A Magic Of Nightfall Part 20

"Fine," she told her son. "I will make inquiries. We will see what her family has to say and proceed from there. Does that satisfy you?"

Jan grinned and flung his arms around Allesandra, as if he were a boy again. "Thank you, Matarh," he said. "Yes, that satisfies me. Write them today. This morning."

"Jan, just . . . be careful and slow with this. Will you?"

He laughed. "Always reminding me to think with my head instead of my heart. I will, Matarh. Of course."

With that, he was gone. Pauli laughed. "Lost in a glorious infatuation," he said. "I remember being that way. . . ."

"But not with me," Allesandra told him.

His smile never wavered; that hurt more than the words. "No," he said. "Not with you, my dear. With you, I was lost in a glorious transaction."

He went back to reading the reports.

Allesandra was walking with Semini that afternoon after Second Call, when she saw Elissa's form flitting through the hallways of the palais, strangely unaccompanied. "Vajica ca'Karina," she called out. "A moment . . ."

The young woman looked surprised. She hesitated for a moment, like a rabbit searching for a line of escape from a hound, then came over to them. She bowed to Allesandra and gave the sign of Cenzi to Semini. "A'Hirzg, Archigos," she said. "It's so good to see the two of you." Her face failed to reflect her words.

"I'm sure," Allesandra told her. "I should tell you that my son came to me this morning regarding you."

Her eyebrows lifted over her strange, light eyes. "Ah?"

"He asked that I contact your family."

The eyebrows climbed yet higher, and her hand touched the collar of her tashta as a faint hint of rose colored her neck. "A'Hirzg, I swear I didn't ask him to speak to you."

"If I thought you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Allesandra told her. "But since he's made the request, I've done as he asked and written a letter to your family; I gave it to my courier not a turn of the gla.s.s ago. I thought you should know, so you might contact them as well and tell them that I await their return letter."

Her response seemed strange to Allesandra. She would have expected a flattering response, or perhaps a blushing smile of pleasure. But Elissa blinked, and she turned her face away for a breath, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. "Why . . . thank you, A'Hirzg. I'm flattered beyond words, of course. And your son is a most wonderful man. I am truly honored by his attention and his interest."

Allesandra glanced at Semini. His gaze was puzzled. "But?" Semini asked, his voice a low rumble.

A quick duck of the head, so that Elissa was staring at Allesandra's feet, not at them. "I have deep feelings for your son, A'Hirzg. I truly do. But contacting my family . . ." Her tongue flickered over her lips, as if they were suddenly dry. "This is too fast."

Semini cleared his throat. "Is there something in your past, Vajica, something the A'Hirzg should know?"

"No!" The word came out as an explosion of breath, and the young woman's head came up again. "There's . . . nothing."

"You sleep with him," Allesandra said, and the frank comment widened Elissa's eyes and caused Semini to inhale loudly through his nostrils. "If you don't intend marriage, Vajica, then how are you different from one of the grandes horizontales?"

The other young women of the court would have recoiled. They would have stammered. This one just stared flatly at Allesandra, her chin lifting slightly, her pale gaze hardening. "I might ask the A'Hirzg-with the Archigos' pardon-how someone in a loveless marriage is so different from a grande horizontale? One is paid for her name, the other for her . . ." A brief flicker of a smile. ". . . attentions. The grande horizontale, at least, has no illusions about her arrangements. Either way, the bedchamber is merely a place of commerce."

Allesandra laughed, suddenly and loudly. She applauded Elissa, three quick, loud strikes of cupped palm against palm. The exchange reminded her of her time in Nessantico with Archigos Ana, who also had a facile mind and would challenge Allesandra in their discussions in unexpected ways and with bald speech. Semini was gaping, but Allesandra nodded to the young woman. "There aren't many who would answer me that directly, Vajica," she told the woman. "You're lucky I'm someone who appreciates that. But . . ." She stopped, and the laughter under her voice vanished as quickly as glacier ice in the summer heat. "I love my son fiercely, Vajica, and I will protect him from making a mistake if I see a need to do so. Right now, you are merely a diversion for him, and it remains to be seen whether that interest will last the season. Whatever might eventually happen between the two of you, it will not be your decision to make. Is that clear enough?"

"As the spring rain, A'Hirzg," Elissa answered. She gave a curt bow of her head. "If the A'Hirzg will excuse me . . . ?"

Allesandra waved a hand, and Elissa bowed again, clasping hands to forehead toward Semini. She hurried off, her tashta swirling around her legs.

