A Magic of Nightfall (33 page)
Read A Magic of Nightfall Online
Authors: S. L. Farrell
“I know that you have doubts,” he answered, and there was a susurration of agreement, like the voices of the wind in the chimneys of the palais. “But I also know that you are the best of Nessantico, and that you care as deeply as I do for her. I know that you will discuss this, and you will come—as you must—to the same conclusion that I have. My great-matarh was called early to the throne, and so am I. This is my time, and I ask the Council to acknowledge that.”
“Kraljiki . . .” Sigourney bowed to him. “A decision this important can’t be taken easily or lightly. We . . . the Council . . . must talk among ourselves first.”
“Show them. Show them your leadership. Now.”
“Do that,” Audric told her. “But I ask that you send ca’Rudka to the Bastida while you deliberate. The man is a danger: to me, to the Council of Ca’, and to Nessantico. That is the least you can do for the good of Nessantico.”
“Do that,” Audric told her. “But I ask that you send ca’Rudka to the Bastida while you deliberate. The man is a danger: to me, to the Council of Ca’, and to Nessantico. That is the least you can do for the good of Nessantico.”
He stood, and they bowed to him. He left the room and the Sun Throne dimmed behind him. Behind him, Seaton and Marlon escorted Kraljica Marguerite from the chamber in his wake.
He could hear her approval. He could hear it as easily as if she walked alongside him.
Sergei ca’Rudka
T
HE GATES TO THE BASTIDA were already open and the gardai saluted Sergei from the cover of their guardhouses set to either side. The dragon was weeping in the rain.
HE GATES TO THE BASTIDA were already open and the gardai saluted Sergei from the cover of their guardhouses set to either side. The dragon was weeping in the rain.
The sky was sullen and brooding, glowering over the city and tossing frequent sheets of hard rain down from slate-gray ramparts. Sergei glanced up—as he always did—to the dragon’s head mounted over the Bastida’s gates. In the foul weather, the white stone had gone pallid as water streamed over the midchannel of its snout and cascaded in a small waterfall to the flagstones underneath—there was a shallow bowl worn in the stone there from decades of rain. Sergei blinked into the storm and shrugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Raindrops struck his silver nose and splattered. The weather had seeped into his bones; his joints had been aching since he woke up this morning. Aris cu’Falla, Commandant of the Garde Kralji, had sent a messenger before First Call to summon him; Sergei thought that he would stay for a bit after the meeting, just to “inspect” the ancient prison. It had been a month or more since the last time—Aris would frown, then look away and shrug. However, even the anticipation of a morning in the lower cells of the Bastida, of the sweet fear and the lovely terror, did little to ease the soreness that came from simply walking.
A shame his own pain didn’t have the same allure as that of others’. “A miserable day, eh?” he asked the dragon’s skull, grinning up at it. “Just think of it as a good washing.”
Across the small, puddled courtyard, the door to the main office of the Bastida opened, throwing warm firelight over the gloom. Sergei saluted the garda who had opened the door and entered, shaking water from his cloak. “A day best suited for ducks and fish, don’t you think, Aris?” he said.
Aris only grunted without smiling, hands clasped behind his back. Sergei frowned. “So what’s this important matter you had to see me about, my friend?” he asked, then noticed the woman seated in a chair before the fire, facing away from him. He recognized her before she turned and the dampness on his bashta turned as cold as a midwinter day and his breath caught in his throat.
You’re truly getting old and clumsy, Sergei. You’ve misread things, and badly.
“Councillor ca’Ludovici,” he said as she turned to him. “I didn’t expect to see you here, but I suspect I should have. It would seem that I’ve not been paying enough attention to rumors and gossip.”
You’re truly getting old and clumsy, Sergei. You’ve misread things, and badly.
“Councillor ca’Ludovici,” he said as she turned to him. “I didn’t expect to see you here, but I suspect I should have. It would seem that I’ve not been paying enough attention to rumors and gossip.”
He heard the door close and lock behind him. It had the sound of finality. “Sergei,” cu’Falla said softly, “I require your sword, my friend.”
Sergei didn’t respond. Didn’t move. He kept his gaze on Sigourney. “It’s come to this, has it? Vajica, the boy’s mind has become unhinged from his illness. We both know that. By Cénzi, he’s conversing with a
painting
. I don’t know what he’s told the Council, but surely none of you actually believe it. Especially you. But I suppose belief isn’t the issue, is it?—it’s who can gain something from the lie.” He shrugged. “You don’t need this charade, Councillor. If the Council of Ca’ wishes my resignation as Regent, it can have it. Freely. Without this charade.”
painting
. I don’t know what he’s told the Council, but surely none of you actually believe it. Especially you. But I suppose belief isn’t the issue, is it?—it’s who can gain something from the lie.” He shrugged. “You don’t need this charade, Councillor. If the Council of Ca’ wishes my resignation as Regent, it can have it. Freely. Without this charade.”
