A Magic Of Nightfall Part 9

"Good," she answered. "Excellent. Listen to me and I will tell you what to do to be the greatest of the Kraljiki. Audric the Great; Audric the Beloved."

At her smile, he nodded finally. "I will be that," he said. He took in another gasping breath and coughed. "I will."

"You will what, Kraljiki?"

Audric spun about with the question, nearly dropping the candelabra with the motion, so violently that two of the candles were snuffed out. The effort sent him into wheezing spasms, and Regent Sergei rushed forward to take the candelabra from his hands and support Audric with an arm around his waist. In the Regent's burnished and polished nose, Audric glimpsed Archigos Kenne lurking concerned in the shadows near the door with Marlon holding the door open for them. Ca'Rudka helped Audric fall into one of the cus.h.i.+oned chairs in front of the fireplace. Marguerite stared down at him, her expression unreadable. "Here, my Kraljiki, some of the healer's draught," ca'Rudka said, pressing a goblet to Audric's lips as he stared at the painting. Audric shook his head and pushed it away.

She says that the healers won't help, he wanted to say but did not, and Marguerite's tight-lipped mouth curved into a slight smile. Audric's eyelids wanted to close but he forced them open. "No," he told ca'Rudka.

The Regent frowned but set the goblet down. "I've brought the Archigos," he said. "Let him pray for you . . ."

Audric glanced up at the painting and saw his great-matarh nod. He echoed it himself, and Archigos Kenne hurried into the bedchamber. As the Archigos busied himself with his chanting and gestures, Audric ignored both of them. He could see only the painting and his great-matarh's serene gaze. She spoke to him as Kenne touched his chest and the warmth of the Ilmodo lessened the congestion in his lungs.

"We can do this together, Audric. You are the great-son I always wanted to have in life. Listen to me, and in all history there will be no Kraljiki who can be called your equal. I will help you. Listen to me . . ."

"I am listening," he told her.

"Kraljiki?" Regent ca'Rudka said. He followed Audric's gaze back to the painting. Audric wondered if he'd heard the whispering, too, but then the man's silver nose glinted in candlelight as he turned back, Audric's own reflection visible there. "None of us said anything."

Audric shook his head. "Indeed," he told the man. "And that is why I listen."

Ca'Rudka smiled uncertainly. Kenne, in mid-incantation, shrugged. "Ah, a jest," ca'Rudka said. He chuckled dryly. "You're feeling better, Kraljiki?"

"I am, Sergei. Yes. Thank you, Archigos. You may go." The Archigos didn't move, and Audric scowled. "I said, Archigos, you may go. Now."

Kenne's eyes widened, and Audric saw him glance at Sergei, who shrugged. The Archigos bowed, gave the sign of Cenzi, and retreated.

"That was rude," Sergei said to Audric after Marlon had closed the doors to Audric's bedchamber behind him. "After the Archigos' efforts and prayers-"

"The man's prayers were done," Audric said, more brusquely than he'd ever spoken to Sergei before. He glanced at the painting and saw his great-matarh nod as if she were pleased. Her voice muttered in his head. "Sergei does not care for you, Audric. He only wants to keep your power. He doesn't want you to be what I know you can be. He wants you to remain weak, to always need him so he will stay Regent." Her strength seemed to flow through him. He found that he could speak without the pauses, without the coughs. He spoke as strongly and well as Sergei himself. "I need to talk with you, Regent, about the h.e.l.lins. I have been considering the situation there since our last discussion. I have decided to send another division of the Garde Civile to supplement our troops there."

Audric was proud of how his voice sounded: regal and strong and fierce. He smiled up at Marguerite, and in the candlelight she nodded back to him.

Sergei ca'Rudka.

"I WANT...TO SEND another . . . division of the . . . Garde Civile . . . to supplement . . . our troops . . . there," Audric said.

The boy could barely get the words out through the wheezing and coughing. The anger in him seemed to make the affliction worse than usual, as if Archigos Kenne's prayers had done nothing at all.

