A Magic of Nightfall (49 page)

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Authors: S. L. Farrell

BOOK: A Magic of Nightfall
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Excellent! You are indeed my true heir, so much stronger than your vatarh. . . .
Audric turned to the Council of Ca’ and spread his bloodied hands wide. Sigourney ca’Ludovici’s face had gone pale and she stared more at cu’Falla’s corpse than at Audric.
“It seems we have need of a new commandant,” he told them.
Allesandra ca’Vörl
“
T
HIS ISN’T WHAT I WANTED, Matarh. Fynn is supposed to be the Hïrzg, and if not him, then you. Not
me.
”
She brushed imaginary lint from the shoulders of the gilt-adorned bashta he wore, with the sash of the Hïrzg’s office draped over the black-and-silver cloth. She touched his cheek and smiled up at him. He had been taller than her for the last two years; he would be taller yet. In that, he took after his vatarh. “It’s best this way,” she told him. “Firenzcia will have a strong Hïrzg for decades to come, which is what it will need.”
“I don’t understand.” He stared at her, his head slightly cocked. “Why did you do this? Why did you turn down being Hïrzgin? All those stories about how Great-Vatarh took that from you, how he shunned you in favor of Onczio Fynn . . .”
“I didn’t want it,” she told him, and saw the disbelief in his face—he had always been a child in whose face you could see his thoughts.
I’ll have to work with him on that. It’s something he’ll need to learn.
She smiled at him now, touching his cheek. “It’s true, darling. Really. Now, come on; the ca’-and-cu’ have come to meet their new Hïrzg, and we can’t keep them waiting.”
She nodded to Commandant Helmad cu’Göttering of the Garde Hïrzg, waiting patiently a stride and half from them in his dress uniform. The man saluted and raised his hand. In turn, Roderigo—who had become Jan’s aide—gestured to the servants, who scurried to their posts. A flourish of cornets rose in the cool evening air as attendants opened the double doors leading to the main hall. Jan paused, not moving; she motioned to him. “You first,” she said. “You’re the one they want to see.”
As Jan entered, applause rose and swelled, intermingled with cheers and calls of “Huzzah, Hïrzg Jan!” He stood in the doorway as if pinned in place by the accolades, his arms lifting slowly, almost regretfully, to accept them. “Go on,” she whispered to him as he continued to stand there. “Go on down to them.”
He glanced back over his shoulder to her. “With you, Matarh,” he said, offering her his arm. She came forward to take it, smiling as she did so. The applause swelled and enveloped them.
She looked over the bright crowd. Black and silver predominated, as it did in all Firenzcian celebrations, echoing the colors of the banners hung high along the walls. Teni-lights gleamed brightly in the chandeliers, illuminating the ca’-and-cu’ of Brezno, all of them gazing toward the two of them. Their faces were snared in smiles, some of them genuine, but many overlaying concern and uncertainty and mistrust. No one could miss the number of Garde Hïrzg stationed around the sides of the hall and strolling carefully through the crowd, their gazes solemn and diligent, nor Commandant cu’Göttering entering the hall directly behind Jan and Allesandra, or Starkkapitän ca’Damont’s dominating presence as well as many of his chevarittai offiziers. Firenzcia had now lost two Hïrzgs in less than a year, and the A’Hïrzg they knew had given the staff and sword to her son, whom they knew little despite his recent prominence. It was obvious that Firenzcia planned to have no more losses.
Firenzcia was used to change: in the lifetimes of many of those applauding Allesandra and Jan’s entrance, they’d experienced a great battle lost to Nessantico; they’d seen Allesandra herself held as hostage; they’d watched her revered vatarh abandon her in favor of her younger brother; they’d trembled as the old Hïrzg Jan had seceded from the Holdings to create the Coalition; they’d witnessed the sundering of the Concénzia Faith as well, with Archigos ca’Cellibrecca defying the old seat in Nessantico and the ascension of Archigos Ana; they’d cheered as the Coalition grew stronger with each passing year, as it seemed that the Coalition might one day even eclipse the Holdings.
In their lives, Firenzcia had gone from a servant of the Holdings to its greatest rival. Brezno’s light now rivaled that of Nessantico herself.
They felt optimistic about Firenzcia and about the Breznoian branch of the Faith, but this year had shattered much of that optimism. Allesandra knew that they cheered now more for the hope that the new Hïrzg Jan represented than for Jan himself.
