A Magic of Nightfall

Audric ca’Dakwi

“ You can’t tell anyone that I speak to you, Audric,” Gremma said. The painted eyes in her portrait glinted in warning, and her varnished face frowned. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

“I could… tell Sergei,” Audric suggested. He stood before the painting, holding a candelabra. He’d dismissed Seaton and Marlon for the night, though he knew that they were sleeping in the chamber beyond and would come if he called. His breathing was labored; he fought for every breath, the words coming out in gasping spasms. He could feel the heat of the fire in the hearth on his front. “He would

… believe me. He would… understand. You trusted… him, didn’t you?”

But the face in the painting shook her head, the motion barely perceptible in the erratic candlelight. “No,” she whispered. “Not even Sergei. That I am speaking to you, that I am advising you must be our secret, Audric. Our secret. And you must start by asserting yourself, Audric: as I did, from the very start.”

“I’m not… sixteen. Sergei is… Regent, and it is… his word that… the Council of Ca’… listens to… Sigourney and the others…” The effort of speaking cost him, and he could not finish. He closed his eyes, listening for her answer.

“The Regent and the Council must understand that you are the Kraljiki, not Sergei,” Marguerite interrupted sharply. “The War in the Hellins… It is not going well. There is danger there.”

Audric nodded, eyes still closed. “Sergei has… suggested withdrawing… our troops, or perhaps…” He paused as another fit of coughing took him. “… even abandoning the cities… we’ve established in… the Hellins until… the Holdings are. .. one again, when we can… give them the resources…”

“No!” The word was nearly a screech, so loud that Audric clapped hands to ears and opened his eyes wide, surprised to see that the mouth in the painting wasn’t open in rage and that Seaton and Marlon didn’t come rushing into the bedroom in panic-but hands over ears could not stop her voice in his head. “Do you know what they called me early in my reign, Audric? Did your lessons maister tell you that?”

“He told me,” he said. “They called you… the ‘Spada Terribile’… the Awful Sword.”

The face in the painting nodded in the candles’ pale gleam. “And I was that,” she said. “The Awful Sword. I brought peace to the Holdings first through the sword of my army, before I ever became the Genera a’Pace. They forget that, those who remember me. You must be strong and firm in the same way, Audric. The Hellins: theirs is a rich land, and it could bring great wealth to the Holdings, if you have the courage to take it and keep it.”

“I will,” he told her fervently. Images of war fluttered in his mind, of himself on the Sun Throne with a thousand people bowing to him, and no Regent by his side.

“Good,” she answered. “Excellent. Listen to me and I will tell you what to do to be the greatest of the Kraljiki. Audric the Great; Audric the Beloved.”

At her smile, he nodded finally. “I will be that,” he said. He took in another gasping breath and coughed. “I will.”

“You will what, Kraljiki?”

Audric spun about with the question, nearly dropping the candelabra with the motion, so violently that two of the candles were snuffed out. The effort sent him into wheezing spasms, and Regent Sergei rushed forward to take the candelabra from his hands and support Audric with an arm around his waist. In the Regent’s burnished and polished nose, Audric glimpsed Archigos Kenne lurking concerned in the shadows near the door with Marlon holding the door open for them. Ca’Rudka helped Audric fall into one of the cushioned chairs in front of the fireplace. Marguerite stared down at him, her expression unreadable. “Here, my Kraljiki, some of the healer’s draught,” ca’Rudka said, pressing a goblet to Audric’s lips as he stared at the painting. Audric shook his head and pushed it away.

She says that the healers won’t help, he wanted to say but did not, and Marguerite’s tight-lipped mouth curved into a slight smile. Audric’s eyelids wanted to close but he forced them open. “No,” he told ca’Rudka.

The Regent frowned but set the goblet down. “I’ve brought the Archigos,” he said. “Let him pray for you…”

Audric glanced up at the painting and saw his great-matarh nod. He echoed it himself, and Archigos Kenne hurried into the bedchamber. As the Archigos busied himself with his chanting and gestures, Audric ignored both of them. He could see only the painting and his great-matarh’s serene gaze. She spoke to him as Kenne touched his chest and the warmth of the Ilmodo lessened the congestion in his lungs.

“We can do this together, Audric. You are the great-son I always wanted to have in life. Listen to me, and in all history there will be no Kraljiki who can be called your equal. I will help you. Listen to me…”

“I am listening,” he told her.

“Kraljiki?” Regent ca’Rudka said. He followed Audric’s gaze back to the painting. Audric wondered if he’d heard the whispering, too, but then the man’s silver nose glinted in candlelight as he turned back, Audric’s own reflection visible there. “None of us said anything.”

Audric shook his head. “Indeed,” he told the man. “And that is why I listen.”

Ca’Rudka smiled uncertainly. Kenne, in mid-incantation, shrugged. “Ah, a jest,” ca’Rudka said. He chuckled dryly. “You’re feeling better, Kraljiki?”

“I am, Sergei. Yes. Thank you, Archigos. You may go.” The Archigos didn’t move, and Audric scowled. “I said, Archigos, you may go. Now.”

Kenne’s eyes widened, and Audric saw him glance at Sergei, who shrugged. The Archigos bowed, gave the sign of Cenzi, and retreated.

“That was rude,” Sergei said to Audric after Marlon had closed the doors to Audric’s bedchamber behind him. “After the Archigos’ efforts and prayers-”

“The man’s prayers were done,” Audric said, more brusquely than he’d ever spoken to Sergei before. He glanced at the painting and saw his great-matarh nod as if she were pleased. Her voice muttered in his head. “Sergei does not care for you, Audric. He only wants to keep your power. He doesn’t want you to be what I know you can be. He wants you to remain weak, to always need him so he will stay Regent.” Her strength seemed to flow through him. He found that he could speak without the pauses, without the coughs. He spoke as strongly and well as Sergei himself. “I need to talk with you, Regent, about the Hellins. I have been considering the situation there since our last discussion. I have decided to send another division of the Garde Civile to supplement our troops there.”

Audric was proud of how his voice sounded: regal and strong and fierce. He smiled up at Marguerite, and in the candlelight she nodded back to him.