“The Council does want your resignation,” Sigourney answered. “But we also realize that a deposed Regent is always a danger to the throne. As Commandant cu’Falla has already informed you, we require your sword.”
“And my freedom?”
There was no answer from Sigourney. “Your sword, Sergei,” Aris said again. His hand was on the hilt of his own weapon. “Please, Sergei,” he added, a note of pleading in his voice. “I don’t care for this any more than you, but we both have our duty to perform.”
Sergei smiled at Aris and began to unbuckle the scabbard from around his waist. The sword had been given to him by Kraljiki Justi during the Siege of Passe a’Fiume: dark and hard Firenzcian steel, a beautiful warrior’s blade. He could use it if he wished—he could parry Aris’ strike and thrust past into the man’s belly, then turn to the garda behind him. Another cut would strike the head from Vajica ca’Ludovici’s neck. He could gain the courtyard and be away into the streets of Nessantico before they began to pursue him, and maybe, maybe he could stay alive long enough to salvage something from this mess. . . .
The vision was tempting, but he also knew it was something he could have done twenty years ago. Now, he wasn’t so certain his body could obey the mind. “I wouldn’t have taken the Sun Throne had it been offered to me,” Sergei told Sigourney. “I never wanted it; Justi knew that and it’s why he named me Regent. I thought you knew it as well.” Sergei sighed. “What else does the Council require of me? A confession? Torture? Execution?”
He could feel his hands trembling and he clenched them together around his scabbard, sliding his hand closer to the hilt. He would not let Signourney see the fright inside him. He knew torture. He knew it intimately. Aris watched him carefully; he heard the garda slip close behind him and slide his sword from its sheath.
I could still do it. Now . . .
“Your service to Nessantico is long and noteworthy, Vajiki,” Sigourney was saying. “For the time being, you will simply be confined here, until the facts of the accusations against you have been resolved.”
“Of what am I accused?”
“Of complicity in the assassination of Archigos Ana. Of treason toward the Sun Throne. Of conspiring with Nessantico’s enemies.”
Sergei shook his head. “I’m innocent of any of those charges, Councillor, and the Council of Ca’ knows it.
You
know it.”
You
know it.”
Her gray eyes blinked at that, her lips tightened in the rouged face. “At this point, Regent, I know only that the charges have been heard by the Council, and that we have decided that for the safety of the Holdings, you must be held until we have made a final decision on them.” She inclined her head to Aris. “Commandant?”
Cu’Falla stepped forward. He held out his hand to Sergei—
I could . . .
—and Sergei placed his still-scabbarded weapon in Aris’ palm. Carefully, slowly, Aris placed it on the commandant’s desk—the desk behind which Sergei himself had once sat. Aris then patted Sergei down, taking the dagger from his belt. There was another dagger, lashed to the inside of his thigh. Sergei felt Aris’ hands slide over the strap, saw Aris glance up at Sergei. He gave Sergei the barest hint of a nod and straightened. “You may escort the prisoner to his cell,” Aris told the garda. “If Regent ca’Rudka is mistreated in any way,
any
way, I’ll have that garda in the lower cells within a turn of the glass. Is that understood?”
I could . . .
—and Sergei placed his still-scabbarded weapon in Aris’ palm. Carefully, slowly, Aris placed it on the commandant’s desk—the desk behind which Sergei himself had once sat. Aris then patted Sergei down, taking the dagger from his belt. There was another dagger, lashed to the inside of his thigh. Sergei felt Aris’ hands slide over the strap, saw Aris glance up at Sergei. He gave Sergei the barest hint of a nod and straightened. “You may escort the prisoner to his cell,” Aris told the garda. “If Regent ca’Rudka is mistreated in any way,
any
way, I’ll have that garda in the lower cells within a turn of the glass. Is that understood?”
The garda saluted. He took Sergei’s arm.
“I know the way,” he told the man. “Better than any.”
Varina ci’Pallo
“
V
ARINA?”
V
ARINA?”
She was with Karl, and he looked so sad that she wanted to reach out and touch him, but whenever she stretched out her arm, he seemed to recede from her, just out of reach. She thought she heard someone calling her name, but now it was dark where she was, so dark she couldn’t even see Karl, and she was confused.
“Varina!”
With the near-shout, she came awake with a start, realizing that she was at her desk in the Numetodo House. Two glass globes sat on the table in front of her as she blinked into the lamplight. She could see a trail of saliva pooled on the desk’s surface, and she wiped at her mouth as she turned, embarrassed to be found this way. Especially to be found this way by Karl. “What?”
Karl stood next to her desk in the little room; the door was open behind him. He was peering down at her. “I called; you didn’t answer. I even shook you.” His eyes narrowed; she wasn’t sure if it was concern or anger, and she told herself that she didn’t really care which.
“I was working on the Westlander technique late last night. It exhausted me so much I must have fallen asleep.” She brushed her hair with her fingers, angry with herself for letting herself succumb to her weariness and angry with him for having caught her in this state.
