A Magic of Twilight

Bonds

Jan ca’Vorl

From the wooded crown of the rise, the army spread out along the valley like a horde of black ants on the march. Dust enveloped them in a tan, hazy cloak as they trudged along the rutted, boot-stamped dirt of the Avi a’Firenzcia. The western horizon promised rain, and their banners hung limp in a breezeless air, stained with the same tan that caked the boots of the foot soldiers and packed the hooves of the cheverittai’s horses. Faintly, Jan could hear the sound of the drummers beating cadence.

Jan watched as a single rider broke off from the main force and galloped toward the ridge where he, Starkkapitan ca’Staunton, Allesandra, and Markell were watching. Markell gestured to one of the starkkapitan’s offiziers, standing with their own horses judiciously downhill from the group above. An offizier saluted and mounted, intercepting the rider; they exchanged words and a packet. The offizier gestured back up the hill. “Your pardon, my Hirzg,” Markell said. Nudging the side of his horse with his bootheels, he rode down and spoke for a few minutes with the rider before returning to the ridge.

“Word has come from Nessantico, my Hirzg,” Markell said as he came abreast of Jan. Markell frowned as he handed Jan a leather courier’s pouch. “There’s a letter from A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca inside.”

“And?” Jan asked.

The frown deepened. “The rider tells me that the Kraljica is dead,”

Markell answered. “Assassinated. Justi ca’Mazzak has been installed as the new Kraljiki.”

Jan felt himself sitting up in his saddle at the words. That’s not possible, he wanted to rail at Markell. It must be a mistake. Jan stared out at his army, the army used so often by the Kralji when they wanted a rebellion crushed or a territory conquered, the army that the Garde Civile believed they rather than the Hirzg commanded. The army that was intended to force the Kraljica’s hand, a hand that was now dead and still.

“Vatarh? What’s the matter?” Allesandra asked him. He ignored her.

“Assassinated by whom?” he growled at Markell.

“The gossip is that it was a Numetodo, according to the rider,”

Markell said. “Kraljiki Justi has ordered the arrest of all Numetodo in the city.”

Jan clenched his jaw, staring at the pouch in his gloved hand. He opened it, glanced at the letter with A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca’s seal on it, still intact. A suspicion began to form. All I did for him, all the planning. . “Starkkapitan,” he told ca’Staunton, waiting patient and silent with his face carefully arranged to show nothing, “we will make camp here for the day. Have your men prepare my tent. Find that rider; if he hasn’t spread word yet about the Kraljica, make certain that it stays that way. This is news I need to contemplate, and I don’t need rumors spreading though the ranks.”

Ca’Staunton saluted and rode off, calling to his offiziers. He barked orders to them and they scattered, dust rising in a line from their horses’ hooves as they galloped toward the main force of the army.

Two turns of the glass later, Jan called Markell to his tent. When the man entered, he went to Allesandra, playing with her soldiers, and hugged her quickly. “Go outside for awhile,” he told her. “Find your Georgi or get some food.”

“I want to stay, Vatarh. I want to listen.”

“No.” The single, firm word made her close her lips tightly. She gave Jan an ironic bow like a common offizier and left the tent. Watching the tent flap close behind her, Jan picked up the sheaf of parchments from his travel desk and tossed it toward Markell. “Ca’Cellibrecca is going to get his balls squeezed in a vise of his own making if he isn’t careful. When he does, I am going to enjoy hearing him squeal like the pig he is.”

“Hirzg?”

Jan waved a hand. “The man plays both sides, Markell. He had us get rid of his daughter’s inconvenient husband so she’d be free for marriage, and we went along with him. Now the woman’s free, yes, but she’s also free to marry the Kraljiki.”

Markell blinked. “To have the Kraljiki married to. .” He stopped.

Jan nodded. “Yes, my friend,” he said dryly. “You see it, too. A Kraljiki married to the Archigos’ daughter would be a perfect marriage of secular and religious power. And there just happens to be an un-married Kraljiki.” He pointed to the paper in Markell’s hands. “With her husband dead, ca’Cellibrecca’s daughter is now conveniently available for Justi. And the new Kraljiki will certainly be looking to marry soon to consolidate his position. Serendipitous, don’t you think?” Jan leaned back in his chair. “Kraljiki Justi ca’Cellibrecca. I’m sure A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca thinks that would be an excellent name. In fact, it makes me suspect that our Orlandi was the one behind the murder of the Kraljica, though of course he talks about nothing but the Numetodo in his letter, and how they must be exterminated. It’s wonderful to have such a convenient, politically-expedient excuse as the Numetodo. He also tells us that ‘it’s urgent that we abandon our present course for the time being.’ He says our plans must now wait ‘until we have a chance to fully examine the implications of the current situation.’ Though, of course, he’s now stuck in Nessantico for the duration and doesn’t know when he’ll return to Brezno. The cunning bastard. .”

Rising from his chair, Jan snatched the letter back from Markell’s hand and scanned it again, his nostrils flaring. He tossed the parchment into the small warming stove in the center of the tent and watched the edges curl, darken, and finally burst into flame. “I begin to believe that A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca always considered us a secondary strategy, something to use if his plot to kill the Kraljica failed and he couldn’t manipulate Marguerite’s poor excuse for a son. Now everything’s fallen in place for him. All that remains is for our army to stand down and he has everything he wants. The next news from Nessantico will tell us how that dwarf ca’Millac has died and ca’Cellibrecca has been installed as the new Archigos, and that the Kraljiki has married Francesca. As Archigos, he would hold the threat of withdrawing the Faith’s support from Firenzcia if I don’t submit-and U’Teni cu’Kohnle, who served with ca’Cellibrecca, just happens to be our chief war-teni.”

“Cu’Kohnle is Firenzcian, unlike ca’Cellibrecca,” Markell said. “His loyalty is to you more than A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca.”

“Maybe,” Jan grunted. “But when the A’Teni is Archigos Orlandi, that may change. The new Kraljiki will also insist that I stay married to that pious cow Greta. No doubt the news has reached Brezno by

now; I’ll wager she’s on her knees praying to Cenzi in gratitude for her deliverance. I wonder if she and ca’Cellibrecca weren’t plotting this all along.”

Jan paced the small perimeter of the tent and sat again. Outside, he could hear the sounds of the encampment: low talk, a burst of laughter, the clatter and bustle as food was prepared. Markell waited patiently, warming his hands over the coals where ca’Cellibrecca’s paper was now ash.

“Vatarh?” It was Allesandra, standing at the tent flap. She let it drop behind her. “Vatarh, you told me that a good general must know which battles he can win and which he cannot. Is this one you can win?”

He stared at her, shaking his head. “You were listening?”

“You told me to go outside and find Georgi. I looked and I didn’t see him. You didn’t tell me not to listen.”

Markell raised his eyebrows. Jan sighed. “So you’ve listened and you know. In that case, what do you think?”

“In all the stories you’ve ever told me, and in all the ones Georgi knows, the Hirzg never gives up. I think A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca doesn’t know those stories, or he didn’t listen to them very well.”

Jan laughed, and Markell joined in. “The wisdom of a child,” Jan said.

He nodded, and applauded softly. “This has been a battle without armies,”

he told her, “as it has been since we started this course. But we have an army with us. If we turn back now, we lose the advantage of the field.”

“My Hirzg?” Markell asked.

“Justi has the title. That’s all. He has nothing else yet. And

ca’Cellibrecca isn’t yet the Archigos. We’re only two days from the border and a fortnight to the gates of Nessantico itself. Ca’Cellibrecca advises us to wait-but he has the interests of Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca in mind, not the Hirzg of Firenzcia. As my daughter has just said, he doesn’t know the stories of Firenzcia.”

Jan saw the ghost of a smile press against Markell’s thin lips. “Should I inform the Starkkapitan that we will continue our advance in the morning?”

“Tell him that I intend to pay a personal visit to the new Kraljiki,” Jan told him. “And send U’Teni cu’Kohnle in; I need to know where his loyalties truly lie.”

“As you wish, my Hirzg,” Markell answered with a quick bow. He opened the flaps of the tent, and Jan heard him speak quickly to one of the gardai, and then the rattle of armor as the man strode quickly away.

“A good general doesn’t hedge,” Jan said to Allesandra. “And he doesn’t hesitate because the winds have changed. He uses them, instead.”

Ana cu’Seranta

“Let me take your cloak, O’Teni Ana. They say the weather will change soon.”

“Where’s Vatarh?” Ana asked Sala. The maidservant shook her head.

“He’s not here, O’Teni Ana,” she answered. “He’s away in Prajnoli on business. He’s away almost all the time, ever since. .” She hesitated, and Ana saw a blush creep from her neck to her cheeks.

