Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  Charyn found himself flushing, but that didn’t stop him from taking her hand as the music began. He did hold her more tightly than he’d dared before, and when he looked at her, she smiled.

  “Do you recall any other poems from the book?”

  “There was one … ‘To the Nameless.’ The last two lines struck me in particular. ‘No god, no deity of sense and grace / Would stoop to take a human name or face.’”

  “You’re not terribly religious, are you?”

  “I think I’d prefer to say that I try not to be a slave to blind belief.”

  “I like that way of putting it.”

  Neither said much more as they danced, and Charyn enjoyed that, too.

  As the music died away, and Charyn guided Alyncya toward where her father waited, he murmured, “We need another dance.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Neither am I.”

  After returning her to her father, Charyn went to find Ferrand.

  Ferrand just looked at him and offered a broad smile. “I never saw you look the way you did when you were dancing with Alyncya.”

  “You looked rather pleased when you were dancing with Kayrolya.”

  “I’ll admit it. We get along well.”

  “My mother asked about you.”

  “That’s likely because mine asked yours if she knew my intentions. What did you say?”

  “That you had intentions, but that I didn’t know what they were. That’s because I don’t … or didn’t, but I imagine your mother saw what I did.”

  “Are you going to ask her?” Ferrand raised his eyebrows.

  “In a way, I already have. And in a way, her answer was that she’s very attracted, but wants to know me better.”

  “Don’t you ever just plunge in, Charyn?”

  “Actually, if you think about it, plunging in is really my nature. I’ve had to work hard against it, because that doesn’t work all that well for a Rex. At least, most of the time, it doesn’t.”

  “Sometimes, it does,” replied Ferrand. “It’s one thing to rein in your nature. It’s another to deny it.” He grinned. “And I’m not going to deny mine. It’s time for another dance.”

  “With Kayrolya?”

  “Who else?” With that Ferrand was gone.

  Except for another dance with Alyncya, Charyn really didn’t remember much of the rest of the ball. He found himself almost surprised when everyone had left and he stood at the top of the grand staircase with his mother.

  “Where’s Bhayrn?”

  “He left around ninth glass,” replied Chelia. “He said he had a headache. He’d danced with several of the younger daughters, and he was cheerful about it. I didn’t see much point in insisting he stay.”

  Charyn could definitely see that. “Did he say anything else?”

  “Just that he’d had enough of the ball and that he’d see me tomorrow.” Chelia began to walk toward the grand staircase.

  As he walked with her, Charyn asked the question he’d been dreading asking. “How did your meeting with Alyncya D’Shendael go?”

  “She seems intelligent and quietly delightful. I think I’ll like her. Aloryana likes her very much. She said that, in some ways, Alyncya reminded her of Malyna and Maitre Alyna.”

  “Both strong women,” said Charyn dryly.

  “You need a strong woman. You and the Chateau would destroy a weak woman over time.”

  “Me?”

  “You. Not in a crushing or controlling way, but because of your intensity. Why do you think both your aunt and uncle acted as they did?”

  “They didn’t have much choice if they wanted the holding to go to Karyel.”

  “No. Your intensity made it all too clear that there was no other choice.” Chelia offered a low and sardonic laugh. “Blood will tell. You have both your father’s stubbornness and the creative intensity of the Ryel lineage. With the right woman beside you—beside you and not behind you—it might be enough to save Solidar.”

  “Is Alyncya the right woman?”

  “Only you can answer that question, Charyn. Don’t rush to answer it, either. The wrong answer could be disaster … for all of us.” She turned toward her apartments. “Good night, dear. It’s been a very long evening.”

  “Good night.” Charyn just stood there for several moments, then turned toward his own quarters.

  Blood will tell … But what exactly would it tell?

  That was something else Charyn wasn’t certain he wanted to know.

  50

  Although he slept well, Charyn woke comparatively early on Solayi morning. He also rose in a cheerful mood, a feeling somewhat diminished when he realized that he was, again, smelling the acrid smoke of burning wood. Still, that couldn’t completely dampen a certain elation as he cleaned up and dressed, thinking mostly about Alyncya.

  He was the first in the breakfast room and was sipping his tea as he waited for breakfast when Bhayrn arrived and sat across the table from him. “Good morning. How was your evening?”

  His brother frowned, then said, “Uneventful, but not unpleasant.”

  “I saw you talking to High Holder Laastyn.”

  “He saw you dancing with Alyncya. He wanted to know if you were going to make an announcement. I told him you hadn’t calculated that out yet.”

  Charyn ignored the barb, old as that particular point was getting, and asked, “Did you meet any young women you fancied?”

  “I enjoyed dancing with Cynthalya D’Nacryon. She’s a year or so older, I think, but she was very pleasant. Wasn’t her father a High Councilor at one time?”

  “He was, but that was a while ago.”

  “You danced with the D’Shendael daughter a few times. She’s attractive, but not a raving beauty. I take it you like the fact she’s the heir.”

  “The first time I met her at a ball, she wasn’t the heir.”

  “You certainly got more interested once she became the heir.”

  “Actually, what attracted me was her conversation.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that? You calculate out everything.”