"She's brazen," Semini muttered as they listened to her footsteps on the tiles of the palais floor. "I begin to wonder about young Jan's choice."

Allesandra linked her arm in Semini's as they began to walk again. A few of the palais staff saw them; Allesandra didn't care; she enjoyed Semini's solid warmth at her side. "That was odd," Semini continued. "It was almost as if the woman was upset that Jan had asked you to speak to her family. Doesn't she realize what's being offered?"

"I think she knows exactly what's offered," Allesandra answered. She hugged Semini's arm tightly. She glanced back over her shoulder in the direction Elissa had gone. "That's what bothers me. I begin to wonder if becoming involved with her was Jan's choice at all."

The White Stone.

THE b.i.t.c.h GAVE HER no time . . . no time . . .

Anger almost overcame caution. She had wanted to wait another week, because if the truth were told, she wasn't sure she wanted to do this-not because of the death that would result, but because it meant that "Elissa" would necessarily have to vanish. She was no longer certain she wanted that to happen; she'd thought maybe, if she had the time, she could arrange to circ.u.mvent that. But now . . .

She had a few days, no more: the time it would take the A'Hirzg's letter to go from Brezno to Jablunkov and back. Before the response came, she would need to be far from here-for two reasons.

The confrontation with the A'Hirzg and the Archigos had shaken her. She'd gone immediately to Jan, and he'd proudly told her that Allesandra had sent the letter by fast courier. She'd had to pretend to be delighted with the news; it had been far more difficult than she'd expected. Two days, then, for the letter to arrive at the palais in Jablunkov, where an attendant would no doubt open it immediately, read it, and realize something was terribly amiss. There would be quick discussion, a hastily-scrawled response, and a new rider would be hurrying back to Brezno with orders to make all haste. For all she knew, the letter had already reached Jablunkov.

She had to act now.

When the response came, telling the A'Hirzg that Elissa ca'Karina was long dead, she either had to be gone, or she had to have something that she could use as a weapon against that knowledge. The new gossip around the palais was how often the A'Hirzg and the Archigos seemed to be together lately. The looks that she'd seen between the two certainly hinted that they were more than friends, but even if she could prove that, there was nothing there she could use-they were too powerful, and she had no intention of being locked up in Brezno Bastida.

No, she would be the White Stone, as she should be. She would honor her contract and she would vanish, as the Stone always did.

She heard mocking laughter inside her with the decision.

The Moitidi of Fate were with her, at least. Fynn wasn't particularly a man of deep habits, but there were certain routines he followed. She'd come to the court prepared to do whatever it took to become Fynn's lover, but she'd found that an impossible task. Jan had been the next best choice, as the Hirzg's current favorite companion outside his bed.

She'd also found herself genuinely liking the young man despite all her attempts to focus on the task for which she'd been so well-paid. She would have drawn out this contract for as long as she could, because she found herself comfortable with Jan, because she enjoyed his talk, his affection, and the attention he paid her during their nights together. Because she enjoyed pretending that maybe, maybe, she could have this life with him, that she could remain Elissa forever. She had wondered-skeptically, almost with fear-if she might love the young man.

The voices had howled with that, roaring with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Fool!" the voices inside railed at her now. "How stupid can you be? Did you care about any of us when you killed us? Did you regret what you did? No! Why should you care now? This is your fault. You don't have emotions; you can't afford them-that's what you always said!"

They were right. She knew it. She'd been stupid and left herself vulnerable, something she should never have done, and now she would pay for her own folly. "Shut up!" she shouted back to them. "I know! Leave me alone!"

They only laughed, spewing back their hatred to her.

Focus. Think of only the target. Focus, or you'll die. Be the White Stone, not Elissa. Be what you are.

Fynn . . . Habits . . . Vulnerabilities . . .

Focus.

She'd watched Fynn follow his patterns for the past two weeks: at least twice during the rotation of days, Fynn would go riding with Jan and others of the court. She had been on those rides, and saw the attention that Fynn paid to Jan, who also rode alongside the Hirzg, the two of them conversing and laughing. On their return, Fynn would retire to his rooms. Not long afterward, his domestique de chambre, Roderigo, would emerge and go to the stables, bringing back Hamlin, one of the stableboys who-she could not help but notice-was nearly the same age, build, and complexion as Jan. Roderigo would escort Hamlin to the doors of Fynn's chambers and depart as soon as the boy entered, returning precisely a half-turn of the gla.s.s later, by which time Hamlin would have left once more.