“I understand,” she told the girl. “Don’t worry about it, Sala. Matarh?”

“She’s expecting you, in the sun room. I’ll announce that you’re here.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll go on back and surprise her.”

The house no longer seemed familiar to her at all-it had changed even more since she’d last been here. The smell of fresh plaster and paint hung in the foyer, an odor like guilt. The hallway beyond the front door was now a pale blue instead of the yellow she remembered, and when she reached the archway into the sun room, it was no longer draped with black as it had been when her matarh was sick but was now filled with flowers and plants, and there was a young male servant she didn’t know there with Tari. And the woman, standing with her back to Ana and tending to a pot of blue-and-white-petaled skyblooms. .

Ana felt her breath catch. After the argument they’d had the last time they met, Ana had been surprised when her matarh had sent Ana a request to visit. Please, Cenzi, don’t let her still hate me. .

“O’Teni Ana!” Tari exclaimed, seeing her, and the woman turned from the skyblooms.

“Ana. I’m glad you came.” Matarh smiled gently, and Ana felt the tension within her dissolve with the greeting. Abini set down the small trowel and spread her arms. Ana went to her, letting herself fall into the embrace, her matarh’s arms snug around her. Ana found herself crying, all unbidden; her matarh continued to hold her tightly. “Hush, child. Hush. .”

Ana sniffed and wiped at the betraying tears, pulling away slightly.

Tari and the young man were pointedly looking away from them. “You’ve engaged some new help,” she said.

“That’s Jacques, who works around the house and on the grounds, and we have a new cook as well, who makes the most wonderful soups.

They were both recommended to me by Vajica cu’Meredi-do you remember her? She’s used to call on us before. .” For a moment the old pain crossed her matarh’s face. “. . when your brothers were still alive and before I became sick. She’s made several calls to our house since you received your Marque. All this. .” Her matarh pressed her lips together, fine wrinkles gathering. “All this is because of you, Ana.

Everyone knows how the Archigos chose you personally, and that you tended to the poor Kraljica. .” She stopped then. “Tari, why don’t you have Cook make Ana something? Jacques, if you’d tend to the bushes in the rear garden. .”

They ducked their heads and left. Abini continued to hold Ana.

“You look so sad,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

Ana could only nod. She didn’t trust her voice.

“Is it the Kraljica? Her death was a shock to us all, and now there’s that horrible news come from Firenzcia about poor U’Teni Estraven ca’Cellibrecca being murdered; I used to enjoy his Admonitions. I hope they kill every last Numetodo in the city for what they did.”

The image of Karl, bound and silenced in the tower of the Bastida, came to her. So did the memory of seeing him, of his brief single kiss. .

“Matarh,” Ana interrupted. “Stop. Please.”

Abini’s eyes widened, and Ana kissed her cheek to soften the impact of the words. “I should have come to see you sooner, Matarh,” she said. “I wanted to. But. .” I couldn’t, because I was afraid he would be here. I couldn’t because of what we said to each other the last time. .

There was pain in her matarh’s eyes. “Ana, I thought about what you told me, and for a long time I was angry.”

“Angry with me, Matarh?”

Abini was shaking her head. She’d let go of Ana’s arms and returned her attention to the skyblooms. Her fingers fluffed the petals idly. “Tomas told me about what happened the time you came here,

when. .” She stopped, sighing. “Tomas told me that he said something to you that made you angry, and there was an accident. He said the Ilmodo is so strong in you, which is why the Archigos chose you, and that you couldn’t control it.”

“No, Matarh. That’s not why. Vatarh-”

“Hush, Daughter!” Abini said sharply, turning back to her. Her eyes were wide again. Her fingers touched Ana’s mouth, trembling. “Don’t say anything, Ana. Please. Tomas. . he could have left me after I became sick, but he didn’t. No matter what you think of him, no matter what. .” She paused, her lips pressing together before she began again.

“He’s not a horrible man. He’s flawed, yes, but he lost his sons and thought he had lost a wife, and the struggle he had to keep our family as cu’. . In his heart, I truly believe he didn’t intend to hurt anyone, Ana.”

“And that forgives him?” Ana could not keep the anger from her voice. “That makes everything all right for you?”

“No,” she answered. Her gaze grew hard. “It doesn’t. It’s why. . it’s why he’s not here anymore. He may never be here again.” She brought Ana to her once more; Ana resisted for a moment, then let

herself fall stiffly into the embrace. “I confronted him, Ana. I told him what you said. He denied it at first, but he. . he couldn’t look at me.”

She looked away herself, blinking away tears, then hugged Ana tightly again. “I know, and I’m terribly sorry for what he did to you, but I don’t want to talk about this, Ana. Not now when I finally have you here.”

Abini’s voice whispered in her ear. “Let’s talk about you. Tell me how things are for you.”

Talking about Vatarh is talking about me, she wanted to say to her matarh. He is part of why I am the way I am. But she could not. She sighed. You’ve kept it inside this long. If that’s the price you must pay to have Matarh back, pay it. Pay it and be grateful.

She didn’t know what to say. Too many things pushed at her, but she was afraid to talk of Karl, and if she could not speak of Vatarh. .

“I’m having luncheon with Kraljiki Justi tomorrow,” she said finally.

“The Archigos, he feels that I-” She stopped as Tari entered the room again, placing a tray down on a low table. Fragrant steam wafted from two bowls there; wine purpled twin goblets. Tari bowed at the two of them and left. Abini gestured toward the chairs.

“Sit,” Abini said. “Let’s talk as we eat.” As they sat, as Ana took a spoonful of the soup, Abini looked at her curiously. “The Kraljiki will be looking for a wife,” she said. “It’s what everyone is talking about. Even Vajica cu’Meredi mentioned it. . and you. You’re in much of the gossip I hear now, Ana.”

“It’s not what I would want, Matarh,” Ana said. She set the spoon down; it clattered too loudly on the porcelain.

Abini smiled sadly. “Ana. When did you ever believe that marriage is what someone who is ca’-and-cu’ might ‘want’ it to be?” she asked gently. “We’re not the unranked, who can marry whomever they want because it doesn’t matter. Love isn’t a necessary element for a marriage, Ana; you know that. Love comes later, if it comes at all. If Cenzi Wills it.”

“Did it come for you, Matarh?”

The smile vanished. “No,” she answered. “I always respected your vatarh, and he always respected me.” The frown deepened. “At least until my illness. Until what he did with you.”

“Why did you marry him? You’ve never told me.”

“I never told you because you were too young at first, then the Southern Fever took me away when I might have sat with you and explained how things are for a young woman.” She smiled again. “But now I can tell you. His family came to my vatarh and matarh. They offered a substantial wedding price; the cu’Seranta name was considered to be on the rise; your great-vatarh even thought that the Gardes a’Liste might name us ca’ once, though that turned out to be a vain hope after Vatarh died, only two years after my marriage. Still, Tomas kept the require-ments of our contract. Our marriage was what it needed to be. But did we come to love each other?” Her head moved from side to side. She stared at her soup. “No.”

“Did you ever love someone?”

Abini’s smile returned, faint and tentative. “You did,” Ana said, and the realization made her suddenly feel one with her matarh. “You loved someone. And did you give in to it?” she asked.

Abini glanced out toward the grounds. “Yes,” she said, so quietly that Ana leaned forward to hear her. “Once.”

“Who? Tell me, Matarh. Who was it, and did you. .?”

“You can never tell your vatarh.”

Ana sniffed. “That’s an easy promise. I don’t intend to ever see him again.”

Abini’s face colored, and Ana didn’t know if it was because of her remark or because of the memory of her matarh’s indiscretion. “I won’t tell you who it was-you would know the name. But. .” Abini leaned back in her chair. Her eyes closed. Her mouth opened slightly. “What caught me first was the smell of him: sweetnut perfume. The perfume smelled so different on him, and then I turned to look, and he was looking right at me. I remember that best of all-the shock of our gazes meeting that first time. I was much younger then, of course, and I’d recovered my figure after Estravi’s birth.” Her eyes opened. “Do you hate me, knowing that I was married already, that I was already a matarh?”

Ana shook her head. “No, Matarh. I don’t hate you. I understand.”

A nod. Abini’s eyes closed again. “We didn’t say anything to each other, not that first time. But I found that our paths kept crossing, as if Cenzi Himself were throwing us together, and your vatarh was gone all the time with his duties, and so. . well, we began to talk. His own wife had died the year before in childbirth, and the child hadn’t survived the year. We talked about that, and other things, and. .”

