A Magic of Twilight

“Thank you, Hirzg. She learns quickly, truly.”

Jan smiled at him. The young man-he couldn’t be much more than twenty-was good-looking enough, and he could see the proprie-

tary way Allesandra regarded him. He wondered if he’d be well-advised to send the o’offizier away soon; sometimes, Allesandra acted distressingly older than her actual age, and there was no way that a ci’, no matter how good an offizier he might be, would be a suitable infatuation for the Hirzg’s daughter.

Mara was looking at him, too, and that amused Jan. “You may go, O’Offizier,” he told ci’Arndt. “I’ll relieve you here.”

The young man saluted again and left the tent. Jan sat next to Allesandra and glanced up at Mara. “You should probably be returning to the Hirzgin, Mara,” he said. “There are proprieties we still need to observe.” He took her hand and kissed her upturned palm.

Mara smiled at him and at Allesandra. “I understand, my Hirzg,”

she said as she curtsied. She left the tent in a flurry of perfume and swaying, brightly-colored cloth.

“Mara is much nicer than Matarh,” Allesandra ventured as Jan watched Mara depart, his gaze leaving her reluctantly.

“I can understand how you would feel that way, Allesandra,” Jan told her, returning his attention to her. He glanced at the soldiers in their array on the table, tousling his daughter’s hair idly. “Allesandra, I would like to talk to you.”

“You sound so serious, Vatarh.”

“I am,” he told her. He went to the opening of the tent and glanced out-Markell had placed guards just far enough away to be out of earshot, and Jan smiled. The sunlight would betray anyone who tried to sneak up close enough to the rear to listen. He went back inside and sat again. “Allesandra, you were right when you said that I shouldn’t marry Mara, even if I could. She is. .” He stopped, choosing his words carefully. “. . someone whose company I enjoy, but she is not my equal, nor yours, nor even your matarh’s. She gives me what she can, and in turn I can give her some little favors now and then. I know you understand.

She and I are. .” He paused, and Allesandra hurried into the gap with a smile.

“Like me and Georgi, Vatarh?”

Jan laughed aloud at that. “You’re too perceptive, my little bird,” he said. “Allesandra, even if your brother Toma had survived the Southern Fever, I think you would be the one I named as my heir.”

Allesandra grinned, though there was sadness lurking there.

She pushed back at the curls around her forehead. “I do miss Toma, Vatarh.”

“I do too,” Jan told her. “Very much. But I look at you-” he glanced again at the miniature armies laid out on the table, at the placement of the archers and war-teni, the infantry and the chevarittai “-and I know that you, more than Toma ever did, think as I do. And you’re growing older faster than I can believe, my darling. So. . I need to speak to you as Hirzg to A’Hirzg, because things will happen very soon.”

“What things?” Her round face twisted, as if she wasn’t certain whether she should be pleased or upset.

“Nothing I can tell you yet, though you’ll know when they happen.”

He plucked one of the soldiers from the table: an infantryman with his sword raised in mid-strike. “If your enemy were looking for a threat coming from another direction, and you were the starkkapitan with your army placed ready to move, what do you think your Georgi would tell you to do?”

“He would say to attack quickly, before they could react,” Allesandra answered, and Jan chuckled again.

“He would be right,” Jan said. “That is exactly what I would do.” He set the soldier back down on the table. “Exactly.”

Ana cu’Seranta

Ana rubbed the paper between her fingers. A small package had come to her apartments the morning after the terrible events of the Gschnas, the seal on the stiff wrapping paper still attached, with a clamshell insignia pressed into the red wax. Inside the tiny box had been a stone clamshell like the one Vajiki ci’Vliomani had shown her the night before, only this one was suspended from a fine silver chain.

Also inside was the folded note she held now. Despite her sadness, she’d smiled momentarily, remembering the ball and Envoy ci’Vliomani, their conversation and their dancing, but the pleasure of the memory was obliterated the next moment by guilt. How could she feel anything but sadness from the Gschnas after what had happened to the Kraljica?

Still. .

She wondered whether someone had opened the package: she

could have done it herself easily with a touch of the Ilmodo magic. She wondered whether Archigos Dhosti had seen the short message:

You must know that I had nothing to do with what happened last night.

That is the truth. If you would like to know more, meet me at Oldtown Center just after the lamps have been lit. Wear the shell over your clothing.

The best way to learn the truth is by seeing it with your own eyes. After what happened at the Gschnas, there may be very little time.

There had been no signature.

Ana wasn’t certain what she should feel or what she should do. A note from the Numetodo Envoy, offering to meet. . Would the Archigos expect her to tell him about this? For that matter, if he did already know and she remained silent, then what might he think?

She crumpled the note and the box and flung them into the fireplace, watching the edges turn brown and then erupt into flame. She picked up the shell on its chain and twirled it in front of her. She thought of putting it in one of the drawers in her desk, or perhaps hiding it among her clothing. She examined the shell, the grooves so well-defined in the stone, as if they had been sculpted. She lifted the chain and placed it around her neck. She glanced in the mirror as she touched the shell, and then placed it under her robes. No, it wasn’t obvious there. “Watha,” she called, “has the Archigos arrived yet?”

Watha entered, bowing and giving Ana the sign of Cenzi. “He should be here any moment, O’Teni,” she said. Ana saw her eyes flicker over the table and around the room-looking for the box, she was certain. The woman licked her lips as if she were about to speak, then evidently thought better of it. “I’ll send Tari out to watch for the carriage,” she said at last.

“Thank you, Watha.” The woman bowed again and left the room.

Ana touched the shell again under the folds of her robe as she looked in the mirror. A plain, weary face stared back at her, with brown circles under the eyes. She remembered nothing of last night beyond her attempt to heal the Kraljica. All the events of the Gschnas were overlaid with a sense of unreality, as if it were something that had happened to another Ana. The payment for her use of the Ilmodo had been severe; her body still ached and the weariness touched her limbs despite a long sleep; it was already nearly noon and she felt as if she’d slept only moments.

“The Kraljica. .” she’d asked through cracked, dry lips as soon as she’d awakened. Watha had been there, sitting on the chair at the foot of her bed.

“Is she. .”

“The Archigos sent a messenger around earlier, O’Teni,” she’d answered.

“He said that the Kraljica is unchanged, and to tell you that you’ll be seeing her midday. He’ll send a carriage. We were all terribly worried when we heard what happened, O’Teni, especially after what nearly happened with the Archigos.”

Ana sighed, looking in the mirror. She knew that the Archigos intended her to use the Ilmodo once again today on the Kraljica, and she wasn’t certain she could do that, not as drained as she was. And if she did, then how would she feel when the lamps were lit around the city.

Would she even be awake?

She touched the shell under her robes once more. Ana had certainly felt attraction before, certainly, though that affection had rarely been returned-it seemed to be reserved for prettier women than her.

But Vajiki ci’Vliomani. . Karl. .

It could all be pretense, her mirror image seemed to be telling her with the frown