If they knew what she planned . . . She wondered what their faces would look like then, and if they’d even be able to conjure up smiles at all.
Semini was among the forefront of the throng, his green-clad téni staff around him. Allesandra held onto Jan’s hand as they descended the steps. As the crowd began to close around Jan, many of them parents with their young, unmarried daughters prominently in tow, she pressed his arm. “Be polite to your subjects,” she whispered to him. “You never know which one of them you might need as an ally—or a wife.”
“Where are you going, Matarh?” he whispered back, and she could hear the apprehension in his voice.
“Don’t worry; I’ll be here and I’ll rescue you if I see something amiss. I need to talk with Archigos ca’Cellibrecca.” She nodded to the ca’-and-cu’ as they gathered around Jan and slipped through the crowd, greeting those she passed. The music had begun again, but most of those in the hall ignored the call of the dance to have their moment with the new Hïrzg. “Archigos,” she said as she came to Semini, standing to one side of the crowd. His o’téni attendants, smiling and giving Allesandra the sign of Cénzi, moved aside to let her approach, and carefully returned to their own coversations.
He nodded to her, giving her the sign of Cénzi then holding out his hands to her. She took them, pressing her fingers to his for a moment before releasing him. They’d not had an opportunity to be together since their meeting at Stag Fall, over a month ago now, but there had been letters and the carefully-phrased messages. She knew how she wanted this evening to end: the arrangements had already been made—Semini would come to her rooms after the reception. She smiled. “So good to see you again, Archigos. Where is your wife this evening? I expected to see Francesca with you.” Always polite in public, always saying the right things.
“She’s not . . . feeling well and sends her apologies to you and the Hïrzg,” Semini told her. “In fact, she has not felt well for some time, and I made arrangements for her to go to the spas at Kishkoros—she’ll be there for another week; I understand they’re quite invigorating and restorative.”
Allesandra nodded, pleased at the news:
that removes one impediment to our affair.
“They are. I’m certain the rest will do her constitution wonders—though I hope it doesn’t leave you too lonely.” She pressed his hands again.
He smiled at that, perhaps a bit too broadly. She saw one of his o’ténis raise her eyebrows in their direction, and Allesandra released Semini’s hands. “I’m certain that work will prevent me from missing Francesca too much. There will be much that the Faith can do to help the new Hïrzg, don’t you think?”
“I know that Jan will be most grateful to you, Archigos. As will I.” She glanced over to the close knot of people around Jan. He was smiling broadly, shaking hands and touching shoulders, and there were young women gathered all around him. Despite his earlier apprehension, he seemed to be enjoying himself. The nascent knot in Allesandra’s stomach eased somewhat. Commandant cu’Göttering remained at his side, watching closely, his hand never far from the sword at his side. Allesandra suspected that despite the gilded elegance of the hilt, the commandant’s blade was quite serviceable. For that matter, she knew that Semini himself was an excellent war-téni, and had no doubt others of the téni with him were the same.
Jan was safe here. She could enjoy the evening, and enjoy watching the social maneuvers of the ca’-and’cu’ who had been invited. “Since Councilor ca’Cellibrecca can’t be here,” she said to Semini, “perhaps you would dance with me later?”
White teeth glistened through the salt-and-pepper beard; he bowed his head slightly. “I would greatly enjoy that. Would you care to walk with me, A’Hïrzg?—my téni have put a lovely display in the garden, and I would like to show it to you.” He held out his arm to her. She hesitated a moment—the ca’-and’cu’ might not be paying as much attention to her as to her son, but they would notice. They always noticed. But she slipped her hand into the proffered arm and let him escort her to one of the balconies off the upper balcony of the hall. His o’téni, she noticed, carefully arranged themselves at the balcony doors as they passed through, facing into the room so that when Allesandra glanced back, she saw nothing but green-clad backs, though the door remained politely open.
“They’re well-trained,” she said, and Semini grinned.
“And they’re very discreet. Look,” he said, moving to the left side of the balcony, where even if someone tried to look out from the hall over the wall of the o’téni, they wouldn’t easily see the two of them. Below, the gardens of Brezno Palais were alight with balls of glowing light that wafted gently along the paths: achingly deep purples, searing blues, brilliant reds, greens the color of spring grass, yellows more intense than summer flowers. The night was comfortably cool and the stars mimicked the garden in a sky decorated with silver clouds. Couples from the reception wandered the maze of the gardens, hand in hand.