She paused. Ana could see her matarh’s eyes fluttering under the closed lids, and a smile ghosted across her lips with the memories. “I loved the sound of his voice,” Abini continued, “and the way he always kept his eyes on mine when we talked. He listened, he truly listened to me as Tomas never did. And his touch: it was so soft. So gentle. Being with him was how I had hoped things would be with Tomas.”

A sigh escaped her. She sat up, her eyes open once more. “What happened then?” Ana asked. “Did Vatarh. .?”

Abini shook her head. “No, he never found out. It ended because it had to. We were together for a few years, whenever we could manage, but he. . his birth family had prospects for him. We finally had to end it, or rather I had to end it-to give his new wife the chance she deserved. If we had continued, our relationship would have always been a wall between him and his wife, and I knew her also. She was young, and she liked him and I knew she wanted him to love her, and I. . well, I just couldn’t.”

“He married her?”

The nod was so slight that Ana wasn’t certain she saw it. “Seeing him. . seeing him around the city, it was hard for both of us, I think. But I hope, I hope he came to love her. I know she loves him, loves him still.”

“Matarh. .”

Abini reached across the table and touched Ana’s hand. “You are now in the family of the Faith, Ana, and you must do as the Faith wishes. Whatever happens, it will be Cenzi’s Will. Remember that.”

Ana felt Abini’s eyes searching hers. “You already have a lover, darling? Is that why you’re upset?”

“No,” she said, then corrected herself. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s all so confusing.”

“Tell me. Who is it?”

“I. . I can’t, Matarh. I’m sorry. I can’t. I wish I could.”

Abini nodded. “Ana, if you would marry, then you must give your husband a chance. The respect between you may blossom into more, and you have to give it the opportunity. But if it doesn’t. . You might find someone with whom you can share that part, if you’re careful and discreet. People in Nessantico will look the other way, if you don’t force them to stare at it. I know.”

Her fingers tightened around Ana’s. They said nothing. Finally, Abini released Ana’s hand and sat back once more.

“I’ve been talking and your soup is sitting there,” she said. “You really should give it a taste before it goes cold.”

Dhosti ca’Millac

The packet came the morning of Gostidi: the morning of Estraven’s funeral service, a gloomy day mirrored in the clouds that promised rain. Kenne, who had brought the envelope, glanced at the banked fire in the hearth. “It’s a cold morning, Archigos,” he said.

“Would you like me to send an e’teni to attend to the fire?”

“Thank you, Kenne, but no,” Dhosti told him. “A little discomfort I can offer up to Cenzi, eh? If you would, make certain that the staff is ready to go to the Old Temple as soon as I come down. Oh, and Ana should be on her way here. Bring her up as soon as she arrives.”

Kenne nodded and gave the sign of Cenzi before he left the room, closing the doors behind him. Dhosti looked again at the stiff, creamy paper of the envelope in his hand, at the ornate handwriting that addressed it to him, and the insignia pressed into the red wax of the seal: a trumpet flower. The Kraljica’s flower. The seal was intact-Dhosti made certain of that before he opened the envelope and took out the folded parchment leaves inside. He shivered in his robes as he moved to the windows where the light was slightly better. The letter was signed by Greta ca’Vorl and the tiny, careful handwriting was hers-or an excellent imitation of the example that the Kraljica had given to him. Dhosti made a small, sure pattern with his left hand, closing his eyes and calling out a short spell at the same time. He felt the Ilmodo rise within him and he released it toward the paper. In the lower left corner of the first page, where there had been nothing before, five small trumpet flowers glowed yellow, gradually fading back to invisibility.

Dhosti began to read slowly, paying attention only to every fifth word.

Archigos: I write to you as the Kraljica had told me I should if I ever learned that she was dead. The news I must relay is not good. The Hirzg has taken the army, and I believe that he may be intending to threaten Nessantico. He is plotting with ca’Cellibrecca. You are in danger. If I learn more, I will write you again, but I am watched closely in Brezno. Be careful.

Dhosti sighed. Someone knocked at the door and he folded the papers. “Enter,” he said. The door opened, and Kenne let Ana slip through before closing the doors behind her. She bowed, more deeply than she needed to, and he smiled, though it did nothing to erase the frown she wore. “Good morning, Ana,” he said. “You’re ready?”

“For U’Teni ca’Cellibrecca’s funeral?” she asked. “Yes.”

“And for the Kraljiki’s luncheon afterward?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell. “How should I prepare for that, Archigos?”

“I don’t know, quite honestly, but I thought we might discuss possibilities.” He shivered again. “It’s terribly cold this morning. Could you start the fire for me, Ana?” He saw her glance at the hearth, then reach for the tools to the side to poke at the coals. “Not with those,” he told her. “With the Ilmodo.”

She stared at him, almost as cold as the draft that billowed the curtains behind him. He could see her considering a reply, then she turned her head to the side. “I don’t know that I can do that,” she said.

He nodded, pleased with the honesty. He walked past her to the fire and threw the letter onto the coals. It curled, blackened and smoked before finally igniting. They both watched it. He turned back to Ana.

“Give me your hands,” he said. She hesitated, drawing back a half step. “I’m not going to hurt you, Ana,” he told her. “I’m not your vatarh.”

She grimaced, but she held out her hands and he took them in his own wrinkled and small ones, marveling at the smoothness of her skin against his own. You are an old man, and you haven’t much time. . He shoved the thought aside and opened his mind to the Ilmodo, his lips mouthing a hushed sequence of words. He let go of her, his hands shaping the air between them. The Ilmodo rose again, much stronger this time, and he let the energy wrap about her extended hands. When it glowed bright, he took her hands once again, both their hands caught in the bath of Cenzi’s power. He let his attention drift out from himself, down from his hands and into hers. His eyes closed, he gazed outward with the illumination of the Ilmodo. The light reflected from the pool within her soul, and he found himself filled with mild jealousy at what he saw there.

He released her hands. The light faded. He felt himself dizzy suddenly, and he seated himself on the nearest chair. “So tiring,” he said.

“The Ilmodo becomes easier to shape as you age, but the demands on the body are worse.” Ana was watching him, but her hands were still held out. She seemed to notice it belatedly, dropping them to her sides.

“I felt you,” she said. “Like you were looking at me from the inside.”

“I was,” Dhosti answered. “And I can tell you that Cenzi hasn’t taken His power from you, even if you’ve lost the path to find it. He has indeed blessed you, Ana. And His blessing remains. It is there. Still.”

She had caught her upper lip in her teeth as he spoke, and he saw moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Archigos-”

He raised his hand wearily, slumping back against the cushions of the chair. “Say nothing,” he said. “I know. I know you went to see Envoy ci’Vliomani after the Gschnas. I know you were with him when he was arrested, and that you went to see him at the Bastida. You are perhaps lovers. Ca’Rudka has told me.”

“We’re not lovers,” she said quickly, then dropped her head again.

“Not. .”

“Not yet,” he finished for her. “You find yourself drawn to him?”

She nodded.

“He’s handsome enough, charming enough, and intelligent enough,”

Dhosti said. “I was impressed by him the few times I met him, and the Numetodo chose well when they sent him to represent them to the Kraljica, even if he never had the chance to plead his case to her. I’m also told that he is betrothed to a woman back on the Isle of Paeti. Did he tell you that?”

Her eyes widened.

“I thought perhaps he had left out that bit of information,” the Archigos continued. “Her name is Kaitlin Mallaghan; beyond that I know nothing about her; after all, she doesn’t even have a ranked name, so it’s obvious who would gain the advantage from any marriage between them. But that name might be enough for you, eh? — to mention to Envoy ci’Vliomani when you see him next.” He stopped and pulled a chair alongside around so that it faced him. He patted the cushions.

“Sit, Ana. You look pale.”

She obeyed, moving as if he’d struck her. “Do you think. .” She swallowed hard. “. . that the envoy killed the Kraljica?”

Dhosti shook his head. “No, I don’t, no matter what ca’Cellibrecca says or what Numetodo trinket was found on ci’Recroix’s body. I don’t believe that any more than I believe U’Teni Estraven ca’Cellibrecca was also killed by Numetodo, as A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca is claiming.”

She took a long breath; he could see that she wanted to believe him. “Then who?”

Now it was Dhosti who shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know that I find it convenient that ca’Cellibrecca’s daughter would be without a husband just at the time that the Kraljiki takes the throne without a wife. I know that Justi and ca’Cellibrecca have views in common when it comes to the Faith and the Divolonte.” She was looking away, as if lost in her own thoughts. “Ana,” he said sharply, and her head turned back to him. “You’re caught in the middle of this, whether you like it or not, and the choices you make now are going to be important: for you, for the Faith, and for Nessantico. You have to realize this. I need you here with me.”

