S Farrell - A Magic of Nightfall

The councillors muttered to themselves. “This is unacceptable,” ca’Mazzak said, more loudly.

“Then perhaps you should have left Commandant cu’Ulcai alive,” Sigourney told the man. “Or would you care to take up the sword yourself?” Ca’Mazzak grumbled and subsided. Ca’Gerodi seemed to waver on his feet, and Sigourney motioned to one of the servants to bring a chair; the man sank gratefully onto the cushioned seat, uncaring of the filth he smeared on the brocade. “What are you telling me, Commandant?” Sigourney asked him. “That tonight they will set the rest of the city on fire, that tomorrow they will overrun us entirely? You said that you had more than enough men. You said that-”

“I know what I said,” he interrupted, then-as Sigourney snapped her mouth shut at his rudeness-seemed to realize what he’d done and shook his head. “Pardon me, Kraljica; I haven’t slept since the night before last. But yes, that’s exactly what I fear: that tonight will bring more of the Westlanders’ awful fire, and that when they attack tomorrow…” He brought his head up, gazing at her with eyes sagging and brown. “I will give my life to protect Nessantico, if that is what is required.”

“Aleron…” Sigourney started to push up from the Sun Throne, forgetting for a moment her injuries, then fell back. The movement caused her to cough again. The councillors watched her. She knew now what she must do, and the realization burned at her, as painful as her wounded body. “Go. Get what rest you can, and we will deal with whatever tonight and tomorrow bring. Go on. Sleep while you can…”

Ca’Gerodi rose and saluted her. Limping, he left the room. When he’d gone, Sigourney gestured to one of the servants. “Bring me a scribe,” she told him. “And I will also need a rider-the best we have-to take a message east to the Hirzg.”

The servant’s eyes widened momentarily, then he bowed and hurried away.

“Kraljica,” ca’Mazzak said. “You can’t-”

“We have no choice,” she told him, told all of them. “No choice. This is no longer about us.”

Sigourney leaned back against the cushioned seat of the Sun Throne; it smelled of woodsmoke. It smelled of defeat.

Jan read the missive carefully, his pale eyes scanning the words there. Allesandra already knew what it said-Starkkapitan ca’Damont’s soldiers had intercepted the rider pounding eastward along the Avi a’Firenczia with a white banner fluttering over him in the moonlight, and had brought the sealed scroll to Allesandra, insisting to her attendants that she be awakened. Allesandra had broken the seal and scanned the letter, then she’d quickly dressed and gone to Jan.

If her son noticed or cared that the seal hung broken on the thick paper, or that the Kraljica had addressed the missive to Allesandra and not himself, he’d said nothing. He moved the candle aside that he’d been using for light; its holder scraped along the table that had been hastily set up in the field tent next to the Hirzg’s private tent.

“This is genuine?” Jan asked. A blanket was draped around his shoulders, his eye sockets were baggy and tired. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “We’re certain?”

“The rider said that it was handed to him by Kraljica Sigourney herself,” Starkkapitan ca’Damont answered.

Jan nodded. He handed the scroll to Semini, who read it, pursed his lips, then passed it to ca’Rudka. Jan seemed to be waiting, and Allesandra, seated next to him at the small table in the field tent, tapped her fingertips on the scarred surface. “We are wasting time, my son,” she said. “The message is clear. The Kraljica is willing to abdicate the Sun Throne if we bring the army there immediately to stop the Westlanders. Rouse the men now, and if we march our forces at double-time, we can reach the city gates by early morning.”

Jan didn’t seem to hear her. He was looking at Sergei. “Regent?” he asked. “Your thoughts?”

Ca’Rudka, maddeningly to Allesandra, rubbed at his nose for a long time, staring at the parchment. She could see the candlelight flickering on sculpted nostrils. “The Kraljica wouldn’t consider abdication when it was offered it to her at the parley, Hirzg Jan, or at least ca’Mazzak would not,” he said finally. “The councillor seemed entirely confident that the Garde Civile could defeat the Westlanders. Now the Kraljica’s suddenly been afflicted with altruism? But as I told you, Hirzg, I wish what’s best for Nessantico. I wouldn’t care to see the city destroyed. But this must be your decision.”

“There, Jan, you see?” Allesandra said. She stood. “Starkkapitan, you will-”

But Jan had laid his hand on her arm. “I’m not finished yet, Matarh,” he said. “Archigos Semini, what do you think of this offer?”

Allesandra started to protest, but Jan’s hand tightened around her arm. They were all watching her. Pressing her lips together, she sat again. Semini especially stared at her, his umber eyes expressionless. He knew, she realized then. He knew that she had been ready to offer him up in exchange for the Sun Throne. Sergei… could Sergei have told him? Or…

Jan?

“I notice that the Kraljica’s offer says nothing about the Faith,” Semini answered, still staring at her. “That’s not acceptable to me. I’m reluctant to commit the war-teni to an alliance with Nessantico unless Archigos Kenne is also willing to abdicate in favor of me.” Semini turned from her then, and inclined his head to Jan. “Unless, of course, that is what the Hirzg requests of me.”

“Jan,” Allesandra persisted, ignoring Semini. “This is what we wanted from the start. We have it in our grasp; we’ve but to reach out and take it.”

“Oh, I disagree, Matarh,” Jan snapped back at her. “It’s what you’ve always wanted. It seems your whole life has been about what you wanted: your ambitions, your aspirations, your desires. Even as a girl, from what I’ve been told: you wanted Nessantico in the first place, so Great-Vatarh forced his army to march faster than it should have and lost-yes, Fynn told me that tale, which he said Great-Vatarh told him.”

“That’s not true,” Allesandra objected. It was Vatarh who wanted Nessantico so badly. Not me. I told him to wait and be patient. I did

… but Jan wasn’t listening, continuing to talk.

“You decided you didn’t want to help Vatarh after he finally brought you back, so your marriage was a sham when it could have been a strong alliance. You didn’t want me to be involved with Elissa, so you sent her away. You didn’t want to be Hirzg, so you campaigned for me to have the title. What you’ve always wanted is to be Kraljica, and now you want us to take this offer so you can have it now, whether that’s best for Firenzcia or not. It’s always been you, Matarh. You. Not Vatarh, not Great-Vatarh, not me, not the Archigos, not anyone. You. Well, you made me Hirzg, and by Cenzi I will be Hirzg, and I will do what’s best for Firenzcia and the Coalition, not what’s best for you. I love you, Matarh-” strangely, to Allesandra, he glanced at Sergei when he said that, “-but I am Hirzg, and this is what I say: We will move on to Nessantico, but we will do so in our own time. Nessantico cries out for help from us? Well, let her cry. Let her fight the battle she has brought on herself. Starkkapitan, we will break camp in the morning as planned, and we will proceed at normal pace until we are within sight of Nessantico, and there we will wait until we know more or until the Kraljica herself comes out and bends her knee to me. I won’t send a single Firenzcian life to be lost defending Nessantico from her own folly.”

“Jan-” Allesandra began, but he cut her off with a snap of his arm.