Semini’s warmth covered her back, his arms around her, pressing her against him. “I’ve missed you, Allesandra.”
“Semini . . .” She leaned back into his embrace, feeling the desire rising up in her. He smelled of soap and the oil on his hair and musk. She imagined herself astride him, moving with him. . . .
She turned in his arms, lifting her face to him. They kissed, and she felt the soft bristle of his beard on her cheeks and the thrust of his tongue into her mouth, his hands slipping lower to cup her buttocks and press her against him. She let herself fall into that kiss, closing her eyes and just allowing herself to feel, to notice how the heat moved through her like a slow, relentless tide. She broke off reluctantly, her breath nearly a sob, turning again to relax against his body. She stared out into the light, at the lovers stealing secret moments in the garden below. “Semini—” she began . . .
. . . But a welling of noise from inside the hall pushed her away from him, guiltily. They could hear shouting, and even as Allesandra—worriedly—turned, she heard one of the o’téni speaking too loudly: “. . . let me get the Archigos for you . . .”
Commandant cu’Göttering pushed open the balcony doors and strode out into the night with a trio of o’téni trailing ineffectively behind. “A’Hirzg, Archigos,” he said. Whatever thoughts he might have had on seeing the two of them close together and alone on the balcony were carefully hidden. “Your presence is required in the hall.”
“What’s the matter, Commandant?” Allesandra asked. “I heard shouting. Is Jan . . .”
“The Hïrzg is fine,” he told her. “There is news, and a . . . guest. Please—” He gestured to the door; Allesandra and Semini followed him back into the brilliance of the palais and to the balcony stairs. Allesandra could see a quartet of Garde Hïrzg around Jan as the ca’-and-cu’ gaped, and with them a travel-worn man. Halfway down the stairs, the man turned, and in the light, she saw the gleam of metal on his face: a nose formed of bright silver. And the face . . .
Allesandra felt her breath catch in her throat. She knew him. She knew him very well, and that he was here in Brezno seemed impossible.
Enéas cu’Kinnear
N
ESSANTICO . . .
NEnéas very nearly wept when he saw her spires and golden domes again, when he glimpsed the pearly strand of the Avi a’Parete glowing in the night, when he heard the wind-horns of the Archigos’ Temple plaintively announcing the Calls to prayer. The great city, the greatest of
all
cities: she was a sight that, many times during his service in the Hellins, he had doubted he would ever be permitted to see again.
And he would not have had the pleasure had Cénzi not blessed him with His favor. Of that, Enéas was certain—no, he would have died in the Hellins.
Should
have died there. He had stopped the carriage on Bentspine Hill, outside the city along the Avi a’Sutegate, and stepped out, gesturing to the driver to go on. As the carriage rattled away down the hill toward Sutegate and the familiar landmarks, Enéas went to a knee, clasped hands to forehead, and gave a prayer of thanksgiving to Cénzi.
There is still a task left for you to do,
he heard Cénzi reply, as Enéas gazed down at the wonderfully-familiar landscape before him, at the River A’Sele glittering as it embraced the Isle a’Kralji, the four arcing bridges over its waters.
Then you will have truly repaid Me, and I will take you fully into My embrace. . . .
Enéas smiled and rose, and walked slowly down to the city he loved.
By that evening, he had given Commandant ca’Sibelli’s papers and his own verbal report to the office of the Garde Civile, though the e’offizier there had seemed distracted and on edge. “Is there news from the Hellins?” Enéas asked. “More recent than what I’ve told you?”
The e’offizier shook his head. “Yours is the latest report we’ve heard, O’Offizer.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between the two of us, I know that Commandant cu’Ulcai is very concerned—he’s expected a messenger fast-ship from the Hellins for the last few weeks and it hasn’t come. As for events here in the city, well . . .” The man told him about the Regent’s escape, how the Numetodo had been a part of it, and the execution of Commandant cu’Falla of the Garde Kralji as punishment. He leaned forward to whisper to Enéas. “Go to the Pontica a’Brezi Veste and you’ll see his body swaying in its gibbet as food for the crows. Between you and me, that has Commandant cu’Ulcai worried, since both he and cu’Falla were protégés of the Regent and appointed by his hand. The Kraljiki Audric, may Cénzi bless him, may not trust those who have the whiff of loyalty to the old Regent. We can hope that Kraljiki Audric will turn out to be as strong and wise as his great-matarh, but . . .” The e’offizier shrugged, and leaned back in his chair. “Only Cénzi knows.”

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