“I didn’t want to be part of it.”

“I know you didn’t, but it was Cenzi’s decision to give you this burden, and you must carry it.”

“How?” she asked. “How, when even the simplest spells are hard for me?”

“The gift is still with you, Ana. Regain your faith, and the rest will return.”

“The Numetodo. . I saw them, Archigos. They can do things with the Ilmodo that we can’t, not with all our belief. They create their spells beforehand, and cast them later with a single word and gesture; none of us can do that. Ka-Envoy ci’Vliomani told me he could show me how, that anyone who can find the Second World could do it. He said using the Ilmodo has nothing to do with faith or with Cenzi at all. I saw them cast spells, Archigos, without calling on Cenzi at all.”

“And you wondered how Cenzi could allow that, didn’t you? And afterward, what happened?”

She ducked her head again. She gave the sign of Cenzi, an involuntary motion. “Since then, I haven’t been able to use the Ilmodo. Not as I once did.”

He reached over to her; she didn’t flinch this time as he touched her cheek, her neck. “Look at me, Ana,” he said, his fingers under her chin as if she were a child, and her head slowly lifted. “I’ve seen this before, with other teni who came into contact with the Numetodo and also found their belief shaken. This is nothing new, and it’s nothing permanent. Now you know what happens when faith falters. It’s a test that Cenzi has set to you. Cenzi has done this so you see His power, and so you return to Him even stronger than before. That’s all that’s required of you: you must truly believe in Him.”

“But the Numetodo don’t believe in Cenzi at all, and what I saw. . None of them had any teni-training. .”

“Trickery and misdirection,” he told her. “I know. I was once in a circus, and I saw ‘magic’ there, too.” He closed his eyes and spoke a harsh, sibilant word, lifting his fisted hand at the same time. He opened his eyes and his fist; there, dangling from his fingers, was a fine silver chain from which hung a shell of stone.

Ana gasped, her hand at the collar of her robes as if searching for something hidden underneath. “Trickery,” Dhosti told her again. “And hands that have been trained to deceive. I took your necklace, yes, but not with magic and not with the Ilmodo. It’s amazing how you never really lose the skill. You shouldn’t believe your eyes so much, Ana, but your soul.” He held out the chain to her, letting the chain pour into her palm over the shell. “That’s not a symbol that a teni should wear. Let me give you a better one.”

He reached around his own neck and removed the broken-globe pendant he wore, cast in gold and set with jewels. He offered it to her.

“Keep the shell the Envoy gave you,” he told her. “Let it remind you of what you saw with the Numetodo. But wear this instead, close to your heart.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“I insist.”

She closed her hand around the stone shell, then placed the chain in the pocket of her robe. She took the pendant with Cenzi’s symbol from Dhosti and placed it around her neck. The globe gleamed on

green cloth in the valley between her breasts.

Dhosti smiled. “Now, that looks far better on you than on me,” he said. He sighed. “Now, let’s talk about your luncheon with the Kraljiki.

There’s something you should tell him-it will be a gift from you to him. We don’t have much time. . ”

Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca

“Those who would bring down the Concenzia Faith are utterly without bounds and without remorse, and they would bring down Nessantico herself,” Orlandi thundered from the High Lectern of the Old Temple: Estraven’s temple. The teni who had served U’Teni Estraven were there, solemn in their green robes in the front rows, and the ca’-and-cu’ who had come to the service were arrayed in their finery behind them. Francesca sat with the family to Orlandi’s left, all of them in white mourning, Francesca’s face covered with a heavy veil so that her features were hidden. The Archigos was there as well, seated with his whore in the balcony to the right. Orlandi glared up at the dwarf, his thick, graying eyebrows lowered.

Orlandi gestured again at the casket before the altar where Estraven ca’Cellibrecca lay, the coffin closed because of the deteriorated condition of the body. “Look there,” Orlandi railed. His voice was in fine form this morning, blessed by Cenzi in this significant moment, roaring low like deep thunder throughout the temple. “The enemies of the state and of the Faith have struck down another of our finest, the husband of my own daughter, someone who may have one day worn the robes of the Archigos.”

There hadn’t been a chance of that, Orlandi knew. Estraven had been a competent follower, but that was all. Still, Orlandi saw ca’Millac’s lips purse at the comment, and that was pleasure enough. Orlandi gathered himself, drawing in a long breath. Help me with this, Cenzi. Help me to make them understand Your will. “It should be obvious to anyone with true faith that we have tolerated those who mock Cenzi long enough.

It should be obvious to anyone with true faith that the only course we have is to destroy them before they destroy us. The Divolonte says it:

‘When threatened, protect yourself and do not fear to use the sword, for Cenzi alone will judge those who are sent to Him.’ Well, we know who struck down Estraven. We know, yet they go unpunished. I say that it is time for such tolerance to end. I say that it is time that we follow the Divolonte that is derived from Cenzi’s law. I say it is time for the Faith to show its full strength and its full fury. I say we find those who scorn us and we strike!”

With the last word, he lifted his hand high and brought it down again hard, striking the lectern with his fist. The sound of the blow echoed through the Old Temple, and he heard the susurration of assent roll through the audience. It took all his will to resist looking up at the Archigos with a smile of triumph. Now he leaned forward on the lectern and lowered his voice; he saw the congregation lean forward to hear him.

“Listen,” he said to them in a near-whisper. “Listen.” He paused, holding a hand to his ear. “If we listen to our hearts and our prayers, we will hear Estraven ca’Cellibrecca and Kraljica Marguerite, both of them calling to us from the arms of Cenzi and Vucta. Listen: they call out with the voices of all those who have been murdered over the years.

They cry for justice. And we must. .” He paused, looking from the congregation to the casket, to Francesca and the family, and back again to the people crowding the Old Temple. He let his voice roar once more. “We must listen to their pleas and give Estraven and Kraljica Marguerite what they ask for. If we do nothing, if we refuse to hear them, then it will be Cenzi’s wrath that we will face next. I will not let that happen. This must be the task for all of us: do not let that happen.”

There was no applause, not here in the sacred space below the painted vault, but he knew they yearned to shout and clap their hands.

He could feel it. Orlandi pressed his lips together, looking at them and nodding once, slowly. Then he left the lectern, and the u’teni leading the service called out the recitatives as the choir began to sing from the loft.

Orlandi took his seat next to Francesca. He took her hand into his lap.

“You should have seen the Archigos, Vatarh,” Francesca whispered to him, leaning on his shoulder. “I thought the man was going to collapse right there, his face was so red.”

“If only that were truly Cenzi’s Will,” Orlandi told her. The choir’s lament masked their voices. He patted her hand. “It will have to be enough that Cenzi has called Estraven back to Him. That will suffice.”

“Was he called, Vatarh, or was he sent?” He glanced at Francesca, at the strange sound of her voice, but the funeral veil obscured her features. For a moment, he wondered, then her fingers pressed against his.

He leaned back, closing his eyes and singing along with the choir.

After the service, as Estraven’s body was placed on a white-draped carriage to be taken to the crematorium for its final dissolution, the Archigos approached them, bypassing the long line of ca’-and-cu’ prepared to pay their respects to the new widow. Low, fast clouds drizzled rain as they emerged from the Old Temple and hoods and scarves had come up, but the Archigos’ head was bare, his bald scalp gleaming with the moisture. It had also turned colder, as if the spring had decided to retreat back to winter, and his breath was a cloud around him. His staff remained behind in the shelter of the temple alcove, and the whore was not among them. That made Orlandi scowl under the blue-and-gold

canopy held up by four of his e’teni-today was Gostidi, and cu’Seranta would no doubt be hurrying to meet the Kraljiki. He would need to go to the palace himself, as soon as he could politely escape.

“Vajica ca’Cellibrecca,” the Archigos said to Francesca, also pro-

tected under Orlandi’s canopy. She bowed her head and gave him the sign of Cenzi, as etiquette required. “My prayers go out to you, and for your husband. O’Teni cu’Seranta asked me to extend her sympathy as well-unfortunately, she had to rush away for her luncheon with the Kraljiki. We will miss U’Teni Estraven here in Nessantico.” Then the Archigos cocked his head to look up at Orlandi. “His loss is a great tragedy for the Faith,” he said. “But we shouldn’t let that lead us into rash actions, especially in times like these.”

“You believe defending our Faith is rash, Archigos?” Orlandi said it loudly enough that heads turned toward them. The e’teni holding the cloth over them struggled to pretend that they weren’t listening.

The Archigos smiled placidly. “By no means, Orlandi,” he answered.

