A Magic of Twilight

Repercussions

Ana cu’Seranta

She kept hearing what Karl had said as the commandant led him away. She clung to the words in desperation. “Trust yourself, Ana. No matter what they say to you, no matter what they do, trust yourself and what you feel in your heart. That will give you back everything you’ve lost.”

Then the carriage door closed as it hurried off toward the Bastida.

The commandant had escorted her back to her quarters, a silent ride in his private carriage. “I’m sorry, O’Teni,” he’d said finally when he’d walked her to the sheltered back entrance of the building, away from curious eyes. “We all have our duties to perform, as I’m sure you know.”

She rushed into the apartment, closing the door to her bedroom and refusing to let any of the servants in to attend to her. She didn’t cry; she felt beyond tears. Outside, the world bloomed with spring, but inside her, everything was snared in the desolation of winter. She sat, silent, watching the flames dance in the hearth. She couldn’t tell whether she had no thoughts at all, or so many that she could not hear them for the uproar they made.

That night, the Archigos summoned her to a private viewing for the a’teni of the Kraljica’s body. Watha handed her the robes the Archigos had sent over: not the traditional green, but off-white: the color of bone, the color of death. She put them on dully, without feeling them. At the temple, Kenne, also robed in that sad white, brought her to the Archigos. The dwarf asked nothing; he only looked at her with sorrow, as if disappointed. “Come,” he said. “Let us say our good-byes to Marguerite.”

She walked with him. A river of bone white flowed through the doors up to the flat, polished granite stone that was the altar of Cenzi.

The body of the Kraljica lay there, resting on cushions of brilliant yellow with trumpet flowers arranged around her. Her face was already covered by a gold-plated death mask sculpted in her likeness. Her hair, brushed and perfect, was caught in the ornate hairpin of abalone and pearls that Ana had seen the first time she met the Kraljica, and the scent of incense and perfume hung heavily about her. The iron rod of Henri VI lay cradled in her left hand; in her right hand, the palm upturned, was the signet ring of the Kralji. Around the Stone of Cenzi, wreaths had been laid, and from the forest of greenery and ribbons rose seven candelabra of crystal from the mountains of Sesemora, each with teni-light globes so furiously alight so that the Kraljica seemed to recline in the radiance of the sun.

Seeing the Kraljica so still, composed, and masked, Ana finally did cry. Unashamed, she let the tears flow as she knelt in front of the bier, her head bowed. She didn’t care that the Archigos, the gathered a’teni, and ca’Cellibrecca and all the others were watching and making their own judgments.

It was my fault. I should have been able to save you, Kraljica, but I had betrayed Cenzi. .

But she did not pray. She didn’t think Cenzi would listen to her.

The Archigos touched her shoulder in sympathy, though he had said nothing to her as they left beyond the necessary talk: no rebukes, no accusations. She was certain that he knew she’d been with Karl when he’d been arrested. The commandant would have told him, and Watha or Sunna or Beida must have whispered to him about how distraught she was when she returned.

“Tomorrow,” the Archigos told her and the rest of his staff as they left the temple, “the doors of the Archigos’ Temple on the South Bank will open at dawn, so that the A’Kralj and all the Kraljica’s nephews and nieces may have their first official viewing. You’ll accompany me there, Ana-the rest of you will be taking your shifts this evening and tonight in attendance to the Kraljica at the temple. After the A’Kralj has paid his respects to his matarh, there will be the day-long procession of the ca’-and-cu’-again, you’ll be required to take shifts in attendance while the ca’-and-cu’ file through. Kenne, I’m placing you in charge of the scheduling. Ana, you’ll be needed again for the funeral carriage’s procession at midnight around the Avi a’Parete; you’ll accompany me in my carriage. Is that understood?”

She and the other teni of his staff nodded.

Ana stared at the lamps of the city as she walked back to her apartments, and she gazed from her windows that looked west, trying to see if she could pick out the Bastida among the clustering of rooftops. She could not.

That morning, after a sleepless night, Watha brought the news that all the Numetodo within Nessantico had been rounded up, that squads of the Garde Kralji, on the A’Kralj’s orders, had entered Oldtown while she and the Archigos had been at the temple, taking all those suspected to be Numetodo into custody. The Bastida, it was rumored, was full of them.

This was for the safety of Nessantico during the Kraljica’s funeral, the A’Kralj had declared, according to Watha. No Numetodo would be allowed to mar the elaborate, ritualized display of grief and affection for their fallen ruler. They would remain in the Bastida during the three days of official mourning, after which the new Kraljiki would make a ruling regarding them.

While Ana waited in the Archigos’ outer room with Kenne and the other teni of his staff, she could hear them whispering the gossip and rumors, each of the statements wilder and more unlikely than the next:

“. . I’ve been told in confidence that it was a Numetodo servant who poisoned the Kraljica. Yes, I’m certain; my sister’s husband works in the palace and they all know it there. .”

“. . my vatarh told me that the Numetodo were planning to steal the Kraljica’s body and hold it for ransom. That’s why the commandant is so upset. .”

“. . No, they wanted the Kraljica’s body to desecrate it in a bizarre rite of theirs. I’ve heard that from four people who would know. .”

“. . what happened was that the Numetodo were caught using their sorcery to poison the entire drinking water system of the city. Several people have already died from it in Oldtown. That’s why they’ve been rounded up. .”

“. . I’ve heard that the Numetodo are rising up in all the cities of the Holdings in celebration of the Kraljica’s death, the bastards. Why, in Belcanto, they were running through the streets singing. .”

Ana could not listen to their chatter; she saw Karl’s face in each of the rumors.

The Archigos came out at last, leaning heavily on his staff of office, and as Ana and the others descended the stairs from his apartments, she could detect nothing in his glances to her. She wondered at that.

She wanted to ask him what he was thinking; she wanted to tell him that she’d rather he screamed his anger than to have this silence between them, but there was no time. They came out onto the square outside the temple just as the A’Kralj was being helped from his carriage, accompanied by the commandant and several of the city guards. The

early morning sun illuminated an orderly chaos-the a’teni all moving their own people into position for the formal procession; the press of onlookers past the ring of guards; the ca’-and-cu’ families awaiting their moment to view the body of the Kraljica.

