A Magic of Twilight

drawing in a long breath. Help me with this, Cenzi. Help me to make them understand Your will. “It should be obvious to anyone with true faith that we have tolerated those who mock Cenzi long enough.

It should be obvious to anyone with true faith that the only course we have is to destroy them before they destroy us. The Divolonte says it:

‘When threatened, protect yourself and do not fear to use the sword, for Cenzi alone will judge those who are sent to Him.’ Well, we know who struck down Estraven. We know, yet they go unpunished. I say that it is time for such tolerance to end. I say that it is time that we follow the Divolonte that is derived from Cenzi’s law. I say it is time for the Faith to show its full strength and its full fury. I say we find those who scorn us and we strike!”

With the last word, he lifted his hand high and brought it down again hard, striking the lectern with his fist. The sound of the blow echoed through the Old Temple, and he heard the susurration of assent roll through the audience. It took all his will to resist looking up at the Archigos with a smile of triumph. Now he leaned forward on the lectern and lowered his voice; he saw the congregation lean forward to hear him.

“Listen,” he said to them in a near-whisper. “Listen.” He paused, holding a hand to his ear. “If we listen to our hearts and our prayers, we will hear Estraven ca’Cellibrecca and Kraljica Marguerite, both of them calling to us from the arms of Cenzi and Vucta. Listen: they call out with the voices of all those who have been murdered over the years.

They cry for justice. And we must. .” He paused, looking from the congregation to the casket, to Francesca and the family, and back again to the people crowding the Old Temple. He let his voice roar once more. “We must listen to their pleas and give Estraven and Kraljica Marguerite what they ask for. If we do nothing, if we refuse to hear them, then it will be Cenzi’s wrath that we will face next. I will not let that happen. This must be the task for all of us: do not let that happen.”

There was no applause, not here in the sacred space below the painted vault, but he knew they yearned to shout and clap their hands.

He could feel it. Orlandi pressed his lips together, looking at them and nodding once, slowly. Then he left the lectern, and the u’teni leading the service called out the recitatives as the choir began to sing from the loft.

Orlandi took his seat next to Francesca. He took her hand into his lap.

“You should have seen the Archigos, Vatarh,” Francesca whispered to him, leaning on his shoulder. “I thought the man was going to collapse right there, his face was so red.”

“If only that were truly Cenzi’s Will,” Orlandi told her. The choir’s lament masked their voices. He patted her hand. “It will have to be enough that Cenzi has called Estraven back to Him. That will suffice.”

“Was he called, Vatarh, or was he sent?” He glanced at Francesca, at the strange sound of her voice, but the funeral veil obscured her features. For a moment, he wondered, then her fingers pressed against his.

He leaned back, closing his eyes and singing along with the choir.

After the service, as Estraven’s body was placed on a white-draped carriage to be taken to the crematorium for its final dissolution, the Archigos approached them, bypassing the long line of ca’-and-cu’ prepared to pay their respects to the new widow. Low, fast clouds drizzled rain as they emerged from the Old Temple and hoods and scarves had come up, but the Archigos’ head was bare, his bald scalp gleaming with the moisture. It had also turned colder, as if the spring had decided to retreat back to winter, and his breath was a cloud around him. His staff remained behind in the shelter of the temple alcove, and the whore was not among them. That made Orlandi scowl under the blue-and-gold

canopy held up by four of his e’teni-today was Gostidi, and cu’Seranta would no doubt be hurrying to meet the Kraljiki. He would need to go to the palace himself, as soon as he could politely escape.

“Vajica ca’Cellibrecca,” the Archigos said to Francesca, also pro-

tected under Orlandi’s canopy. She bowed her head and gave him the sign of Cenzi, as etiquette required. “My prayers go out to you, and for your husband. O’Teni cu’Seranta asked me to extend her sympathy as well- unfortunately, she had to rush away for her luncheon with the Kraljiki. We will miss U’Teni Estraven here in Nessantico.” Then the Archigos cocked his head to look up at Orlandi. “His loss is a great tragedy for the Faith,” he said. “But we shouldn’t let that lead us into rash actions, especially in times like these.”

“You believe defending our Faith is rash, Archigos?” Orlandi said it loudly enough that heads turned toward them. The e’teni holding the cloth over them struggled to pretend that they weren’t listening.

The Archigos smiled placidly. “By no means, Orlandi,” he answered.

“Such a tragedy and a coincidence, though, Estraven being assassinated only a few days after the Kraljica. I hope you’re feeling no guilt for having dispatched him to Brezno.” The dwarf’s smile widened slightly, as if he were amused at his choice of words. Then his face fell back into serious lines. “And a horrible loss for you, Vajica, in these troubled and uncertain times. I do remain certain, though, that Cenzi will cause the truth to emerge, and-as your vatarh said so eloquently-those responsible will be brought to justice.”

With that, the dwarf gave them the sign of Cenzi and waddled away back toward his staff, seemingly uncaring of the rain that beat down on him. Orlandi glared after him.

“Cenzi will send that horrid little man to the soul shredders,” Orlandi said, not caring that the e’teni would hear. “He is a disgrace to the title, and Cenzi will call him to task for the damage he has done to the Faith.”

“That may be, but he’s not foolish, Vatarh. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him.” Francesca shivered. “It’s cold, Vatarh, and I’m feeling truly ill.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he told Francesca, then gestured to the e’teni on Estraven’s hearse. “My daughter’s grief is about to overcome her,” he said to the well-wishers. “If you will forgive us. .”

There were murmured assents and calls of condolences. No one objected to the curtailment of niceties, not in this weather. “You spoke the truth in your Admonition, A’Teni,” one of the ca’ called out from the crowd, gesturing with his fist to the sky. “It’s time that we punish the Numetodo for what they’ve done. We should see their bodies hanging from the bridges of the A’Sele.” There were shouts of agreement and more fists, and ca’Cellibrecca saw the Archigos staring back at them from the cluster of his staff.

“They will pay,” he answered them loudly. “Cenzi has promised me that, and I won’t fail Him.”

They shouted, clamoring. At the entrance to the Old Temple, the Archigos grimaced and began walking away quickly with his staff gathered around him, hiding the little man from view.

As Orlandi bowed and gave the sign of Cenzi to the crowd, the e’teni began chanting and the wheels of the funeral carriage began to turn. The congregation dispersed with more calls of support and sympathy, leaving the family to their slow, ritual walk behind the carriage.

The rain pattered angrily on the cloth above them, and Orlandi glanced up. “The Moitidi’s tears,” Orlandi said. I know, Cenzi, he prayed.

I know You are angry that we coddle those who deny You, and I promise You that I will do Your will. Thank You for showing me the way. Thank you for permitting the sacrifice of this one man to save many. I won’t fail You.

“Vatarh?”

“Estraven’s death was not in vain,” he told Francesca. “Cenzi will make certain of it.” He took her hand. “I know this,” he said to her. “I know it.”

Ana cu’Seranta

The rain pounded at the walls and drummed on the ceiling,

but inside the room in the Grande Palais, the roar of the great fireplace held the cold at bay while servants bustled in to burden the table with offerings. “Here, O’Teni,” the new Kraljiki said. “This is spiced icefruit from Graubundi; you really must try it.” Ana still wasn’t used to the voice, a boy’s voice housed in a man’s body. She smiled at him from across the small table draped with fine linen and placed near the fire, overpowered by the vastness of the room beyond. Their voices echoed despite the heavy curtains pulled back from the tall, leaded-glass windows, the padded chairs, and the hypnotically-patterned rugs.

He seemed to notice her glances around the room, already far different from what she remembered of the