Jim Baen's Universe-Vol 2 Num 2

by Jim Baen's Universe! staff

  "Who will do the blessing?" asked Salyna.

  "Would you like to, since you asked?" inquired Joramyl. "I had thought that Mykella might offer the statement of his life, since she is the eldest."

  Salyna nodded.

  "Is that acceptable to you, Rachyla?" asked Joramyl.

  "Yes."

  A silence descended on the study. Mykella waited, unwilling to be the one to speak.

  Joramyl cleared his throat. "Now . . . uncomfortable as it may be, we need to talk about your future." The Lord-Protector-select's words were mild.

  Mykella could sense the calculation and the disdain behind the politeness. "Now? We have not even had Father's funeral."

  "By the end of the week after the funeral, of course, you will all retire to your father's hill villa for a half season of mourning. By then, the envoy from Southgate should have arrived, and we can begin the negotiations for Salyna's marriage. I have renewed the negotiations with Deforya as well, Mykella."

  Mykella wasn't aware that those negotiations had ever been broken off. "Salyna isn't old enough to be married to anyone," she said quietly

  "She needs the protection of a strong consort, especially now," suggested Berenyt. "So do you and Rachylana."

  "And whom would you suggest?"

  "Cousins have married," Berenyt said.

  Joramyl merely offered the slightest of smiles.

  "You and Rachylana?" asked Mykella.

  "If such were to occur, I would leave that decision to the two of you." Berenyt smiled.

  "Perhaps you and Rachylana should discuss such matters," added Joramyl, gazing pointedly at Mykella. "Your father did wish his successors to be of his blood."

  Mykella looked blankly out the window. If Berenyt married Rachylana, no one would ever complain, not loudly, that Joramyl had succeeded her father, because both bloodlines would be united in their children. But . . . it was wrong.

  Yet, if she challenged Joramyl and Berenyt, she would be acting against her own sister. And what could she really do? Could what she had learned sustain her against Joramyl and the leaders of the Southern Guard?

  After a moment, she inclined her head politely. "That is true. He did wish his successor to be of his blood, and his successor will be."

  Berenyt relaxed ever so slightly. Joramyl did not, although he smiled broadly. "I'm sure he would have been glad to know that you intend to support his wishes."

  "I am a dutiful daughter," Mykella replied, inclining her head, "and his wishes are and will be my command."

  XXIV

  That evening, after a cold dinner, Salyna followed Mykella back to her chamber.

  "What do you want, little sister?" asked Mykella gently.

  "Rachylana's worried, Mykella," Salyna said quietly.

  "Why should she be worried?" replied Mykella. "Berenyt will ask for her hand, whether he loves her or not, and she'll become the wife of the future Lord-Protector of Tempre."

  "She thinks you'll do something stupid, like try to poison Joramyl or something like that, and that you'll be killed, and we'll be exiled."

  Mykella laughed, a low and ironic sound. "You can tell her that I never once thought of poisoning anyone, not after I saw what it did to Father."

  "Father? You think he was poisoned?"

  "I can't prove it to anyone. But he was healthy. He had a glass of wine, and he had a seizure. He was dead in less than half a glass. That all happened less than half a season after Jeraxylt died in a sparring accident. Most convenient, don't you think?"

  "I had wondered." Salyna's face crumpled, and her eyes brightened. "But what can we do? You can't . . . Either it was all the way Uncle Joramyl said it was . . . or . . ." She said nothing for a moment, before asking, "If you're right, who would believe it?"

  Mykella nodded. "And if anyone poisoned anyone now . . . I'm most certain everyone would look at me. You're too sweet, and Rachylana has everything to lose."

  "But . . . they'll send me to Southgate."

  "That's possible." Mykella didn't want to let her sister know anything, for Salyna's own protection. "You'd be safer there."

  "What . . . about you?"

  "They're still talking about marrying me off to the Landarch-heir of Deforya. I understand it's not too bad a place, except that it's cold and dry."

  "Do you know what he's like?"

  "That doesn't seem to matter, does it?" replied Mykella.

  "But . . . Mother loved Father . . ."

  "They were fortunate, and they had met some years before," Mykella pointed out.

  "What will happen, Mykella?" Salyna's voice was small.

  "We'll have to see, won't we? But there's no use in worrying right this moment." Mykella wrapped her arms around Salyna, all too conscious that her younger sister was the taller.

  XXV

  Mykella rose early on Quinti. She prepared herself for the ordeal ahead, in all the ways that she could, including her dress, a severe dark green and high-necked gown, trimmed in black. Her head-scarf was black, but of shimmersilk —and had been her mother's— and her cloak was black. Under the long skirt of the gown, she did wear black boots, well-polished ones.