“Ah, A’Kralj ca’Mazzak,” the Archigos said as the A’Kralj approached, the quartet of Garde Kralji with him pushing aside those citizens and teni between the A’Kralj and the Archigos. The A’Kralj wore a white, silken bashta over which hung a heavy cloak brocaded in gold filigree. Against the white, his dark beard and hair stood out in harsh contrast, the jaw jutting forward characteristically. Around his neck was a golden chain from which depended a pendant set with ambergris and a yellow diamond. His fingers were bare of rings, but Ana knew that later this night, before the public procession, he would take the signet ring from his matarh’s hand and place it on his own finger. Renard walked alongside him, carrying the A’Kralj’s gilded mourning mask should it be needed. The mask was to allow the A’Kralj privacy in his grief, but to Ana, the A’Kralj seemed more exuberant than sorrowful.

The commandant, accompanying the A’Kralj, nodded faintly to Ana. She shivered and gave no sign that she noticed. The Archigos

gestured, and his retinue bowed as one and gave the A’Kralj the sign of Cenzi.

“A’Kralj, I am so sorry for your loss, but I know you will follow her and take Nessantico to heights beyond even her dreams,” the Archigos said as they rose from their bows. He looked like a wizened child against the athletic bulk of the A’Kralj.

“Thank you, Archigos,” the A’Kralj answered in his high, nasal voice. It sounded like an adolescent’s. “I know Matarh appreciated your long service and devotion to her, and I look forward to the same service from you.”

The Archigos bowed again at that, though Ana knew that he heard the same lack of conviction in the A’Kralj’s words-ritualistic, too polite, and ultimately meaningless. The man’s deep-set eyes flickered across Ana’s face, and she thought his lips tightened with the glance.

The Archigos seemed to notice as well, for he motioned to Ana to step forward. “You remember O’Teni Ana cu’Seranta?” he said. “I spoke of her to you the other day, as we were discussing the arrangements for the funeral.”

“Matarh introduced us at the Gschnas, Archigos,” he said. He held out his hand and she took it. His eyes appraised her; she could almost hear the calculations inside his head. “Yes, I remember her, and I remember our talk, Archigos. Good to meet you again, O’Teni. I only wish it were in better circumstances.”

She realized that they were both waiting for her to speak. “As do I,”

she answered belatedly. “We all mourn your loss, A’Kralj. It’s a tragedy for the entire Holdings.”

Words vacant of true feeling, she knew. Like herself.

He nodded. “Indeed,” he said. He sniffed-a concession to congestion rather than grief, Ana thought-and looked her up and down once more. “The Archigos speaks highly of you, O’Teni, and my matarh did as well, when she was alive. They both seem to feel that you’ve been particularly blessed by Cenzi, and that it would be. .” He paused, as if considering his next words. “. . advantageous for me to know you better. I have always found that listening to the advice of those I trust is a good tactic, so I intend to do exactly that. Very soon. I trust you’ll be amenable as well? A luncheon in the palais perhaps, the day after tomorrow-Gostidi?”

Ana lowered her head. She could see no way to refuse politely.

“Certainly, A’Kralj,” she answered. “It would be my pleasure, assuming my duties to the Archigos do not interfere.”

“I’m positive the Archigos will make certain they do not,” he answered, and Ana could hear the Archigos grunt his assent, though she would not glance at him. “I’ll tell Renard to arrange it, then.”

“Arrange what?” a voice interrupted, and Ana lifted her head to see A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca and his daughter standing just behind the A’Kralj. The a’teni was smiling, but the expression on his daughter’s face was far less friendly.

“I was arranging to take luncheon with O’Teni cu’Seranta on Gostidi,” the A’Kralj said to ca’Cellibrecca.

“Gostidi?” ca’Cellibrecca asked. He pursed his lips over his doubled chin and tapped a forefinger on his cheek. “I must remind the A’Kralj-as the Archigos should know, too-that he has the Ceremony

of the Kralji that morning, and he and I were planning to discuss the disposition of the Numetodo in the Bastida afterward, and both will take some time.”

“I assume that I will still find sufficient time to eat, A’Teni,” the A’Kralj remarked. “Or would you deny the new Kraljiki his sustenance?”

“Of course not,” ca’Cellibrecca answered quickly. The expression on his face soured. “In fact, I could join you, and I’m certain Francesca would be willing as well. I hope to have some news from her husband by Mizzkdi or Gostidi, and. .”

“I think not,” the A’Kralj interrupted. “While the company of you and Vajica ca’Cellibrecca would be most agreeable, I would like to speak with the O’Teni more privately.” Ca’Cellibrecca’s mouth remained open for a moment as if he would say more. The A’Kralj raised his eyebrows, and ca’Cellibrecca bowed his head. His daughter’s dark eyes were reproachful as they stared at the A’Kralj, but he stared blandly back at her.

For a moment, the tableau held. Ana thought of ca’Cellibrecca and what he’d done to the Numetodo in Brezno, and she imagined Karl in the a’teni’s hands. From the roiling inside her, a flame of anger sent searing heat. She lifted her chin. “I would like to talk to the new Kraljiki regarding the Numetodo as well,” Ana said. “I think the Kraljiki needs to make his decision as well-informed as possible.”

The Archigos coughed as if startled. With the comment, both A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca and his daughter swiveled their heads to stare at Ana. She could feel the heat of their gazes and didn’t dare look at them. Instead, she kept her eyes on the A’Kralj, who laughed, suddenly and surprisingly. “There, you see, A’Teni? O’Teni cu’Seranta is not the quiet, obedient mouse you think she is, and judging by the look on the Archigos’ face, she has surprised him as well. I’m beginning to look forward to our luncheon, O’Teni, to see what other surprises you might have for me.”

With that, the A’Kralj took a long breath and looked toward the temple. “And now I must pay my respects. Archigos, are you ready to lead us to my matarh? Vajica ca’Cellibrecca, would you do me the favor of accompanying me? Renard, my mask, if you please. .”

As Renard tied on the mask, Francesca placed her arm inside the A’Kralj’s proffered elbow with a venomous glance at Ana. The Archigos also looked up at her before gesturing to A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca. The processional line of teni began to move, haltingly, behind the Archigos’

slow progress. His staff clattered on the polished flagstones of the court, and Ana walked carefully alongside him, aware of the gazes burrowing into her back.

Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca

Francesca glanced back to him as they entered the temple. Orlandi could see from her face that she was distressed and upset, but there was nothing he could do for her other than to frown sympathetically and nod in the direction of the A’Kralj, to whose arm she clung. Pay attention to him. Be with him, he said with that glance. It’s what you need to do right now. He asked you to accompany him and that’s a great public honor. We’ve lost nothing yet. .

He’d believed that the A’Kralj was firmly under his control through Francesca. This morning had shown him the error of that belief. The lesson sent doubt careening through Orlandi’s head. He was like one of the street jugglers along the Avi, with far too many balls in the air around him, each moving in its own pattern. There was the Hirzg, already marching toward Nessantico’s border, as dangerous to handle as glowing coals. Orlandi had yet to hear from cu’Belli about Estraven’s fate, despite having told the man to immediately send a rider back. And now the Archigos appeared to have placed his own pawn directly in Francesca’s path, and the A’Kralj had not allowed Orlandi to sweep it aside.

He must continue to juggle. He could not put anything down safely yet.

He prayed as he walked, but his prayer was not for the Kraljica

whose body they approached slowly. The procession was lengthy: the Archigos, followed by the A’Kralj, then the half-dozen or so a’teni who, like Orlandi, had come to the city for the Jubilee, then the Kraljica’s many direct relatives-all walking between the lines of white-robed teni who had been in attendance of the Kraljica’s body since it had arrived here, walking in the teni-lit glory of the temple.

Cenzi, I have done everything for Your glory, for Your purposes. Show me, Your servant, that I have not lost Your favor. . Orlandi prayed, and he looked past the A’Kralj to the damned dwarf and his ugly whore, and his stomach burned.

I deserve the staff and the crown. I deserve to be Archigos; I should have been Archigos instead of him. I am the true keeper of the Divolonte, the true guardian of the Faith. The Divolonte and the Ilmodo and the teni hold together the very fabric of Nessantico, and I protect it for You against Your enemies who would tear it apart. .

As they entered the temple, the choirmaster in his loft moved his hands and the choir began to sing: Darkmavis’ Requiem for a Kraljiki.

The mournful harmonies swirled and circled, reverberating along the temple’s length, amplified and shaped by the teni choirmaster’s spell, the delicate melody sliding from tenors to baritones to sopranos and back again, the cadence of the basses relentless underneath. Orlandi watched the Archigos turn to his whore and whisper, and he saw her hands move in the pattern of light-making. Yet the motions were hesitant, and he saw her fumble and start over, and when the light blossomed between her hands it was weak and pale compared to that of the other teni standing in prayer along either side of the main aisle.

Orlandi found his eyes narrowing. Is this your sign, Cenzi? Have you answered me that quickly? The o’teni had danced with that foul Numetodo during the Gschnas, after all-and now she wanted to speak to the A’Kralj about the Numetodo the commandant had taken prisoner.

No doubt her viewpoint would be conciliatory and weak, mirroring that of the Archigos. She lacked the power of the true Faith no matter how much Cenzi had gifted her. Orlandi was certain that she misused her Gift as well-it certainly was the simplest explanation of why she would have seen the Kraljica so often during her final illness: under the dwarf’s direction, she had been using the Ilmodo against the laws of the Divolonte to try to heal the Kraljica. That certainly made sense for ca’Millac, since it was the Kraljica’s support that had helped maintain him as Archigos.

But perhaps. . perhaps there was more here, something he was missing. Could Cenzi have withdrawn his Gift from cu’Seranta? There, the dwarf frowned at his o’teni, and she released the poor spell entirely.

Her hands went dark and empty. He saw her whisper to the Archigos apologetically, no doubt pleading weariness if the dark, pouched flesh under her eyes were any sign.

Orlandi made a mental note to speak to the commandant. Perhaps the man knew something, though he was the Kraljica’s man, not Orlandi’s. .

The A’Kralj had reached his matarh’s body, the Archigos and O’Teni cu’Seranta moving to one side. The Kraljica’s face remained covered with her death mask: painted, closed eyelids and mouth, her hair frothing white around the gold. The A’Kralj stood at his matarh’s right hand with Francesca still at his side, gazing down on her. As Orlandi watched, the A’Kralj’s hand reached out and stroked not her hand but the staff of the Kralji, which would be in his own hand tomorrow morning. Orlandi bowed his head and closed his eyes as the procession halted to let the A’Kralj have his time with his matarh, Francesca moving politely to one side to allow the A’Kralj his privacy, but Orlandi doubted that the man prayed. Rather, he was probably thinking of tomorrow, when he would be declared Kraljiki, when he would sit on the Sun Throne, bathed in the radiance of his position.

You must choose. .

Perhaps the Hirzg would indeed be his best choice. Jan ca’Vorl would certainly be a strong Kraljiki, and his sympathies were definitely in line with Orlandi’s, and Orlandi already had in hand the proposal from the Hirzg for Francesca’s hand to cement their alliance. While the A’Kralj might be Francesca’s lover, while he intimated that such a marriage would interest him, he’d also announced no formal engagement. If the A’Kralj was going to assert himself, if he was going to consider scorning Francesca for that plain whore of the dwarf’s who was no better than one of the grandes horizontales, then perhaps. .

Orlandi sighed. His temples ached, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into his heated tub with minted balm on his forehead. But that wouldn’t happen for some time yet, not until all the Kraljica’s interminable relatives had had their moment with the Kraljica.

The A’Kralj finally stirred, lifting his head and making the sign of Cenzi over his matarh. He leaned forward and gave her a ceremonial final kiss, their masks clinking metallically as they touched. The Archigos waddled forward as Francesca took the A’Kralj’s arm once more.

The Archigos blessed the A’Kralj, his voice loud in the temple. Orlandi thought the dwarf looked ridiculous, like a wrinkled toddler talking to an adult-not only would Orlandi be an Archigos as the needs of the Faith demanded, he would look the part as well. He would not be a mockery of the position like this one.

Soon enough, if it is Your will. .

The A’Kralj, as the choir’s dirge swelled again, strode regally away with Francesca at his side and the Archigos and O’Teni cu’Seranta and his staff behind. They left the temple by the side door, and faintly Orlandi could hear the crowds packed into the temple square acknowledge the A’Kralj.

Orlandi came forward himself, and he and the other a’teni arranged themselves around the body. With satisfaction, Orlandi noted that none of the a’teni challenged his right to stand at the Kraljica’s head.

