Her entire body was so cold, so tired . . .
She shook her head. Wherever she was, if she didn't leave, she would likely freeze to death in the darkness where she stood. Trying to reach the darkness beneath her was far harder. Her eyes watered, and her tears began to freeze on her cheeks. Even sliding downward seemed to take forever. While she had thought the depths would be warmer, she remained cold, immobile, icy tears frozen in place on her cheeks in the silent depths.
Tempre! She had to reach Tempre. This time, she called up an image of the Table chamber, with her standing before the Table, its purple mist just faintly sensed.
At last, she felt movement.
Later, how much later, she could not tell, she found herself standing before the Tempre Table for a long moment before her legs collapsed, and another darkness enfolded her.
When she woke again, beside the Table, she knew it had to be close to dawn, and it took every bit of strength she had to hold the sight-shield long enough for her to return to her chambers. There, she slumped onto the bed, dragging the quilts around her in an attempt to get warm.
XII
Mykella had hoped to be in the Finance chambers before Kiedryn or Joramyl, but she'd been so tired that she'd nearly slept through breakfast. Her sleep had been anything but peaceful, with nightmares about struggling through a blinding blizzard of black snow, trying to reach . . . something.
Her stomach was roiling, and she knew she couldn't face the day and what she had to do without something to eat, and that meant Kiedryn was already at his table desk when she arrived. Fortunately, as she had expected, Joramyl was nowhere to be seen.
She gathered the ledgers she needed, then wrapped the sight-shield around them, not that Kiedryn more than glanced in her direction as she paused by the door. "I need to get something. I'll be back before long."
The chief clerk merely nodded.
She had to wait outside her father's study for nearly half a glass before Seltyr Porofyr departed, and she could make her way inside. She slid the door bolt behind her.
"We wouldn't be interrupted, anyway, daughter," offered Feranyt.
For a moment, Mykella studied her sire, with her senses, more than with her eyes. His lifethread was almost the same as Jeraxylt's— golden brown–and for the first time she noted that there was a knot of sorts in the thread, as if tiny threads from all over his body merged into that nexus that connected him to the lifethread.
"Perhaps not, ser," replied Mykella after a pause. She laid the ledgers on the corner of the Lord-Protector's desk. "Father . . . I've been worried about your accounts. Receipts have been going down, yet everyone has been saying that times are good. I couldn't track everything, but I did track the fall tariffs of the bargemasters and the High Factors . . ." She went on to explain how she had cross-checked by visiting most of those on the lists and how their sealed receipts uniformly showed greater payments than those shown as received. She used each ledger to point out the exact differences. ". . . and since we don't use tariff farmers the way they do in some places, the numbers should agree, but they don't. Someone has diverted or pocketed nearly a thousand golds this year— "
"You only know about two hundred for certain."
"I can only prove two hundred at the moment. The ledgers suggest a thousand."
"We can only go with proof, daughter."
Why couldn't her father see? Why wouldn't he?
"Mykella . . . you've been diligent and thoughtful, and I appreciate what you've let me know. Corruption is always a problem, because there aren't enough golds to sate all men's appetites." He looked at his daughter more closely. "You're exhausted. You have black circles under your eyes. You shouldn't have pushed yourself so hard."
"Father . . . I don't see how this could have happened without Lord Joramyl knowing something about it."
Feranyt laughed, ironically. "Just how often does he even come into the Finance chambers? I suspect that you and Kiedryn do most of the work, after the entry clerks take in the papers and order the entries."
Mykella was tired, if not for the reasons her father had suggested.
"Dear child . . . I am the Lord-Protector, and you'll have to trust me to handle it. It's not something that can be rushed."
"You are the Lord-Protector, Father, and I am your daughter. But please don't think I'm overstating matters."
"Mykella, I understand your concerns for me, but if I rush and handle matters wrongly, things will only be worse." He paused. "I will look into it and do what is necessary."
She could sense that, if she pressed her father, it would do no good, and he would only resist. "That's all I wanted, ser. Do you need the ledgers?"
"Not right now, but keep them safe."
"I can do that." Mykella straightened.
XIII
Mykella had struggled to stay awake the remainder of Quinti, and had slept poorly that night and awakened early on Sexdi. She was walking toward the breakfast room when she saw her father waiting outside. His face was stern, and she could sense concern . . . and sadness. He motioned to her.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I said that I would look into what you found out," Feranyt began.
Mykella waited.
"There was a great deal of validity to your findings. So much so that . . . well . . . Kiedryn is dead. He took poison last night, and left a note, saying that he'd stolen far too many golds. He said he was sorry, but he didn't want to disgrace his family. The note pleaded not to make matters public . . ."
Mykella managed not to gape. Kiedryn? He had likely been the only honest one there, besides Mykella herself.
"His family will have to accept exile, of course, but there's no reason to make it public."
