S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

“If only that were truly Cenzi’s Will,” Orlandi told her. The choir’s lament masked their voices. He patted her hand. “It will have to be enough that Cenzi has called Estraven back to Him. That will suffice.”

“Was he called, Vatarh, or was he sent?” He glanced at Francesca, at the strange sound of her voice, but the funeral veil obscured her features. For a moment, he wondered, then her fingers pressed against his.

He leaned back, closing his eyes and singing along with the choir.

After the service, as Estraven’s body was placed on a white-draped carriage to be taken to the crematorium for its final dissolution, the Archigos approached them, bypassing the long line of ca’-and-cu’ prepared to pay their respects to the new widow. Low, fast clouds drizzled rain as they emerged from the Old Temple and hoods and scarves had come up, but the Archigos’ head was bare, his bald scalp gleaming with the moisture. It had also turned colder, as if the spring had decided to retreat back to winter, and his breath was a cloud around him. His staff remained behind in the shelter of the temple alcove, and the whore was not among them. That made Orlandi scowl under the blue-and-gold

canopy held up by four of his e’teni-today was Gostidi, and cu’Seranta would no doubt be hurrying to meet the Kraljiki. He would need to go to the palace himself, as soon as he could politely escape.

“Vajica ca’Cellibrecca,” the Archigos said to Francesca, also pro-

tected under Orlandi’s canopy. She bowed her head and gave him the sign of Cenzi, as etiquette required. “My prayers go out to you, and for your husband. O’Teni cu’Seranta asked me to extend her sympathy as well-unfortunately, she had to rush away for her luncheon with the Kraljiki. We will miss U’Teni Estraven here in Nessantico.” Then the Archigos cocked his head to look up at Orlandi. “His loss is a great tragedy for the Faith,” he said. “But we shouldn’t let that lead us into rash actions, especially in times like these.”

“You believe defending our Faith is rash, Archigos?” Orlandi said it loudly enough that heads turned toward them. The e’teni holding the cloth over them struggled to pretend that they weren’t listening.

The Archigos smiled placidly. “By no means, Orlandi,” he answered.

“Such a tragedy and a coincidence, though, Estraven being assassinated only a few days after the Kraljica. I hope you’re feeling no guilt for having dispatched him to Brezno.” The dwarf’s smile widened slightly, as if he were amused at his choice of words. Then his face fell back into serious lines. “And a horrible loss for you, Vajica, in these troubled and uncertain times. I do remain certain, though, that Cenzi will cause the truth to emerge, and-as your vatarh said so eloquently-those responsible will be brought to justice.”

With that, the dwarf gave them the sign of Cenzi and waddled away back toward his staff, seemingly uncaring of the rain that beat down on him. Orlandi glared after him.

“Cenzi will send that horrid little man to the soul shredders,” Orlandi said, not caring that the e’teni would hear. “He is a disgrace to the title, and Cenzi will call him to task for the damage he has done to the Faith.”

“That may be, but he’s not foolish, Vatarh. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him.” Francesca shivered. “It’s cold, Vatarh, and I’m feeling truly ill.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he told Francesca, then gestured to the e’teni on Estraven’s hearse. “My daughter’s grief is about to overcome her,” he said to the well-wishers. “If you will forgive us. .”

There were murmured assents and calls of condolences. No one objected to the curtailment of niceties, not in this weather. “You spoke the truth in your Admonition, A’Teni,” one of the ca’ called out from the crowd, gesturing with his fist to the sky. “It’s time that we punish the Numetodo for what they’ve done. We should see their bodies hanging from the bridges of the A’Sele.” There were shouts of agreement and more fists, and ca’Cellibrecca saw the Archigos staring back at them from the cluster of his staff.

“They will pay,” he answered them loudly. “Cenzi has promised me that, and I won’t fail Him.”

They shouted, clamoring. At the entrance to the Old Temple, the Archigos grimaced and began walking away quickly with his staff gathered around him, hiding the little man from view.

As Orlandi bowed and gave the sign of Cenzi to the crowd, the e’teni began chanting and the wheels of the funeral carriage began to turn. The congregation dispersed with more calls of support and sympathy, leaving the family to their slow, ritual walk behind the carriage.

The rain pattered angrily on the cloth above them, and Orlandi glanced up. “The Moitidi’s tears,” Orlandi said. I know, Cenzi, he prayed.

I know You are angry that we coddle those who deny You, and I promise You that I will do Your will. Thank You for showing me the way. Thank you for permitting the sacrifice of this one man to save many. I won’t fail You.

“Vatarh?”

“Estraven’s death was not in vain,” he told Francesca. “Cenzi will make certain of it.” He took her hand. “I know this,” he said to her. “I know it.”

Ana cu’Seranta

The rain pounded at the walls and drummed on the ceiling,

but inside the room in the Grande Palais, the roar of the great fireplace held the cold at bay while servants bustled in to burden the table with offerings. “Here, O’Teni,” the new Kraljiki said. “This is spiced icefruit from Graubundi; you really must try it.” Ana still wasn’t used to the voice, a boy’s voice housed in a man’s body. She smiled at him from across the small table draped with fine linen and placed near the fire, overpowered by the vastness of the room beyond. Their voices echoed despite the heavy curtains pulled back from the tall, leaded-glass windows, the padded chairs, and the hypnotically-patterned rugs.

He seemed to notice her glances around the room, already far different from what she remembered of the palais in her visits with the Kraljica. He took a large gulp of the wine before him and gestured to the room with the glass. “Matarh’s taste was rather staid, old-fashioned and, well, boring, I must admit. I find that I prefer more visual stimula-tion. The Holdings, after all, are drawn from many nations and many cultures, and we should enjoy them all, don’t you think?”

“I would agree, Kraljiki, that we can find much of interest in other ways if we bother to look, even with beliefs we might consider antitheti-cal to our own views.”

He set down the glass. “Ah, well-spoken. So you might even find something worthwhile in the beliefs, say, of the Numetodo?”

“I do. In fact, I know.”

He glanced down to where the Archigos’ gift lay on her robes, then back to her face. “Isn’t that a heretical belief for a teni to hold? A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca, for instance, would never say such a thing.”

“A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca, like your matarh, is rather more staid, old-fashioned, and boring than me, Kraljiki,” Ana answered, hoping she had judged the man correctly. The Kraljiki peered at her for a moment with his dark eyes, and she wondered whether she had miscalculated, but then he leaned his head back and unleashed a shrill laugh. She saw the servant bringing in a tureen of stew raise his eyebrows at the sudden sound.

“Indeed,” the Kraljiki said. “And please, while we are here alone, could we simply be Justi and Ana? The formality is so. .” He smiled at her. “. . staid.”

“His matarh was regal and aware of her position, always, and because of that some people thought Marguerite was somewhat cold and distant,” the Archigos had told her. “Those who believed that of her were mistaken. The Kraljiki is her opposite. He can be disarmingly charming and open, but those who believe those qualities define him are also mistaken. Justi uses those attributes only when he wants something. It’s the charm of a snake, and just as dangerous.” Ana remembered the warning. She smiled back at him. “If it pleases you to do so, then yes, Justi.”