Sergei lifted a shoulder. Below, the light-teni moved out from the temple to lamps further down the Avi, the crowds walking with them, murmuring. The doves fluttered down from the domes of the Temple and the rooftops of the buildings in the complex to peck at the vacated stones of the plaza for leavings. “He’s not good.” He glanced back over his shoulder; the doors remained closed but he still lowered his voice. “Have you had any luck finding another teni with healing skills?”
Kenne sighed. “That has always been among the rarest of gifts, and since the Divolonte specifically condemns its use… well, it’s been difficult. But I have hopes. Petros is making judicious inquiries for me. We’ll find someone.” He paused, glanced at the fruit on the plate between them and selected a piece. Kenne had long, delicate hands, but the flesh wrapping his bones was wrinkled and thin, and Sergei could see the tremor as the Archigos lifted a slice of sweetrind to his lips and sucked at it. We can’t afford weakness in both the Kraljiki and the Archigos, not if we hope to survive.
“Sergei, we need to consider what happens if the boy dies,” Kenne continued, almost as if he’d heard Sergei’s thoughts. “Justi’s offspring…” He frowned and set the sweetrind back on the plate. “Too sour,” he said. “Justi’s children have never been known for their longevity.”
The teni moved along the Avi and out of sight. The crowds in the square of the temple began to disperse; the sound of the choir ended in a lingering, ethereal chord. “I hope that Cenzi doesn’t make us face that choice,” Sergei said carefully. “But it’s what everyone’s wondering, isn’t it?”
“There are the ca’Ludovici twins, Sigourney or Donatien. They’re, what…” Kenne’s thin lips pursed in concentration. “… second cousins once removed from Audric and first cousins to Justi, since Marguerite was their great-great aunt. They’re already of age and more, which is good. Donatien, particularly, has distinguished himself in the Hellin Wars, even if things haven’t been going well of late, and he’s married to a ca’Sibelli, a solid Nessantican family-we could call him back from the Hellins. Sigourney might be the better choice, though. She still carries the ca’Ludovici surname, of course: that certainly has incredible weight here, and she’s made her presence felt on the Council of Ca’. The two of them have the closest lineage claim, I believe, and I’m certain the Council of Ca’ would sustain either of their claims to take the Sun Throne.”
Sergei was unsurprised to find that the Archigos’ thoughts were so closely paralleling his own; he suspected this was the case throughout both the Holdings and the Coalition. He paused, wondering whether he should say more. It would be interesting, perhaps, to see how Kenne would react. “Allesandra ca’Vorl can claim the same lineage and the same relationship through her matarh,” Sergei answered, as if idly musing. “For that matter, so could the new Hirzg Fynn. They’re also second cousins to Marguerite-with a claim to the throne equal to Sigourney or Donatien.”
In the fierce light of the teni-lamps, Kenne’s eyebrows clambered up the ridges of his forehead. “You’re not seriously suggesting…”
The volatile tone was the reaction he’d expected, and Sergei grinned quickly to make it seem that the words were only a jest. “Hardly,” Sergei told him. “Just pointing out how Allesandra might respond. Certainly Sigourney or Donatien would be good choices, as you suggest, though perhaps we need Donatien to remain as commandant in the Hellins. However, Audric’s not dead, and I’d prefer that he stay that way. But if the worst would happen… You’re right; we should be considering the succession. The Holdings are already broken, thanks to Justi’s incompetence, and we can’t afford to have what is left shatter further.” He paused. He deliberately narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin, as if the thought had just now occurred to him. “But
… Perhaps a compromise could be worked between the Holdings and the Coalition if the worst happened, Kenne. A ca’Vorl to take the Sun Throne, but the Concenzia Faith ruled by you, not Semini ca’Cellibrecca.” There. See what he makes of the offer.
“You’d have Ana’s murderers seated on the Sun Throne?” The horror in the man’s voice was palpable.
Sergei sniffed-a loud sound, whistling through the metal nostrils of his false nose. “You’re making the same accusation as Ambassador ca’Vliomani. As of the moment, it’s unfounded.”
“Who else would have done this to Ana, Sergei? We know it wasn’t the Numetodo-she was their ally.”
Sergei didn’t push the point any further. He already knew what he needed to know. “That’s something my people are trying to determine. And we will.” The sunset fire no longer burned in the western sky. The stars were competing against the colder flames of the teni-lamps, and the evening chill was settling around the city. Sergei shivered and rose from his chair. His knee joints cracked and protested at the movement; he grunted with the effort. Sergei could still feel the ache in his muscles and the lingering bruises from when he’d flung himself over Audric in the temple.
Old men, indeed…
Petros must have been watching (and undoubtedly listening, as well) through the cracks of the temple doors; as soon as Sergei stood the doors opened and an e’teni attendant hurried to him with his overcloak. He could see Petros standing in the gloom of the corridor beyond. “I should be checking on Audric, Archigos,” Sergei said as he shrugged on the woolen folds. “If you find someone with the skills we were discussing, please bring him or her to the palais immediately.”
“I’ll stop by myself in a turn of the glass or so,” Kenne said. “Petros will have my supper ready now, but I’ll come afterward. To see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Archigos,” Sergei told him. “I will see you then, perhaps.”
As he walked away from the temple, he wondered whether his message had reached Brezno yet, and what reception it might have found.
Allesandra ca’Vorl
“ Your boy’s shot was as good as any I could make,” Fynn declared.
Allesandra doubted that. Jan might not have the bulk and power of Fynn’s muscular frame. He might not be able to wield the heavy weight of water-hardened steel someone like Fynn could manage with ease, but the boy could ride like no one else and he had an eye with an arrow that very few could match. Allesandra was certain that neither Fynn nor anyone else there could have hit, much less brought down, the stag from the back of a galloping horse.
But it seemed best to simply nod, give Fynn a false smile, and agree. It was safest, but conceding the falsehood still hurt when her pride in her son made her want to object. She stored it with the other hurts and insults Fynn and her vatarh had given her over the years. The pile in her mind was already mountainous. “Indeed, Brother. He’s been taught well in Magyaria. Pauli was famous for his horseback archery when he was young; it would seem that Jan has acquired that ability from his vatarh.”
“It was lucky I was there to take the final shot, though, or the stag would have escaped.”
Allesandra smiled again, though she knew it was neither luck nor fortune, only Jan demonstrating that he knew better than to entirely eclipse the presence of the Hirzg. A political move, as adroit as any she might have made.
The two of them were walking along the eastern balcony of the Stag Fall Palais-as private as one could be within the estate. Gardai stood at stiff attention where the balcony turned to the north and south, their stoic avoidance of the Hirzg and A’Hirzg obvious as they stared outward; from the windows left open to catch the evening breeze, they could hear the murmuring of the guests at the table they’d just left. Allesandra could pick out Jan’s voice as he laughed at something Semini said.