Sergei forced his features to close, to reveal nothing of what he was thinking. Let the boy have his tantrum. But the words made him worry: this didn't seem to be Audric talking; he was hearing someone else's words. Who had been speaking to the boy? Whose advice was being whispered in his ear for him to spout? One of the chevarittai, perhaps, looking for glory in war. Perhaps Sigourney herself, since her brother was commandant there.

Audric was staring past Sergei's shoulder; he glanced back to the grim portrait of Kraljica Marguerite over the hearth. "I thought I had made my thoughts on this clear to you, Kraljiki," he said, his voice carefully neutral, carefully bland. "I don't think that's wise, not with the size of the army the Coalition could raise if they decided to do so. This war in the h.e.l.lins is like a seeping wound; it cripples us and takes our attention away from where it should be: east, not west. We should be looking at what we can do to restore the Holdings."

The boy's gaze flicked from the portrait to Sergei and back again. "The h.e.l.lins provide us riches and goods that we can't find elsewhere." "riches . . . and goods . . . [cough] . . . that . . . we can't . . . find elsewhere."

"Indeed they do, Kraljiki, but we could obtain those goods by trade with the Westlanders as easily as by war. Easier, in fact. Once the Holdings are unified again, then will be the time to look across the Strettosei to the h.e.l.lins once more. We have lost too much ground there, because we can't give the territory the attention we should."

Audric's face was flushed, either from the effort of speaking or from anger, or both. "That's not what my vatarh said when the Troubles started, Regent. Do you think that because I was just a child then that I wouldn't remember?" ". . . just a . . . child . . . then . . . [wheeze] . . . that I . . . wouldn't. . . . remem . . . ber?"

The mask of his face showed nothing. "When the Troubles started, Kraljiki Justi believed he had no choice but to respond. He believed what the a'offiziers told him, that the Westlanders were little more than savages, that they would soon be pushed back past Lake Malik. But I'd remind you that I didn't share that belief. The news continues to worsen despite the best efforts of Commandant ca'Sibelli. We have misjudged the Westlanders, and it's time to save what we can from a poor decision."

"My vatarh did not make a poor decision!" The boy shrilled the words, managing to get them all out in one breath. He coughed then, long and deeply, and Sergei waited. "I want another division sent," Audric persisted. "That is my will. That is your Kraljiki's will."

"You are the Kraljiki," Sergei told him. He kept his voice low and soothing against the strident, high screeching of Audric. "But the Council of Ca' named me Regent on your vatarh's death until you reach your majority."

"I'm nearly of age," Audric answered. His face was so pale that Sergei thought the boy might faint. "Less than two years now. I could pet.i.tion the Council to have you removed, to be permitted to govern fully. They've done that in the past. Maister ci'Blaylock told me: Kraljiki Carin dismissed his Regent at fourteen, the same age I am."

Sergei lifted his hand. Gently. Smiling under his silver nose. "Yes, that's been done. But you and I needn't be at odds here, my Kraljiki."

"Then don't defy me, Regent. I will go to the Council. I will. I will have you removed." The boy gesticulated wildly, and that sent him into another paroxysm of coughing.

"Audric . . ." Sergei responded patiently while the young man fell back on his pillow. Marlon, lurking in the rear corner of the room, was staring wide-eyed at Sergei, shaking his head. "Perhaps I've been remiss in not engaging you fully, in not having you take part in all the briefing and discussions. That can be changed; it will be changed. I promise you; if you wish to take part in all discussions of state, to read all the reports, to listen to all the councillors, to really see what it means to govern, then I will accommodate that. But the h.e.l.lins . . ." He shook his head. "It's been almost seven years now, Audric. Seven years and the Westlanders have taken back most of what we'd originally gained there. Seven years, and we've lost far too many gardai and squandered far too many gold solas and red blood trying to hold back the tide. At the end of the day, I want what you want. I want the Holdings to have the riches of the Westlands. I do. But this isn't the time. And this isn't the time for us to discuss this. Tomorrow, when you're feeling better . . ."

