With that, the A’Kralj took a long breath and looked toward the temple. “And now I must pay my respects. Archigos, are you ready to lead us to my matarh? Vajica ca’Cellibrecca, would you do me the favor of accompanying me? Renard, my mask, if you please. .”
As Renard tied on the mask, Francesca placed her arm inside the A’Kralj’s proffered elbow with a venomous glance at Ana. The Archigos also looked up at her before gesturing to A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca. The processional line of teni began to move, haltingly, behind the Archigos’
slow progress. His staff clattered on the polished flagstones of the court, and Ana walked carefully alongside him, aware of the gazes burrowing into her back.
Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca
Francesca glanced back to him as they entered the temple. Orlandi could see from her face that she was distressed and upset, but there was nothing he could do for her other than to frown sympathetically and nod in the direction of the A’Kralj, to whose arm she clung. Pay attention to him. Be with him, he said with that glance. It’s what you need to do right now. He asked you to accompany him and that’s a great public honor. We’ve lost nothing yet. .
He’d believed that the A’Kralj was firmly under his control through Francesca. This morning had shown him the error of that belief. The lesson sent doubt careening through Orlandi’s head. He was like one of the street jugglers along the Avi, with far too many balls in the air around him, each moving in its own pattern. There was the Hirzg, already marching toward Nessantico’s border, as dangerous to handle as glowing coals. Orlandi had yet to hear from cu’Belli about Estraven’s fate, despite having told the man to immediately send a rider back. And now the Archigos appeared to have placed his own pawn directly in Francesca’s path, and the A’Kralj had not allowed Orlandi to sweep it aside.
He must continue to juggle. He could not put anything down safely yet.
He prayed as he walked, but his prayer was not for the Kraljica
whose body they approached slowly. The procession was lengthy: the Archigos, followed by the A’Kralj, then the half-dozen or so a’teni who, like Orlandi, had come to the city for the Jubilee, then the Kraljica’s many direct relatives-all walking between the lines of white-robed teni who had been in attendance of the Kraljica’s body since it had arrived here, walking in the teni-lit glory of the temple.
Cenzi, I have done everything for Your glory, for Your purposes. Show me, Your servant, that I have not lost Your favor. . Orlandi prayed, and he looked past the A’Kralj to the damned dwarf and his ugly whore, and his stomach burned.
I deserve the staff and the crown. I deserve to be Archigos; I should have been Archigos instead of him. I am the true keeper of the Divolonte, the true guardian of the Faith. The Divolonte and the Ilmodo and the teni hold together the very fabric of Nessantico, and I protect it for You against Your enemies who would tear it apart. .
As they entered the temple, the choirmaster in his loft moved his hands and the choir began to sing: Darkmavis’ Requiem for a Kraljiki.
The mournful harmonies swirled and circled, reverberating along the temple’s length, amplified and shaped by the teni choirmaster’s spell, the delicate melody sliding from tenors to baritones to sopranos and back again, the cadence of the basses relentless underneath. Orlandi watched the Archigos turn to his whore and whisper, and he saw her hands move in the pattern of light-making. Yet the motions were hesitant, and he saw her fumble and start over, and when the light blossomed between her hands it was weak and pale compared to that of the other teni standing in prayer along either side of the main aisle.
Orlandi found his eyes narrowing. Is this your sign, Cenzi? Have you answered me that quickly? The o’teni had danced with that foul Numetodo during the Gschnas, after all-and now she wanted to speak to the A’Kralj about the Numetodo the commandant had taken prisoner.
No doubt her viewpoint would be conciliatory and weak, mirroring that of the Archigos. She lacked the power of the true Faith no matter how much Cenzi had gifted her. Orlandi was certain that she misused her Gift as well-it certainly was the simplest explanation of why she would have seen the Kraljica so often during her final illness: under the dwarf’s direction, she had been using the Ilmodo against the laws of the Divolonte to try to heal the Kraljica. That certainly made sense for ca’Millac, since it was the Kraljica’s support that had helped maintain him as Archigos.
But perhaps. . perhaps there was more here, something he was missing. Could Cenzi have withdrawn his Gift from cu’Seranta? There, the dwarf frowned at his o’teni, and she released the poor spell entirely.
Her hands went dark and empty. He saw her whisper to the Archigos apologetically, no doubt pleading weariness if the dark, pouched flesh under her eyes were any sign.
Orlandi made a mental note to speak to the commandant. Perhaps the man knew something, though he was the Kraljica’s man, not Orlandi’s. .
The A’Kralj had reached his matarh’s body, the Archigos and O’Teni cu’Seranta moving to one side. The Kraljica’s face remained covered with her death mask: painted, closed eyelids and mouth, her hair frothing white around the gold. The A’Kralj stood at his matarh’s right hand with Francesca still at his side, gazing down on her. As Orlandi watched, the A’Kralj’s hand reached out and stroked not her hand but the staff of the Kralji, which would be in his own hand tomorrow morning. Orlandi bowed his head and closed his eyes as the procession halted to let the A’Kralj have his time with his matarh, Francesca moving politely to one side to allow the A’Kralj his privacy, but Orlandi doubted that the man prayed. Rather, he was probably thinking of tomorrow, when he would be declared Kraljiki, when he would sit on the Sun Throne, bathed in the radiance of his position.
You must choose. .
Perhaps the Hirzg would indeed be his best choice. Jan ca’Vorl would certainly be a strong Kraljiki, and his sympathies were definitely in line with Orlandi’s, and Orlandi already had in hand the proposal from the Hirzg for Francesca’s hand to cement their alliance. While the A’Kralj might be Francesca’s lover, while he intimated that such a marriage would interest him, he’d also announced no formal engagement. If the A’Kralj was going to assert himself, if he was going to consider scorning Francesca for that plain whore of the dwarf’s who was no better than one of the grandes horizontales, then perhaps. .
Orlandi sighed. His temples ached, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into his heated tub with minted balm on his forehead. But that wouldn’t happen for some time yet, not until all the Kraljica’s interminable relatives had had their moment with the Kraljica.
The A’Kralj finally stirred, lifting his head and making the sign of Cenzi over his matarh. He leaned forward and gave her a ceremonial final kiss, their masks clinking metallically as they touched. The Archigos waddled forward as Francesca took the A’Kralj’s arm once more.
The Archigos blessed the A’Kralj, his voice loud in the temple. Orlandi thought the dwarf looked ridiculous, like a wrinkled toddler talking to an adult-not only would Orlandi be an Archigos as the needs of the Faith demanded, he would look the part as well. He would not be a mockery of the position like this one.
Soon enough, if it is Your will. .
The A’Kralj, as the choir’s dirge swelled again, strode regally away with Francesca at his side and the Archigos and O’Teni cu’Seranta and his staff behind. They left the temple by the side door, and faintly Orlandi could hear the crowds packed into the temple square acknowledge the A’Kralj.