S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

“No.” The answer came from Liana. “I stay here, with Nico.”

Nico smiled at her and his arm went around her again. “I’m sorry, Varina. You have your answer.

“I’m sorry, too,” Varina told him, told both of them.

She nodded once to Liana, and went out into the storm, drawing her hood over her face.

The storm shook the tents like a dog worrying at a stubborn bone. Canvas boomed and rattled above Jan so fiercely that everyone glanced up. “Don’t worry,” he told Brie. “I’ve been out in worse.”

“I know it’s silly, but I worry that this storm’s an omen,” Brie answered, and Jan laughed, drawing her close and embracing her.

“The weather is just the weather,” he told her. “It means that crops will grow and the rivers will run fast and clean. It means that the men will grumble and curse and the roads will be a muddy ruin. But that’s all. I promise.” He kissed her forehead. “Paulus and the staff will escort you back to Stag Fall,” he told her.

“I’m not going to Stag Fall and Brezno. I’m going with you.”

He was already shaking his head before she had finished. “No. We have no idea how serious a threat we’re facing at Nessantico. I won’t have our children orphaned. You’re staying with them.”

“They’re my children as well,” Brie persisted. “And I will have to answer to them when they’re older. If you were to die, they’d want to know why I was so cowardly as to stay behind.”

“You didn’t go with me when we put down the rebellion in West Magyaria,” he countered, though he knew immediately the answer to that. It came as swiftly as he expected.

“I had just given birth to Eria then. Or I would have. Besides, Jan, you need me to be between you and your matarh. The two of you.. .” She shook her head. “It won’t be a pretty sight, and you’re going to need a mediator.”

“I can handle my matarh.” He grasped her shoulders, holding her gaze. “Brie, I love you. That’s why I can’t have you there. If you’re there, I’ll be too worried about you.”

He saw her soften at that, though she was still shaking her head. She wanted to believe him. And it was true, at least part of it. He did love her: a quiet love, not the burning intensity he’d once felt for Elissa, not even the lust that arose with the lovers he’d taken. He hurried into the opening. “Give Elissa, Kriege, Caelor, and little Eria kisses for me, and tell them that their vatarh will be back soon, and not to worry.”

“Kriege will want to come after you,” Brie told him, “and so will Elissa.”

He knew then that he’d won the argument. He laughed, pulling her close. “There’s time enough for that,” he said, “and given the way of things, there will probably be ample opportunity as well. Tell them to be patient, and to study hard with the arms master.”

“I’ll do that, and I’ll be waiting for you as well,” she answered.

She rose on her toes and kissed him suddenly. Since Rhianna’s sudden departure, since it had become obvious that it was unlikely that the young woman would be found, Brie had been far more affectionate toward him. He’d said nothing to her about what the girl had stolen-though he suspected that Brie knew. He had especially not told Brie about Rhianna’s shocking, unbelievable last words. He was still reeling from them, though he’d made every effort to pretend otherwise. “I’m your daughter. Elissa’s daughter. The White Stone’s daughter.”

He wanted to shout his denial of that to the world, yet he found that the words stuck in his throat like a burr on the hem of his bashta. You found Rhianna attractive because she reminded you of Elissa-the Elissa you remembered… Was it possible? Could she be his daughter? Could she, or could Elissa, have been responsible for Rance’s death?

Yes… The word kept surfacing in his mind.

When this war was over, he told himself, he would find her again. He would put a thousand men on her trail, he would track her down, he would have them bring her to him, and he would discover the truth.

And if she is your and Elissa’s daughter? There was no answer to that question.

So Jan smiled at Brie and pretended that there was nothing between them, as Brie pretended the same, as he knew she’d pretended before with the other mistresses he’d taken. They kissed each other again, and Brie tucked his rain cloak around him as she might have for one of the children. “You must be careful,” she told him. “Come back to me a victor.”

“I will,” he told her. “Firenzcia always does.”

He embraced her again for a moment, inhaling the scent of her hair and remembering, instead, the smell of Elissa. Then he released her, and Paulus lifted back the painted flap of the tent, and he went out into the rain, pulling his hood over his head.

Starkkapitan ca’Damont and the a’offiziers stiffened to attention and saluted as he emerged, and he saluted them in return. Sergei ca’Rudka was there as well, dry in a carriage. “It’s time,” Jan said simply, and ca’Damont and the offiziers saluted again, and ca’Damont barked orders at them as they scattered off to ready their divisions. Jan strode through the muck to Sergei’s carriage. In the shadows of the vehicle, Jan could see the gleam of Sergei’s nose. “Ambassador?” Jan said. “You have what you need?”

In the dimness, Sergei’s hand touched his diplomatic pouch. “I do, Hirzg. Your matarh will be pleased to see this.”

“I suspect she’ll be more pleased to see the army of Firenzcia,” Jan said. “You’re certain you don’t want to travel with the army?”

Sergei shook his head. “I need to return to Nessantico as soon as I can,” he said, “if only to let her know that help is coming. I can travel much faster this way. I’ll see you there.”

Jan nodded, and gestured to the driver. “May Cenzi speed your path,” he said. “And may this rain stop before the rivers rise.”

Sergei was about to respond, but they heard a voice hailing the Hirzg. Jan turned-Archigos Karrol’s carriage had arrived. The Archigos was helped down by his teni attendants, holding a large umbrella over him. Despite that, Jan could see the gold-threaded hem of the Archigos’ robe was spattered with mud, and the man seemed out of breath. “My Hirzg,” the Archigos called out, waving toward Jan.

“The Archigos seems upset,” Sergei said. He’d poked his head out from the carriage window. Rain plastered the few strands of his gray hair to his skull and bounced from his nose. “I wonder…”

“You wonder what?” Jan asked, but the the Archigos reached them before Sergei answered.

“My Hirzg,” Archigos Karrol said again, giving the sign of Cenzi. “I’m glad that I found you. I…” He stopped, glancing at the carriage and seeing Sergei. He scowled.

“Go on, Archigos,” Jan told him. “If you’ve something to say, I’m certain the Ambassador should hear it as well.”

“Hirzg… I…” The man paused as if to catch his breath. His eternally bowed head strained to look Jan in the eyes. “I had ordered the war-teni to meet with me this morning, to give them a final blessing and my orders, but…” He stopped, let his head drop again. The rain beat a quick rhythm on the umbrella above him.

“But…” Jan prompted, but he already knew. He glanced at Sergei, who had withdrawn back into the shelter of the carriage.

“Most of them… They’re gone, my Hirzg. The ones who stayed told me that a message came during the night, that most of them left the camp afterward. The note…”

“Was from Nico Morel,” Jan finished for him. He spat. “Cenzi’s balls.”

The profanity brought Karrol’s head up again. Rheumy eyes looked at Jan reproachfully. “Yes, my Hirzg,” Karrol said. “The note was from Morel. The man had the audacity to order the war-teni to stand down, as if he were the Archigos. I tell you, Hirzg, once we find these traitors, I will punish them to limits of the Divolonte. They will never again listen to a heretic.”