“Such a tragedy and a coincidence, though, Estraven being assassinated only a few days after the Kraljica. I hope you’re feeling no guilt for having dispatched him to Brezno.” The dwarf’s smile widened slightly, as if he were amused at his choice of words. Then his face fell back into serious lines. “And a horrible loss for you, Vajica, in these troubled and uncertain times. I do remain certain, though, that Cenzi will cause the truth to emerge, and-as your vatarh said so eloquently-those responsible will be brought to justice.”

With that, the dwarf gave them the sign of Cenzi and waddled away back toward his staff, seemingly uncaring of the rain that beat down on him. Orlandi glared after him.

“Cenzi will send that horrid little man to the soul shredders,” Orlandi said, not caring that the e’teni would hear. “He is a disgrace to the title, and Cenzi will call him to task for the damage he has done to the Faith.”

“That may be, but he’s not foolish, Vatarh. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him.” Francesca shivered. “It’s cold, Vatarh, and I’m feeling truly ill.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he told Francesca, then gestured to the e’teni on Estraven’s hearse. “My daughter’s grief is about to overcome her,” he said to the well-wishers. “If you will forgive us. .”

There were murmured assents and calls of condolences. No one objected to the curtailment of niceties, not in this weather. “You spoke the truth in your Admonition, A’Teni,” one of the ca’ called out from the crowd, gesturing with his fist to the sky. “It’s time that we punish the Numetodo for what they’ve done. We should see their bodies hanging from the bridges of the A’Sele.” There were shouts of agreement and more fists, and ca’Cellibrecca saw the Archigos staring back at them from the cluster of his staff.

“They will pay,” he answered them loudly. “Cenzi has promised me that, and I won’t fail Him.”

They shouted, clamoring. At the entrance to the Old Temple, the Archigos grimaced and began walking away quickly with his staff gathered around him, hiding the little man from view.

As Orlandi bowed and gave the sign of Cenzi to the crowd, the e’teni began chanting and the wheels of the funeral carriage began to turn. The congregation dispersed with more calls of support and sympathy, leaving the family to their slow, ritual walk behind the carriage.

The rain pattered angrily on the cloth above them, and Orlandi glanced up. “The Moitidi’s tears,” Orlandi said. I know, Cenzi, he prayed.

I know You are angry that we coddle those who deny You, and I promise You that I will do Your will. Thank You for showing me the way. Thank you for permitting the sacrifice of this one man to save many. I won’t fail You.

“Vatarh?”

“Estraven’s death was not in vain,” he told Francesca. “Cenzi will make certain of it.” He took her hand. “I know this,” he said to her. “I know it.”

Ana cu’Seranta

The rain pounded at the walls and drummed on the ceiling,

but inside the room in the Grande Palais, the roar of the great fireplace held the cold at bay while servants bustled in to burden the table with offerings. “Here, O’Teni,” the new Kraljiki said. “This is spiced icefruit from Graubundi; you really must try it.” Ana still wasn’t used to the voice, a boy’s voice housed in a man’s body. She smiled at him from across the small table draped with fine linen and placed near the fire, overpowered by the vastness of the room beyond. Their voices echoed despite the heavy curtains pulled back from the tall, leaded-glass windows, the padded chairs, and the hypnotically-patterned rugs.

He seemed to notice her glances around the room, already far different from what she remembered of the palais in her visits with the Kraljica. He took a large gulp of the wine before him and gestured to the room with the glass. “Matarh’s taste was rather staid, old-fashioned and, well, boring, I must admit. I find that I prefer more visual stimula-tion. The Holdings, after all, are drawn from many nations and many cultures, and we should enjoy them all, don’t you think?”

“I would agree, Kraljiki, that we can find much of interest in other ways if we bother to look, even with beliefs we might consider antitheti-cal to our own views.”

He set down the glass. “Ah, well-spoken. So you might even find something worthwhile in the beliefs, say, of the Numetodo?”

“I do. In fact, I know.”

He glanced down to where the Archigos’ gift lay on her robes, then back to her face. “Isn’t that a heretical belief for a teni to hold? A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca, for instance, would never say such a thing.”

“A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca, like your matarh, is rather more staid, old-fashioned, and boring than me, Kraljiki,” Ana answered, hoping she had judged the man correctly. The Kraljiki peered at her for a moment with his dark eyes, and she wondered whether she had miscalculated, but then he leaned his head back and unleashed a shrill laugh. She saw the servant bringing in a tureen of stew raise his eyebrows at the sudden sound.

“Indeed,” the Kraljiki said. “And please, while we are here alone, could we simply be Justi and Ana? The formality is so. .” He smiled at her. “. . staid.”

“His matarh was regal and aware of her position, always, and because of that some people thought Marguerite was somewhat cold and distant,” the Archigos had told her. “Those who believed that of her were mistaken. The Kraljiki is her opposite. He can be disarmingly charming and open, but those who believe those qualities define him are also mistaken. Justi uses those attributes only when he wants something. It’s the charm of a snake, and just as dangerous.” Ana remembered the warning. She smiled back at him. “If it pleases you to do so, then yes, Justi.”

“Thank you, Ana,” he replied. “You see, isn’t that better already?”

He nodded to her. In the light of the candelabra set in the middle of the table, his eyes glittered like smoky glass. “So. . you truly believe the Numetodo aren’t the evil creatures the Divolonte says they must be?”

“Neither the Toustour or the Divolonte say anything directly about the Numetodo at all,” she replied carefully. “They’re too new in the world. So any interpretation from Toustour or Divolonte is exactly that: interpretation, not fact.”

“Again, that’s not what A’Teni ca’ Cellibrecca would say. In fact, Ana, he would say that I should not be listening at all to someone who is known to consort with the Numetodo.”

Ana felt her face color-she knew that he would know, but it didn’t make his statement of the fact any less a shock. “I know Envoy ci’Vliomani personally, yes,” she answered. “And it’s because I do know him that I also know he was not responsible for the death of your matarh, Kraljiki.”

“Justi,” he corrected her. “And is that what you know, or is it your interpretation?”

She forced herself to smile at the word. “Only Cenzi knows, ” she told him. “But, yes, I’m confident in what I say.”

“You would wager your life against that, Ana?” He said it with the same odd smile, leaning forward. Ana took a slow breath.

“The Kraljiki always holds my life in his hands,” she said. “And I trust his judgment to do what is best for Nessantico and Concenzia, just as I trust my belief in the innocence of Envoy ci’Vliomani.”

He chuckled, leaning back slightly and taking another sip of wine.

“That was well-spoken also. I’m beginning to suspect that my matarh may have been entirely right about you, Ana.” He reached across the table to where her hand lay on the linen. She forced herself not to move as his hands closed over hers. His grip was strong. “We might make a fine team, the two of us. Don’t you think so?”

She forced another smile to her face, hoping that none of them seemed false. Her stomach tightened; she felt a knot of tension forming deep within her. “You flatter me, Justi,” she said.

Fingers pressed on hers. “No,” he said seriously. “I don’t. False flat-tery isn’t something I indulge in. Ever.” His fingers pressed on hers. “For instance, I won’t insult either one of us by telling you how beautiful you are. Matarh used marriage the way another Kralji might have used the Garde Civile-as a weapon. The protegee of the Archigos, a person who has been well-blessed by Cenzi, a person of intelligence. . that could become a good weapon for me, as I could be for you in return, with people like A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca. That’s what I’m saying, Ana. I understand how one would be willing to do whatever must be done to attain a goal. I sympathize with that.”

She saw the door to the room open behind the Kraljiki as he spoke and Renard entered to stand discreetly a few strides from the table, just within Justi’s peripheral vision. Justi held Ana’s gaze for a moment, then glanced over at Renard with obvious annoyance. “Yes?” His hand didn’t leave Ana’s; Renard very pointedly did not look away from Justi’s face.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Kraljiki, but A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca is here and he is. . very insistent that he must speak with you immediately.”

Justi was looking at Ana when he replied. The mention of ca’Cellibrecca reminded her of what the Archigos had told her, and she wanted to blurt it out. Justi kept his gaze on her face as he spoke to Renard. “No doubt he is.” He waved his free hand toward the man, still not looking at him. “Tell the a’teni that I again extend my condolences to him on the loss of U’Teni Estraven, and I’m sure that it is the grief of his loss and not blatant rudeness that would cause him to think that I have forgotten that I’m scheduled to meet with him shortly. I will be with him when I have finished my luncheon. No sooner. Is that clear, Renard?”

“As crystalline as the Sun Throne, my Kraljiki,” Renard answered.

Ana thought there might have been the barest glimpse of a smile on the aide’s face. “It will be my pleasure to convey your message to the a’teni.” Renard bowed to the Kraljiki, then gave Ana the sign of Cenzi.