The a’teni. . the majority of them would stand with him, he was certain, when the time came. A Concord A’Teni would vote to depose the hated dwarf ca’Millac when Orlandi brought charges, and then they would elevate him to Archigos. .

The first of the Kraljica’s too-numerous nephews and nieces came forward with his family, the line stretching well into the rear of the temple, and Orlandi sighed again.

As the mourners slowly moved past, he contented himself with thoughts of what he would do once he was Archigos, when this was his temple. .

Karl ci’Vliomani

The noon sun spilled golden on the walls of the Bastida, but seemed to avoid actually touching the dark, grimy stones. Karl

stood on a ledge high in the tower, protected only by a flimsy strip of open wooden rail. From his vantage point looking east, he could see the gilded domes of the Archigos’ Temple. Between the rooftops of the intervening buildings, he glimpsed the massive crowd around the temple as the city waited for the Kraljica to begin her slow, final procession around the ring of the Avi a’Parete: at dusk as the lamps of Nessantico were lit.

“I hope you weren’t considering jumping, Vajiki. Now that would be a shame-though a few of this room’s inhabitants have been, ah, disappointed enough in our hospitality to prefer death to confinement.”

Karl glanced back over his shoulder into the small, gloomy cell in which he’d been placed, furnished with a rude chair and desk and a tiny bed of straw ticking. The metal door hung open. He saw the commandant half-seated on the desk with one leg up, the other on the floor.

The man wore his dress uniform, boots polished and gleaming. Behind him, in the corridor past the bars, Karl could see two gardai leaning against the stone walls. A torch guttered in its holder between them.

“Though that wasn’t the case with Chevaritt ca’Gafeldi, as I recall,”

ca’Rudka said to Karl. “His mind became addled after a few months here, and he insisted that he was able to turn into a dove and fly away.

He looked rather silly, flapping his arms all the way down.”

The gardai in the corridor chuckled. Karl said nothing-he could say nothing, not with the cloth-covered metal band that held down his tongue, bound with straps and locked around his head. The chains binding his hands tightly together rattled as he turned fully, though he remained standing on the balcony.

“You should be honored,” ca’Rudka continued, speaking as if they were having a casual conversation over dinner. “This was originally Levo ca’Niomi’s cell, centuries ago. It was thought the lovely view was proper punishment for ca’Niomi-to be able to look out at the city he ruled for three blessedly short days, and to know that he would never walk there again as a free man. He was also a stubborn man; he lived here for thirty years, writing the poetry that would finally overshadow his cruelty. I understand that the Kraljiki who put him here had ca’Niomi displayed on the anniversary of his deposing every year. They chained him, entirely naked, to the balcony so everyone who passed by on the Avi could look up and see him: an object lesson of what happens to those who overstep their place. If you look, I think you can still see the brackets for the chains there on the stones.”

Karl glanced at the rusted loops of metal set at the ledge’s end just before the long fall to the courtyard below where the dragon’s head glared at the Bastida’s gates, and he shivered. He swallowed with difficulty around the tongue gag. “More recently, the Kraljica had her cousin Marcus ca’Gerodi put here for treason, early in her reign,” ca’Rudka said, “but he was neither as long-lived or stubborn as ca’Niomi, nor as artistic. We never had any poetry from poor ca’Gerodi.”

Ca’Rudka sighed, standing. “One-sided conversations are boring, I’m afraid. For both of us. I believe you to be a man of honor, Envoy ci’Vliomani. I would accept your pledge not to use any of your Numetodo tricks and remove your silencer. Your hands, I’m afraid, will have to remain bound, but we could at least talk. Do I have your word?”

Karl nodded as he stepped back into the dank room, unable to keep the gratitude from his eyes. “If you would turn around, Envoy. .” As Karl complied, he heard the jangle of keys, and a click that reverberated through the straps bound tight to his skull. A moment later, ca’Rudka slid the horrid device from Karl’s mouth. Karl sighed gratefully, stretching his jaw and swallowing to rid his mouth of the taste of metal and foul cloth. “I know it’s uncomfortable,” the commandant said. “But it’s a less, shall we say, final option than cutting off your hands and removing your tongue.”

The man managed to say it with a smile, as if they were sharing a joke. Again, the gardai in the corridor chuckled softly. Karl struggled to keep the shock from his face, but the broadening smile on ca’Rudka’s face made him suspect he’d not been successful.

“It’s a preferable alternative, Commandant,” Karl told him. His jaw ached with the movement, and his words were slurred. “I’ll grant you that. Though we Numetodo aren’t the threat to Nessantico that you believe us to be.”

“Ah. You think I’m a monster.”

Karl shook his head. “A monster would have already done those things to me. A monster wouldn’t have. .” He glanced at the gardai in the corridor and lowered his voice to a whisper. “. . tried to warn me to leave the city.”

Another smile. “Ah, yes. A man of discretion, even in these circumstances. You see, I do like you, Envoy. I liked you from the time we talked in the Kraljica’s gardens. It’s rare to find people who are honest about what they believe, and rarer still when they persist in the face of persecution.”

“I didn’t kill the Kraljica, Commandant. I had nothing to do with it.”

“I believe that completely,” ca’Rudka said. “I truly do.”

“Then let me go.”

“What I believe has little impact on what I’m required to do, Envoy,”

the man answered. “Tell me, did you know that painter ci’Recroix?”

“I saw him once or twice, walking in the city,” Karl answered. “I knew he was painting the Kraljica’s portrait, but so did everyone else.”

“Was he a Numetodo?”

Karl shook his head vigorously. “I would have known that, Commandant. The man was very recognizable, and someone of his reputation. .

Well, I would have heard of him even before I came to Nessantico were he one of us. I didn’t. Why do you ask about the painter? If you think that he had something to do with the Kraljica’s death, then why am I here?”

“The A’Kralj ordered your arrest, as well as that of all the Numetodo in the city.”

Karl found his breath caught in his throat. “All. .”

The commandant nodded. “Those we suspect, in any case. They’re here in the Bastida, though not. .” He let his gaze wander around the tiny, dour room. “. . in such palatial conditions as you. All silenced and bound, though-until the Kraljiki tells me what I’m to do.”

Karl grimaced. In the manacles, his fists clenched. “Given that the Kraljiki has already made it clear that he favors ca’Cellibrecca over the Archigos, then we’ll see Brezno repeated, and worse. Will you enjoy that, Commandant? It will be your duty to direct the maimings and executions, after all.”

