Free A Magic of Dawn by S. L. Farrell Page A

it?”
    “I know you were reluctant to have the Faith move against the Numetodo considering the aid that ca’Pallo gave to both you and your matarh in the past. But . . . I wonder if now . . .”
    “If now what ?” Jan interrupted. It was the old, old conflict—one that Karrol’s predecessor Semini had believed in, that Semini’s marriage-vatarh Orlandi had fought as well: the Numetodo were a threat to all of those within the Faith—with their usage of forbidden magic, with their lack of belief in any of the gods, with their reliance on logic and science to explain the world. It was the battle that Nico Morel championed too, more voraciously and harshly than even the Archigos. Jan was far less convinced. For him, belief in the Faith was a necessity of his title and little else—it was like a political marriage. “You want to be become a Morelli now, Archigos, and begin persecuting the Numetodo again? I find that a bit ironic, myself, since it’s one of the things Morel wanted the Faith to do all along.”
    “Morel was stripped of his title as o’téni because he would not accept the guidance of his superiors,” Karrol answered. “He was insubordinate and impatient and believed himself better than any a’téni or even myself. He claims to speak directly with Cénzi. He’s a madman. But even the mad occasionally say things that make sense.”
    “You know my feelings on this.”
    “I do. And I know your allegiance to the Faith is strong, my Hïrzg.” Jan chuckled inwardly at that; Jan was no longer sure what he believed, though he made the required motions. “But—if I may be permitted a bit of blunt honesty, my Hïrzg—you listen too much to Ambassador ca’Rudka. The Silvernose believes in nothing that doesn’t advance his own interests.”
    “And you would have me listen more to you, is that it, Archigos?”
    “I flatter myself that I know you better than the Silvernose, my Hïrzg.” Jan sniffed at that. Flattering himself was one thing the Archigos did very well indeed. “Your matarh attaches herself to the Numetodo,” Karrol continued. “The reports I get from A’Téni ca’Paim—”
    “I see those same reports,” Jan interrupted. “And I know my matarh. Better than you.”
    “No doubt,” Karrol answered. “You undoubtedly know that Stor ca’Vikej’s son Erik is in Nessantico, also—no doubt he is looking for her help to gain the throne his vatarh couldn’t take. Each day Allesandra remains on the Sun Throne, she becomes stronger, my Hïrzg.”
    Jan scowled. He tended to agree with Karrol on that, even if he’d never admit it. He had given her the title she’d coveted for so long when Nessantico was broken and shattered. It had seemed an appropriate punishment at the time, an irony he couldn’t pass by. But she had managed somehow to turn that irony on its head. He had expected her to wither and fail, to realize her errors and beg his forgiveness and help; she’d done none of those things. She’d rebuilt the city and she’d managed to hold together the fragile connections between the various rulers of the countries that made up the Holdings. With Stor ca’Vikej, she’d nearly wrenched West Magyaria back to the Holdings—she might have succeeded, had she actually sent the full Nessantican army in support of the man’s ragtag army of loyalists. As it was, he’d had to put all of Firenzcian’s military might to bear in order to put down the rebellion.
    The Firenzcian Coalition had been unable to profit from Nessantico’s misfortune. Il Trebbio had briefly joined the Coalition in the wake of the Tehuantin invasion, then a few months later had returned to the Holdings when Allesandra had offered them a better treaty and married one of the ca’Ludovici daughters to the current Ta’Mila of Il Trebbio. Nammaro had entered into negotiations with Brezno, then pulled away from them also.
    No, his matarh had shown herself to be all too wellskilled politically, and Jan should have