A Magic of Dawn (66 page)

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Authors: S. L. Farrell

BOOK: A Magic of Dawn
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Nico was gone, and people all around the plaza were shouting wordlessly. The gardai were buzzing like a hive of bees whose nest had just been struck. Rochelle had moved to the rear edge of the Kraljica’s dais, just behind the ring of gardai. They jumped up onto the stage now, closing around the Kraljica with their swords drawn, and Rochelle drew back. There was no hope of getting to Allesandra now. None. Again, this was one of the times when she must allow herself to fail.
She drifted back in the crowd, away from the suspicious eyes of the gardai, away from the green-robed téni who seemed just as upset and on edge.
A hand touched her shoulder from behind and she whirled, the dagger already drawn. She could kill someone in this crowd easily enough and still escape in the confusion . . .
But her hand stopped in mid-thrust. “Nico—”
“Hush!” he said. He’d drawn a hood over his head; his face was visible only to those who looked directly at him. But even half-hidden as he was, he looked incredibly exhausted and drawn. His hand on her shoulder trembled, and she felt him sag, as if he was barely able to stand. In the shadow of the hood, there were darker circles under his eyes. “Cénzi told me you were here. He showed you to me. Come on!” She looked back at the dais and he shook his head. “No. Not now, Rochelle. Come! I need your help.”
He put his arm around her. Leaning heavily on her, he guided her away, through the thinning edge of the crowd and away from the growing uproar and the plaza itself, until they were walking down a street adorned with shop signs and busy with hustling people, though few of them seemed to be interested in the wares displayed in the open windows or in the sidewalk cabinets. Their faces were grim and harried, and Rochelle remembered the same looks on the faces of those fleeing the city when she’d arrived.
Nico finally stopped near a café. “You have money?” he asked her, and she nodded. “Good. I need to sit and to eat—they will hardly look for me here.”
They took a table against the wall of the cafe and ordered wine, cheese, bread, and some meats. The waiter seemed genuinely pleased to have a patron; no doubt those had been far more sparse than usual in the past few weeks.
She watched Nico as he ate. He had changed a great deal from the boy she remembered. The Nico of her memory had been eager and apprehensive all at the same time as he prepared to go to Brezno Temple as an acolyte. She’d been with him again, when he’d taken the green robe of the téni and made his pledge to Cénzi in that same temple, and he’d seemed so sure of himself then..
The Nico who stood before her now was thinner, his cheeks drawn in. The lines of his face were harsher and more deeply drawn, and she could see the pain of his life written there. There had always been an intensity to him, one that she remembered from her earliest memory of him, but was changed now. It had turned into something harder, deeper inside himself, and more dangerous.
She knew she had changed as well. Perhaps more than Nico had. Neither of them were the person they’d been back then. Brother and sister they might be, but time had pulled them apart and she didn’t know if they could ever fit together again.
“You’re staring.” Nico set down the cup and poured himself more wine from the flagon.
“I haven’t seen you in years, Nico.”
He smiled. “You’ve grown into an attractive young woman.” Then the smile faded. “You’ve also taken on Matarh’s legacy. I’ve heard the gossip that the White Stone still walks. That’s you?”
She nodded.
“Do you hear their voices, too?”
“No. I’m not mad, Nico.”
“Not yet,” he answered. “But you can’t do what you do and stay sane. You can’t do what you do and expect anything but the soul shredders after your death. Cénzi will find you wanting, my sister.”
It was so similar to what Sergei had told her that she wanted to laugh. “You’re going to lecture
me
?” Rochelle sniffed in derision. “They had you in chains, Nico. How many died when you and your people took the Old Temple?” She saw him flush with that accusation, and she remembered. “I’m sorry, Nico,” she said, putting her hand on his. “I forgot. I wish I could have met Liana.”
He nodded, and she saw his eyes swim in sudden moisture. He wiped at them, almost angrily. “I wish that, too. You see, that was
my
punishment. My madness. Cénzi always gives us warnings, one way or another. It’s just that we sometimes don’t pay attention to them or even see them for what they are.”
“You still believe, after all this?” she asked him. “You still think your destiny is within the Faith?”
“Yes.” He said it firmly, without hesitation, the strength returning to his voice. “And what about your own faith, Rochelle ? Do you still believe?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I think so, but . . .” A shoulder rose under her tashta. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “But you do?”
“I do,” he said. “Still. Cénzi contains everything, Rochelle. He contains all that is good, and He contains all that is evil as well. That is why the Moitidi fought each other and Him; because they were His children and thus contained within themselves were all possibilities. And He brought you here, now, for a reason.”
Rochelle laughed bitterly. “You have no idea why I’m here.”
“Don’t I?” Nico reached across the table and plucked up a baguette. He broke off a piece of the bread and pushed it into his mouth with a forefinger. He chewed contentedly for a moment, then took a sip of the wine. Then he leaned forward toward her conspiratorially. “You’re here to kill the Kraljica,” he whispered, and leaned back again.
Rochelle felt her face flush, and he laughed. “Oh, it’s not such a revelation,” he told her. “Matarh asked the same of me, when I became a téni. ‘You’ll be close to her one day,’ she told me. ‘When you’re an a’téni or maybe even the Archigos. You’ll be close to her, and I want you to kill her for me, because of what she did to ruin my life.’ Isn’t that what she told you as well?”
“It was similar,” Rochelle admitted.
“I thought so. But that’s not why you’re here, Rochelle. You’re here because Cénzi wanted you to see me. He wanted to reunite us.”
She felt a chill touch her spine at that, as if a winter breeze had somehow lingered behind to caress her at that moment, and she wondered where that feeling came from as she shivered and hugged herself.
He had been there, then he had wrapped himself in darkness and gone somewhere else. If I could do that, why, the White Stone could go anywhere. The White Stone could easily kill the Kraljica . . .
“What you did out there—can you do that again? Could you teach me how to do it?” she asked Nico.
“A month ago I would have said no,” he told her. “I would have told you that only the pure of faith can or should use the Ilmodo. But now . . .” He drained the wine in front of him. “I don’t know. Perhaps anything is possible.”
“And why do you think that Cénzi wanted us together?”
“I really don’t know yet,” he answered, “but perhaps we’ll find out.”
 