  “Not everything,” replied Charyn pleasantly. Looking to Therosa as she set the platter before him, he said, “Thank you.”

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” said Bhayrn, “except I’ll have dark ale instead of tea.”

  “Yes, sir.” Therosa slipped away quickly.

  Fearing that Bhayrn was in one of his moods, Charyn immediately began to eat, alternating the cheesed eggs, fried potatoes, and ham strips.

  “Getting back to our conversation,” said Bhayrn after a time, “just what don’t you calculate?”

  “Family, people, music.”

  “That would cheer Uncle Ryel greatly, if he were only present to hear it.”

  “He lived longer than he would have if I’d calculated, rather than felt. It should have been obvious long before I allowed myself to realize he was behind it.” Charyn took a swallow of tea, and then a mouthful of bread.

  “Oh … and what about Palenya? When she no longer suited you, you eased her off to the Collegium, and you justified it in a calculated fashion with golds and finding her a respected and permanent position.”

  “You’re half right. She asked to leave. I allowed it and justified it.”

  “How graciously noble.”

  “What’s the point of all this, Bhayrn?”

  “Just to point out to you that you’re no different from the rest of us, except that you’re Rex.”

  “I don’t think I ever claimed I was anything, let alone different.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  Charyn decided he’d had enough to eat and took a last swallow of tea, then stood. “It appears to me that you’re seeing what you want to see.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “We all see some of what we want. The question is how much. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  As Charyn left the breakfast room, he was shaking his head. You shouldn’
t let him get to you so much. But given that Charyn never knew whether Bhayrn was going to be pleasant, sulky, or confrontational, and that Charyn really didn’t like unnecessary confrontation … That’s another weakness on your part. There are times when confrontation is necessary and shouldn’t be avoided.

  He took a deep breath, then headed up the circular staircase to his apartments, where he reclaimed his pistols. From there he made his way to the covered courtyard. He spent a little more than a glass practicing, using both hands, after which he cleaned the weapons and reloaded them before making his way to his study.

  When he opened the window closest to the table desk, the slight breeze seemed less smoky than the air had seemed earlier. At least, he hoped so.

  You’re going to have to confront the factors, not just with the army, but personally, immediately after Vaelln moves the army into L’Excelsis.

  He sat down at the desk and began to write, trying to get his words in order so that he could effectively tell the Factors’ Council that there was a price to pay for order, and that they would pay it.

  By the time he needed to change into the undercaptain’s uniform for services, he felt he had a better grip on himself and on the words and reasons he’d need to present to the factors when the time came.

  Charyn couldn’t say he was surprised when he came down the grand staircase to find Bhayrn waiting in the foyer.

  “I thought you’d be along. You’re very predictable, you know, Charyn. People who calculate often are. That’s why, sooner or later, you’re going to get shot. Don’t say I didn’t tell you. There are only so many ways to get to Imagisle.”

  “There are quite a number, I’ve discovered,” said Charyn lightly.

  “But there are only three bridges,” replied Bhayrn. “Others can calculate, too.”

  “All that raises an interesting question, one I’ve been thinking about for a while. Why does someone want to shoot me? I can understand why Uncle did. I can understand why the High Holders wanted Grandsire dead, and even Father, but what sense does it make for any of them to want me dead at the moment?” Charyn had his own answers to the question, but wanted to hear what Bhayrn had to say.

  “Some of them must resent how you maneuvered them into increased tariffs. The factors are angry that you didn’t bring in the army immediately. Some don’t like your being so close to the Collegium.” Bhayrn shrugged. “I’m sure there are other reasons as well.”

  “Enough to risk getting caught?”

  “You don’t have the faintest idea who really shot at you at the Anomen D’Rex. If they’d killed you then, no one would have known. It could easily happen again, especially if you keep riding out, undercaptain’s uniform or not.” Bhayrn shrugged. “You probably won’t listen to me, but that’s what I think.”

  “Regardless of what you think, I do listen.” I don’t always agree, but I listen.

  “Since you’re not taking a coach…”

  “Mother can choose which one she wants to take Karyel and Iryella to services.”

  “Is it all right if I go with them and then use the coach? I’ll have it back before midnight.”

  Charyn nodded.

  “Then I’ll see you later.”

  More than a quint later, as Charyn rode along the Boulevard D’Ouest toward the Nord Bridge, he couldn’t help but think about what Bhayrn had said. Much as he disliked his brother’s attitude, Bhayrn was right. He needed to be more careful and less predictable.

  Although he was much more alert and aware on the ride to Imagisle than he’d sometimes been before, he saw no sign of anything untoward. Nor did he see any True Believers anywhere, but then, he didn’t pass close to any anomens on the route he took to Imagisle.

  The duty imager nodded politely as Charyn and his four guards passed the east bridge sentry box, and a quint later, Charyn was stabling the chestnut in the Maitre’s stable. From there he walked to the front porch, arriving there just as Aloryana came out.

  “You’re even earlier today.”

  “Bhayrn said I was too predictable. Since I’d already agreed to come, the only way I could be less predictable was to leave the Chateau earlier. Did you enjoy the ball?”

