A Magic of Twilight by Farrell S. L

Author:Farrell, S. L. [Farrell, S. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sergei ca’Rudka

"Commandant, i wish to see Karl ci’Vliomani.” Sergei straightened the inkwell on his desk, arranging the quills in their holder. Then he looked again at the young woman in front of him, wearing the green robes of the téni. “I find that I’m surprised you would make such a request, O’Téni cu’Seranta, especially given that you were with the Numetodo when I arrested him.” He raised his eyebrows. “I doubt that the Archigos would be pleased to find you here after that coincidence.”

“As it turns out, I’m here on the Archigos’ business.” The slight hesitation and the way she averted her eyes before she spoke was enough to tell Sergei that she wasn’t telling the truth—lies in all their shades and forms were something he knew intimately, and the o’téni was hardly a facile liar.

“I see,” he answered. He rubbed the cold metal of his nose. “The stamina of our Archigos never fails to amaze me, especially on a day such as today, when there must a hundred details to which he must attend for the Kraljica’s funeral and for the procession this evening. You have a letter for me, perhaps, outlining this ‘business’ on which he has sent you?” She shook her head. Her gaze wandered somewhere past him, to the bare stone walls behind. “Ah, I see. An unfortunate gaffe on his part. The Archigos must understand after all his years here in Nessantico how the gears of the Holdings are milled from paper and greased with ink. But perhaps if you could tell me about this . . .” He paused deliberately. “. . . business.”

His hands were folded on his desk and she stared at them. Perhaps she was expecting to see blood there. She hadn’t prepared the lie; she startled with the last word, like a dove surprised on a windowsill. “I . . . the Archigos . . . we know Envoy ci’Vliomani had wished to meet the Kraljica . . . and . . . and . . .”

"O’Téni.” Sergei lifted a hand and she lapsed into a flushed silence. “We needn’t pretend. Not here. The Bastida is not a place for posturing. The two of you are lovers?”

The flush crept higher on her neck. “No,” she said quickly. That was the truth, he could tell, though he could guess the rest: ci’Vliomani was attractive enough, intelligent enough, and given her unremarkable features and the rank of her family before her recent elevation, he doubted that she had been much pursued by suitors in the past. He could imagine the attraction ci’Vliomani might have for her; he could also imagine that she would be an easy mark for a seduction, if ci’Vliomani had wanted to use her. He’d glimpsed her fear for ci’Vliomani’s fate in the apartment when he’d arrested the man, heard it in the urgent whispers they’d exchanged as he took ci’Vliomani away. If they weren’t lovers, there was still a bond between them. He hoped, for her sake, that the bond ran both ways.

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