S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

“He’s not a horrible man. He’s flawed, yes, but he lost his sons and thought he had lost a wife, and the struggle he had to keep our family as cu’. . In his heart, I truly believe he didn’t intend to hurt anyone, Ana.”

“And that forgives him?” Ana could not keep the anger from her voice. “That makes everything all right for you?”

“No,” she answered. Her gaze grew hard. “It doesn’t. It’s why. . it’s why he’s not here anymore. He may never be here again.” She brought Ana to her once more; Ana resisted for a moment, then let

herself fall stiffly into the embrace. “I confronted him, Ana. I told him what you said. He denied it at first, but he. . he couldn’t look at me.”

She looked away herself, blinking away tears, then hugged Ana tightly again. “I know, and I’m terribly sorry for what he did to you, but I don’t want to talk about this, Ana. Not now when I finally have you here.”

Abini’s voice whispered in her ear. “Let’s talk about you. Tell me how things are for you.”

Talking about Vatarh is talking about me, she wanted to say to her matarh. He is part of why I am the way I am. But she could not. She sighed. You’ve kept it inside this long. If that’s the price you must pay to have Matarh back, pay it. Pay it and be grateful.

She didn’t know what to say. Too many things pushed at her, but she was afraid to talk of Karl, and if she could not speak of Vatarh. .

“I’m having luncheon with Kraljiki Justi tomorrow,” she said finally.

“The Archigos, he feels that I-” She stopped as Tari entered the room again, placing a tray down on a low table. Fragrant steam wafted from two bowls there; wine purpled twin goblets. Tari bowed at the two of them and left. Abini gestured toward the chairs.

“Sit,” Abini said. “Let’s talk as we eat.” As they sat, as Ana took a spoonful of the soup, Abini looked at her curiously. “The Kraljiki will be looking for a wife,” she said. “It’s what everyone is talking about. Even Vajica cu’Meredi mentioned it. . and you. You’re in much of the gossip I hear now, Ana.”

“It’s not what I would want, Matarh,” Ana said. She set the spoon down; it clattered too loudly on the porcelain.

Abini smiled sadly. “Ana. When did you ever believe that marriage is what someone who is ca’-and-cu’ might ‘want’ it to be?” she asked gently. “We’re not the unranked, who can marry whomever they want because it doesn’t matter. Love isn’t a necessary element for a marriage, Ana; you know that. Love comes later, if it comes at all. If Cenzi Wills it.”

“Did it come for you, Matarh?”

The smile vanished. “No,” she answered. “I always respected your vatarh, and he always respected me.” The frown deepened. “At least until my illness. Until what he did with you.”

“Why did you marry him? You’ve never told me.”

“I never told you because you were too young at first, then the Southern Fever took me away when I might have sat with you and explained how things are for a young woman.” She smiled again. “But now I can tell you. His family came to my vatarh and matarh. They offered a substantial wedding price; the cu’Seranta name was considered to be on the rise; your great-vatarh even thought that the Gardes a’Liste might name us ca’ once, though that turned out to be a vain hope after Vatarh died, only two years after my marriage. Still, Tomas kept the require-ments of our contract. Our marriage was what it needed to be. But did we come to love each other?” Her head moved from side to side. She stared at her soup. “No.”

“Did you ever love someone?”

Abini’s smile returned, faint and tentative. “You did,” Ana said, and the realization made her suddenly feel one with her matarh. “You loved someone. And did you give in to it?” she asked.

Abini glanced out toward the grounds. “Yes,” she said, so quietly that Ana leaned forward to hear her. “Once.”

“Who? Tell me, Matarh. Who was it, and did you. .?”

“You can never tell your vatarh.”

Ana sniffed. “That’s an easy promise. I don’t intend to ever see him again.”

Abini’s face colored, and Ana didn’t know if it was because of her remark or because of the memory of her matarh’s indiscretion. “I won’t tell you who it was-you would know the name. But. .” Abini leaned back in her chair. Her eyes closed. Her mouth opened slightly. “What caught me first was the smell of him: sweetnut perfume. The perfume smelled so different on him, and then I turned to look, and he was looking right at me. I remember that best of all-the shock of our gazes meeting that first time. I was much younger then, of course, and I’d recovered my figure after Estravi’s birth.” Her eyes opened. “Do you hate me, knowing that I was married already, that I was already a matarh?”

Ana shook her head. “No, Matarh. I don’t hate you. I understand.”

A nod. Abini’s eyes closed again. “We didn’t say anything to each other, not that first time. But I found that our paths kept crossing, as if Cenzi Himself were throwing us together, and your vatarh was gone all the time with his duties, and so. . well, we began to talk. His own wife had died the year before in childbirth, and the child hadn’t survived the year. We talked about that, and other things, and. .”

She paused. Ana could see her matarh’s eyes fluttering under the closed lids, and a smile ghosted across her lips with the memories. “I loved the sound of his voice,” Abini continued, “and the way he always kept his eyes on mine when we talked. He listened, he truly listened to me as Tomas never did. And his touch: it was so soft. So gentle. Being with him was how I had hoped things would be with Tomas.”

A sigh escaped her. She sat up, her eyes open once more. “What happened then?” Ana asked. “Did Vatarh. .?”

Abini shook her head. “No, he never found out. It ended because it had to. We were together for a few years, whenever we could manage, but he. . his birth family had prospects for him. We finally had to end it, or rather I had to end it-to give his new wife the chance she deserved. If we had continued, our relationship would have always been a wall between him and his wife, and I knew her also. She was young, and she liked him and I knew she wanted him to love her, and I. . well, I just couldn’t.”

“He married her?”

The nod was so slight that Ana wasn’t certain she saw it. “Seeing him. . seeing him around the city, it was hard for both of us, I think. But I hope, I hope he came to love her. I know she loves him, loves him still.”

“Matarh. .”

Abini reached across the table and touched Ana’s hand. “You are now in the family of the Faith, Ana, and you must do as the Faith wishes. Whatever happens, it will be Cenzi’s Will. Remember that.”

Ana felt Abini’s eyes searching hers. “You already have a lover, darling? Is that why you’re upset?”

“No,” she said, then corrected herself. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s all so confusing.”

“Tell me. Who is it?”

“I. . I can’t, Matarh. I’m sorry. I can’t. I wish I could.”

Abini nodded. “Ana, if you would marry, then you must give your husband a chance. The respect between you may blossom into more, and you have to give it the opportunity. But if it doesn’t. . You might find someone with whom you can share that part, if you’re careful and discreet. People in Nessantico will look the other way, if you don’t force them to stare at it. I know.”

Her fingers tightened around Ana’s. They said nothing. Finally, Abini released Ana’s hand and sat back once more.

“I’ve been talking and your soup is sitting there,” she said. “You really should give it a taste before it goes cold.”