Ca’Rudka made no answer at first. His eyebrows lifted slightly. “If it comes to that, Envoy ci’Vliomani,” he said finally, “I promise you that your end will be quick.”

Karl could not keep the bitterness from his voice. “That gives me great solace.”

If ca’Rudka heard the sarcasm in Karl’s voice, he didn’t respond to it. “You Numetodo don’t understand what it is to obey,” he answered.

Ca’Rudka said it without heat, without any apparent passion at all.

“You believe what you each please. You’re like wild horses. Despite any power you might have, you’re useless because you don’t understand the bridle and the bit.” The commandant moved to the window of the cell, looking out toward the city. “It’s obedience to a higher authority that created everything you see out there, Envoy. All of it. All of Nessantico, all of the greater Holdings. Without obedience-to Cenzi, to the Divolonte, to the laws of the Kralji, to the rules of society-there’s nothing but chaos.”

“Were you born here, Commandant? In the city, I mean?”

The man glanced back over his shoulder at Karl. “I was,” he said.

“You’ve never been elsewhere?”

“I served in the Garde Civile when I was young. I saw war along the frontier of East Magyaria, when the Cabasan of Daritria crossed the Gereshki with his army in violation of the Treaty of Otavi.” He touched his silver nose. “I lost my real one there, in a stupid quarrel with one of our own men. Afterward, I came back here a chevaritt, with a recommendation from my superiors, and joined the Garde Kralji.”

“You’ve never been to the western borders? Never crossed the Strettosei to Hellin or the Isle of Paeti?” Ca’Rudka shook his head. “If you had,” Karl continued, “you might understand. Ah, the Isle. . There’s not a greener, more lush and more varied country in the world. And there, Commandant, where a dozen cultures have come and gone, we

understand that ‘different’ isn’t a synonym for ‘wrong.’ There are many ways to learning the truth of how the world works, Commandant. The Concenzia Faith is just one. It’s just not the one, not the only way. I have seen things. .” He stopped, shaking his head. The motion rattled the chains around his hands and caused the guards to glance into the cell again. “You would probably have me flayed for telling you,” he said.

Ca’Rudka had turned back into the room, leaning against the wall by the balcony. “If I wanted to flay you, Vajiki, I would have already done it, and for less provocation. Tell me.”

Karl licked his lips. “My parents lived on the eastern coast of the Isle. They were of the Faith, and they brought me up to believe in Cenzi. They read the Toustour to me; they followed the precepts of the Divolonte. When I became a young man, though, I had the wanderlust and I traveled with a company of traders beyond the Isle to what you call the Westlands, past the green mountains on the borders of Hellin. That trip opened my eyes and my mind. There, out in a flat plain of grasses that stretched like a waving ocean from horizon to horizon, I saw a city that could have easily held three Nessanticos, grand and glorious, with enormous buildings like stepped mountains on top of which their priests held their ceremonies, with buildings of cut stone that gleamed in the sun, while canals glittered with sweet water alongside avenues wider than the Avi. The people there wore clothing of a fabric I’d never seen before, bright and smooth to the touch, a cloth that let the breezes flow through to keep you cool in the heat. And at night-Commandant, the city glowed with mage-fire brighter than the Avi. They used your Ilmodo, too, though they didn’t call it either ‘Ilmodo’ or ‘Scath Cumhacht,’ nor did they worship Cenzi, who they considered just another god among many. But they could shape the

Second World as well as any of the teni. That, Commandant, is when my own faith began to waver.”

“Perhaps it was a test,” ca’Rudka answered without emotion. “One that you failed.”

“That’s what the teni on the Isle told me later.” Karl shrugged.

“The traders I traveled with said that there were even greater cities, farther west and south, all the way to the shore of the Western Sea two hundred days’ or more march from where we were. They said

that they were part of an empire larger, richer, and more powerful than the Holdings. I don’t necessarily believe those stories-I know as well as you that travelers’ tales grow with each telling, and that it’s our nature to make ourselves sound more like great adventurers than simple tourists. But this city. . I saw it with these eyes, and I’ve never seen its like anywhere else. I know this, Commandant: there are more mysteries in this world than the Concenzia Faith will allow you to believe.”

Ca’Rudka smiled indulgently at the long speech. “Sometimes, to young eyes, the small looks larger than it is. I would think that if such a great empire exists beyond the Hellin Mountains, we would have met its armies or at least its envoys when we came to the Hellins. I may not have been there myself, but I met the Governor of the Hellins when he was last in Nessantico, and he said that the natives there were little more than savages.”

“He sees them with the wrong eyes, then,” Karl answered. “Like looking through the stained glass of the temple, he doesn’t see the true colors beyond.”

“And you do? I find that rather arrogant, Envoy ci’Vliomani. It surprises me to find that quality in you.”

“We all have colored glass through which we view the world, Commandant,” Karl answered. “Our society and our upbringing and our

experiences place the glass before us, with the Numetodo no less than the Concenzia Faith. I don’t deny that. But I think we Numetodo have more shades of color from which to choose and that, as a result, we are closer to the truth.”

Ca’Rudka laughed again, though this time the guards remained quiet. “You are a fascinating creature, Envoy ci’Vliomani.” He took a long breath. “I enjoy listening to you, and no doubt we’ll have ample opportunity to continue our conversation. But for now. .” He picked up the silencer from the table, its metal buckles jangling. The taste of foul leather filled Karl’s mouth, just seeing it.

“Commandant, I will give you my word. .”

“And I would accept it,” ca’Rudka answered before Karl finished.

The silencer swayed in his hand. “The Kraljiki will want a confession from the Kraljica’s assassin. Are you prepared to give that to him, Envoy?”

“I can’t confess to what I didn’t do,” Karl answered, and ca’Rudka smiled at that, with the indulgent expression of an adult listening to a young child.

“Can’t?” he said. “I’m afraid that happens all the time here in the Bastida, Envoy. I think you might be surprised what a person would be willing to admit under the right encouragement. Why, give me six lines written by the hand of the most honest man, and I could find something in them to have him hanged.”

Karl’s breath vanished. He felt suddenly cold. “Open your mouth, Envoy,” ca’Rudka said. “I promise you that I’ll be back tomorrow, and each day until the Kraljiki tells me what I must do with you, and as long as you give me your word, I’ll take the silencer from you so we can talk more. I will cherish those times, truly. Now. . I need you to open your mouth, or I will have the gardai come in and put on the silencer in their own fashion. Which would you prefer?”