"Then get out!" Audric shouted at him, loudly enough that the hall attendant opened the door slightly to peer in. Sergei shook his head at the man. "Get out and leave me alone." He turned his head, coughing into his pillow.

"As you wish, Kraljiki." Sergei bowed to the young man. As he turned to leave, he saw the Kraljica's portrait once more. She seemed to smile sadly at him, as if she understood.

Allesandra ca'Vorl.

THE CEREMONY AT BREZNO Temple was excruciatingly long, as was Fynn's speech of welcome to the A'Gyula of West Magyaria: Pauli, her husband. Allesandra's face ached from maintaining a smile throughout Fynn's droning greetings-written, undoubtedly, by one of the palais scribes, since Fynn sometimes peered quizzically at the parchment in front of him as he stumbled over unfamiliar words. Her spine ached from the uncomfortable, straight-backed pews of the Temple. Jan, sitting between Allesandra and his vatarh, fidgeted endlessly, enough that Pauli finally leaned over to the young man and whispered something in his ear. Afterward, Jan stopped his restless s.h.i.+fting in the seat, but the scowl on his face was noticeable even as Allesandra and Pauli proceeded from the temple behind Fynn, Archigos Semini, and his harridan wife, with the ca'-and-cu' of Firenzcia following them like an obedient flock of sheep.

Then came the fete at the Grand Palais of Brezno. Now it was her feet that ached, and Allesandra imagined that the whalebone stays of her fas.h.i.+onably-cinched tashta were going to leave permanent furrows in her waist. The ballroom was a furnace on the stifling and humid evening, more like mid-Summer than the Spring the calendar insisted it was. The Archigos had stationed e'teni around the room to keep the ceiling fans a-swirl with the energy of the Ilmodo. The movement of the fan blades seemed to intensify rather than diminish the heat, churning the air into a fetid cologne of sweat, pomades, and perfumes. The night was raucous with the music of the orchestra at the far end of the room, the sound of feet dancing on the wooden floor laid down over the tiles, and a hundred separate conversations, all reflected back at them by the dome overhead.

Allesandra wished fervently to be elsewhere, but if the discomforts bothered Pauli, he hadn't allowed it to show. He had separated from Allesandra as soon as propriety allowed, as he always did, and was standing in a cl.u.s.ter of young women around Fynn. Jan was there also, at his vatarh's side, and Allesandra noted that he was receiving nearly as much attention as the Hirzg, and certainly more than Pauli. Fynn was regaling everyone with the tale of the stag hunt, his arm c.o.c.ked back as if he were sighting down a bow as he laughed, slapping Jan on the back. ". . . the boy is nearly as good a shot as me," she heard Fynn say, and Jan's face was alight with a broad grin as the young women applauded and made the appropriate compliments.

Of course, it would be Pauli who would almost certainly find comfort and release between the thighs of one of them tonight. Allesandra was certain of that; her husband no longer bothered to hide his transgressions from her. She told herself that she didn't care.

"A'Hirzg, are you enjoying yourself?" She turned to see Archigos Semini ca'Cellibrecca standing behind her with two iced drinks in his hand-Fynn had, at great expense, brought wagonloads of glacial ice from the mountains around Lake Firenz. He proffered one to Allesandra. "Please, take it," he said. "Francesca seems to have vanished and the ice will be gone soon in this heat."

Allesandra took the water-beaded gla.s.s gratefully. She sipped at the cold drink, relis.h.i.+ng the chill as the honey-sweetened juice slipped down her throat. "Thank you, Archigos. I think you may have just saved my life."

He smiled broadly at that, his beard glistening with oil. "Would you care to walk with me, A'Hirzg? I suspect there's a bit of a breeze over near the windows."

