S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

“No, I mean it, Jan. I’ve trained with my brothers and can hold my own with them with a sword. You know that. My vatarh’s schooled me on military strategy and has even consulted with me many times in the past, when raiders came over the border from Shenkurska. Allesandra has directed armies herself-I’ve heard you screaming in frustration about some of the tactics and strategies she’s used over the last several years. I’m no less safe here in Nessantico than I would be traveling on the roads, even with an escort.”

He was shaking his head. “I know that face you’re wearing now. There’s no use talking to you.”

“Then why are you still arguing?” she asked him. She wasn’t certain whether he was irritated or whether it was simply the stress. “I don’t want to argue with you, my love. We need each other, and I only want you to be as safe as you can be. You’ve a destiny, Jan-to be the next Kraljiki. I want to see that happen; I intend to sit next to you on the Sun Throne.” She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders and smiled up at him: the practiced smile, the required smile. “Now. .. Go on-meet with the Starkkapitan and the Commandant. You and I will worry about Rochelle later, when the Tehuantin are no longer a threat.”

“And you?”

“I have my own meeting with Allesandra.”

“Not with Sergei, too?”

She shrugged. “He said he had other business this evening.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Go,” she told him.

“You can’t wear the green robes,” Rochelle told Nico, and he favored her with an indulgent smile that touched his lips and vanished a breath later. It seemed his lips no longer remembered how to truly smile. Joy had vanished from life, when before it had filled him.

“There’s a large difference between ‘not permitted to’ and ‘can’t,’ ” he answered. “I’m a teni, and it’s my right to wear the robes. More than a right; it’s my obligation. I follow Cenzi, not that half-dead fool who calls himself the Archigos. It’s time for me to make that statement fully and to stop hiding like a criminal.”

“You are a criminal in the eyes of the Holdings and the Faith. They’ll kill you if they can.”

“They can try.” He tried to smile at her again, but it collapsed. “And there’s a large difference between ‘try’ and ‘will,’ too. You needn’t look so worried, little sister.”

She shrugged. They were on the second floor of one of the Morelli safe houses in Oldtown; the owner-a draper-had been visibly distressed to see Nico there, but had dismissed his apprentices for the rest of the day, sent his family to visit cousins two streets over, and had agreed to send out the word to the remaining Morelli sect that the Absolute desired to meet with them.

Nico had also learned that Ancel had been among those captured and executed after the storming of the Old Temple-another soul laid at his feet, another death for which he must atone. There were so many, and they weighed so heavily on his shoulders that he wanted to fall to his knees under them.

Liana, Ancel, I promise you-I will find peace for you…

He could still see the face of his and Liana’s daughter snuggled in Varina’s arms. He could feel Sera’s fingers wrapped around his, clutching him as if she knew she belonged to him. That memory, and the memory of Liana and Ancel and all of those who had died for him caused tears to gather in his eyes again, and he wiped them away.

Downstairs, among the draperies hung on wires waiting to be arranged into folds, Nico could hear the buzz and rumble of conversation through the floorboards: several of the war-teni had slipped away from the temple to come here; there were also, he was told, many of Brezno’s war-teni present as well, who had entered the city over the last few days following after the train of the Firenzcian army. He’d already talked to some of them-Archigos Karrol had declared that all war-teni would be sent to the battlefield with Hirzg Jan tomorrow.

“We won’t go, if that’s what you tell us, Absolute.” They’d all told him that. They’d all sworn that they would follow him rather than the Archigos, if he asked them. Their loyalty gratified him at the same time that it added to the guilt he bore.

How can you follow me after what I’ve done, after my failures? How can you still have faith when I struggle with it?

Nico still wasn’t sure what he intended to tell them. He would leave that to Cenzi. But he suspected he already knew. The choices had narrowed with the arrival of the Westlanders, and he had spent the night before praying to Cenzi for guidance while Rochelle watched him, her face more curious than devout. She reminded him of Elle, her matarh and Nico’s adopted-matarh. What did you do to her, Elle? Did you twist her beyond saving?

But he couldn’t worry about Rochelle now. Not yet. His followers, those who were left, waited for him, and the words of Cenzi burned inside him. “Let’s go,” he told Rochelle, holding out his hand to her. “It’s time.”

He let her descend first, then followed her down the stairs. The astringent smell of dyes and the stiffeners for the fabric was strong in the single large room below, a room that also functioned as a store and showroom for the draper.

There were at least five double hands of people crowded into the space, packed so tightly that the air was heated with their presence. No greetings split that atmosphere as he appeared; everyone seemed as somber as Nico felt himself. He gave them the sign of Cenzi, and bowed to them meekly as they returned the gesture. A few lamps set on the draper’s walls provided the only light, but he could see many green robes like the one he wore, even though their faces were largely unfamiliar. He could feel their stares on his bruised and battered face, on the purple blotches that covered his forearms, at the way he limped as he descended the stairs. He saw them gazing curiously at Rochelle.

“May Cenzi bless you all,” he told them, spreading his hands wide. He could feel their affection for him, and he returned it; the room was filled with a pale glow that emanated from nowhere and everywhere. “I’m humbled that you would come, and even more humbled that you would still listen to what I have to say.”

“You’re still Cenzi’s Voice, Absolute,” someone called out from their midst. “We follow you. We saw Cenzi perform the miracle in the square. We saw you vanish without casting a spell; we saw the empty chains.” The others murmured their agreement, and the sound made Nico want to embrace them all, to try to burn away the grief and loss in the heat of their approval and support.

He clasped his hands together in front of him as if in prayer. “Yes,” he told them. “Cenzi came to me as I stood before the Kraljica, and He released me from the poor shackles this life placed on me. But

…” He stopped, shaking his head. “Cenzi has also shown me that I’ve let my own pride lead me away from His path, and He has punished me for that. He’s taken into Himself too many of those whom I loved, He has sent others into pain and misery, and He has filled me with grief and sorrow. Their pain came because they followed me. I realize now that I must become entirely Cenzi’s vessel, that I must give myself over completely to Him and must accept whatever He gives me to bear. I realize that I am nothing.”

He brought his head up and lowered his hands, his gaze sweeping over them, making eye contact with each of them in the room. “You must also understand that,” he told them. “This is your task as well, as it has always been for the teni-to perform the will of Cenzi and nothing more.”

“What is it that Cenzi wants us to do?” someone asked. “Tell us, Absolute.”

Nico hesitated even though he felt the words filling him. Am I right this time, Cenzi? Am I hearing You and not myself? Is this truly what You want me to tell them? The words remained in his mind, and he could rid himself of them only by speaking them.