There was nothing but despair in Karl’s heart now. He knew he would die here, and he knew that there was nothing he could do except make that death as painless as possible. Karl opened his mouth and allowed ca’Rudka to buckle the device to his head. He felt tears forming as ca’Rudka stepped behind him to tighten the straps, and he forced them back, blinking hard.

Sergei ca’Rudka

“Commandant, I wish to see Karl ci’Vliomani.”

Sergei straightened the inkwell on his desk, arranging the quills in their holder. Then he looked again at the young woman in front of him, wearing the green robes of the teni. “I find that I’m surprised you would make such a request, O’Teni cu’Seranta, especially given that you were with the Numetodo when I arrested him.” He raised his eyebrows. “I doubt that the Archigos would be pleased to find you here after that coincidence.”

“As it turns out, I’m here on the Archigos’ business.” The slight hesitation and the way she averted her eyes before she spoke was enough to tell Sergei that she wasn’t telling the truth-lies in all their shades and forms were something he knew intimately, and the o’teni was hardly a facile liar.

“I see,” he answered. He rubbed the cold metal of his nose. “The stamina of our Archigos never fails to amaze me, especially on a day such as today, when there must a hundred details to which he must attend for the Kraljica’s funeral and for the procession this evening. You have a letter for me, perhaps, outlining this ‘business’ on which he has sent you?” She shook her head. Her gaze wandered somewhere past him, to the bare stone walls behind. “Ah, I see. An unfortunate gaffe on his part. The Archigos must understand after all his years here in Nessantico how the gears of the Holdings are milled from paper and greased with ink. But perhaps if you could tell me about this. .” He paused deliberately. “. . business.”

His hands were folded on his desk and she stared at them. Perhaps she was expecting to see blood there. She hadn’t prepared the lie; she startled with the last word, like a dove surprised on a windowsill. “I. . the Archigos. . we know Envoy ci’Vliomani had wished to meet the Kraljica. . and. . and. .”

“O’Teni.” Sergei lifted a hand and she lapsed into a flushed silence.

“We needn’t pretend. Not here. The Bastida is not a place for posturing.

The two of you are lovers?”

The flush crept higher on her neck. “No,” she said quickly. That was the truth, he could tell, though he could guess the rest: ci’Vliomani was attractive enough, intelligent enough, and given her unremarkable features and the rank of her family before her recent elevation, he doubted that she had been much pursued by suitors in the past. He could imagine the attraction ci’Vliomani might have for her; he could also imagine that she would be an easy mark for a seduction, if ci’Vliomani had wanted to use her. He’d glimpsed her fear for ci’Vliomani’s fate in the apartment when he’d arrested the man, heard it in the urgent whispers they’d exchanged as he took ci’Vliomani away. If they weren’t lovers, there was still a bond between them. He hoped, for her sake, that the bond ran both ways.

She was attracted to the lure of the foreign, the alien, the forbidden. He knew that. He felt it himself. He understood. So he smiled at the young woman.

“No,” he repeated, just to watch the flush bloom again in her cheeks.

“Then what is your interest in him?”

“He. .” She swallowed. Her eyes found his face and wandered away again. Then she took a long breath in through her nose and stared hard at him. “He is a friend. I don’t believe that those who possess a true faith have anything to fear from learning about other ways. We won’t bring the Numetodo back to the Faith through torment and death, Commandant. We will bring them back through

understanding.”

She spoke with such passion and earnestness that Sergei leaned back in his chair and patted his hands together softly. “Bravo, O’Teni. Well said-though that doesn’t appear to be a position most of the

a’teni or the A’Kralj would take, nor even the Archigos himself. And unfortunately. .” He spread his hands wide. “. . those are the masters I serve.”

He could see the fear in her face, could nearly taste it in the air, sweet. “Envoy ci’Vliomani. . Is he. .”

“He is bound and silenced, as he must be so that he doesn’t misuse the Ilmodo. But otherwise, he is well-treated and in good health.” He saw her relax slightly. “Thus far,” he added, and the pallid fear returned to her. “You understand that I can make no promises.”

“If it would be possible. . if I could see him, Commandant. .”

She licked at dry lips. “I would be grateful, and perhaps such a favor could be returned to you.”

“You offer me a bribe, O’Teni?” he asked, smiling to gentle the blow.

She said nothing. Did nothing.

He nodded, finally. “You will be part of the Kraljica’s final procession this evening?” She nodded in mute answer. “As I will be. Afterward, I could perhaps accompany you when you take your leave. The Archigos would understand that I might have questions for you regarding Envoy ci’Vliomani. If I happened to escort you here, neither the Archigos nor the A’Kralj would be surprised, and perhaps I might be persuaded to let you see Envoy ci’Vliomani for a few moments. As a. . favor.”

“I would be in your debt, Commandant.”

“Yes,” he answered solemnly. “You would indeed, O’Teni cu’Seranta.”

He saw the way she drew back a step with his statement, and the furtive, reflexive manner in which she tightened her robes around her. The sight gave him a small satisfaction. “Tonight, then.”

She nodded and drew the hood over her head. As she reached the door, he called out to her. “We both believe Envoy ci’Vliomani is innocent, O’Teni. But what we believe may be of no matter.”

Mahri

The massive twin heads of two ancient Kraljiki, set on either side of Nortegate, gleamed eerily with teni-fire. At night, their features were illuminated from within the hollow stone so that they appeared almost demonic, but rather than facing out as they usually did, glaring at any potential invaders, the e’teni tending them had used the power of the Ilmodo to turn the heavy sculptures inward so that the great, scowling visages glared eastward: toward the oncoming procession of the Kraljica as it paraded slowly along the gleaming Avi a’Parete toward the Pontica Kralji and the Isle A’Kralj, where the final ceremony would be held. They seemed angry, perhaps furious that the Kraljica had been taken from the city in the midst of the celebration of her Jubilee.

The procession coiled along the Avi like a thick, gilded snake caught in the famous teni-lights of the city, which gleamed in doubled brilliance tonight. First came a phalanx of the Garde Kralji in their dress uniforms, led by Commandant ca’Rudka. Their stern, forbidding faces cleared the crowds from the Avi, pushing any errant pedestrians back into the onlookers who lined the Avi and clogged the openings to the side streets. More of the Garde Kralji, in standard uniform and bearing pole arms, marched slowly on either side of the Avi, herding the crowds and watching for any signs of disturbance.

