A Magic of Nightfall

Varina ci’Pallo

“ Where else would you go?” the Regent said, and she heard Karl scoff.

“To one of the northern countries, where they’re more sympathetic to the Numetodo. Maybe Il Trebbio.”

Sergei sounded like a teacher instructing a slow student. “That’s still in the Holdings, and Audric will have sent word to them to capture us if we’re seen.”

Varina, half-listening to the argument, stirred. She interrupted them with her eyes half-open. “And Firenzcia won’t do the same?” she snapped back at Sergei.

“We could take ship from Chivasso to Paeti, or keep going north out of the Holdings into Boail,” Karl added-she was glad to hear him support her.

“And what are our chances of making that long trek without being noticed?” The Regent’s voice was nearly mocking.

The argument only sapped what little strength she had left. Let Karl deal with him-Karl won’t go to Firenzcia. He won’t… As the argument continued, her attention returned to the weariness of her body and the throbbing, insistent pain in her arm that stabbed her every time she moved. Varina leaned her head back against the stone wall running alongside the road, not caring that the ground underneath her was soaked and cold, closing her eyes as the two continued their argument, feeling the occasional cold splash from the persistent clouds on her face. The rumble of the two men’s voices, wordless, was like distant thunder in her head. She was shivering and miserable.

She wondered whether or not death might actually be an improvement.

She didn’t know when she thought to look to her right, back toward where the city’s glow painted the low, scudding clouds. At the same moment, she realized that the faint warmth that had been there was gone.

“Nico?” She sat up, stifling the scream that wanted to tear from her throat with the movement. Then, louder: “Nico?”

Karl and Sergei turned from their discussion. “Varina?” Karl began, then he cursed. “ Merde! The boy’s gone.” He looked over the stone wall, and Varina-getting slowly to her feet-looked that way also. The meadow grass showed the dark, trampled path from the boy’s feet, arrowing back toward the city until she lost the trail in the murk.

“I’ll go after him. He can’t be far.” Varina started to scramble over the low wall in pursuit, grimacing as the motion pulled at her wounded arm. But she felt Karl’s hand on her good arm, holding her back.

“No,” he said. “You can’t. He’s heading back into the city and he’ll get there before you catch up to him. You can’t go there. They’re not looking for a boy, but they are looking for you.”

Varina was frantic. She pulled at Karl’s grasp but was too weak to break away from him. Sergei watched, impassive, from the road. “He’ll be all alone there. I can’t leave him like that. I promised.”

“He was alone when you found him. The boy’s nothing if not resourceful.” Karl pointed with his chin back to the city-glow on the clouds. “He thinks his matarh or Talis will find him if he stays there. He might be right. Let him go, Varina. Let him go. We have other issues to worry about.”

Varina sagged. She sat on the stone wall looking at the trail of Nico’s retreat. Karl released her arm, and she cradled her wounded limb with it. The rain had begun again; the drizzle masked her tears. “It’s my fault,” she said. “My fault. I should have been watching him. I promised I’d take him somewhere safe. I promised him-”

“Varina.” She turned to Karl. He shook his head. “This is my fault,” he told her. “You’re hurt; you needed the rest. I should have been watching him. Not you. It’s my fault.”

She wished she could believe him. She sniffed. She turned her head away, back to the fading trail. Already, the grass in the meadow was lifting, hiding Nico’s retreat.

“Be safe,” she whispered after him: into the darkness, into the rain, into the light-touched distant haze. “Please be safe.”