  She forced herself to eat at breakfast, but kept to herself until the time for the ceremony. She said little as she joined the others before they were escorted to the small reviewing stand set up on the north side of the boulevard, directly in front of the wall enclosing the palace. More than a thousand people lined the space on the south side of the boulevard, crowding the area between the low wall that comprised the northern edge of the public gardens and the edge of the boulevard.

  As the late Lord-Protector's eldest surviving child, Mykella stood on the uppermost level of the stand, under a clear green sky, with a cool breeze blowing out of the northwest. To her right was Joramyl, and beyond him, Berenyt. To her left were her sisters, and beyond them, Lady Cheleyza. Below the family were the seltyrs and High Factors of Tempre —in effect the councilors of the city and more— and their wives.

  "I can see the Guard is leaving the Grand Piers now," Joramyl said conversationally.

  "It won't be that long now." Berenyt concealed his impatience badly, so much so that Mykella could have read it clearly even without her Talent.

  As her cousin had predicted, it was not that long before the funeral procession appeared, led by two guards riding on each side of a riderless horse whose saddle was draped in the blue of the Lord-Protector. Behind them rode Second Company, and all the officers and men wore black-edged blue mourning sashes. Behind them came the caisson carrying her father's coffin, drawn by four black horses.

  Just before the caisson carrying her father's coffin, draped in the blue of the Lord-Protector, drew abreast of the reviewing stand, Mykella stepped forward. She drew upon the lifeweb darkness beneath her and Tempre and focused light around her . . . then around the coffin, not enough to be blinding, but just enough, she hoped, so that all who watched saw the faint link of light between her and the coffin of the late Lord-Protector. Then she projected respect and honor for her father the Lord-Protector, easing it out across the area, but she let that projection center on her as the caisson passed. The riders of Second Company looked back, and those of First Company, following the caisson also fixed their eyes upon the Lord-Protector's daughter. Mykella remained motionless, but she did not bother to try to control the tears that rolled down her face.

  Then, once the last of the riders had passed, she stepped back

  "How . . . did that happen . . ." murmured someone.

  "Don't say a word," murmured Joramyl.

  Mykella let tears roll down her face as she watched the caisson heading into the palace grounds and toward the mausoleum on the hillside behind the palace.

  After the last horseman in the procession had entered the palace gates, as Mykella walked down the steps toward the honor guard that would escort them to the mausoleum, Salyna slipped beside her.

  "What did you do?" whispered Salyna. "They all looked at you. Joramyl g
ot that stern stone look he gets when he's displeased."

  "I didn't do anything," Mykella lied, "except step forward a bit to pay my respects to Father— publicly."

  "But everyone looked at you . . ."

  Mykella certainly hoped so.

  Joramyl certainly had felt both anger and worry, but he had said nothing to Mykella. Even so, she maintained a Talent-shield around herself as she let the honor guard escort them through the plaza in front of the palace, then through the rear courtyard and the rear gate to the memorial garden around the private mausoleum— well to the east and uphill from the regular palace gardens.

  Once the coffin had been carried into the mausoleum, and everyone had assembled in the small outer rotunda, Joramyl began the ceremony.

  "We acknowledge that the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona has died, and that he has left a legacy of love and goodness bestowed on his family and people throughout a long and prosperous life. We are here to mourn his loss and offer our last formal farewell in celebration of his life." With that, he stepped back and nodded to Mykella.

  Mykella stepped forward. She waited several moments before she began to speak, letting silence fall across the mausoleum and the area beyond. Her eyes traversed the three Southern Guard officers present, but she did not look sideways at Joramyl, nor at her sisters.

  "Our father was the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona, but he was more than that. He was a good man, a caring man, and a trusting man, who loved his wife, his children, his larger family, and his people. He believed most deeply that the principal goal of a Lord-Protector was to protect his people, both from those outside the borders of Lanachrona and from those within our borders, for there are enemies in both places. He spent his efforts as Lord-Protector to assure peace and prosperity for all his people, and not just a favored few. And . . . to the end of his days, he believed in the goodness of those around him. We will miss him, and so will Lanachrona."

  While her words were brief, Mykella did not know that she could have said more, or that more needed to be said.

  After another silence, Salyna delivered the blessing. "In the name of the one and the wholeness that is, and always will be . . ."

  Mykella listened intently, but while Salyna almost choked on the words near the end, her voice remained firm, steady, and loving.

  During the entire brief ceremony, Mykella had barely glanced in the direction of Undercommander Areyst, except the one time in passing, not because she had not wished to do so, but because she felt that any favor she might show him might jeopardize his very life.

  The honor guard re-formed below the steps of the mausoleum.

  Joramyl turned to Mykella, a pleasant, but thoughtful look upon his face, an expression belying the mixture of anger and worry within him. "You were very . . . impressive today. I trust you will be equally supportive of your father's successor."