Varina ca’Pallo
 
V
ARINA MADE RUSHED APOLOGIES to Kraljica Allesandra and hurried away from the Old Temple with a quartet of gardai assigned to her. Allesandra, the councillors, Sergei—they were all surrounded by gardai, and everyone seemed panicked. Varina, though, was gripped by a terrifying certainty. She made her way quickly to the Numetodo House with her stomach burning and worry furrowing her forehead.
The chains lying empty on the dais and Nico gone . . .
She was afraid that she knew where he’d gone.
Even before the carriage had stopped she was half-running toward the door, something she hadn’t done in years. “A’Morce,” Johannes said as she pushed into the house, looking surprised at Varina’s appearance and her lack of breath, “we didn’t expect you back . . .”
“Where is she?” Varina said, interrupting him.“Serafina—where is she?” Her voice was shrill but she didn’t care.
“Why, she’s upstairs with Belle, of course. I think that—”
She pushed past him, pounding up the stairs with her heart racing. She tore open the door. Belle, a young recruit of the Numetodo, and also a wet nurse with a new child of her own, was sitting in a chair at the window of Varina’s office there. Startled, Belle covered herself; Varina realized she’d been nursing the baby. “A’Morce? Is everything all right?”
Her heart, which seemed to have been trying to force its way from her throat, settled back into her chest. The terrible scenes she’d imagined all the way here faded slowly in her mind: Belle lying still on the carpeted floor, the Numetodo House afire or wrecked, her other friends dead or wounded, and Nico’s child gone.
Vanished like Nico himself.
She closed her eyes for a moment, her hand to her mouth. “I thought . . .” she began, then shut off the thought with a shake of her head. Her heart was starting to slow, her breath to return, and now she was beginning to feel foolish at her panic. “Never mind, Belle. I don’t know what I was thinking. How’s Sera?”
Belle smiled. She lifted the cloth over her shoulder, showing Varina the baby suckling at her breast, the little mouth working hard even though her eyes were closed. “Hungry as a wolf cub,” Belle answered. “I’m wondering if there’s going to be anything left for my own little one.” She laughed, stroking Sera’s head, with its crown of fine golden hair. “I’ve found another wet nurse for her, also; my cousin Michelle lost her own baby at birth, and said she’d be willing to come to your house mornings. Between the two of us, we’ll keep the little dear well fed. Now that the Firenzcians are coming, we should be safe enough.”
I wish I was as certain . . .
Varina forced a smile to her face. “Thank you,” Varina told her. “Tell her I’ll pay her double the usual rate for her trouble.”
“You’re very generous, A’Morce.” Sera lost the nipple for a moment and started to cry with tears sparkling in her blue eyes, and Belle lifted her breast to Sera’s mouth. The infant settled again. “How was the . . . ?” She stopped, uncertain of the word. “Apology?” she finished.
“Unsatisfying, I’m afraid,” Varina told her. “Nico showed again why he was Absolute of the Morellis. He’s escaped. Disappeared.”
Varina saw Belle’s arms tighten protectively around Sera—Varina could see the suspicions running through the young woman’s head. “A’Morce? Perhaps you should stay here at the Numetodo House tonight where you have protection. We could make up a place for the baby . . .”
“I can deal with Nico myself if I need to,” she told Belle, hoping that her voice sounded more confident than she felt. Now that she had calmed somewhat, now that she knew Serafina was safe, she was less concerned. Surely Nico would be hiding somewhere; he might have even left the city. She went to the drawer of her desk and took out the sparkwheel there. She checked that the pan was filled with black sand and that a bullet pack was in the barrel. She thrust the weapon into the sash of her tashta under her cloak. “Finish up, and I’ll take her,” Varina said.
Belle nodded. “I have to get back to my sister’s, anyway. By now my own little one’s waking up from her nap and she’ll be crying for attention. This one’s almost done, I think.” Belle sat back; Sera let the nipple slide from her mouth, opening her eyes for a breath, then settling back. Her breathing was slow and quiet. “There, you see? Already asleep, the greedy little thing. I’ve a cup on your desk with more milk if you need it. I’ll send Michelle over tomorrow before First Call. Here you are, A’Morce . . .”
Rising, she handed Sera to Varina, then covered herself again, tying the shoulder sash of her tashta. As Belle bustled about the room gathering her things, Varina stared down at the sleeping face: the pudgy, reddened cheeks; the contented, trusting ease with which she slept; the tiny fingers, one curled into a fist, the other clutching at the blanket in which she was wrapped. Varina felt a surge of . . . she wasn’t sure what the emotion was, but inside her there was a fierce need to protect this child, as she had once felt the same urge toward Nico.
And you failed back then. You let him escape you, and that madwoman ended up taking him.
Varina leaned down and kissed Sera’s forehead. Belle smiled at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, A’Morce.”
“Thank you, Belle.”

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