Given the reputation of the Garde Kralji for cruelty and thoroughness, it was hardly surprising that there were none.

Then came the chevarittai of the city, astride their horses and in their field armor, polished and gleaming. In the midst of them was a lone, riderless white horse, shielded by their lances and their swords.

The chevarittai paraded by, grim-faced and solemn, the hooves of their destriers loud on the cobblestones of the Avi.

Then came the Sun Throne from which the Kraljica had ruled for her five decades, floating effortlessly above the stones through the effort of several chanting teni who paced with it, the eternal light inside the crystalline facets alive and gleaming a sober, sullen ultramarine, as if the throne itself understood the import of the moment.

Two-dozen court musicians paced behind the throne, dressed in bone-white, their horns and pipes inflicting an endless dirge on the onlookers that echoed belatedly from the buildings on either side.

The Archigos’ carriage followed the musicians at a judicious distance from the cacophony, bearing the Archigos as well as several of the older (and less mobile) a’teni currently in residence in Nessantico, A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca among them.

Behind the Archigos was a long double line of green-robed a’teni and u’teni, all of them chanting, their hands moving in the patterns of spells. In the air above them flickered images of the Kraljica as she had been when she was alive: not solid illusions, but wispy ghosts shimmering in the air, far larger than life and looming over the mourners in the street below.

The Kraljica’s carriage was next. She had been placed in a glass coffin, and a quartet of chanting teni stood at each corner, molding the Ilmodo so that the carriage itself could not be seen and the Kraljica’s coffin appeared to float in a golden, smoky glow that smelled of trumpet flowers and anise, and from which came the sound of high voices singing a choral lament. A shower of trumpet flower petals rained from the cloud under the coffin, carpeting the Avi and those in the front ranks of the onlookers in fragrant yellow.

The A’Kralj’s carriage wheels crushed the trumpet flower petals underneath. Directly behind his matarh’s coffin and flanked by a stern border of Garde Kralji, all of whom stared intently at the onlookers, the A’Kralj sat alone and solemn, wrapped in thick furs, his face covered with a golden mourning mask on the cheeks of which were set twin, tear-shaped rubies, though his fingers were conspicuously bare of ornamentation. His carriage was not teni-driven, but pulled by a trio of horses in a four-horse harness.

Finally, the ca’-and-cu’ families themselves followed in careful order of their social rank, dressed in ostentatious white and with heads re-spectfully bowed. A squadron of the Garde Civile from the local garrison protected them from the commoners who closed in after the procession passed, filling the Avi again.

All of Nessantico, it seemed, had turned out to watch the Kraljica’s final procession around the ring of the Avi: young, old, from the ca’ all the way down to the ce’ and the unregistered. Many of them held lighted candles, so that it seemed that the stars had fallen from the sky to land here. For the vast majority of them, the Kraljica had been the only ruler of Nessantico they’d known, all their lives. As Kralji went, hers had been a quiet reign, especially for the last few decades. Now they watched her last promenade through the city that had been her home, and they wondered what the future might bring.

Mahri wondered that as well. He watched from the inner side of the avenue, near the flanks of the Registry building. Even among the packed crowds in Oldtown, Mahri was left in his own space. The masses of people around him sighed but left him alone, a dark mote in the teni-lit brilliance of the funeral procession.

Mahri had watched the slow, solemn procession pass the Pontica a’Brezi Nippoli some time ago, and he had hurried through the maze of Oldtown to see it again here at Nortegate. He had wanted to make certain of something.

As the dirge of the court musicians began to fade, the Archigos’ carriage passed into Nortegate Square. Alongside the Archigos’ carriage walked several of his staff, among them O’Teni cu’Seranta. It was her that Mahri leaned forward to see.

He’d prepared the spell before he’d come here, after images of O’Teni cu’Seranta dominated several of the auguries he’d performed.

He spoke a guttural word (causing those nearest him to glance over at the strange sound), and made a motion as if shooing away a persistent fly. He could see the X’in Ka-what the teni called the Ilmodo and the Numetodo called Scath Cumhacht-twisting in response, though he knew the movement was invisible to anyone else there. That was his gift, that he could see it: tendrils of energy, like the wavering of sunlight above a still lake, wrapped around the Archigos’ carriage. No one there reacted. But O’Teni cu’Seranta. .

Her head was down as if praying. He thought for a moment that nothing would happen, then he saw her glance up, slowly, though her eyes were bright and suspicious and her fingers reflexively curled as if she wanted to make a warding. It was enough; he released the spell, let it evaporate as if it had never been there. Her reaction had been slug-gish; he’d hoped for a more immediate and stronger response, but it was possible she had been lost in her prayers for the Kraljica and her grief, distracted by the noise and the crowds.

But she had felt him. She was able to sense the very movements of the X’in Ka, not simply manipulate it. He knew that much; it was more than the Numetodo ci’Vliomani could do. She was still glancing around, as if searching for the source of the energy she had felt. He pushed back into the shadows of the Registry so she wouldn’t see him.

Perhaps it could be her. Perhaps. If circumstance didn’t interfere. If the gods smiled. If he was interpreting the images in the augury-bowl correctly. If he wasn’t simply wrong. .

There were too many ifs. .

But perhaps. .

The Archigos’ carriage and O’Teni cu’Seranta had passed him now, moving on toward the Pontica Kralji and the final ceremony. The sculptured heads flanking the Nortegate swiveled as the Kraljica passed, their fiery gazes tracking the carriage that held her body. The coffin still floated in its golden cloud-the teni creating the illusion replaced as the effort of the spell became too exhausting. The four there now were not the four Mahri had seen when the procession passed the Pontica a’Breze Nippoli, and already he could sense the weakness in the X’in Ka-they were flagging and would soon be relieved themselves.

The teni were so weak.

The heads stared at the Kraljica and also caught Mahri in their fiery scowl, as if they were chastising him for his arrogance. He turned his back to them, striding away from the Avi and ignoring the comments of the crowd as he pushed through them. A block south of the Avi, the crowds had vanished and the sound of chanting and music faded, replaced by the familiar clamor of Oldtown.

If he reached the Pontica Kralji before the Kraljica’s procession, he could cross over to the Isle and watch the passing of the Kraljica into history.

