A Magic of Nightfall

Allesandra ca’Vorl

Audric will not be Kraljiki long. That’s what most people here believe. There will come a time, soon, when a new Kralji must be named. I remember you, Allesandra. I remember your intelligence and your strength, and I remember that Archigos Ana loved you as well she might have her own daughter, and rumors come to me that you are not pleased that the Holdings remain sundered.

From my conversations with Fynn, I have no hope that he wishes to be part of a reunited Holdings unless he’s on the Sun Throne. He has your vatarh’s strength, but not his intelligence. I fear that all the good attributes of the late Hirzg Jan came to you.

When the Sun Throne is left empty, I would support your claim to it, A’Hirzg. And there are others here who would do the same. I would support you openly, if you can give me a sign that you feel as I do.. ..

The words were burned into her mind, as crisply as the letters written in fire-ink on the parchment. The crawling flames had destroyed the paper almost as quickly as she’d read the message, leaving behind ash and a sour smoke. Sergei’s promise. She’d thought of it nearly every day since the message had come, and now she knew that the Archigos had received a similar missive. She could guess what the Regent had promised him.

Ca’Rudka wanted a reunited Holdings and a Faith unsundered. Well, so did she. To create a Holdings greater than even that of Kraljica Marguerite had been her vatarh’s dream, and-because it had been the dream of her vatarh and she had loved him so desperately as a child-hers as well. He had betrayed that dream and sundered the empire, but the dream remained alive in her.

It was what she wanted more than anything. More than her own safety.

… if there were a sign…

Archigos Semini had taken that for the obvious hint that it was, and he’d acted in haste before the pieces were in their correct places. Now-partially thanks to the Archigos’ impatience and clumsiness-they were.

A sign. She would give ca’Rudka that sign, even though it gnawed at her conscience. Even though she might hate herself for it afterward.

Did you ever think about how it might be if someone you knew were dead? It was the question she’d asked Jan, but it was the question she had been asking herself, over and over.

“I’m afraid I lied to you, Elzbet,” Allesandra told the woman across the smeared, dirty table. “I’m not interested in you as a servant.” The woman shrugged and started to get up. Allesandra waved her back down. “I’m told,” Allesandra said, “that you can put me in touch with a certain man.” Allesandra placed a pebble on the table: a flat stone roughly the size of a solas, very light in color.

Even as she said the words, Allesandra doubted the truth of them. The young woman seated before her was plain in appearance. She looked to be in her third decade, though that was difficult to tell; a hard life may have made her look older than her actual years. Her hair was evidently unacquainted with a hairbrush: long and touched with fierce red highlights on the brown, wild strands flying everywhere, it was pulled fiercely back into an unkempt braid of a style Allesandra had not seen since she’d been young. Her bangs were bedraggled, her eyes nearly lost behind the forest of them. Allesandra couldn’t even see the color of the eyes shaded as they were, though they seemed to be pale.

The woman only shrugged, glancing once at the pebble. “That may be,” she said. Her words held the hint of an accent so slight that Allesandra couldn’t place it, and the voice was whiskey-rough. “The one you’re talking about is hard to contact. Even for me.”

If he knows you that well, girl, I’m not impressed with his taste.

… “What’s your full name, Elzbet?” Allesandra asked the woman.

The woman stared, her eyes unblinking behind the tangle of brown locks. “Begging your pardon, A’Hirzg, but you’ll not be needing my name. You’re not hiring me, after all-at least no further than finding him. ”

It had taken Allesandra days to get this far, and she could be certain of nothing. There had been discreet inquiries made of people who might have had a reason to kill the three most recent victims of the White Stone, inquiries made by private agents who themselves didn’t know who they were representing, only that it was someone wealthy and influential. Names and descriptions had been given, and slowly, slowly, it had all come down to this young woman. Allesandra had arranged to meet her-in a tavern on the edge of one of the poorer districts in Brezno-on the pretext of wishing to interview her for a position on the palais staff. Through the shuttered windows of the tavern, she could see the uniform of the gardai who had accompanied her, waiting by the carriage for her. “How do I know that you can do what you say you can do?”

“You don’t,” the woman replied. That was all she said. She waited, those unblinking, hidden eyes on Allesandra’s as if daring her to look away. The impudence, the lack of respect, nearly made Allesandra get up from her chair and leave the tavern, but this was what she needed and it had taken too long to get this far.

“Then how do we proceed?” Allesandra asked.

“Give me three days to see if I can contact this person you’re looking for,” the woman said. Her finger flicked at the stone Allesandra had placed on the table. “If I think that your gardai or agents are watching me, or if he sees them, especially, nothing will happen at all. At the night of the third day-that would be Draiordi-you will do this…” The woman leaned over the table, she whispered instructions into Allesandra’s ear, then sat back again. “You understand, A’Hirzg? You can do that?”

“It’s a lot of money.”

“You don’t bargain with him, ” the woman said. “If what you want done were an easy task, you would do it yourself. And you, A’Hirzg, can afford the price he asks.”

“If I do this, how do I know he will keep his end of the bargain?”

No answer. The woman simply sat with her hands on the table as if ready to push her chair back.

Allesandra nodded, finally. “Find him, Elzbet,” she said. She plucked a half-solas from the pocket of her cloak and placed the coin on the table between them, next to the stone. “For your trouble,” she said.

The woman glanced down at the coin. Her lips twisted. Her chair scraped across the wooden planks of the floor. “Draiordi evening,” she told Allesandra. “Be there as I said. Remember what I said about being followed.”

With that, she turned and strode quickly from the tavern, with the stride of someone used to walking long distances. Light bloomed in the dimness as she pushed open the door with surprising strength. Through the shutters, Allesandra could see the gardai come suddenly alert as the woman left the tavern.

The coin was still on the table. Allesandra took the stone but left the coin, going to the door herself and shaking her head at the gardai, one of whom was already pulling open the door with concern; the others were watching the woman. “I’m fine,” she said to them. The woman was already halfway down the street, walking fast without looking back. The garda who had opened the door inclined his head toward the woman, raising his eyebrows quizzically. “Should I-?”

“No,” she said to him. “I won’t be hiring her; she was a poor match. Let her go…”