She'd watched the routine play out four times now, and she was relatively confident in its security. And today . . . today the Hirzg and Jan were going out riding. She pleaded a headache and remained behind even though Jan's visible disappointment made her resolve waver. While they were gone, she moved through the corridors near the Hirzg's rooms, smiling gently at the courtiers and servants she pa.s.sed, then sliding quickly into an empty corridor. The main hallways were patrolled by gardai, but not those small corridors used by the servants, and at this time of day, the servants were busy in the ma.s.sive kitchens below or were working in the rooms themselves. A picklock plucked from her tresses quickly opened a secured door, and she slid into the Hirzg's apartments: an empty private office room just off the bedchamber. She could hear Roderigo giving orders to the under-servants in the next room, telling them what they needed to clean and how it was to be done. She slid behind a thick tapestry covering the wall (on the cloth, mounted chevarittai of the Firenzcian army trampled the soldiers of Tennshah underneath hooves and spears) and waited, closing her eyes and breathing slowly.

Listening to the voices. Listening to them mock her, cajole her, warn her . . .

In the darkness, they were especially loud.

A turn of the gla.s.s or more later, she heard Fynn's m.u.f.fled voice and Roderigo answering him. A door closed, and then there was silence, not even the interior voices speaking. She waited a few breaths, then slid the tapestry aside, padding in her suede-soled shoes to the door of Fynn's bedchamber.

"My Hirzg," she said softly.

Fynn was seated on his bed, his bashta half-undone, and he leaped up at the sound of her voice, whirling about. She saw him reach for his sword-on the bed in its scabbard, the belt looped next to it, then stop with his hand on the hilt when he recognized her. "Vajica ca'Karina," he said, his voice nearly a purr. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?" His hand had not left the sword hilt. The man was careful-she had to give him that much.

"Roderigo . . . let me in," she told him, trying to sound fl.u.s.tered and uncertain. "I . . . I met him in the corridor just now. It was Jan who . . . who talked to Roderigo first, my Hirzg. I'm here at his behest."

She watched his hand. His fist relaxed around the hilt. He frowned. "Then I need to speak to Roderigo," he said. "What is this about our Jan?"

She lowered her gaze as a demure and slightly frightened young woman might, looking at him through her lashes. "We . . . I know we both love him, my Hirzg, and I know how much he respects and admires you. Even more than his own vatarh."

Fynn's hand had left the sword hilt; she took a step closer to him. "You know that he's asked the A'Hirzg to speak to my family?" she asked him. Fynn nodded and stood erect, turning his back to the weapon on the bed. That made her smile genuine as she took a step toward him. "Jan has tremendous grat.i.tude for your friendship," she told him. Another step. "He wished me to give you a . . . a gift in appreciation."

Another. She was within arm's length of him now.

"A gift?" Fynn's gaze slid from her face to her body. He laughed as she took a final step, her tashta brushing against him. "Perhaps Jan doesn't know me as well as he might think. What gift is this?"

"Let me show you," she said. With that she put her left arm around him, pulling him tight to her. With the same motion, she reached to the belt of her tashta and took the long dagger from its sheath in the small of her back. She plunged the blade between his ribs and twisted it. His mouth opened in pain and shock, and she stifled his shout with her open mouth. His arms pushed at her, but she was too close and his muscles were already weakening.

It was already over, though it took his body a few breaths to realize it.

When he stopped struggling and went limp in her arms, she laid him on his bed. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. She shook two small stones from a pouch tucked in her bosom and placed them over the eyes: the pale one that Allesandra had given her over the left, her own stone-the one she'd carried for so long-over the right. She let them stay there: as she stripped the bloodied tashta from her body and flung it into the fireplace, as she washed his blood from her hands and arms in his own basin, as she dressed herself quickly in the tashta she'd left in the other room. Finally, she plucked the stone from his right eye and placed it back in its pouch, tucking its familiar weight under the low collar of the tashta. She thought she could already hear Fynn, wailing as the others welcomed him. . . .

Then, silent except for the voices in her head, she fled the way she'd come.

She heard poor Hamlin's terrified scream just as she reached the main corridors, and the shouts of hurried orders from the gardai offiziers as they rushed to the Hirzg's chambers.

She turned her back on them and hurried from the palais.

MOTIONS.

Allesandra ca'Vorl.

Eneas cu'Kinnear.

Nico Morel

Jan ca'Vorl

Sergei ca'Rudka

Allesandra ca'Vorl

Eneas cu'Kinnear

Audric ca'Dakwi

Karl ca'Vliomani

Varina ci'Pallo.

The White Stone.