Ana was dead. While she lived, a strong and firm presence guiding the Faith, Sergei hadn’t been willing to move the way he contemplated moving now. But with her dead, with the far weaker and uncertain Kenne elected to the Archigos’ throne, with Kraljiki Audric so ill and frail and young…
Everything had changed.
“Good,” Sergei said, returning Karl’s smile warmly. “This has been hard for all of us, but especially for you, my good friend. Now, let’s have some of this tea before it gets cold, and nibble on the biscuits. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten for a few days, from the look of you. Haven’t Varina and Mika been watching after you…?”
That evening, a turn of the glass after the wind-horns sounded Third Call, Sergei sat with the new Archigos Kenne on the viewing balcony of the temple on the South Bank, watching the daily Ceremony of the Light. For two centuries and more now, the teni of the Concenzia Faith had come from the temple in the evening and-with the gift of the Ilmodo-set ablaze the lamps that banished night from the city. For all his life, Sergei had witnessed the daily rite. The gilded, crystal-globed teni-lamps were placed at five-stride intervals along the grand Avi a’Parete, the wide ring boulevard encircling the oldest sections of the city. Until late into the night, the lamps hurled their challenge to the moon and stars, proclaiming Nessantico’s greatness.
To Sergei, this was the ceremony that defined Nessantico to the populace. This was the ceremony that proclaimed Cenzi’s support of the Kralji and of the Concenzia Faith, a ceremony that had existed unchanged for generations-until Archigos Ana’s time. Now it meant less, when there were people walking the street who could produce light themselves: without calling on Cenzi, without the training of a teni. Ana’s acceptance of the Numetodo heresy had lessened the Faith, in Sergei’s opinion, and had forced the people’s view of it to change.
Change. Sergei disliked change. Change meant instability, and instability meant conflict.
Change meant that everything must be reevaluated. Ana… Sergei had never been particularly close to the woman, but in his role as Commandant of the Garde Civile, then as Regent, he had certainly worked in tandem with her. Whatever her personal faults, she had been strong and Sergei admired strength. It was only her presence on the Archigos’ throne that had kept Justi’s reign as Kraljiki from being a complete catastrophe. For that alone, he would always be grateful to her memory.
But now Kenne was Archigos. Sergei genuinely liked Kenne as a person. He enjoyed the man’s company and his friendship. But Kenne would not be the Archigos that Ana had been. Could not be, for he lacked the steel inside. Sergei understood why the Concord A’Teni chose him-because none of the other a’teni wanted the title, the responsibility, or the conflicts that came with the Archigos’ throne and staff, and they especially feared it now. Kenne was no one’s enemy, and, most especially, Kenne was old. Kenne was frail. He would not hold Cenzi’s staff for many years… and maybe when he died, it would be a less turbulent time.
The Concord had acted out of their own self-preservation, and so the Concord had given the Faith a poor Archigos.
Sergei wondered if Kenne would ever forgive him for what that meant.
The two men stood as the light-teni emerged in their long processional line from the great main doors directly below them. Sergei could hear the sonorous melody of the choir finishing the evening devotions in the temple’s main chapel, the sound echoing plaintively throughout the square as the doors opened. The sun had just set, though the clouded western sky was still a furious swirl of reds and oranges. In the glow, the teni turned and gave their Archigos the sign of Cenzi, and Kenne blessed them with the same sign.
The e-teni-all of them looking impossibly young to Sergei’s eyes, all of them solemn with the weight of their duty-bowed as one to the Archigos, green robes swaying like a field of grass in the wind, before turning again to cross the vast courtyard before the temple. The usual crowds had gathered to watch the ceremony, though the crowds were less thick in recent years than they had been in the time of Kraljica Marguerite, when the Holdings had been one and visitors flocked to Nessantico from all points of the compass. In recent years, there were far fewer visitors from the east and south, from Firenzcia or the Magyars, from Sesemora or Miscoli. With the war in the Hellins across the Strettosei, many of the young men were gone and families traveled less. Though the courtyard of the Old Temple was full of onlookers, the Garde Kralji had no trouble making room for the light-teni; Sergei could see the paving-cobbles between them. The teni reached the Avi and split into two lines, spreading out east and west along the Avi and going to the nearest lamps, set on either side of the gated entrance to the Archigos’ Temples.
The first of the light-teni went to the lamps. They stood underneath the shimmering globe of cut glass, looking up into the evening sky as if they glimpsed Cenzi watching them, and they spoke a single word and gestured from chest to lamp, closed fist to open hand.
The lamps erupted with brilliant yellow light.
Sergei applauded with Kenne. Yet…
That single word to release the spelclass="underline" that was a change, too; a nod to the Numetodo, who could quickly release their spells. It was another of the changes Ana had wrought. “I miss the old ways sometimes, Archigos,” Sergei said to Kenne. “The long chanting, the sequence of gestures, the way the effort visibly wearied your teni.. . The Numetodo way of using the Ilmodo makes it look too easy. There was…” He sighed as the two men sat again. “… a mystery to it then, a sense of labor and love and ritual that’s vanished. I’m not sure that Ana made the right decision when she allowed the teni to start using the Numetodo methods to light our streets.”
He saw Kenne nod. “I understand,” Kenne answered. “Part of me agrees with you, Sergei; there was a feeling to the old rituals that’s gone now. But the Numetodo proved their worth against Hirzg Jan, and Ana could hardly renounce them afterward, could she?” Sergei heard him give a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “We’re old men, Sergei. We want things to be the way they used to be, back when we were young. When the world was right and Marguerite was going to sit on the Sun Throne forever.”
Yes. I want that more than you’d believe. Sergei scratched at the side of the nose where the glue irritated his skin; a few flecks of the resin flaked off under his fingernail. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Things were good then, with Kraljica Marguerite and Dhosti wearing the Archigos’ robes. There was no better time for the Holdings or for the Faith. We lived in a perfect time and we didn’t even know it.”
“Yes, we did. I agree.” Kenne sighed with the memory.
The gilded doors to the temple behind them opened and an older u’teni emerged: Sergei recognized him: Petros cu’Magnaio, Kenne’s assistant. The man had lived with Kenne since his time with Archigos Dhosti. Kenne nodded to cu’Magnaio with a smile as he set down a tray of fruit and tea between the two of them. It never bothered Sergei that Kenne was afflicted with what was euphemistically called “Gardai’s Disease.” There was some truth, after all, to the appellation: when away for years on a campaign, soldiers sometimes took comfort where they could find it, with those who were around them. “It will be getting chilly with the sunset,” cu’Magnaio said. “I thought the two of you might like hot tea.”
Kenne’s hand hovered above cu’Magnaio’s but didn’t quite touch him-Sergei knew that would have been different if he had not been there. “Thank you, Petros. We won’t be long here, but I appreciate it.”
Cu’Magnaio bowed and gave the sign of Cenzi to them. “I’ll make sure that you’re not disturbed while you’re talking. Archigos, Regent.
…” He left them, closing the balcony doors behind him.
“He’s a good man,” Sergei said. “You’ve been lucky with him.”
Kenne nodded, gazing fondly toward the doors where Petros had gone. Then he shook himself as if remembering something. “Speaking of those who have sat on the Sun Throne, Sergei, I’m sorry the Kraljiki couldn’t join us this evening. How is Audric feeling?”