She glanced at the gaggle around Fynn, at her husband and son there with him. "Certainly," she told him. The Archigos offered his arm, and she put her hand in the crook of his elbow as they walked. He said nothing until they were well away from the Hirzg, then leaned close to her. "Your husband enjoys the attention he receives as A'Gyula. But he's a fool to leave you unattended." His free hand covered hers on his arm.

"I could say the same of your wife, Archigos."

He chuckled. His hand patted hers. "The ideal spouse is both an ally and a friend," he answered. "But that's an ideal rarely achieved, isn't it? That's a shame. I've wondered, at times, what might have happened had the false Archigos not s.n.a.t.c.hed you away. Perhaps, A'Hirzg, you and I might have ended up . . . allies. Or more."

Allesandra nodded to a pa.s.sing covey of ca'-and-cu' wives. She saw their speculative gazes rest on her hand laced with the Archigos' arm. "The daughter of Archigos ca'Cellibrecca was a better choice for you, Archigos. Look at where you are now."

She felt more than heard his snort of derision. "A cold, calculating choice on the part of my younger self, and it gave me a marriage with exactly those same qualities. But there are other alliances that can be forged outside of marriage, A'Hirzg, if one is careful. And interested." His hand was still on hers, his fingers pressing.

"I've always been extremely careful about my alliances, Archigos. That's something I learned early on."

He nodded. They were near the dance floor now, the music masking their voices. "I understand you will be giving a fealty oath to Hirzg Fynn at the Besteigung tomorrow?"

"Ah," she said. "You have sources close to the Hirzg."

Under the salt-and-pepper beard, the man smiled. "Knowing what the powerful know is a survival tactic, A'Hirzg, as I'm sure you realize." For several moments they walked along in silence around the edge of the floor. Couples swayed near them to a gavotte. "I also hear from Nessantico that the young Kraljiki is not well," he said. Allesandra said nothing. "The rumors that have come to me say that the Council of Ca' in Nessantico might consider the twins Sigourney ca'Ludovici or Donatien ca'Sibelli as successors should Audric die. They're second cousins to Audric, I believe." A breath. A smile. "As are you."

Allesandra stared blandly back at the man. Dancers moved past them. "As is Fynn," she answered finally.

"Yes, but you are the eldest. And you have the advantage of having lived there; you know Nessantico as your brother does not. And perhaps there are those in Nessantico who might recognize strength when they see it and desire a strong presence on the Sun Throne. Someone stronger than either Sigourney or Donatien." He leaned close to her and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "For that matter, there are those here who would prefer you to wear the crown that is currently on Fynn's head."

"You speak treason again, Archigos?" she asked, just as quietly.

"I speak truth, A'Hirzg."

"And those here that you speak of. Would you be among those, Archigos?"

His fingers tightened on hers. "I would. Perhaps . . . perhaps it is possible for both the Coalition and the Faith to even become one again-under the right leaders."

The right Archigos being yourself, of course . . . Allesandra watched the dancers on the floor, moving through their intricate and preordained steps. What does he really know? What does he really want? She didn't know how to answer him. She didn't know if he knew about the message she'd been sent from Nessantico, or if he'd perhaps received something similar. She didn't know whether Semini was a potential ally or her enemy-and the Archigos could be a terrible enemy, as the skeletons of Numetodo heretics hanging in the gibbets near the Brezno Temple could attest.

The ice was gone to water in her drink. She gave the gla.s.s to a pa.s.sing servant and smiled at the Archigos. "My vatarh believed that there would be one Holdings again-when he sat on the Sun Throne as Kraljiki," she told him. "That's what I believe also, Archigos: that a Hirzgai could also be the Kralji. And I . . ." She lifted the hand that had held the gla.s.s. She could see cool, glistening drops of water clinging to her fingers. "When last I checked, I was not Hirzgin."