  “I did. In some ways, more than the last time.”

  “That’s good. You didn’t say much about your conversation with Alyncya.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Nothing. She said you’d have to be the one to tell me.”

  “Good.”

  “It appears that neither of you wishes to reveal that conversation. Am I that terrible?”

  “Charyn … you’re being stuffy again.”

  “Can you tell me what you told her?”

  “I said you were stuffy, pompous, too smart for your own good, but, besides that, you were good-hearted when you were sensible enough to listen to your heart.”

  “You said that?”

  “It’s true enough,” replied Aloryana. Her voice softened. “I might have said it in a kinder way.”

  Charyn kept walking for a time before he said, “You really did say something like that?”

  “She needed to know. I also said that you want the best for everyone, especially the people you love, and that sometimes you hide that and sometimes you try too hard.”

  “That’s something,” Charyn replied sardonically.

  “If she’s serious about you, she needs to know. She’ll give up a lot to marry you.”

  “Being an imager has changed you.”

  “No. It’s allowed me to be me.” Aloryana paused. “Maybe not what I should be yet, but I have the chance.”

  Charyn almost replied that Aloryana had always had that chance, but managed not to blurt out that reply, instead managing to nod, recalling what Malyna had said, and the fact that no one had even recognized who Malyna was, even as a High Holder’s daughter, when she’d stayed at the Chateau.

  Iskhar’s homily was about how soon the bounties of harvest—and of life—were forgotten as the fall turned into winter, and how quickly people often squandered their harvests and then complained about winter and advancing age. Charyn understood the point. He’d seen it with the High Holders and some of the factors, but his thoughts kept going back to what Aloryana had said she’d told Alyncya.

  Are you really that stuffy and pompous? Then he recalled his first real conversation with Alyncya and winced. Sometimes … But if he’d been that way, he couldn’t have been totally insufferable, or she wouldn’t have been as open and inviting. Would she?

  But that led to another question, and whether he was coming off as too young and pompous to the factors and High Holders. Where’s the line between firmness and arrogant pomposity?

  Alastar stepped up beside Charyn as the five left the anomen to walk back to the Maitre’s dwelling. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet today.”

  “I’ve had a lot to think about.”

  “Including the lady-heir you spent a noticeable amount of time with last night?”

  “Partly. Mostly, I was thinking about Aloryana and how much she’s already changed.”

  “That worries you?”

  “Should it?” countered Charyn, not wanting to share his thoughts.

  “That depends on whether you’re more concerned about her or yourself.”

  Charyn managed not to wince at Alastar’s matter-of-fact statement. “You do have a way of unsettling a man.”

  “You can’t be unsettled if you’re not already conflicted about something. Take Eshmael. You can offer him facts that disprove his position. That might make him angry, but it won’t unsettle him. He believes to his core that he is right in what he believes. You wouldn’t be who I believe you to be if you weren’t conflicted about a number of things. You were raised in a tradition that you’ve come to realize has its flaws, and your power as Rex comes from that tradition. You’re trying to change that tradition to fit the way Solidar is changing. Now your sister is changing into someone entirely outside that tradition, and you’
re interested in a lady-heir who can actually refuse you, which is also outside that tradition. On top of that, as Rex, you’re facing a type of worker discontent that rejects certain aspects of traditional relationships, and you’re at least open to thinking about it, I’d judge, from your suggestion about worker pay.”

  “I don’t see you offering any solutions.”

  “Solutions aren’t mine to offer, Charyn. You know exactly what your options are, in all of those areas. Despite what you think, you’re still the most powerful man in Solidar. You can be conflicted in what you feel, but you can’t afford to be conflicted in how you act, nor can your actions be perceived as indecisive.” Alastar’s voice softened slightly. “You also proved you know that not to do something, or to wait to do something, is not a lack of action … provided you address the problem in some fashion.” He paused, then added, “And I’ve said enough.”

  “More than enough,” murmured Alyna from where she walked behind them with Lystara and Aloryana.

  Charyn thought he heard a smothered giggle from either Aloryana or Lystara, but managed to say, “I appreciate your words. You and Aloryana have given me a bit to think about.” More than a bit.

  Preoccupied as he was, and also considering Bhayrn’s remarks about predictability, Charyn didn’t linger over refreshments at Maitre Alastar’s. That way, he could say that he was returning earlier than he usually did, early enough that it was still twilight when he and the four guards left the Maitre’s stable and headed toward the east bridge.

  He had just ridden past the sentry box and was in the middle of the bridge when a group of figures in white charged onto the east end of the bridge, chanting, “The choristers must go. The Rex must know!”

  True Believers here?

  Then a series of shots rang out.

  Charyn turned his mount and flattened himself against the gelding’s neck so that his mount was largely shielding him from whoever was shooting. Before he could swing his right leg over the saddle, knives jabbed into his calf, but he managed to keep the gelding between him and the shooters. Another of those knives slashed into his right hand, the one that gripped the saddle pommel, and the gelding half-reared, then turned to the right. Yet Charyn knew he couldn’t let go, and grasped the chestnut’s mane with his left hand, even as his right spasmed and his fingers slid off the leather of the saddle.