"Kiedryn couldn't have . . ." Mykella protested.
Feranyt shrugged sadly. "I know you thought he was honest, but at times appearances are deceiving. I saw the note. Joramyl showed it to me, and we even compared the writing to his. He wrote it, without a doubt."
Under what sort of duress? Mykella swallowed.
"I know this is hard for you, daughter, but that sort of hard truth comes with ruling. Those you trust most are often those who betray that trust."
"But . . . Joramyl?"
"He's been as solid as a rock. His assistant steward will take over until we find a permanent replacement for Kiedryn. I'm counting on you to help him."
"Yes, ser." Mykella felt that her voice was coming from someone else. Why couldn't her father see what was happening? Yet she could sense that trying to convince him that his own brother was behind it all was futile. Speaking against Joramyl would only result in her being unable to do anything . . . not that what she had done had gone as planned.
Feranyt patted her on the shoulder. "I'm counting on you. I need to get ready to meet with that envoy now."
After he continued toward his study, Mykella turned toward the breakfast room, only to find Jeraxylt standing there.
"Father was pleased, you know," offered Jeraxylt. "He said you handled things the way a smart woman should . . . finding out what was happening, you know, and letting him know."
A smart woman? How smart had she been? Poor honest Kiedryn had been poisoned and set up as the guilty party, when Joramyl was the one who'd been diverting the golds— and now matters were even worse because both her brother and her father believed Joramyl, and she had no proof at all who had diverted the golds . . . and no way to obtain it now that everyone was convinced of Kiedryn's guilt.
Mykella barely ate any breakfast, but she did manage a full mug of tea that helped settle her stomach.
Then, girding herself up, she made her way to the Finance chambers.
The man who rose when Mykella entered the outer chamber was barely a span taller than she was, and squat, like a human toad, she thought. He smiled, and from behind the sincere expression flooded insincerity. Even his lifethread seemed snakelike, holding a sickly yellow brown. "Maxymt, at the service of the Lord-Protector."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Maxymt. The Lord-Protector has asked me to make sure you're familiar with the ledgers and accounts."
"Once I've had a chance to become familiar with these, you really won't have to check the ledgers, Mistress. The Lord-Protector's daughter shouldn't be doing a clerk's work." Oiliness coated the insincerity of every word.
"How well do you know the accounts?" she asked. "Could you tell me which ledger holds the receipts from the smallholders?"
Maxymt smiled, showing brilliant white teeth. "I'm certain that won't be hard to determine . . . assuming that Kiedryn was not too . . . creative."
"I'm sure that you will be able to learn," Mykella replied, "but while you are, I'm certain my father would wish me to continue as I have."
"As you wish, Mistress Mykella."
She could sense a most palpable dislike behind the honeyed words. Now what could she do, except try to strengthen those talents awakened by the Ancient? "First, I'll show you the summary ledgers, then the individual account ledgers, and you can go through each one to gain some familiarity."
"Yes, Mistress Mykella."
Almost a glass later, Joramyl hurried into his Finance study, smiling at Maxymt, who was still studying the master ledger, and at Mykella for a moment. Berenyt followed his father, and he did not look at Mykella.
Mykella had to know what they were saying. The moment Maxymt turned his head, she gathered her sight-shield around her and tiptoed to the study door, where she stood, ear against the crack between door and jamb, trying to make out what the two said.
". . . talk about it here . . ."
". . . wanted you to know . . . Mykella's sharper than she looks . . . don't think she'll accept . . . knew Kiedryn too well . . ."
". . . what could she do, Berenyt? The Lord-Protector saw the confession . . . she's just a woman, barely more than a girl. If my brother weren't so sentimental, he'd have long since sent her to Dereka and gotten a pile of golds for her as well . . . what women are for . . . golds and heirs . . . At least, he doesn't listen to her the way he did to her mother. Good thing Aelya died when she did."
Mykella stiffened. There had been something more there, behind the words, and she missed the next phrases.
". . . besides, Feranyt's offsprings' meddling served us well . . . not have to worry about Kiedryn any longer . . . now . . . don't come see me here more than once a week . . . Off with you."
"Yes, ser."
Mykella slipped back to her table and released the sight-shield.
Maxymt started. Then he stared at Mykella. "Where did you come from?"
"Come from? I've been here all along."
"You weren't there a moment ago."
Mykella shook her head. "I haven't left the chamber. You would have heard my boots. Everyone's always said that I walk heavier than some of the guards. I did drop my figuring paper and had to bend down to get it."
"That must be it." Maxymt shook his head.
Mykella could tell that he wasn't totally convinced, but she hadn't been able to hang on to the sight-shield any longer.
Once more, Berenyt didn't look in her direction when he hurried out of his father's study.
