A Magic of Dawn

ERUPTIONS
Sergei ca’Rudka

Sergei turned over the arguments in his mind as he rode in his carriage toward the Kraljica’s Palais. The luncheon meeting, he suspected, would not go well. Allesandra did not seem inclined to accept her son’s proffered olive branch if it included naming him as her heir. Having Erik ca’Vikej as her confidant and (Sergei feared) her lover certainly wouldn’t help. Nor did Jan, in his turn, seem inclined to listen to Brie’s more moderate view and cease prowling the borders with the Firenzcian army.

There would be war if Sergei could not broker an agreement between matarh and son, and war would be disastrous for Nessantico. He feared he did not have much time or energy left for the effort. He felt old. He felt tired. He felt empty. As the carriage jounced along the cobbles of the Avi a’Parete, he sensed every movement as if it were a blow to his ancient body.

He slid his fingers under the flap of the diplomatic pouch on the seat next to him to touch again the sealed letter there. How could he best frame Jan’s intemperate words? How should he respond to Allesandra’s expected anger on reading them? Again, he played over the expected conversation in his head, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cushioned seat.

He realized suddenly that the carriage had stopped. He opened his eyes, lifted his head. “Are we at the palais already?” Sergei called out to the driver, surprised. Had he fallen asleep? Was he that exhausted?

“No, Ambassador,” the man said. “I think… I think you should see this.”

Sergei lifted the flap over the carriage window and stuck his head out, peering around. They were still on the Avi, just approaching the southern end of the Pontica a’Brezi Veste. A few other carriages had stopped as well, and many within the crowd were gaping westward. On his seat above Sergei, the driver pointed in the same direction.

Over the roofs of Nessantico, a blackness had risen from the west. It was already beginning to blot out the sun: like a wedge of strange, coiling, and rolling storm clouds without lightning and thunder, and moving so rapidly that they seemed to outrace the wind. Already the edge of it was directly above Sergei, masking the sun. A false dusk came, and the air under the storm was strangely warm. Something was falling, as well, but it was not rain: gray flecks that almost looked like impossible snow. Sergei caught a few flakes in his palm, touching them with his fingertips: they smeared on his skin like ash, dry. “Driver! Move on,” he called. “Hurry, man!”

The driver nodded and flicked the end of his whip over the back of the horse. “Hey-ah!” he called to the beast, and the carriage began to move again, lurching wildly. Sergei let the flap fall back over the window.

He hoped he was wrong in his surmise.

At the palais, he disembarked into what seemed an early night. The ash was falling more heavily now, and the clouds covered the sky entirely. Servants were running about, lighting lanterns, and Talbot rushed from the palais entrance to Sergei’s carriage. “This way, Ambassador,” he said. “The Kraljica is waiting.” Sergei grabbed the diplomatic pouch and, hurrying as fast as he could with his cane, shuffled along after Talbot, who escorted him through the private corridors and up a flight of stairs to a chamber on the western side of the palais. There, Allesandra was standing near the open balcony of the chamber. Erik ca’Vikej was with her. Sergei bowed to both of them as Talbot announced him and closed the chamber doors, and he went to where Allesandra stood. She was gazing out over the grounds of the palais, which were already dusted as if by a gray snowfall.

“Mt. Karnmor,” Allesandra said as he came up to her. Her voice was muffled by the lace handkerchief she held over her nose and mouth. “That’s what this must be. Talbot says that the records talk about how in Kraljiki Geofrai’s time, the north face of the mountain exploded and fell down. They claim that the ash fell as far away as Brezno.”

“And Karnor?” Sergei asked.

She shook her head. “We haven’t had word yet from them. That may not come for days.” He heard her breathe; he could taste the ash in the air. “If at all.” She turned from the balcony; Erik closed the curtained balcony doors. That did little to change the illumination in the room, lit only by candles and a teni-lamp on the mantel. “This is a horrible omen. We should pray for those in Karnor and all the cities of the island. For that matter, if what Talbot suspects is true, then things may even go badly for those as far away as Fossano.” Sergei saw ca’Vikej stroke Allesandra’s arm furtively, on the side away from Sergei. Yes, they’re now lovers… Allesandra seemed worried and tired. She took another long breath, tucking the handkerchief into the sleeve of her tashta. “You have something for me?” she asked.

Sergei handed her the pouch. She took the letter from it and examined the seal, then broke the wax away from the paper and opened the envelope. She read the document slowly. Ca’Vikej read over her shoulder; she didn’t seem to care or notice. Sergei could see the tiny muscles of her jawline clenching as she read.

“You know what this says?” she asked finally. She refolded the parchment, put it back into the envelope.

Sergei looked deliberately at ca’Vikej without answering. Allesandra waved the envelope. “You can speak,” she said. “After all, as a claimant to the throne of West Magyaria, Erik has a vested interest in the answer.”

“Erik…” She calls him by his familiar name. “Then yes, Kraljica, the Hirzg told me what he intended to say to you.”

“So nothing has changed.”

Sergei shrugged. He stroked a finger along the edge of his false nose. “The Hirzg holds to his original offer-name him as your heir, and upon your death the Holdings will automatically become one with the Coalition again. I told him that was unacceptable, but…” Another shrug. “I was unable to convince him of the wisdom of your alternative offer.”

“Unable to convince him,” she repeated, her lips pursed. “No doubt you gave it an impressive effort.” She made no attempt to hide the mockery in her voice.

“Kraljica, I’ve made no attempt to hide my preferences in this. I think that naming the Hirzg as your heir would be best for the Holdings. But, as Ambassador, my feelings are of no concern. I represented you and the Holdings to the best of my poor abilities.” He spread his hands. “If you feel someone else could fare better, then you may have my resignation this afternoon.”

Ca’Vikej turned away quickly, going over to the balcony door and holding the curtain aside to gaze out at the falling ash. Allesandra stared at Sergei. Then her head shook almost imperceptibly. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I believe you, Sergei.” She glanced over to the balcony, where ca’Vikej was still looking out. “It’s this horrible day. It has me on edge. A few of the servants were saying that very early this morning, they heard a series of low rumbles in the west, and then this…”

He inclined his head to her. “Thank you, Kraljica. I’d hate to think that you believe I’ve misrepresented you or the Holdings.” He paused. She had crumpled the letter in her hand. “Perhaps,” he suggested softly, “we might tentatively agree to the Hirzg’s offer to negotiate in person at Ville Colhem? If he believes that we are moving toward some kind of reconciliation, the Hirzg might become less aggressive with his excursions over the Holdings’ borders.”

She sniffed. She waved her hand. Ca’Vikej had returned to stand near her. Sergei saw her lean slightly toward him. “Perhaps,” she said. “I will have to think on this and consult with the Council.”

And with ca’Vikej, Sergei thought. He smiled to her and bowed again. “Then I’ll leave you to your consultations, with your permission. Kraljica, Vajiki.” He nodded to them and shuffled his way to the door. He tapped on it with the knob of his cane and the hall attendant opened it. He gave them a final bow and left the chamber. Not long after, he was outside in the false night, where the gray ash drifted down from a gray sky over gray buildings.

His carriage clattered up to the entrance of the palais. The driver held the door for him. He would go to the Bastida. That would suit his mood.

It was a day for pain. A day for loss.