A Magic of Nightfall by Farrell S. L

Author:Farrell, S. L. [Farrell, S. L.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781101018965
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2009-03-03T06:00:00+00:00

The White Stone

NESSANTICO . . .

She had never seen the city before, though of course she’d heard much about it. Even with the Holdings sundered, even with the previous Kraljiki having been a pale shadow of his famous matarh, and even with the current Kraljiki a frail boy who—rumors said—wouldn’t live to his majority, Nessantico retained her allure.

The White Stone had always known she would eventually come here, as anyone with ambition must. The pull of the city was irresistible, and for a person in her line of business, Nessantico was a rich and fertile field to be exploited. But she had not expected to come here so quickly or for these reasons.

After the nearly-botched and hasty assassination of the Hïrzg, she had thought it too dangerous to stay in the Coalition. She’d slipped back into her beggar role as Elzbet, hiding herself among the poor who were so often invisible to the ca’-and-cu’, and she’d made her way from Brezno to Montbataille in the eastern mountains that formed the border of Nessantico and Firenzcia, and then down the River A’Sele to the great city itself.

Playing her role, she settled herself in Oldtown. That was the best way to avoid drawing attention to herself. She was just another of the nameless poor walking the streets of the known world’s greatest city, and if she conversed with the voices in her head as she walked, no one would particularly notice or care. Just another crazed soul, a mad-woman babbling and muttering to herself, walking in some interior world at odds with the reality around her.

“You’ll pay for this. You can’t kill me and not pay. They’ll find you. They’ll track you down and kill you.”

“Who?” she asked Fynn’s strident voice as the others inside her laughed and jeered at him. She put her hand to her tashta, feeling underneath the cloth the small leather pouch tied around her neck, and inside it the smooth, pale stone she kept with her always. “Who will come find me? I told you who hired me. Is she going to search for me?”

“You’re worried that someone else will figure it out. You’re worried that word will get out that the White Stone was also the woman who was Jan ca’Vörl’s lover. They’ve seen your face; they would recognize you, and the White Stone’s face can’t be known.”

“Shut up!” she nearly screamed at him, and the screech caused heads to turn toward her. A passing utilino stopped in the midst of his rounds, his téni-lit lantern swinging over to focus on her. She shielded her eyes from the light, stooping over and grinning at the man with what she hoped was a mad leer. The utilino uttered a sound of disgust and the light moved away from her; the other people had already looked away, turning back to their own business.

The voices of her victims were laughing and chuckling and chortling as she turned the corner into Oldtown Center. The famous téni-lamps of Nessantico gleamed and twinkled on the iron posts set around the open plaza.

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