Angry at both herself and him because neither of them had apologized for their words the last time, and now it was too late. The words still stood between them, like an invisible wall.
“Are you all right?” She could hear concern in his voice, and rather than satisfying her, it made her feel even more angry. “All this work, and these spells you’re attempting. Maybe you should—”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, cutting him off. “You don’t have to worry about me.” But she felt physically sick. Her mouth tasted of something moldy and horrible. Her bladder was too full. Her eyelids were so heavy that they might as well have iron weights attached to them, and her left eye didn’t seem to want to focus at all; she blinked again—that didn’t seem to help. She wondered if she looked as horrible as she felt. “What did you want?” she asked. The words seemed slightly slurred, as if her mouth and tongue didn’t want to cooperate. The left side of her whole face seemed to sag.
“I found him,” he said.
“Who?” she asked. She wiped at her left eye; his figure was still blurred. “Oh,” she said, realizing who he meant. “Your Westlander. Is he still alive?”
The words came out more harshly than she meant them to, and she saw him lift a shoulder, even if she couldn’t quite make out his expression. “Yes, but the man attacked me magically. Varina, he had spells stored in his walking stick.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “An object you can carry around with you each and every day, that no one would think a second time about . . .” She wiped at her eyes again; his face cleared somewhat. “Are you all right?” She realized the question was tardy; from his expression, so did he.
“Only because I managed to deflect the worst of it. The houses near me weren’t quite so lucky. He took off, but I know about where he lives—in Oldtown. His name’s Talis. He lives with a woman named Serafina, and there’s a young boy with them—his name’s Nico. It shouldn’t take long to find exactly where they live. I’ll ask Sergei to help me find them.” He seemed to sigh. “I thought . . . I thought you might be willing to help me.”
“Help you what?” she asked. “Do you
know
this Talis was responsible for Ana’s death?”
know
this Talis was responsible for Ana’s death?”
“No,” Karl admitted. “But I certainly suspect it. He attacked me as soon as I made the accusation. Called her his enemy, said he considered himself at war.” Karl’s lips pressed together grimly. “Varina, I don’t think Talis will let himself be caught without a fight. I’m going to need help, the kind of help the Numetodo can provide. We all saw what he could do in the temple, and a few Garde Kralji with swords and pikes aren’t going to help much. You . . . You’re the best asset we have.”
Yes, I’ll help you,
she wanted to say, if only to see a smile brighten his face or to chip away at the wall between them. But she couldn’t. “I won’t go after someone you just
suspect
, Karl. I especially won’t do it when there’s potentially an innocent woman and a child involved. Sorry.”
she wanted to say, if only to see a smile brighten his face or to chip away at the wall between them. But she couldn’t. “I won’t go after someone you just
suspect
, Karl. I especially won’t do it when there’s potentially an innocent woman and a child involved. Sorry.”
She thought he’d be angry, but he only nodded, almost sadly, as if that was the answer he’d expected her to give. If it was, it still wasn’t enough for him to apologize. The wall seemed to grow taller in her mind. “I understand,” he said. “Varina, I want to—”
That was as far as he got. They both heard running footsteps in the corridor outside, and a panting Mika came to the open door. “Good,” he said. “You’re both here. There’s news. Bad news, I’m afraid. It’s the Regent. Sergei. The Council of Ca’ has ordered him to be taken. He’s in the Bastida.”
Enéas cu’Kinnear
S
O FAR BELOW HIM that it looked like a child’s toy on a lake,
Stormcloud
rode at anchor in the sunlight, sitting easily on the startlingly blue water of the deep harbor of Karnmor. Enéas walked the steep, winding streets of the city, reveling in the feel of solid ground under his feet again and enjoying the wide vistas the city offered. He wished he were a painter so that he could capture the pink-white buildings bright under a cloud-dappled sky, the deep azure of the harbor and the white-capped green of the Strettosei beyond it, the brilliant hues of the flags and banners, the flower boxes that hung from every window, the exotic clothes of those in the streets—though a painting could never capture the rest: the thousands of smells that flirted with the nose, or the taste of salt in the air, or the feel of the warm westerly breeze, or the sound of his sandals on the finely-crushed rock that paved Karnor’s streets.
O FAR BELOW HIM that it looked like a child’s toy on a lake,
Stormcloud
rode at anchor in the sunlight, sitting easily on the startlingly blue water of the deep harbor of Karnmor. Enéas walked the steep, winding streets of the city, reveling in the feel of solid ground under his feet again and enjoying the wide vistas the city offered. He wished he were a painter so that he could capture the pink-white buildings bright under a cloud-dappled sky, the deep azure of the harbor and the white-capped green of the Strettosei beyond it, the brilliant hues of the flags and banners, the flower boxes that hung from every window, the exotic clothes of those in the streets—though a painting could never capture the rest: the thousands of smells that flirted with the nose, or the taste of salt in the air, or the feel of the warm westerly breeze, or the sound of his sandals on the finely-crushed rock that paved Karnor’s streets.
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