A Magic of Nightfall

Jan ca’Vorl

When he entered to take breakfast with his matarh, she was standing at the window to the room with the shutters open, and he thought he saw sunlight glinting on her eyes as if, perhaps, she’d been crying recently. If so, he could make a guess as to why. “Vatarh shouldn’t treat you as he does,” he said. “Especially with something this important. I’ve told him how I feel, too.”

She turned to him, taking his hands. The corners of her lips lifted in a smile. “It doesn’t matter, Jan. Not anymore. I’m past him being able to hurt me.” He felt her fingers tighten against his. “Besides, he’s given me all I really want.”

She pulled him toward her and kissed his forehead. “Hungry?” she asked. “I had the kitchen make sweet cheese retes. I know how much you like them.” She led him to the table, laden with juice and milk, with eggs and bacon, sliced bread and butter, and a plate of delicate pastry strudels oozing white, creamy cheese. “Sit across from me,” she said, “so we can talk.” She handed him the plate of retes, smiling as he took one.

“You look tired, Matarh.”

“Do I?” She put a hand to her face. “I’ll have to get my handmaid to take care of that. This will be a long day.”

Jan took a bite of the strudel, enjoying the honeyed tartness of the cheese and the delicate hint of sweetnuts in the pastry dough. He could feel his matarh’s gaze on him, watching. “Does it bother you?” he asked impulsively. “Onczio Fynn being Hirzg, I mean?”

“I’ve thought about it enough,” she answered. Her hand came up to touch her cheek again. “I’ll confess that I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about that…” She hesitated, looking down at the tablecloth. “… and other things.”

He was afraid that was all she was going to say. “And…?”

She smiled. “I’ve decided that I don’t wish to be Hirzgin. I think Cenzi has other plans for me.”

He searched her face, looking for a lie there. He couldn’t imagine being able to say that himself if he’d been in her position, if his birth-right had been stolen from him that way. Yet he saw nothing in her expression to gainsay what she’d said. “That’s good,” he said.

The trace of a smile touched her lips. “Why is that good?”

“Because I like Onczio Fynn,” he said.

Frost in summer, the smile dissolved. “Jan, one of the traits I love about you is that you’re willing to trust the people you care about. I don’t want you to lose that. But you need to be careful with Fynn.”

“You really don’t know him yourself, Matarh. You’ve said that.”

“I have. And I don’t. But neither do you, not after a few days with him. He has a vile temper. He may be generous to those he feels are his allies, but if he suspects you’re against him…”

“I think you’re overstating things,” he interrupted. “He’s been nothing but kind to me, and he doesn’t think you’re on his side. Be fair, Matarh.”

“I am,” she answered. “More than you know. What would you say if I said he’d threatened you?”

“I wouldn’t believe it,” Jan answered reflexively, then realized that he might be calling his matarh a liar. “Unless you’ve heard that yourself, from Fynn’s own lips.” He cocked his head at her. “Have you, Matarh?”

She was already shaking her head. “No,” she answered. “I haven’t. Still-promise me you’ll be careful with him.”

“Of course I will,” he told her, and was rewarded with the return of her smile.

“Good,” she said. “Now will you pass me that plate of retes? I’ve been dying to try them…”