He wondered how quickly the new Kraljiki might follow her.

Ana cu’Seranta

The tower stank of mold and urine and fear, and the torches set in their sconces accentuated the darkness rather than banishing it. The long climb left the muscles in her leg aching, but she wasn’t going to give the commandant the satisfaction of her pain.

Ana’s heart sank when Karl turned at the sound of footsteps outside his cell and she saw his chained hands and the awful device clamped around his head. The commandant nodded to the garda outside the door, who took the keys from his belt and opened the cell door. “You may go eat your supper, E’Garda,” ca’Rudka said, inclining his head toward the spiral stone staircase. The man saluted and hurried away. The commandant stepped aside and gestured to Ana to enter; he followed behind her.

“Envoy ci’Vliomani, I’ve brought someone to see you. I assume I have your word as before not to use the Ilmodo?”

A nod. The commandant moved behind Karl and took the silencer from his head. Karl grimaced and drew his sleeve over his saliva-slick mouth. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said to Ana, and she thought or a moment that he was truly angry. “But I’m glad you did,” he added.

“I could see the flames of the Kraljica’s pyre from here.” He nodded toward the open shutters of the balcony, where flickering yellow still touched the stones. “You were there?”

Ana nodded. “I watched the A’Kralj take the scepter and ring from her hands. The Archigos lit the pyre with the Ilmodo. The heat was almost too much to bear. I’ve never felt a fire so intense. .” She stopped, realizing that she was talking only to keep away the silence. She heard the clatter of metal against metal and saw the commandant holding a set of heavy cuffs, the thick rings of metal opened.

“I would leave the two of you alone to talk,” he said, “but I’d be failing in my duty if I did so without making certain you can’t use the Ilmodo, O’Teni cu’Seranta.”

“I will give you my word, Commandant,” Ana told him. She was looking more at the manacles than at him.

“And I would take it, except that if you were to break your word and help the Envoy to escape, then I would be the one sitting in this cell. As I’ve already told the Envoy, I know the Bastida all too well, and I have made enemies in my career who would no doubt take great delight in my pain. That’s not a chance I’m willing to take. So. .” He smiled, jingling the manacles. “I will accept your word, O’Teni, but I will also have your hands bound while you’re here so that I know your word will be kept. I’ll give you my word that I’ll return in a turn of the glass to release you. That is, if my word is something you’re willing to accept. . ”

He raised his eyebrows, proffering the manacles. Reluctantly, Ana extended her hands to him. The steel was lined with leather, with dark stains that Ana tried to ignore. The shackles pinched her skin as the commandant pressed the halves around her wrists and locked them together. The harsh click of the lock sent panic rushing through her: he could keep her here; he could take her to one of the cells in the Bastida and do whatever he wished to her-torture her, rape her, kill her.

He must have sensed her growing panic. He stepped back. “My word is law here, O’Teni, and I don’t make promises that I won’t keep,” he told her. “One turn of the glass, and I will take these away from you.”

Ana nodded. The commandant glanced from her to Karl. “And I trust your word as well, Envoy,” he said. With that, he left the cell, locking the door behind him. They heard his footsteps on the stairs.

“Ana,” Karl said, bringing her gaze away from the locked and barred door. “I had nothing to do with the Kraljica’s death. Nothing. I swear to you.”

“I believe you,” she told him. “Only Cenzi knows why, but I do.”

“How are you? Does the Archigos know you were with me when I was arrested?”

“The commandant told him, I’m certain. He seems mostly, I don’t know, disappointed. Dejected. But he has more important issues.”

“And you? Have you been able to find the Scath Cumhacht, the Ilmodo, as you did before?”

She could only shake her head, not trusting her voice. “I’m sorry,”

he told her. She felt his bound hands touch hers. Their fingers linked. “I wish I could show you,” he said quietly. “I wish I could teach you.”

“I wish that, too,” she told him. His head bent toward her. His lips brushed her hair, her forehead. She remembered her vatarh doing the same to her: at night, in the darkness. With her vatarh, she had trembled and turned her face away. With him, she had endured the embrace and the touch. With him, she had felt nothing but ice and fear.

It was not what she felt now. She lifted up her face to meet Karl’s.

She felt the trembling of her lips against his as they touched. She closed her eyes, feeling only the kiss. Only the kiss.

She drew away from him. “Ana?” he asked.

“Don’t say anything,” she told him. Her hands still held his. She leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt him start to move to put his arms around her, but there was only the clanking of chains and a muttered curse. “It’s all fallen apart,” she said. “Everything I thought I had. Everything I might have wanted.”

“I’m so sorry, Ana.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I. . I lost my faith.”

“I did once, too,” he told her, his breath warm on her ear. “And I found a new one. A better one.”

“I glad you could,” she told him. “I can’t.”

He stepped back from her then, though he would not let go of her hands. Iron clinked unmusically in response. “You have to have faith in yourself first,” he told her, and she made a scoffing noise as she turned her head. The yellow light of the Kraljica’s funeral prowled the stones of the tower. She released his hands and went to the opening to the balcony. Vertigo swept over her momentarily as

she looked at the shelf of stone and the long fall below. She clung to the side of the balcony, staring out rather than down. The Avi was a circlet of glowing pearls around the city, and the waters of the A’Sele glittered and reflected the teni-lights. The Kraljica’s-no, the Kraljiki’s-palais on the Isle was brilliant, all the windows alive with teni-lights or candelabras, and the gilded roofs of the temples shimmered in their own radiance. Between the Old Temple and the Palais, the embers of the Kraljica’s pyre still threw tongues of flame and whirling sparks at the stars.

Out there, the teni worked: keeping Nessantico alive and vital.

Nessantico held back the night, refusing to allow it dominion. Like your faith once did for you, she thought.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Karl said behind her. She nodded.

“My vatarh. .” She started to tell him about how he’d said he could see the city at night from afar, and stopped herself. She didn’t want to talk about her vatarh. He was dead, as far as she was concerned. “Tell me about you,” she told him. “Tell me more about the Numetodo. Please. Let’s sit here, where we can look out at the city. .”

She asked him because she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to talk.

She only wanted to sit next to him, to feel his warmth on her side, and listen to his voice. The words didn’t matter, only his presence.

She wondered if he realized that.

They sat, and he talked, and she half-listened, her own thoughts

crashing against themselves in her head so loudly that they nearly drowned out his voice.