He left quickly, snapping his fingers at the gardai to open the doors as he approached. As the door clicked shut behind Renard, Justi’s fingers tightened again on her hand.

“When Renard mentioned ca’Cellibrecca, you nearly started to speak.”

“You’re very perceptive, Justi. I have news to give you, Kraljiki.

From the Archigos.”

Justi nodded. “When I meet with him after our luncheon, A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca will be counseling me to do here in Nessantico as he did in Brezno,” he said. “He wants the Numetodo in the Bastida tortured until they confess their crimes, then he would see them mutilated, executed publicly and displayed as a warning. He will be most insistent in this, and he will give me persuasive arguments from both the Toustour and Divolonte, both of which he knows I hold in the greatest regard.

He will appeal to my faith and to my duty as Kraljiki.”

Ana started to interrupt, but Justi lifted a finger and she swallowed her words. “My faith is genuine, Ana,” he continued. “I have very little sympathy for the Numetodo. My sense of duty to Nessantico is also strong; I believe my matarh did the Holdings a disservice with her neglect of the Garde Civile and the chevarittai-we are not as strong as we should be, and we have given too much strength to Firenzcia as a result. Now. . ca’Cellibrecca, as I said, will appeal to my role as Protector of the Holdings and my own security. The fact that O’Teni cu’Seranta doesn’t believe in the Numetodo’s guilt will hold little weight for him.

Your belief would hold no weight at all if Orlandi were to discover that you knew Envoy ci’Vliomani, or that you’d actually been with him when he was arrested. I also know that Orlandi offers me another marriage-weapon I could use: his own daughter, the new widow ca’Cellibrecca.

Like any good swordsman, I prefer to practice with my weapon and know it very well before I use it in battle.”

His gaze would not release her. The smile was gone now, and his hand felt as if it weighed as much as the Sun Throne itself. “I’m a much stronger and more independent person than A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca believes me to be. He thinks I am still the A’Kralj, bound to Matarh’s will.

He’s wrong; I’m more like Matarh herself, even if she didn’t see it. I would have no difficulty telling A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca that I will release the Numetodo entirely, or perhaps choose a single one of them, the least of them, to act as a symbol for all and let all the rest go, including Envoy ci’Vliomani. That’s what you want, isn’t it, Ana? — you don’t have to answer. I see it in your face. I can do that, Ana. I will do that: if it would seem to be in my best interests.”

He withdrew his hand, suddenly, and she felt chill air on her skin.

“So-what is the news from the Archigos?”

Ana couldn’t answer immediately. She took a breath, pretended to sip her wine while she absorbed what Justi was saying. “The Archigos. . He received a letter, Kraljiki, from your cousin the Hirzgin.

She believes that Hirzg Jan intends to bring his army into Nessantico.

She believes that he and A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca are conspiring to take the Sun Throne from you.”

Justi’s eyes did widen at that. “I can believe that the Hirzg would be foolish enough-Jan ca’Vorl’s a half-barbarian and not known for the subtlety of his strategy. I’d enjoy seeing him rot in the Bastida. But it’s more difficult to think that ca’Cellibrecca is willing to be part of such an alliance when the cost of failure is so high. The Archigos genuinely believes this to be true?”

Ana shrugged. “He knows that the Hirzgin believes it to be true.”

“Then I will have to make my own investigation. And quickly. The Hirzg and ca’Cellibrecca both overstep themselves if they think I’m so easily cowed.” He nodded, as if to himself. He said nothing for a few moments, scowling. Then, abruptly, he smiled again. “In any event, that news means that A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca won’t have a decision from me this afternoon. In fact, I will make him wait quite a bit longer while I set some things in motion. I’m sorry that the a’teni has seen fit to interrupt our luncheon, Ana. I would make it up to you: if you would come by tonight for a late supper, in my private chambers? If you would do that, then I’ll make ca’Cellibrecca wait some days for his answer on the Numetodo.”

She knew what he asked; she knew what he threatened. “He will try to trap you, Ana,” the Archigos had said. “You have to remember this: there are no decisions without consequences, and the more critical the decision, the harsher those consequences will be. In the circles in which the Kraljiki operates, there are also no rewards that come without payment. In that, it is like our use of the Ilmodo: the spells give us power, but we must always pay for them.” She could feel the bars enclosing her. For a moment, the memory of Vatarh’s face looming over her rose in her mind, and she shivered. The hand that the Kraljiki had held was fisted on the damask.

The smell of the food before her made her ill.

He was waiting for her answer, a single eyebrow lifted, his prominent chin thrust forward. “I have services with the Archigos at Third Call, Kraljiki. .”

He would not let her finish. He pounced, like a cat on a mouse skulking along a wall. “Then I will expect you immediately afterward.”

It was not a question. “I will have a carriage waiting at the Archigos’

Temple for you.”

She nodded. The fist in her stomach clenched tighter.

“Good.” He gestured to the servants against the wall. “I have to leave you, Ana-your news demands attention. Please, take your time and finish your lunch, Ana. Leisurely, and with the knowledge that A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca will be fuming more with every bite, thinking about the two of us together-that will add a lovely spice to the dishes, don’t you think?”

Mahri

The rain had sent the residents of Nessantico scurrying from doorway to doorway while scowling at the sky, and left the streets devoid of all traffic but the occasional hire-carriage with a miserable driver hunched over in his oilcloth greatcoat. However, the weather bothered Mahri very little. The cold drizzle soaked the dark rags that swaddled his scarred body, but the moisture felt soothing on his ravaged flesh. He walked unhurriedly along the banks of the River A’Sele near the Bastida, and paused as he approached the Avi a’Parete and the Pontica a’Brezi Veste. He could see the tower where Karl ci’Vliomani was held rising glumly above the walls girdling the prison, walls that had once been part of the ancient city wall that Nessantico had long outgrown. Mahri had chosen this spot carefully, where he could see the tower easily and yet there would be few passersby to interfere or notice him; the rain would only help.

He slumped down on the wet grassy slope of the riverbank. He could smell the water-the foul scent of filth, human sewage, and rotting fish. He grimaced and tried to put the odor out of his mind. He pulled an oiled paper scroll from a pocket of his robe and placed it on his lap. He stared at the tower and began to chant, his hands and fingers dancing an intricate gavotte before him.

He closed his eyes.

He felt himself drifting as he if were no longer attached to his body, though he could sense the mental cord that tied him to the body, stretching as he floated away and growing more taut and resistant with distance. The sensation was disconcerting, and for a moment nausea threatened to send him tumbling back into his body, but he forced his awareness to continue flowing outward. He could see the tower coming closer; he rose above the crumbling top of the wall and up, up to the open balcony where he’d seen the Numetodo and into the darkness

beyond. The connection to his body was nearly at its extreme distance; he had to fight mentally to stay, to not go tumbling backward toward his abandoned body. He could see a form seated at the crude table in the center of the cell, his head enclosed in a strange contraption, his hands chained tightly together: the envoy. He was staring directly at Mahri, his eyes wide as if he were staring at a ghost-which, Mahri knew, was somewhat the case. Mahri had seen others do this spell before; he’d seen the translucent outline of the person that resulted: incorporeal, untouchable, spectral. And fragile. Mahri knew he had little time.

Ci’Vliomani grunted something that the mouthpiece forced between his lips rendered unintelligible; Mahri lifted a finger to lips in warning.

He forced himself to slide forward to the door against the growing resistance of his body, feeling the chill of the metal as he passed through it entirely. Beyond, a garda snored, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Mahri spoke a word and gestured; the man slumped to the floor, the snoring intensifying. Mahri let his body pull him backward into the cell, forcing his awareness to stop within the cell once again, though he could feel himself desperately yearning to return.

“I don’t have time, Envoy ci’Vliomani,” he said. He could hear his voice as if he were speaking through a long tube, whispering and hollow. “They intend to kill you as an example to all Numetodo. I offer you escape, but you must trust me, and we must act now. Are you willing?”

For a moment, ci’Vliomani did nothing and Mahri prepared to let himself drop back into his own body once more. Then the man gave the barest of nods, and Mahri struggled keep his awareness in the cell. He no longer dared to move; if he did, the connection would break and he would go tumbling back. Yes. This is the way I saw it in the vision-bowl. . “You can read?” he asked the man, who nodded again.

“Good. Then we must hurry. Come here. Step into the space where I’m standing. .”

Too slowly for Mahri’s comfort, ci’Vliomani stood and shuffled over toward him. He hesitated as he stood in front of Mahri, and Mahri

thought that the man would change his mind. Then he took the final step, and Mahri’s awareness doubled.

. . What is this? What are you doing to me?

