knew he would die here, and he knew that there was nothing he could do except make that death as painless as possible. Karl opened his mouth and allowed ca’Rudka to buckle the device to his head. He felt tears forming as ca’Rudka stepped behind him to tighten the straps, and he forced them back, blinking hard.

Sergei ca’Rudka

“Commandant, I wish to see Karl ci’Vliomani.”

Sergei straightened the inkwell on his desk, arranging the quills in their holder. Then he looked again at the young woman in front of him, wearing the green robes of the teni. “I find that I’m surprised you would make such a request, O’Teni cu’Seranta, especially given that you were with the Numetodo when I arrested him.” He raised his eyebrows. “I doubt that the Archigos would be pleased to find you here after that coincidence.”

“As it turns out, I’m here on the Archigos’ business.” The slight hesitation and the way she averted her eyes before she spoke was enough to tell Sergei that she wasn’t telling the truth-lies in all their shades and forms were something he knew intimately, and the o’teni was hardly a facile liar.

“I see,” he answered. He rubbed the cold metal of his nose. “The stamina of our Archigos never fails to amaze me, especially on a day such as today, when there must a hundred details to which he must attend for the Kraljica’s funeral and for the procession this evening. You have a letter for me, perhaps, outlining this ‘business’ on which he has sent you?” She shook her head. Her gaze wandered somewhere past him, to the bare stone walls behind. “Ah, I see. An unfortunate gaffe on his part. The Archigos must understand after all his years here in Nessantico how the gears of the Holdings are milled from paper and greased with ink. But perhaps if you could tell me about this. .” He paused deliberately. “. . business.”

His hands were folded on his desk and she stared at them. Perhaps she was expecting to see blood there. She hadn’t prepared the lie; she startled with the last word, like a dove surprised on a windowsill. “I. . the Archigos. . we know Envoy ci’Vliomani had wished to meet the Kraljica. . and. . and. .”

“O’Teni.” Sergei lifted a hand and she lapsed into a flushed silence.

“We needn’t pretend. Not here. The Bastida is not a place for posturing.

The two of you are lovers?”

The flush crept higher on her neck. “No,” she said quickly. That was the truth, he could tell, though he could guess the rest: ci’Vliomani was attractive enough, intelligent enough, and given her unremarkable features and the rank of her family before her recent elevation, he doubted that she had been much pursued by suitors in the past. He could imagine the attraction ci’Vliomani might have for her; he could also imagine that she would be an easy mark for a seduction, if ci’Vliomani had wanted to use her. He’d glimpsed her fear for ci’Vliomani’s fate in the apartment when he’d arrested the man, heard it in the urgent whispers they’d exchanged as he took ci’Vliomani away. If they weren’t lovers, there was still a bond between them. He hoped, for her sake, that the bond ran both ways.

She was attracted to the lure of the foreign, the alien, the forbidden. He knew that. He felt it himself. He understood. So he smiled at the young woman.

“No,” he repeated, just to watch the flush bloom again in her cheeks.

“Then what is your interest in him?”

“He. .” She swallowed. Her eyes found his face and wandered away again. Then she took a long breath in through her nose and stared hard at him. “He is a friend. I don’t believe that those who possess a true faith have anything to fear from learning about other ways. We won’t bring the Numetodo back to the Faith through torment and death, Commandant. We will bring them back through

understanding.”

She spoke with such passion and earnestness that Sergei leaned back in his chair and patted his hands together softly. “Bravo, O’Teni. Well said-though that doesn’t appear to be a position most of the

a’teni or the A’Kralj would take, nor even the Archigos himself. And unfortunately. .” He spread his hands wide. “. . those are the masters I serve.”

He could see the fear in her face, could nearly taste it in the air, sweet. “Envoy ci’Vliomani. . Is he. .”