S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

“No?” Sergei cocked his head. He removed the over-cloak from his shoulders, brushed at the soft fabric, and placed it carefully on the peg with the keys. He grimaced again as he knelt down, his knees cracking audibly and his leg muscles protesting. Once, this would have taken no effort at all… His fingers-knobbed and bent with age, the skin loose and wrinkled over the bones and ligaments-stroked the displayed instruments. He could feel the silken coolness of the metal through his fingertips, and it caused him to inhale deeply, sensually. “Tell me, Aaros. What would you do if a man harmed your wife, if he raped her or disfigured her? Wouldn’t you want to hurt that man in return? Wouldn’t you feel justified in taking revenge on that man?”

Ci’Bella seemed confused. “Ambassador, you’re not married, and I did nothing to your wife or to anyone’s…”

Sergei raised a white, heavy eyebrow. “No?” he said again. He allowed himself a gap-toothed smile. “But you see, I am married, Aaros. I’m married to Nessantico. She is my wife, my mistress, my very reason for living. And you, Aaros, you have assaulted and betrayed her. Talbot told me what he’d discovered. You spoke to an agent of the Firenzcian Coalition. Certainly you remember him? Garos ci’Merin? I had the… pleasure of talking to him yesterday, here in the Bastida.” Sergei smiled at ci’Bella; the garda snorted with amusement. “He told me how kind you were to him. How helpful.”

“But I didn’t know the man was a Firenzcian, Ambassador,” ci’Bella protested. “I swear it by Cenzi. He seemed lost, and I only escorted him through the palais…”

“You showed him through the corridors for the palais staff, the corridors that only authorized staff are permitted to access.”

“It was the quickest way…”

“And it was also a way that someone wishing to harm the Kraljica or to prowl about the palais would desire to know and use.”

“But I didn’t know…”

Sergei smiled. He rubbed at the carved nostrils of his false nose, where the glue holding it to his face itched. “I believe you, Aaros,” he said gently, smiling. “But I don’t know if that’s the truth. Perhaps you’re a skilled liar. Perhaps you’ve helped other people find their way through the palais corridors. Perhaps you’re an agent of Firenzcia yourself. I don’t know. ” He plucked a set of clawed pincers from their loop and stood with an effort, his knees cracking once more. The garda pushed himself off the wall, moving forward to Aaros.

“But I will know,” Sergei told the man. “Very soon…”

Allesandra knew that there would be a backlash to her decision to hold a state funeral for Ambassador Karl ca’Pallo. She just hadn’t expected it to be quite so vitriolic nor so rapid.

Her aide Talbot entered her chamber with a quick warning knock. “I apologize for interrupting your breakfast, Kraljica,” he said with an elegant half-bow as her domestiques de chambre diplomatically left the room. “A’Teni ca’Paim is here to see you. She insists it is ‘vital’ that she see you immediately.” Talbot frowned. “I swear, the woman doesn’t know how to speak in anything but hyperbole. If her breakfast is late, it’s a crisis.”

Allesandra sighed and set down her fork. “It’s about our request to use the Old Temple for Karl’s funeral?”

“I sent your request over to A’Teni ca’Paim’s office less than a turn of the glass ago. So, yes, I suspect that’s why she’s come. A’Teni ca’Paim seems… well, rather nervous and upset.” Talbot’s pale eyes glittered with a hint of amusement, a corner of his thin mouth lifting. But then, Talbot was a Numetodo, which meant that he might believe in other gods than Cenzi or no god at all. Being a Numetodo rather than a follower of Cenzi had become nearly fashionable in Nessantico in recent years-the fact that ca’Paim was the leader of the Faith in Nessantico mattered not at all to him.

Allesandra pushed the silver tray away from her. Cutlery rattled, tea shivered in the cup. “Since the a’teni herself has come rather than sending one of the lesser teni over, I assume she feels this can’t wait?”

“A’Teni ca’Paim said that she was-and I quote the woman-prepared to stay here until the Kraljica can find time to see me.’ Though if the Kraljica wishes to make her wait until this evening or even tomorrow, I’d be pleased to give A’Teni ca’Paim that message.”

“No doubt you would,” Allesandra said; Talbot flashed another grin. “And to bring her blankets and a pillow, too. But I suppose I might as well get this over with. Wait half a turn so I can finish my breakfast, then bring her up. Ply her with those candies from Il Trebbio, Talbot; perhaps that will sweeten her mood.”

Talbot bowed and left the room. Allesandra glanced up at the painting of Kraljica Marguerite, a masterpiece by the painter ci’Recroix. The painting, like most of the city of Nessantico, had undergone extensive restoration from the damages it had sustained a decade and a half ago, when the Tehuantin had sacked Nessantico. Rips in the canvas had been meticulously glued together, the smoke stains carefully cleaned and the burned sections repainted, though the restoration work was visible if one looked closely at the canvas: even the best painters still could not match ci’Recroix’s subtlety (or literal magic, if one believed the tales) with the brush. Archigos Ana, Allesandra knew, had insisted that the painting had been ensorcelled and was responsible for Kraljica Marguerite’s sudden death. Certainly Kraljiki Audric had displayed an unhealthy relationship with the painting of his great-matarh, treating it as if the portrait were the Kraljica herself. Allesandra occasionally found herself glancing uncomfortably at the painting, installed over the mantel in the reception room of her apartments in the rebuilt palais. Marguerite always seemed to be gazing back at Allesandra, the painted highlights glistening in her eyes and an inscrutable expression of half-disgust touching her lips, as if the sight of a ca’Vorl bearing the crown and ring of the Kralji pained her.

Perhaps it did, in whatever afterlife the woman inhabited. No matter what the truth of the painting’s history might be, Allesandra found that the piece served as a reminder of what Nessantico had been under her rule, and what perhaps it might become again.

“Does it bother you, Marguerite?” she asked the painting.

There was no answer.

She finished her meal and called the domestiques de chambre to take the tray, telling them to bring a new tray with tea and scones for the a’teni. Talbot knocked again on the outer door just as the servants brought in the tea. “Enter,” Allesandra said, and Talbot stepped into view.

“A’Teni ca’Paim,” he said, bowing more formally this time. He started to step aside to allow ca’Paim to enter the room, but she pushed past him. Only Allesandra saw the roll of Talbot’s eyes

Soleil ca’Paim was a portly woman in her mid-forties, with dyed dark hair showing white at the roots and a complexion that the emerald green of her robe rendered pasty. She had the harried look of a matron with too many children-and indeed she had birthed ten children in her time-but Allesandra knew it would be a mistake to think of her as soft, ineffectual, or unintelligent; a mistake many had made during her career. Soleil had risen quickly within the ranks of the teni from her beginnings as a lowly e’teni in Brezno, to her current position as the representative of the Faith for Nessantico. There was talk that, should Archigos Karrol’s ill health take him, the Concordance of A’Teni might elect her as Archigos. Certainly Archigos Karrol had shown her favor in giving her charge of Nessantico.