. . Trust me. .

Mahri spoke the final word of the spell, and the world shifted. His viewpoint swung around; he was no longer looking through his own eyes, but ci’Vliomani’s. He heard a wail and a cry, and a shimmering ghost fled from the room, a streak of fog blown by the winds of an unseen tornado.

The specter’s scream faded into the night. .

Karl ci’Vliomani

He was sitting on a grassy bank of the A’Sele with the rain pelting down on him. For a moment, that was enough, because there was no strength in him. He was utterly exhausted, as drained as if he had used the Scath Cumhacht too much and must pay the steep price. Slowly, as if from a deep dream-fog, he allowed himself to come back to life.

Everything was wrong. Everything.

He could not see well. His vision was strangely flat; only his right eye seemed to be working. A strange odor hung around him, of spices and scents he could not identify. He brought up his hands, and the hands that emerged from black, tattered sleeves were not his hands at all. His breath was tight in his chest and when he turned his head, the flesh tugged hard at the left side of his face, resisting the movement. His probing tongue found empty gums and only a few teeth, and the taste in his mouth was sour and unpleasant. Glancing down, he saw a body encased in dark rags and tatters.

It was Mahri’s body, he suddenly realized. Karl gasped, turning his head to look to the Bastida’s tower, a hundred or more strides away. He saw a tiny figure there, standing on the high balcony of his cell: himself, his hands chained and bound, his head encased in the silencing mask. The figure stared down through the rain toward him, and as Karl watched, the snared hands lifted as if in salute and the captive turned to go back into the cell.

Karl tried to stand. He could not; the body would not obey. Muscles screamed and cramped; he felt as if he were trying to lift the weight of Nessantico itself. “What did you do to me!” he shouted, and the voice wasn’t his: it was phlegm-racked and deeper than his own, the words slurred through the gap-toothed mouth. The sound of it echoing from the nearest buildings made him shut his mouth. The movement had sent a roll of oiled paper tumbling to the grass from his clothing. He reached to pick it up. “Can you read?” Mahri had asked. Karl unrolled the paper with clumsy fingers that were too stubby and too stiff-jointed, feeling panic running cold through him. The words set the blood pounding in his head.

Envoy ci’Vliomani-You are no doubt confused and afraid, and that is to be expected. I asked you to trust me, and I ask you to continue to do so. Trust me. If all goes to plan, you will not remain in this body for too long. If the plan fails, then your own body will be destroyed and me with it, but at least you will survive. We are all more than simply the bodies which we inhabit-remember that if the worst happens. Go to my rooms at 12 Rue a’Jeunesse; I will find you there in time, hopefully, and we can each return to the bodies we know best.

Take care of my poor mortal cage as well as you can; I will try to do the same with yours.

Karl read the note twice. The rain splattered and beaded on the paper, blurring the ink despite the oil. He lifted his head to the clouds; the rain felt good on his face, as if it cooled a heat there. He glanced again at the Bastida; he saw only the stones and the dark hole of the opening to his cell. He wondered if Mahri were there, watching him.

He wondered if he were somehow dreaming all of this.

Karl tried to get to his/Mahri’s feet again. This time, he managed it, but he swayed and nearly slid back down. He was the wrong height, and everything felt wrong. He took a tentative step, shuffling along slick, damp grass and bracing himself against the slope that led down to the swirling brown currents of the A’Sele. He nearly fell once more, but forced himself to take another step, then another, moving back toward the streets of Nessantico. Anyone who saw would have guessed that he was drunk. He glanced back again at the Bastida, shaking a head that felt too heavy.

As he walked, he saw people staring at him in disgust before looking away again. He continued on, staying to the shadows as Mahri himself once had, and making his way back to Oldtown and the address that was written on the scroll.

Ana cu’Seranta

The carriage was there for her as she came out of the Archigos’ Temple, as the Kraljiki had promised. A new insignia had been placed on the side of the vehicle, no longer the trumpet flower of the Kraljica, but a fist clad in studded mail. The carriage was drawn by a pair of white stallions. Their reflections shimmered in the puddles left by the afternoon’s rain.

The Archigos came up alongside Ana as she stared at the carriage, as the driver jumped down from his seat to open the door. Kenne and the rest of the staff judiciously kept the congregation spilling out from the church away from the two of them. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Ana,” he said quietly. “Justi is not someone you can trifle with.”

“I understand that,” she told him. “It was you who set me on this course, remember? I promised the Kraljiki I would meet him for dinner.”

His eyes searched hers. “We should not have lies between us.”

Ana grimaced, her lips tightening. She nodded. No, you won’t abuse me as my vatarh did; you will only sell me to another. “No, we should not,”

she told him. “Which is why I won’t say more.”

She thought he would protest, but the dwarf sighed and touched her hand. “Then be careful, Ana. And be safe.” He gave her the sign of Cenzi, gathered his staff around him, and walked into the crowds, already talking to the waiting ca’-and-cu’. Ana went to the carriage and nodded to the driver, who helped her in and shut the door behind her.

She sat on the leather cushions as the driver called to the horses and they moved away.

They did not go to the main entrance of the Grande Palais off the Avi a’Parete, but to one of the side entrances facing the gardens enclosed by the wings of the palais. Renard was waiting for her at the door as the driver helped her down. “The Kraljiki is in his outer chambers, O’Teni cu’Seranta,” he said. Anything the man might be thinking was carefully veiled. He smiled neutrally; his gaze never staying long on her.

He led her along carpeted back corridors vacant of servants to an unremarkable door. He knocked, turned the handle and opened it, gesturing to her. “If you please, O’Teni,” he said. She approached, glancing inside. “You have only to knock on this door,” Renard said as she glanced into the room beyond. His words were a whisper, private. “At any time.

I will be here to escort you safely out, with no questions.”

She glanced at him. His chin was lifted slightly, and there was open concern in his old eyes. “Thank you, Renard.”

He nodded to her. “He waits for you.”

She went in; Renard shut the door behind her.

The room in which she found herself was richly decorated. Heavy curtains shielded the windows and brought early night to the room, which was illuminated by several dozen candelabra set on the tables and above the mantel, and by a fire that flickered invitingly in the hearth.

A table was set for two in the center of the room, with several covered plates and wine already in the goblets. She could not see anyone in the room, though an open doorway led away into other chambers. A log fell in the hearth with a fountaining of sparks, drawing Ana’s gaze.

She drew in her breath. Over the mantel, swathed in candlelight, was ci’Recroix’s portrait of Kraljica Marguerite, eerily lifelike. She seemed to gaze back at Ana almost sadly, her mouth open as if she were about to speak.

“Startling, isn’t it? I think it’s the eyes that fascinate me most; you can almost see the firelight glinting in them.”

With the sound of the high-pitched voice, Ana spun around to see the Kraljiki standing by the table. He was dressed casually, in a bashta of yellow silk. She tried to smile and failed. “That painting. . Kraljiki, it was ensorcelled and was responsible for your matarh’s death. I’m certain of it. You can ask the Archigos if you don’t believe me. This. . this was the instrument of your matarh’s death.”

The Kraljiki’s shrug closed her mouth. “Perhaps,” he answered in his high voice. “Or perhaps not. It changes nothing, though. The painting’s exquisite, regardless. Ci’Recroix was a true genius, even if he was also an assassin.”

“You’d keep the painting, knowing what I just told you?”

“Would I cast away the Kralji’s ceremonial sword because it has killed before? It’s not the sword that kills, but the person, Ana.” She shivered at his use of her name. “I took the liberty of having our food served already. Sit-the lamb roast, the chef has assured me, is delight-ful and so moist it will dissolve in your mouth. And if the painting bothers you, then sit here, where the fire will warm your back. .” She heard the scrape of a chair on the floor, and turned away from the painting with a final, lingering glance. She allowed the Kraljiki to seat her. His hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment before he took his own seat across from her.

She thought then, for a time, that perhaps he had simply invited her to eat with him. As they ate, he spoke of Nessantico, of how he hoped to continue the growth of the Holdings, of how he intended to visit each of the nations within the Holdings as part of a Grand Tour to celebrate his coronation, to travel even to the Hellins across the Strettosei. He spoke of his devotion to Cenzi, how he believed that the Concenzia Faith was the bedrock of the Holdings, but how the Holdings must be prepared to allow within their borders those who had yet to learn the truth of the Faith.

“The Archigos understand this, of course,” Justi said, breaking off a bit of bread, dipping it into the sauce on his plate and tucking it into his mouth. “He served Matarh well, and I expect him to do the same for me until such time as Cenzi calls for him. And after that. . well, he certainly speaks highly of you, and your skills. Only six women have ever been Archigos. Perhaps it’s time for the seventh?”

