A Magic of Nightfall

Audric ca’Dakwi

The Council of ca’ for Nessantico met on the first floor of the Grande Palais on the Isle a’Kralji, where they had several suites of rooms and a small staff of palais servants dedicated entirely to their needs. The Council of Ca’, for most of the great Kraljica Marguerite’s reign, as well as that of her son Kraljiki Justi, had been largely a social organization, coming to the palais to sign the papers passed to them by the Kralji and the royal staff-a task they performed with little thought or discussion, otherwise spending their time relaxing in their sumptuous private offices or socializing in the well-appointed dining room and lounges of the Council’s section of the Kralji’s Palais. For many decades, being a “councillor” was mostly an honorary position, their duties ceremonial and hardly taxing, and their stipend for serving on the Council generous.

But with Kraljiki Justi’s passing, with Audric being in his minority when he ascended to the Sun Throne, the Council had been required to assume a more active role in government. It was the Council of Ca’ who had named Sergei ca’Rudka as Regent; it was the Council who now created and passed new legislation (until very recently, with the Regent’s input as well), it was the Council who controlled the purse strings of Nessantico, it was the Council with whom the Regent was required to consult on any matter of policy within the Holdings, or any diplomatic decisions regarding the Coalition, the Hellins, or the other countries within the Holdings.

The Council had been required to wake from its comfortable, long slumber, and to a large extent it had. The last election for the Council, four years ago, had been aggressive and harsh; four of the seven members had been deposed, replaced by far more ambitious ca’.

Audric knew the history of the Council; Sergei had yammered on about it interminably, and Maister ci’Blaylock had spoken of the same in his lectures. Now his great-matarh gave him the same warnings.

“You need to be careful, Audric. Remember that each of the councillors wants to be where you are. They want the ring and the staff; they want to sit on the Sun Throne. They are jealous of you, and you must convince them that in giving you what you want, they will find themselves closer to their own goals.”

Great-Matarh Marguerite was staring at him as he walked down the corridor to the Hall of the Sun Throne, where the Council awaited him. The wheels of the easel on which her painting rested were quiet today; he’d insisted that Marlon grease them with duck fat before the meeting. The servants pushed the easel down the inner corridor of the palais in front of Audric, careful to match his erratic, slow pace, while Marlon and Seaton supported him at either side. He’d had a bad day; it was a misty and cool day, and he allowed himself to cough even as he heard his great-mam’s voice comforting him.

“You can allow it, this once,” she told him. “This once, your weakness will be our strength. But after this, you must be stronger. You will be stronger.”

“I will, Great-Matarh,” he said. “I will be strong after today, and the sickness will leave me.” From the periphery of his vision, he saw Marlon look at him strangely, though the man said nothing.

Seaton gestured to the hall servants, who opened the door to the hall and bowed as Audric and his great-matarh entered. Inside, the Council members rose from their seats before the Sun Throne and also bowed, though their bows were but the barest lowering of heads. Audric could see Sigourney ca’Ludovici’s eyes as she inclined her head, though her gaze seemed to be more on the painting of Marguerite than on him. He went to the Sun Throne, Marlon helping him up the set of three stairs to the platform on which it sat, and let himself drop into the cushioned seat. He coughed then-he could not stop the paroxysm-as light flared deep inside the crystal and surrounded him in a bath of yellow: as the Throne had done for long generations whenever a Kralji had sat there. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his silken bashta as the Council stood before him and Seaton wheeled the easel to the right side of the throne, so that Marguerite glared balefully out at the seven ca’.

“Look at them,” she said to Audric. “Look how hungrily they stare at the Sun Throne. They’re all wondering how they might come to sit where you are. Start by being firm with them, Audric. Show them that you are in charge of this meeting, not them. Then… then do as you must.”

“I will,” he told her. The ca’ were already starting to seat themselves, and he raised his voice, addressing them. “There’s no need to take your seats,” he told the ca’. “Our business here should take but a few grains of the glass.”

Caught in mid-movement, the ca’ straightened again with a rustling of bashta and tashta, and gazes in his direction that ranged from questioning to nearly angry. “Forgive me, Kraljiki,” Sigourney ca’Ludovici said, “but things may not be as straightforward as you think.”

“But they are, Vajica ca’Ludovici,” Audric told her. “The traitor ca’Rudka is in the Bastida; the Council has had the time you asked for to consult with each other and deliberate. Will you name another Regent, or will you allow me to rule as Kraljiki as I should? Those are the only two options before you, and you should have made a decision.” The long speech cost him, as he knew it would. He bent over coughing even as his great-matarh laughed softly in his head, covering his mouth with a kerchief that was quickly stained with red blotches. He crumpled the linen in his hand, but not so much that they could not see the blood.

He opened his eyes to see ca’Ludovici staring at his hand. Her gaze lifted abruptly, and she smiled the smile of a cat spying a cornered mouse, glancing back once at the other Council members. “Perhaps you’re right, Kraljiki. After all, the day is damp and we shouldn’t keep you away from the comfort of your chambers.”

She took a breath, and Audric heard Marguerite whisper to him in that space. “Now. Tell her what she wants to hear.”

“I am stronger now than I have been in years,” Audric said, but he forced himself to cough again, to pause as if for breath between the words. It did not require much acting. “But I also am aware of my youth and inexperience, and I would look to the Council of Ca’ for their advice, and perhaps to you especially, Councillor ca’Ludovici, as my mentor.”

She bowed at that, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction in her face. “You are indeed wise past your years, Kraljiki, which means that it gives me pleasure to tell you that we have deliberated, all of us, and have come to agreement. Kraljiki Audric, despite your youth, the Council of Ca’ will not name a new Regent.”

He heard his great-matarh laugh with the word, exulting, and he nearly laughed himself, but did not because it would bring on the coughing again. He contented himself with a silent wave of appreciation to them. So easy to manipulate. So predictable. He didn’t know whose thought it was: his or Marguerite’s.

“I thank the Council for their efforts,” Audric said. “And we see a new era for Nessantico, one where we will regain all that we have lost, and reach beyond even Kraljica Marguerite’s dreams.” He had to pause, to breathe and clear his lungs again. Marlon stretched his hand toward the throne to give him a new handkerchief and to take away the stained and soiled one. “As for the former Regent ca’Rudka, I think it is time that he confessed his sins, made his peace with Cenzi, and paid for the errors of his life.”

Vajica ca’Ludovici bowed once more, but not before Audric again saw the satisfaction in the twisting of her features. Yes, she sees ca’Rudka as her rival, dangerous as long as he remains alive… “It will be done as the Kraljiki wishes,” she said. “I will see to it myself.”