A Magic of Twilight

Orlandi seated himself at the table, pushing aside cu’Belli’s plate and goblet, and spread out the paper. From a drawer under the table, he took a bottle of ink and a stylus; from a pocket in his vestments, he withdrew a disk composed of two dials of thin board, one slightly smaller than the other, both inscribed along their edges with the letters of the alphabet, though the sequence of the inner dial was scrambled.

He looked again at the Hirzg’s message-the number of letters in the first word told him how many steps to advance the inner dial, as well as the number to advance it for each succeeding word in the actual message. Hirzg ca’Vorl had an identical disk.

Laboriously, Orlandi decoded the message, turning the inner dial with each word and writing down the decoded snippets. By the time he finished, he was smiling.

Taking the letter, he rose from the table and went to the fireplace on the far wall, where he fed the missive to the flames one sheet at a time. After the last sheet curled into ash, he returned to the window, gazing out beyond the rooftops of Ile Verte to where-a hundred and more miles beyond-the Hirzg arrayed his army in Firenzcia.

When I’m the Archigos. .

The pieces were all in place, and Orlandi was seated on both sides of the board moving them. It didn’t matter who won this game: Justi ca’Mazzak might become Kraljiki (and perhaps he would even be Justi ca’Cellibrecca at that point. .), or perhaps Hirzg Jan might sit on the Sun Throne on the Isle A’Kralji with the Ring of the Kralji on his finger. Orlandi didn’t care-either way, he would depose the dwarf and the Concord A’Teni would name him Archigos even if the dwarf had named a successor. He would have the title that should have been his all along. The dwarf was of weak faith and had far too much sympathy for those whose beliefs differed from the correct interpretation of the Toustour, and for those who would bend the laws of the Divolonte.

Orlandi was furious at how ca’Millac could tolerate an “envoy” from the Numetodo in his own city; Orlandi had shown in Brezno what a genuine Archigos’ response should have been to those who mocked Cenzi and Concenzia. The Numetodo disgusted him. They believed in no gods. Worse, they believed that they could do what was forbidden in the Divolonte and use the Ilmodo without the Faith, without training from Concenzia, without the blessing of the Archigos. They believed that it was not faith that was necessary, but only reason. They were the true enemies. They would destroy Concenzia, and in doing that they would also destroy Nessantico and the Holdings. Their use of the Second World’s power mocked Cenzi. Their souls were already doomed; Orlandi would also doom their bodies.

Cenzi was on Orlandi’s side. He could feel the strength Cenzi lent him, stronger each day.

He lifted his clasped hands to his forehead. He prayed, and he thought, and he imagined.

When I’m the Archigos. .

Encounters

Ana cu’Seranta

“IT’s so good to see you, Vaji… I mean, O’Teni Ana.” Sala

blushed, her head down. “After we heard about what you did for

the Archigos, and how he rewarded you. . well, we were so happy for you. You look very good in the green, I must say.”

“Thank you, Sala,” Ana said. She glanced around the entrance-way. The walls of the house had been freshly painted; she could smell the oils. A cabinet of carved wood with blue glass stood in what had been an empty corner, two huge ceramic pots frothed with greenery and flowers on either side of the doors, and she glimpsed a woman she didn’t recognize in servant’s drab clothing in the kitchen hallway. “How is Matarh? Is she still. .?”

“Oh, she’s nearly recovered, though still a bit weak. She’s in the garden out back. Would you like me to run and fetch her for you?”

“No, I’ll go back there myself in a moment. I just wanted to retrieve a few things from my rooms.” She took a few more steps into the house.

The stairs had been carpeted with a runner that looked Magyarian, with diagonal patterns of orange and green. The air was aromatic with a spicy incense.

“I’ll go tell her to expect you, then. Wait until you see the garden.

Vajiki cu’Seranta has brought in all sorts of workers in the last several days, though sometimes they seem to be everywhere underfoot…”

Sala bowed, and gestured at the stairs. “We have three new servants for the house, including a woman who’s taken over the cooking duties from Tari. But your rooms have been left just as they were. I wouldn’t let anyone in there. I told them they weren’t to be touched until you’d been here.”

“Thank you, Sala. I appreciate that.”

Again, a shy blush and a duck of the head. “I’ll go tell your matarh now.” She rushed away. Ana went up the stairs, marveling at the touch of the banisters, which seemed freshly varnished and polished. The house had been so drab and shabby for the last several years, and now …

“I thought I heard your voice.”

Ana’s hand tightened on the railing at the top of the stairs. “Vatarh.

I thought you’d be. . gone at this time of day.” She turned. He was standing at the bottom of the flight, a smile on his face: the forced smile he always wore around her. He bounded swiftly up the steps, the smile fixed, the fine bashta he wore flowing around him. Ana found herself backing away, looking from side to side. Everything was different-the hallway that had once been bare was crowded with furniture. Her shin collided with the side of a plush chair. “We all have demons in the night. .”

She heard the Archigos’ voice, and she took in a breath, drawing herself up as her vatarh reached the top of the stairs, his hands extended toward her as if he expected her to come to him.

“I’ve quit my job, since I expect to be offered a better one by the Kraljica soon,” he was saying to her. “You see all I’ve done here already?

For you, Ana. So you could be proud of our family again. So you and I-”

“I’ve been paid for, Vatarh,” she said, interrupting him. “You don’t own me anymore. I owe you nothing.”

“Ana!” He recoiled as if in horror. “You make me sound like a monster. You know how much you mean to me. I. . I love you, my little bird. You know that. All this. .” He was walking toward her again, the smile returning tentatively. “They’re just things. I would rather have you here still with us, Ana. With me.”

“I came to get my belongings from my rooms, Vatarh. That’s all.”

“Then let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” She turned away, rushing to her room and closing the door behind her. She stood there, letting her heartbeat slow and her breath sink back into her lungs. Finally, she pushed away from the door, moving from the antechamber into her old bedroom.

She went to a chest at the foot of the bed, pulling out a few clothes and a wooden box that held a few mementos.

She heard the click of the outer door. “Sala?” she called out, but she knew who it was, knew from the sound of the breathing and the heaviness of the tread on the carpets. “Get out of here, Vatarh,” she told him, rising. He was standing in the door of her bedroom, filling it.

His expression was at once sad and eager.

She realized that she’d dropped the clothes and the box and clasped her hands together before her. She’d prayed in this room before, after the other times he’d come to her, masked in night and shielded by a daughter’s respect for her vatarh, when he’d held her and told her how frightened he was for Matarh and how much he missed her and how difficult times were for their family, how all they had was each other and how they had to help each other and how she could help him now.

And the embraces changed with his breathing, and then, finally one night, when even her tears didn’t stop