Ana thought of her shaken faith, of her lost gift, of her uncertainty, and shook her head as she sipped at the wine. “You flatter me, Kraljiki, but I’m not ready for that burden. I don’t know that I’ll ever be.”

“You would rather have A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca ascend to the title?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she answered quickly, then realized how blunt that sounded as Justi laughed.

“Your openness is charming,” he said. “Most people are afraid to speak their thoughts in front of me. But not you. .” He set his goblet down. “So tell me, Ana,” he said. “This Numetodo, Karl ci’Vliomani; does he satisfy you as a lover?”

The shock of his question, so frank and direct, startled her. Her goblet crashed against porcelain and silver as she set it hurriedly down.

“The envoy and I are not lovers, Kraljiki,” she said, swallowing and forcing herself to return his challenging, amused stare. “If this is the quality of the information Commandant ca’Rudka is giving you, then I can understand why the Numetodo have been unjustly detained.”

“Oh, the commandant is very careful to only give me verifiable facts.” Justi’s finger circled the gold-chased rim of his goblet, the thin metal ringing. “I know you were with him when he was arrested; I know you visited him at the Bastida. I was making the natural inference.”

“It would be better for the Holdings if the Kraljiki made his decisions not from inferences but from certain knowledge.”

She thought for a moment that she’d gone too far. His face darkened and lines furrowed the tall brow under his thinning hair. Then he smiled again. “You are undoubtedly correct, Ana,” he said. “So give me that knowledge. You’ve gone to see ci’Vliomani alone, more than once. If you are not lovers in fact, then what is your interest in him, an interest so strong that you would come to me to intercede for him?” He paused, but before she could form a reply, he raised a hand. “No matter; I see it in your face. There is ‘certain knowledge’ in faces, if you know where to look, Ana, and I’ve had much practice with that over the years-and a harsh taskmaster in Matarh to school me. You might not be lovers, but there is an attraction there.”

The words were harder to say than she thought they would be.

“There is,” she admitted. “But attraction doesn’t mean there will be anything more.”

“ ‘Love rarely respects the order of life, but love is not a prerequisite for marriage,’ ” Justi said. “That’s a saying of Matarh’s. She would drag that out whenever she ordered one of her nieces or nephews to marry for the sake of Nessantico. She used it with me when she arranged my own first marriage.” He rose from his seat, the chair scraping against the parquet floor. Ana watched him come around the table to stand behind her chair. His hands stroked her neck, lifting her hair, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “The person I marry would have to understand that I would not be a faithful husband,” she heard him say.

“My appetite is. . large, and while I would certainly continue to do my duty by my wife, I also know she would not be enough for me. But I’m not an unreasonable man. I would not expect faithfulness of her, either, were she to find solace in another’s arms. Not as long as there was sufficient discretion so that no embarrassment came to me.” His fingers trailed down, under the loose collar of her teni’s robe to the nape and down to the slope of her breasts. She sucked in her breath at his touch.

“Do you understand me, Ana?”

Ana stared blindly across the table to his empty seat. She realized her hands were clenched, that she was holding her breath, that she wanted to flee. He is not your vatarh. You don’t have to do this. This is your choice this time, not his.

She nodded silently.

“Good,” Justi said. His hands slid back up, cupping her face. His hands surprised her with their softness, and they held the odor of lav-ender oil. I used to love that scent. .

His hands left her and turned her chair abruptly. He lifted her up, his eyes on hers now. There was fire in his eyes, but no affection. His kiss was ungentle and quick, but she opened her mouth to his tongue as his hands went around her, pulling her to him. She could feel the hair of his mustache and beard, prickling her skin. She moved her face from his with a gasp, making her own arms go around him so that she rested her head on his shoulder. She could see the painting of Kraljica Marguerite over the fireplace; she seemed to gaze almost approvingly to her. The Kraljiki’s hands slid down her back to her buttocks, pressing her against him so that she felt his arousal.

Is this what you want? There was no answer within her.

“I trust I won’t be just a duty with you, Ana,” Justi spoke in her ear.

He released her, taking her hand. She followed him, her eyes on the picture rather than him. The Kraljica’s gaze seemed to follow her as she left the outer room and went into the bedroom beyond.

Ana wondered what Renard was thinking as he led her down from the Kraljiki’s apartments the next morning well after First Call. He said nothing, walking in front of her a few strides and never glancing back.

He guided her through the back corridors and out through a door to the more public corridors of the palace.

Justi had left their bed much earlier, with a perfunctory kiss to the forehead. “The duty of the Holdings calls,” he said. “Renard will be here in a turn of the glass for you. If you would like to break your fast here, tell him and he will arrange it. I may call for you later, perhaps.”

He seemed distracted, cool and distant.

She pulled the covers to herself and watched him leave and close the door behind him. Through the carved wooden panels, she heard

servants entering the dressing chamber to assist him.

The normal bustle of the day had already begun, with the courtiers gathering near the door of the reception hall and the ca’-and-cu’ who had business at the palace that day arriving in their carriages at the front entrance. “I took the liberty of having your servants send a carriage for you,” Renard told Ana, stopping near the doors of the hall.

“It’s waiting for you now.”

“Thank you, Renard,” she told him. “I can find my way from here.”

He bowed with clasped hands to forehead and left her. Ana took a breath, pulled the cowl of her robes over her head, and started toward the main entrance and the crowds there.

“O’Teni cu’Seranta!” She heard her name called, a feminine voice, and she saw Francesca ca’Cellibrecca just leaving the hall. She detached herself from a knot of courtiers with a word and came toward her. The woman seemed to be assessing her, her head slightly tilted.

“Vajiki ca’Cellibrecca,” Ana said, clasping hands to forehead. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for the loss of your husband.”

Francesca waved away the comment. Her lips pressed together before she spoke, as if she were suppressing a thought. “It’s surprising to see you here at the palais so early,” she said. “Weren’t you with the Archigos at the temple for the First Call?”

“Normally I would have been, Vajica,” Ana said. “But the Archigos sent me here to deliver a message.”

“Ah. .” Francesca smiled. “The message must have been an important one to necessitate making his favorite o’teni an errand girl.” She stopped. Sniffed the air. “Lavender,” she said. “It’s an exquisite scent, don’t you think?” Her eyebrows arched with the question.

Ana felt herself color and hoped that the cowl shadowed her face sufficiently. “Indeed,” she said. “I’m sorry, Vajica, I really must be getting back. I have a driver waiting.”

She started to hurry past the woman, but ca’Cellibrecca reached out her hand and caught Ana’s arm. Fingers dug into her biceps as Francesca drew her close. “You fuck him, don’t you, O’Teni?” she whispered, and the raw obscenity snapped her head around to glare at the woman. “Yes, you do,” Francesca purred, her voice sounding strangely satisfied. “Well, so do I. Interesting. Well, I knew I wouldn’t be the only one to share his bed. I wonder which one of us he prefers, O’Teni?”

Ana pulled her arm away. Courtiers, chevarittai, and supplicants stared at them from down the hall, the ca’-and-cu’ whispering and pointing. “I have nothing to say to you, Vajica,” Ana said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Francesca laughed, as if the two of them were sharing a joke. “Oh, we both know that I do, though I must admit that I’m a bit startled. It certainly can’t be beauty he sees in you, only the possibility of gaining power-that’s all he really wants from us, after all-the advantage we can give him. The fact that we’ll spread our legs for him as if we were grandes horizontales is just an additional benefit.”

Ana gasped as if the woman had slapped her across the face. “Vajica, I won’t listen to this crudity.” She started to walk away but Francesca’s voice stopped her, nearly loud enough to be heard by the others watching them.

“You reek of him, O’Teni. I would suggest a long bath and strong perfume. It’s what I do afterward. And if you haven’t already taken precautions, I can recommend a good midwife who has potions you can take to avoid. . consequences.”

Ana half-turned to her. “We’ve nothing more say to each other, Vajica. I am done with this conversation.”

“Then listen to this as a parting word,” Francesca told her. “I won’t be replaced by you, O’Teni. I won’t.”

“No one ever wishes to replace a pile of dung, Vajica. They only wish to get rid of it as quickly as possible.” Francesca’s eyes widened as Ana gave her the sign of Cenzi once more and strode away.

“I’m to meet the Kraljiki and my vatarh after lunch, O’Teni cu’Seranta,” Francesca called after her-loudly now, so that all those in the hall heard her clearly. “I’ll be certain to mention to him that you and I had a perfectly charming conversation.”

Ana ignored her, continuing to walk toward the open doors of the palace. She could feel the stares of the courtiers and their whispered speculations at her back as she made her way to her carriage.