S Farrell - A Magic of Nightfall

“A lovely party, Brother,” she said to Fynn. His smile was nearly predatory as he glanced around them.

“Yes, isn’t it?” he responded, and his pleasure was obvious. “I’m absolutely surrounded by loveliness.” Bright laughter answered him. Allesandra smiled in return, but she watched her brother’s animated face. The image came to her of him sprawled bloody on the tiles, with a pebble over the left eye and the right staring blindly up at her. She shook away the thought, swallowing heat again. “Don’t you think so, Allesandra?”

“I do. I see here two young bees and an old hornet surrounded by flowers, and the flowers had best be careful.” More polite laughter, though she saw the Archigos frown as if he were trying to decide if he’d been affronted. Her gaze went back to Vajica ca’Karina. “Jan, you’ve neglected to introduce your yellow rose.”

Jan straightened and slid the barest fraction of an inch closer to the young woman. Almost protective… Yes, he’s interested in her. And look at the way she keeps glancing at him… “Matarh, this is Vajica ca’Karina. She’s here from Jablunkov.”

Elissa bowed her head to Allesandra. “A’Hirzg,” she said. “I’m so delighted to meet you. Your son has told us many delightful things about you.” Her voice held the accent of Sesemora, blurring the consonants ever so slightly. The voice was husky and low for a woman. Something about the young woman, though…

“Have we met, Vajica ca’Karina?” Allesandra asked. “Perhaps at one of my vatarh’s Solstice feasts? The shape of your face, the lines of it…”

“Oh, no, A’Hirzg,” the woman answered. The smile was disarming, the laugh enchanting. “I would certainly remember having met you, and especially your son.”

Allesandra was certain of that last statement, at least. “Then perhaps it’s a family resemblance? Would I know your parents?”

“I don’t know, A’Hirzg. I know they once entertained Hirzg Jan, many years ago, but that was while you were still…” She stopped there, blushing as she recognized what she was about to say, and hurrying on. “I was named after my matarh, and my vatarh is Josef-he was a ca’Evelii before he married my matarh. Our chateau is east of Jablunkov, in the hills. A very pretty place, A’Hirzg, though the winters can be rather long there.”

Allesandra nodded to all that, committing the names to memory for the message she would send. Jan touched Elissa’s arm as the musicians on the ballroom’s stage started to play. “Matarh, I promised Elissa a dance…”

Allesandra smiled as graciously as she could. “Of course. Jan, we really must talk later…” but he was already leading Elissa away. Fynn had moved out into the open dancing space as well.

“He’s a fine young man, your son, and very brave.” Semini’s emerald-hued robes shifted as he gazed at her. He seemed uncertain as to whether to come closer to her or to flee. The compliment was so bald that Allesandra felt no compulsion to reply to it.

“Is your Francesca well? I notice she’s not here tonight.”

“She is indisposed, A’Hirzg. These endless celebrations for the new Hirzg are tiring, especially for someone with so many ailments. But she sent her regrets to the Hirzg, and there is a meeting of the Council of Ca’ tomorrow and she takes her responsibilities as councillor very seriously. There is no one who thinks more of Brezno than Francesca. It is practically all she thinks about.”

His tone was blatantly scornful. Allesandra realized then that it had been Francesca who had put the Archigos on his path. It was her ambition driving him, not his own. Semini, she suspected, would still be a war-teni if it were not for Francesca. She wondered if Francesca, too, harbored images of Fynn laying dead, but with Francesca herself taking the throne. “And you, A’Hirzg?” Semini asked. “Forgive me, but you seem a bit pale this evening.”

“I find that I’m a little indisposed, Archigos.”

He nodded. Under silver-flecked eyebrows, his dark gaze scanned the floor; she followed it to find Pauli laughing in a knot of older women, his hands gesturing finely as he spoke. “A family problem?” Semini asked.

“Possibly.”

He nodded, as if musing on that. “When we last spoke, A’Hirzg, you said we were on the same side.”

“Aren’t we, Archigos?” she asked him. “Don’t we both want what’s best for Firenzcia?”

He took a long breath. “I believe we do. At least, I hope so. And the last time, you asked me to dance. You said you wanted to know how well we moved together. But you left without giving me an answer.” Another pause. Another breath. His gaze came back to her, intense and unblinking. “Did we? Did we move together well?”

She touched his arm. She felt muscles lurch under his robes, but he didn’t move away. “I seem to remember that we did,” she told him. “But perhaps a reminder would be good. For both of us.”

She led him out onto the dance floor.

She thought he moved very well indeed.

His Great-Matarh frowned as he struggled to breathe on the bed. “Get up, boy,” she told him. “The Kraljiki can’t lie there weak and helpless. The Kraljiki must be strong; the Kraljiki must show he can lead his people.”

“But, Great-Matarh,” he told her. “It’s so hard. My chest hurts so much…”

“Kraljiki?” Seaton and Marlon entered the bechamber from the door to the servants’ corridor. The two of them struggled with a heavy wheeled easel draped in gold-brocaded blue cloth.

“Ah,” Audric said. “Good.” He pointed to the painting over the fireplace. “You see, Great-Matarh? Now you may come with me wherever I go.” He supervised as his attendants took down the painting and placed it carefully on the easel, making certain it was secured to the frame of the device so it couldn’t fall. Audric watched, and thought that Marguerite looked pleased. “It must have been boring, having to stare at the same room all day and night. It would have driven me mad…” He looked at Seaton. “Have they come as I ordered?”

“Yes, Kraljiki,” Seaton answered. “They’re waiting for you in the Sun Throne Hall.”

“Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting. Bring the Kraljica with us.”

“And you, Kraljiki? Should we call for a chair?”

Audric shook his head. “I no longer require that,” he told them, told Marguerite. “I will walk.”

Seaton and Marlon glanced quickly at each other and bowed. Audric took as deep a breath as he could and led them from the bedchamber.

He thought perhaps he’d made a mistake by the time they’d walked nearly the length of the main wing of the palais. He was panting rapidly from the effort and could feel sweat dampening the back of his neck and beading on his forehead. He dabbed at the moisture with the lace of his sleeve as they reached the hall gardai. When they started to announce them, Audric stopped them. “A moment,” he said. He closed his eyes, trying to regain his breath.

“You can do this,” he heard Marguerite say, and he nodded to the gardai. They opened the doors for them. “The Kraljiki Audric,” one of them intoned into the hall.

Audric heard the rustling as the seven people inside came to their feet, their heads bowed as he entered: Sigourney ca’Ludovici, Aleron ca’Gerodi, Odil ca’Mazzak… all the appointed members of the Council. He could also see them desperately trying to glance up to see what was making such a racket as Seaton and Marlon wheeled in Marguerite’s portrait behind him. “Kraljiki,” Sigourney said, lifting from her bow as he stopped in front of her. “It’s good to see you doing so well.”

Her gaze slipped past him to the painting, and he saw her struggle to keep the puzzlement from her face.