S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

The family-the family that might have been, should have been hers-was distant now, sliding into the empty seats before the High Lectern at the front of the temple, under the dome and the painted figures gazing down on the assembly from their frescoes. The e-teni at the rear of the temple were chanting, the energy of the Ilmodo closing the massive bronze doors, and Rochelle let herself drop from her perch to the floor. Moving lithely and quietly, she slipped outside before the doors closed.

She hurried into the older and poorer sections of the city where she lived. That was another piece of advice from her matarh: “Living among the rich makes you too visible. That was the mistake I made with your vatarh…” She heard the temple wind-horns sounding Second Call and the end of the Day of Return blessing as she moved deeper into the narrow and twisted lanes that curled around the hills of Brezno, hurrying because she was late to an appointment.

Someone wanted to hire the White Stone: Josef cu’Kella, who belonged to a rising family that seemed to have its hands in several businesses within the city. She wondered what excuse the man had used to avoid being at the temple this morning.

He should be waiting already outside the Blue Wisp, a tavern on Straight Lane-aptly named, for it arrowed up the steep slope of Hirzgai Hill, on which sat the ruins of the first palais, burned and abandoned three centuries ago. The Blue Wisp was located halfway up the hill; she’d chosen it because she could approach it from either the top or bottom of the lane, giving her a good line of sight to determine if it were safe to approach or whether she should walk on past; in the last week since she’d completed the contract for the goltschlager ci’Braun, the utilinos and the Garde Brezno had been asking questions, carrying out strange raids, and taking certain women into custody throughout the city: women who nearly always were the age her matarh would have been if she were still alive, women who had the same general build and complexion as her matarh. It was obvious to Rochelle that they were hunting the White Stone. It was possible that cu’Kella was the bait in a trap meant to capture her.

She wondered, again, if she should be meeting the man at all, even if he was no more than a potential client. He was cu’, which meant that she could charge him handsomely for her services, but matarh had long ago warned her that the White Stone could perform two or, at the most, three contracts in a city before she would have to move on. She wanted to stay in Brezno, now that she’d seen Jan. She wanted to know more about him, wanted to know him better. Wanted to meet him. It would be best if she let the White Stone stay idle; she had coins enough in her purse.

But the truth was that she didn’t want to stay idle. There was an excitement to being the White Stone, to the hunt and the eventual kill.

One more contract. That would be all.

She could see cu’Kella already, wearing-as he’d been told-a red bashta and a hat with a blue feather in it. He looked uncomfortable, scanning everyone who passed as he stood shuffling outside the tavern’s door. Rochelle glanced to either side of the street; no utilino, no gardai of the Garde Brezno; no one standing close by pretending to be doing something else where they could easily watch the man. That didn’t mean there weren’t gardai hiding in the nearby buildings and watching, but so far everything seemed safe and normal. Rochelle continued to walk toward the man, deliberately not looking at him as she approached, pretending to be interested in the wares in the shop windows. In her peripheral vision, she saw him glance at her appraisingly, then look away again. She passed behind him, putting her hand on the hilt of the knife under her cloak. “Walk with me, Vajiki cu’Kella,” she whispered as she passed. She continued to walk on up the lane, slowly.

The man started visibly. Then he stirred, turning to walk alongside her. “Are you…?”

“I’m the one you’re waiting for,” she told him. She glanced behind: no one emerged from any of the buildings around them; no utilino whistled alarm, no squad of Garde Brezno appeared. Rochelle relaxed slightly, though she continued to watch to see if they were followed-the side streets off Straight Lane were tangled and many, and she felt she could lose pursuers there easily at need. She kept the hand on her knife hilt, in case cu’Kella himself tried to attack her, but his hands were visible and he didn’t appear to have a sword.

“What is your name?” the man asked her.

She laughed at that. “You don’t need my name, Vajiki. We’re not conducting business, and even if we were, it’s of the type where names aren’t needed. It’s enough that I know yours, and it’s not me, after all, you want to talk to.”

“So you’re not… Of course not, you’re so young…”

“No, I’m not the one you’d like to hire,” she said firmly. “I know how to contact her, if that’s what you want. That’s all. But even I don’t know what she looks like, or who she might be.” He stopped, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Keep walking, Vajiki, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

He seemed to shiver, then took a step to fall in alongside her again. “Good,” Rochelle said. “So tell me, who is it?”

“Who is it?” cu’Kella asked dully, then shook himself again. “Oh, that. I’d rather not say. Only to… the person you’re contacting for me.”

They were at one of the cross streets, and Rochelle paused. “Then we’re done,” Rochelle told him. “Good day, Vajiki.” She started to turn left, away from the lane.

“No, wait!” he called after her, and she paused, allowing herself a small smile. So typical. She started walking up Straight Lane again, saying nothing, and cu’Kella hurried after her, close to her elbow. “I

… I’ll tell you. It’s Rance ci’Lawli.”

She could not entirely keep the surprise from her voice. “Ci’Lawli? The Hirzg’s chief aide?”

A nod. “The same.”

You shouldn’t do this. To kill someone so close to the Hirzg. Yet

… It would necessitate her being near or in the palais, where she would have to be in proximity to her vatarh and his family… Something pulled at her inside, made her burn with a yearning she couldn’t quite define. “Why ci’Lawli?”

A sniff. “As you said, Vajica, there’s no need for names here, nor for tales. I’ll tell the Whi-” He stopped. “The person you know. If she cares.”

Rochelle shrugged. “As you wish.” She took cu’Kella’s arm, as if they were lovers strolling the lane, pulling him close to her. She whispered into his ear: a location, a day, and an amount of money in gold solas.

He pulled away from her. “So much?” he said.

“So much,” she answered. “Be there with the solas if you’re interested, Vajiki,” she told him, “and you’ll meet her.”

She knew she shouldn’t have done this, knew that Sergei would be irritated when he found out-and she knew he would find out. She just hoped it would be afterward, when it was too late.

One of the gardai assigned to watch her at Sergei’s request had let slip the address of the house in the Oldtown district raided by the Garde Kralji. She made certain that her errands the next day took her past that house, and she called out to the carriage driver to halt. The garda (who was not the one who had given her the address) looked concerned when she opened the carriage door and descended. “Vajica ca’Pallo, I don’t advise…”

“Then don’t,” she told him, interrupting him. The raising of his eyebrows at the rebuke might have pleased someone else; it only made Varina feel guilty, but she continued, trying to soften her tone. “I only want to see this place where the Morellis lived. Just a glimpse; you can come with me if you must.”