"No, you are not," Semini answered. "But-"

She cut him off even as he opened his mouth again. "No, I am not," she said. "That seems to be Cenzi's Will. You wouldn't intend to thwart Him, would you, Archigos?" She gave him no chance to respond. She removed her hand from his arm and gave him the sign of Cenzi. "Thank you for the drink and for the conversation, Archigos," she said. "You've given me much to think about. If . . . if something would happen to, well, change things, I know that you and I might make excellent allies. Certainly you are a far more competent Archigos than the one the Nessantican Faith has named. Kenne never impressed me."

She saw the pleasure in his face as she said that, and he nodded slightly. "I'm flattered, A'Hirzg."

"No," she told him, "it's I who should be flattered. Now . . . you should find Francesca, and I must go be my husband's wife and the A'Hirzg, and pretend not to notice when the A'Gyula slips away for the night."

Karl ca'Vliomani.

VARINA HANDED KARL the gla.s.s ball as Mika watched. Varina's touch lingered on Karl's hand for a moment before she released him, and she gave him a smile that was tinged with sadness. Her face seemed more heavily lined than he remembered, as if she'd aged suddenly in the last month.

They were in the meeting hall of the Numetodo House, where once a week the various Numetodo would give reports on their research. There were empty chairs set neatly in rows in front of the small dais on which they stood.

Karl hadn't mentioned to Mika his visit to the Firenzcian Amba.s.sador the other day; evidently Varina hadn't either, since Mika hadn't commented on it.

"It's just a ball, right?" Mika asked as Karl hefted the globe in his palm. "Though a fairly well-crafted one." It was heavy and well-cast-Karl could see no air bubbles or defects in the gla.s.s: the lens of the sphere gave him a distorted, warped view of the hall. "Do you find it unusual or notable in any other way?"

Karl shrugged. "No. It's a true gla.s.swright's work, or an apprentice's proof-work, but otherwise . . ."

Mike grinned. "Indeed. What I want you to do, Karl, is speak the word 'open' in Paeti and then toss the ball to me."

Karl hefted the gla.s.s again. "Oscail," he said, and underhanded the small globe in Mika's direction. What happened next astonished him.

When the gla.s.s ball touched Mika's hand, a coruscation of blue-white flared, sending black shadows dancing around the Numetodo hall, painting momentary crazed black shadows on the back wall and causing Karl to shade his eyes belatedly. He heard Varina's quick laugh and a handclap of delight. Karl blinked, trying to see through the globules of fading afterimages that haunted his vision. "By all the Moitidi . . . You two have been working, I see."

"Not me," Mika answered. "It's been Varina alone." He handed the globe back to Karl-it was simply gla.s.s again. "If the Westlanders were able to enchant objects with the Scath c.u.mhacht, the way you and Ana said Mahri did, then we knew it was possible. And not only that-Mahri gave Ana an enchanted object that she could control by speaking the right word. Anyone could use the magic as long as they know the release word."

Varina was still smiling. She was rubbing at a long, scabbed wound on her forearm. "We knew it was possible; the rest was simply a matter of figuring out the formula to do it."

"Varina's finally managed to puzzle out the sequence," Mika added. "She swore me to secrecy; said she wanted to surprise you. The spell's complicated, and takes more time and more energy than you might think. Compared to our own spells, something like this is expensive and far more of a drain on the body than anyone expected, but . . ." He nodded happily. "It's reproducible. Finally. Varina says she could teach us, and either of us could do the same."

Karl glanced at Varina, who nodded without saying anything. She held his gaze almost defiantly. He tossed the ball up in the air. "That's impressive, Varina. It truly is. But a flash of light is hardly a weapon."