  "I intend to be, Lord Joramyl. Like you, I am beholden to my father's legacy." She paused. "I apologize if my words are brief, but it has been a trying time." She did her best to offer an apologetic smile.

  XXVI

  Mykella wasn't certain exactly how she made it through the rest of the day, replying to all sorts of meaningless platitudes politely. She was just thankful when she could plead exhaustion after a light supper and retire to her chamber.

  As she closed the door, she realized she was thirsty, and she walked toward the side table by the bed. The tumbler there was empty, but the pitcher beside it has been refilled by the staff., and she reached for it. Her hand stopped short. A purplish aura surrounded the pitcher— the exact shade of purple she'd perceived shrouding her father just before he died.

  She bent over the pitcher and sniffed, but she could smell nothing.

  For the briefest of moments, she thought about using the sight-shield to place the pitcher where Joramyl would use it, but that was not a good idea for two reasons. First, he had not moved into the palace and would not until after he was formally installed as Lord-Protector at noon the next day— far too soon, Mykella thought, but no one had asked her. Nor would anyone. That, she also knew. Second, as Salyna had pointed out, Berenyt would make certain that she was blamed, and he would just become Lord-Protector sooner— and he probably wouldn't even have to marry Rachylana.

  Mykella snorted. If she'd drunk the poison, doubtless Joramyl would have claimed a brain weakness ran in the family.

  She did make sure that the door bolt was fastened before she put out the lamps and climbed into bed.

  The faintest click awakened her from a restless sleep. She could sense someone outside her door, and she immediately reached for the greenish darkness deep beneath the palace, even as she slipped from beneath the covers and to her feet, waiting.

  The door bolt slowly slid open, and the door opened. Despite the near pitch-darkness of the room, Mykella could make out that the slender but muscular figure who entered her chamber was garbed entirely in black, with even a tight-fitting black hood. She waited until he closed the door and edged toward the bed, a loop of something in his hand.

  Using her Talent, she reached out and slashed at his lifethread node. Tiny threads sprayed away from him, and he pitched forward onto the stone floor. The thud was muffled by the old rug at the foot of the bed.

  After cloaking herself and the dead man with her sight-shield, Mykella eased open her door. As she half suspected, none of the guards were anywhere in sight. Although she was no weakling, it did take her quite some time to drag his figure to the staircase, where she pushed the body off the top landing.

  How far the dead assassin rolled down the steps she didn't know. Nor did she care.

  She made her way back to her chamber where she rebolted the door, then took the desk chair from before her writing table and propped it under the door handle lever. While it might not hold against a determined assailant, anyone who could break it to get inside would definitely make enough noise to wake her.

  She smiled grimly.

  Her dear uncle was obviously worried. The fact that he was suggested that his support among the seltyrs and High Factors was not all that he might have liked. She hoped so.

  XXVII

  Mykella was the first in the breakfast room— for what was to be her last meal there, at least according to her uncle. Salyna and Rachylana entered just behind her.

  "Did you hear?" asked Salyna. "They found an assassin on the stairway."

  "How did they know he was an assassin?" asked Rachylana. "No one would claim that."

  "He was dead," Salyna said. "That's what Pattyn said— he was the head of the guards on duty. The man was wearing assassin's black, and he had a dagger and a garrote."

  "The guards killed him?" asked Mykella, sitting down at her place, all too conscious of the empty seat where her father had always seated himself. Her eyes burned, and she looked down for a moment, then swallowed before she raised her head.

  "No one knows," Salyna replied. "Pattyn said he was dead, and there wasn't a mark on him." She poured herself cider.

  The serving girl brought Mykella tea, but Mykella studied it for a moment, deciding it was safe, before taking a sip.

  Rachylana glanced at Mykella. "There have been too many strange things happening, like the light that fell on you yesterday."

  "It fell on Father's coffin," Mykella pointed out.

  "And on you."

  "She is the eldest, Rachylana," Salyna said. "What other heir does Father have?"

  Mykella hoped her youngest sister hadn't guessed too much.

  "Daughters can't inherit."

  "Can't . . . or haven't?" asked Mykella. "There's nothing in the charter or the archives that forbids it."

  "You've looked? I would have thought as much," sniffed Rachylana. "Even if Joramyl and Berenyt didn't exist, just how much of the Southern Guard would accept a woman?"

  "Rachylana . . . that's . . ." Salyna shook her head.

  "Who would know?" asked Mykella. "There's always been a male heir."

  "I still say that
too many strange things are happening," Rachylana finally said, after swallowing some cider.

  "Like the doors that opened in the palace with no one around," added Salyna quickly, clearly thankful not to have to discuss the possibility of a woman as Lord- or Lady-Protector. "One of the guards even found a silver in the middle of the lower corridor."

  "Some factor probably dropped it. He wouldn't have missed it," pointed out Mykella. "Some people can't see what's before their faces."