A Magic of Twilight

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