"Theoretically, any spell within the arcana could be stored in any object: offensive, defensive, whatever," Varina answered. There was heat in her words. "Theoretically. Practically, well, not yet. I used the light spell because it's the first and simplest thing we teach an initiate, so it seemed best." She shook her head. There were white strands in her brown hair that Karl didn't remember from even a week ago-had they been there all along? "Look, it's a matter of binding the spell to the object and creating a trigger to activate it-covering the object in the energy of the Scath c.u.mhacht the way you'd wrap a mistfruit in paper. After that, it's as if the object is an extension of the spellcaster, though the object itself has to be of good quality or it can't survive the strain. It took me a while to understand that. But . . ." She sighed, spreading her hands wide. "Just putting that simple spell in an object was incredibly exhausting, Karl. You won't be able to imagine just how exhausting until you try it yourself. The process took me three full turns of the gla.s.s, and afterward I had to rest for another day to recover. Even now, I still feel the drain on my energy, and I wonder what else it might have cost." She bit her lower lip, brushed stray wisps of whitened hair behind her ears. "You said that Archigos Ana claimed that old Mad Mahri gave her an enchantment that could literally stop time?"

Karl nodded. "That's what she told me-it was how she s.n.a.t.c.hed Allesandra from her vatarh. And Mahri was able to switch his body for mine, when I was in the Bastida. His magic . . ."

". . . was utterly beyond ours, then," she finished for him. "I know. The reports from the war in the h.e.l.lins hint at the same. The nahualli of the Westlanders can do more than we can, but . . . I've just proved that their X'in Ka is no more G.o.d-driven than the Ilmodo, no matter what they claim or believe." She pointed to the gla.s.s ball. "If I can do this, then my bet is that we can also learn to do the same with more potent spells. It's just a matter of learning the right formulae to bind the Scath c.u.mhacht to the physical object. It can be done. We can do it."

Karl remembered Mahri, who had befriended him and Ana when they thought they were lost, and who had turned out to be not ally, but enemy. Mahri's ravaged, one-eyed, and furrowed face swam before him as he gazed at Varina. He lifted the gla.s.s ball again. "So anyone could have done this spell. . . ." His voice trailed off. The explosion . . . the great flash of terrible light . . . Ana's torn body . . . Magic without hearing or seeing anyone casting the spell . . . Maybe you've been wrong; maybe you've been looking in the wrong direction . . . "Could what happened to Ana have been . . . ?" Karl couldn't finish the question. It remained lodged in his throat, heavy and solid.

But both Varina and Mika nodded in answer.

"Yes," Mika told him. "That's the rest of what we wanted to talk about. Varina and I have already had the same thought. Westlander involvement can't be ruled out in Ana's death, and frankly, what happened there makes it seem likely to me. But why, Karl? Why not a.s.sa.s.sinate the Kraljiki or the Regent, who are directly responsible for the war? Why kill Ana, of all people?"

Because it would be revenge for Mahri. Revenge. That, he could understand. "Right now, I don't know," Karl hedged. "But someone here in Nessantico does, I'm certain, and I'm going to find that person." He took a long breath. They were both staring at him, and he hated the pity he saw in Mika's eyes, and the deep empathy in Varina's. "But that's for later," he told them. "For now, I want you to teach me this nahualli trick. Let me see how it works."

Varina seemed to start to say something, then closed her mouth. Mika glanced at her, at Karl. "I think I'll leave that to the two of you," he said. "Alia wanted me to bring some lamb home for dinner, and the butcher will be closing his shop soon." He made his farewells quickly and left them.

For too long after the door shut, neither of them spoke. When they did speak, it was together.

"I'm really sorry about the other day . . ."

"I've been thinking about what you said . . ."

They laughed, a little uneasily, at the collision of apologies. "You first," Karl told her, but she shook her head. "All right," he said. "I'll start then. You said that my . . . affection for Ana had blinded me. I've been thinking about that, and-"

"Stop, Karl" she said. "Don't say anything. I was angry and I said things that I had no right to say. I'd . . . I'd like you to forget them."

"Even if they were true?"

Her cheeks reddened. "You loved Ana. I know that. Whatever relations.h.i.+p the two of you had . . ." She shrugged. "It's not my concern." She stepped forward, in front of him, close enough that he could see the flecks of color in her pupils and the fine lines at their corners. She reached down and closed his fingers around the gla.s.s ball he was still holding, both her hands cupping his. "I can show you how to enchant this. You just have to be patient because-"