S Farrell - A Magic of Nightfall

The e-teni-all of them looking impossibly young to Sergei’s eyes, all of them solemn with the weight of their duty-bowed as one to the Archigos, green robes swaying like a field of grass in the wind, before turning again to cross the vast courtyard before the temple. The usual crowds had gathered to watch the ceremony, though the crowds were less thick in recent years than they had been in the time of Kraljica Marguerite, when the Holdings had been one and visitors flocked to Nessantico from all points of the compass. In recent years, there were far fewer visitors from the east and south, from Firenzcia or the Magyars, from Sesemora or Miscoli. With the war in the Hellins across the Strettosei, many of the young men were gone and families traveled less. Though the courtyard of the Old Temple was full of onlookers, the Garde Kralji had no trouble making room for the light-teni; Sergei could see the paving-cobbles between them. The teni reached the Avi and split into two lines, spreading out east and west along the Avi and going to the nearest lamps, set on either side of the gated entrance to the Archigos’ Temples.

The first of the light-teni went to the lamps. They stood underneath the shimmering globe of cut glass, looking up into the evening sky as if they glimpsed Cenzi watching them, and they spoke a single word and gestured from chest to lamp, closed fist to open hand.

The lamps erupted with brilliant yellow light.

Sergei applauded with Kenne. Yet…

That single word to release the spell: that was a change, too; a nod to the Numetodo, who could quickly release their spells. It was another of the changes Ana had wrought. “I miss the old ways sometimes, Archigos,” Sergei said to Kenne. “The long chanting, the sequence of gestures, the way the effort visibly wearied your teni.. . The Numetodo way of using the Ilmodo makes it look too easy. There was…” He sighed as the two men sat again. “… a mystery to it then, a sense of labor and love and ritual that’s vanished. I’m not sure that Ana made the right decision when she allowed the teni to start using the Numetodo methods to light our streets.”

He saw Kenne nod. “I understand,” Kenne answered. “Part of me agrees with you, Sergei; there was a feeling to the old rituals that’s gone now. But the Numetodo proved their worth against Hirzg Jan, and Ana could hardly renounce them afterward, could she?” Sergei heard him give a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “We’re old men, Sergei. We want things to be the way they used to be, back when we were young. When the world was right and Marguerite was going to sit on the Sun Throne forever.”

Yes. I want that more than you’d believe. Sergei scratched at the side of the nose where the glue irritated his skin; a few flecks of the resin flaked off under his fingernail. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Things were good then, with Kraljica Marguerite and Dhosti wearing the Archigos’ robes. There was no better time for the Holdings or for the Faith. We lived in a perfect time and we didn’t even know it.”

“Yes, we did. I agree.” Kenne sighed with the memory.

The gilded doors to the temple behind them opened and an older u’teni emerged: Sergei recognized him: Petros cu’Magnaio, Kenne’s assistant. The man had lived with Kenne since his time with Archigos Dhosti. Kenne nodded to cu’Magnaio with a smile as he set down a tray of fruit and tea between the two of them. It never bothered Sergei that Kenne was afflicted with what was euphemistically called “Gardai’s Disease.” There was some truth, after all, to the appellation: when away for years on a campaign, soldiers sometimes took comfort where they could find it, with those who were around them. “It will be getting chilly with the sunset,” cu’Magnaio said. “I thought the two of you might like hot tea.”

Kenne’s hand hovered above cu’Magnaio’s but didn’t quite touch him-Sergei knew that would have been different if he had not been there. “Thank you, Petros. We won’t be long here, but I appreciate it.”

Cu’Magnaio bowed and gave the sign of Cenzi to them. “I’ll make sure that you’re not disturbed while you’re talking. Archigos, Regent.

…” He left them, closing the balcony doors behind him.

“He’s a good man,” Sergei said. “You’ve been lucky with him.”

Kenne nodded, gazing fondly toward the doors where Petros had gone. Then he shook himself as if remembering something. “Speaking of those who have sat on the Sun Throne, Sergei, I’m sorry the Kraljiki couldn’t join us this evening. How is Audric feeling?”

Sergei lifted a shoulder. Below, the light-teni moved out from the temple to lamps further down the Avi, the crowds walking with them, murmuring. The doves fluttered down from the domes of the Temple and the rooftops of the buildings in the complex to peck at the vacated stones of the plaza for leavings. “He’s not good.” He glanced back over his shoulder; the doors remained closed but he still lowered his voice. “Have you had any luck finding another teni with healing skills?”

Kenne sighed. “That has always been among the rarest of gifts, and since the Divolonte specifically condemns its use… well, it’s been difficult. But I have hopes. Petros is making judicious inquiries for me. We’ll find someone.” He paused, glanced at the fruit on the plate between them and selected a piece. Kenne had long, delicate hands, but the flesh wrapping his bones was wrinkled and thin, and Sergei could see the tremor as the Archigos lifted a slice of sweetrind to his lips and sucked at it. We can’t afford weakness in both the Kraljiki and the Archigos, not if we hope to survive.

“Sergei, we need to consider what happens if the boy dies,” Kenne continued, almost as if he’d heard Sergei’s thoughts. “Justi’s offspring…” He frowned and set the sweetrind back on the plate. “Too sour,” he said. “Justi’s children have never been known for their longevity.”

The teni moved along the Avi and out of sight. The crowds in the square of the temple began to disperse; the sound of the choir ended in a lingering, ethereal chord. “I hope that Cenzi doesn’t make us face that choice,” Sergei said carefully. “But it’s what everyone’s wondering, isn’t it?”

“There are the ca’Ludovici twins, Sigourney or Donatien. They’re, what…” Kenne’s thin lips pursed in concentration. “… second cousins once removed from Audric and first cousins to Justi, since Marguerite was their great-great aunt. They’re already of age and more, which is good. Donatien, particularly, has distinguished himself in the Hellin Wars, even if things haven’t been going well of late, and he’s married to a ca’Sibelli, a solid Nessantican family-we could call him back from the Hellins. Sigourney might be the better choice, though. She still carries the ca’Ludovici surname, of course: that certainly has incredible weight here, and she’s made her presence felt on the Council of Ca’. The two of them have the closest lineage claim, I believe, and I’m certain the Council of Ca’ would sustain either of their claims to take the Sun Throne.”

Sergei was unsurprised to find that the Archigos’ thoughts were so closely paralleling his own; he suspected this was the case throughout both the Holdings and the Coalition. He paused, wondering whether he should say more. It would be interesting, perhaps, to see how Kenne would react. “Allesandra ca’Vorl can claim the same lineage and the same relationship through her matarh,” Sergei answered, as if idly musing. “For that matter, so could the new Hirzg Fynn. They’re also second cousins to Marguerite-with a claim to the throne equal to Sigourney or Donatien.”

In the fierce light of the teni-lamps, Kenne’s eyebrows clambered up the ridges of his forehead. “You’re not seriously suggesting…”