XIV
Over the next week, Mykella waited for something to happen, some tragedy or catastrophe, but she could see or sense nothing. Various tariff receipts continued to appear in the ledgers, but now, none showed any discrepancies. To Mykella, that was only proof of Joramyl's cunning, but, again, what could she say? Negotiations proceeded with the envoy from Southgate, and her father mentioned, obliquely, something about an envoy from Deforya.
All she could do was to practice what she had been learning. She had become adept enough with the sight-shield that she could move anywhere unseen. She'd even visited the palace gardens in the dead of night. She'd also traveled from the Table chamber to three others, avoiding the one somewhere in the icy north, but where they were, she had no idea, because all three had been walled shut from the outside. One was chill, and the air seemed thin. Could it have been in Dereka?
She also continued to observe with her life-senses, if that was what they were, and from what she could tell, only her lifethread held that strange combination of black and green, and she had the feeling that the green was becoming more brilliant. But was she just imagining that? Was she imagining everything?.
She observed Joramyl, if intermittently, through the Table. He continued to meet with the Arms-Commander and Commander Demyl, sometimes with Berenyt present, but not always. Outside of the fact that they were plotting, she could tell nothing from what she saw. Berenyt kept flirting with Rachylana, and Rachylana had become ever more distant from Mykella.
Before she knew it, Mykella was in the reviewing stand with her sisters and her father, as the companies of the Southern Guard stationed in Tempre rode past in celebration and recognition of the end of winter and the turn of spring. The small reviewing stand was set at the base of the Grand Piers, equidistant from the green towers at each end. The mounted Guard companies rode northward toward the Piers along the great eternastone highway that split farther to the south, heading west to Hafin and southwest to Southgate, due south to Hyalt and east to Krost and the wine country of Syan. Once the guards reached the reviewing stand, they turned onto the Palace Road, heading due east back to their compound.
When she'd been little, Mykella had once asked her mother why the reviewing stand wasn't before the palace, but Aelya had just smiled, and said, "It's tradition. Tradition is very important. Someday you'll understand how important."
Tradition might well be important, but the day was raw and damp, under heavy gray clouds, and a chill wind blew out of the northeast with such vigor that Mykella wouldn't have been surprised to see snow by the next morning.
Mykella stood to her father's left. Had he not been riding with the Southern Guard, Jeraxylt would have stood to his right. Instead, Lord Joramyl did. To Mykella's left was Cheleyza, Joramyl's second wife, only five years older than Mykella.
"I don't ever get tired of watching the guards," offered Cheleyza. "They ride so well."
And they're all so handsome. That thought was as clear to Mykella as though Cheleyza had shouted it.
"They do ride well," replied Mykella. "Here comes Second Company, and you can see Berenyt there, at the front."
"He rides well, too." Cheleyza paused. "What are you wearing to the ball tonight?"
"Something blue . . . I think. And you?"
"Blue and silver, with a special shimmersilk scarf from Dramur. Joramyl wants me to look my best."
"I'm certain he does." Mykella kept the sarcasm she felt out of her voice. Even so, she could sense Salyna's amusement from behind her.
"He is very particular about the way I look."
"Many husbands are, I've heard."
"You'll find out, dear."
After Second Company came First Company, and Mykella was happy to change the subject by noting, "There's Jeraxylt, leading his squad." She could also see a well-endowed redheaded girl at the end of the reviewing stand, taking a special interest in her brother.
Following First Company were the senior officers of the Southern Guard, followed in turn by the headquarters group. First came Undercommander Areyst, and Mykella sensed both respect and sadness as he bowed his head to the Lord-Protector. Behind him was Commander Demyl, but while the commander looked toward the reviewing stand and bowed his head to the Lord-Protector, Mykella could sense the contempt. Arms-Commander Nephryt merely radiated arrogance.
What could she do? She knew what others were thinking and feeling, and yet she had no proof of anything beyond what she had shown her father, and now, even that proof had been reduced to uselessness by Kiedryn's supposed suicide.
XV
The ballroom was on the southeast corner of the main level of the palace, and had been created centuries before by merging a series of chambers, so that it was long and comparatively narrow, with windows only on the eastern and southern walls. A parquet floor, now a
ncient, if polished and shining, had been laid over the stone floor tiles, and the wall hangings were of blue and cream. The orchestra was seated on a low platform set against the midpoint of the long inner wall of the ballroom.
Mykella stood at one side of the orchestra, beside Salyna, and only a few yards from where her father and Joramyl chatted amiably. Standing in the receiving line and smiling politely had been more than enough to boil her blood and curdle any thoughts she might have had about the milk of human kindness. Rachylana was already off dancing, and Mykella wished that she were, not that she cared that much for dancing, but the hypocrisy of Joramyl's apparent concern for his brother the Lord-Protector was making Mykella more than a little uncomfortable.
Jim Baen's Universe-Vol 2 Num 2 Page 18
