Free A Magic of Dawn by S. L. Farrell

memory of her laugh, her lips, her lovemaking, by the pure joy of being with her. He had tried to reconcile the conflicting images in his head countless times.
    He had always failed.
    Jan had sent agents searching for her in the years afterward. He wasn’t certain why, wasn’t certain what he would do with her if she were captured. All he knew was that he wanted her, wanted to sit down with her and discover the truth. Of everything. He wanted to know if she had loved him as he had her, wanted to know if she had only used him to get close to Fynn, wanted to know why she’d saved him in Nessantico.
    Sergei ca’Rudka had suggested that Elissa—whatever her real name might be—might have been responsible for abducting the young Nico Morel from his matarh during the Sack of Nessantico. But when Jan had interviewed the young téni Morel who had at the time been assigned to the Archigos’ Temple in Brezno, Morel claimed to have no idea whether the woman—whom he called Elle Botelli—had ever been the White Stone, or where she might be now. “We always moved around,” Morel had told Archigos Semini, when asked. “She never stayed longer than half a year in any one place, and usually less than that. The woman was touched; I can tell you that—the Moitidi inflicted her with voices. That was Cénzi’s punishment for her sins.”
    Morel—he was an enigma himself, no less than the White Stone: an incredibly charming and talented acolyte and téni who had been marked from the beginning for rapid advancement. But he’d become an eloquent and stubborn troublemaker who ended up cast out from the ranks of téni when he claimed that Archigos Karrol and the Faith were no longer supporting the tenets of Cénzi. Archigos Karrol, the upstart had insisted, must either acknowledge his errors or be forcibly removed from the throne. The young man had come closer to succeeding than either Jan or Karrol had expected. There were still téni within the Concénzia Faith who would follow the charismatic Nico if he called on them.
    Jan shook away his thoughts. “Find this assassin—whomever she is,” Jan told the Commandant. “I don’t care what resources it takes. The White Stone or someone pretending to be her was in this city no more than a day ago. She may still be here. Find her.”
    The Commandant bowed, smoothed his mustache once more, and left them.
    “It can’t be her,” Karrol persisted. “It must be an impostor. It might not even be a woman.”
    “Why? Why can’t it be her ?”
    Karrol sputtered momentarily. He wiped at his mouth with a large hand. “This just doesn’t feel right,” he grumbled.
    Jan scowled. It shouldn’t matter, one way or the other. He was long married now, and if the affection he had for Brie ca’Ostheim didn’t burn as hot and bright as his love for Elissa had, he did respect her and enjoy her company. Her family had excellent political connections; she understood the duties, obligations, and societal niceties of being the Hïrzgin. She had produced four fine children for him. She seemed to genuinely love him. There was a friendship between them, and she knew to look the other way with the occasional lovers he took. He should be content.
    But Elissa . . . There had been more there. He still felt the passion occasionally, like the pulling of an old scar long thought to be healed. Now, that ancient scar felt entirely ripped open. The White Stone has returned . . .
    There was nothing more he could do about it. Cu’Bloch would find her, or not. Jan took a long breath, let it out again. “Enough of this,” he said. “Archigos, what is it you wanted to talk to me about before the Commandant distracted us?”
    Karrol lifted his head. The movement seemed painful; his knuckles tightened around his staff. “Ambassador Karl ca’Pallo of Paeti, the Numetodo A’Morce, has died.”
    “I know that,” Jan said impatiently. “I saw the news in Ambassador ca’Rudka’s last dispatch. What of