“Don’t be underfoot,” Quoyell said. “I’ve got enough on my plate right now.” He brushed Dayne’s hand away and stalked off.
“Don’t take that personally,” Samsell said. “He’s like that with everyone.”
“Charming,” Dayne said. “So what’s next for you?”
“We’ll see,” Samsell said. “But I have a suspicion that they’re going to need an election expert in Oblune to help them organize a few things over the next year. So I’ve put in a request to transfer out there.”
Dayne offered his hand. “Then good luck with that, Donavan.”
“I appreciate that, Dayne,” he said, taking Dayne’s hand warmly. “Take care of this place. It’s . . . it’s your home now.”
* * *
Morning exercises and training completed, Amaya let the Initiates off for lunch. She noticed that most of them had a bit of extra spark today, pushing just a bit further, trying a bit harder. Even the ones who had been spooked by the battle at Miniara Pass seemed more together. She was proud of them. The next year was going to be hard on each of them, but she was glad to see that pressure was steeling their resolve instead of breaking them.
“Miss Tyrell?” One of the servants approached her as she came out of the practice room. “The Grandmaster wants you in his study.”
“Thank you,” she said, and went up to see him. She found him at his desk, finishing writing up a list.
“Ah, Amaya, just in time.” He blew gently on what he’d just written to dry the ink. “I’m afraid I do have a bit of sad news. It seems that Master Nedell is going to take some time to recover from his injuries. I have no idea how long he might be recuperating. In fact, given his age . . .” He let it hang there.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, sir,” Amaya said.
“So, obviously, he won’t be supervising the Initiate training any further this year. That will be more burden for you to bear.”
“I can handle that, sir. I presume I will continue to preside over the third-years, and Kissel and Searl with the first and seconds?”
“Yes,” the Grandmaster said, getting up from his desk, the paper he was writing still in his hand. “Given what we’ve gone through, no need for further disruption of the system, yes?”
“I agree, that’s sensible,” she said.
“Now, with Master Nedell unavailable, and with Osharin’s unfortunate . . . choices, we are faced with a challenge.”
“What might that be?”
He handed over the paper. “Here are today’s rankings for the third-year Initiates, as well as their mentor assignments for the year.” Amaya found it very interesting that he had developed new rankings for the third-years, with no observation on his own part, or input from her. She was beginning to wonder how much of it was sewage concocted to torture the Initiates with. In her year, she and Dayne kept pushing for the top spot, and on any given day it could be either one of them. Was that just a game? For all she knew, they flipped a coin each day to decide which of them to put on top.
No, Master Denbar wouldn’t have done that. She knew him, she knew his heart. He would have treated it as something sacred.
But she wasn’t sure about Grandmaster Orren.
“As you can see, since we are now short a Master and an Adept, not every third-year could be assigned a mentor. It is regrettable, but we do what we must.”
She looked down at the list. The ranking was largely what it had been for the past two days, switching around a few of the people in the middle. Jerinne still at the bottom.
And, most notably, Jerinne was the only one not assigned a mentor.
Amaya pursed her lips and chose her next words wisely. “Are you certain this is how we want to proceed?”
“It is regrettable,” he said, as if the situation was entirely out of his hands. “But I feel it is for the best. Have that posted outside their barracks, with instructions to meet with their mentors for the afternoon.”
“This can’t be right—”
“Amaya,” he said. “Please believe me when I say that this is, indeed, regrettable. But trust me to know what’s right for the Order.”
She folded the paper, keeping her disgust buried in her gut. “As you say, sir.”
She left his study and went to the barracks, writing the listing and the assignments on the slateboard herself. Normally, she’d have passed that on to Vien, but she didn’t want to taint herself or Vien by discussing it further. She certainly couldn’t bring herself to order someone else to write this sewage out.
That unpleasantness handled, she went down to get something to eat, if she could find the stomach for it. Before she reached the mess, she passed the lobby, where Jerinne was talking with Fredelle Pence.
“You’re back?” she asked Jerinne. “Everything all right?”
“Everything is fine,” Jerinne said, her face a sunbeam of joy. “And look who I ran into.”
Fredelle looked just as happy. “I was feeling a bit nostalgic for this place. Silly, I know.”
“You did spend three years here,” Amaya said. Feeling a need to say something else, she added, “And you were very good.”
Fredelle shrugged. “If only my rankings had reflected that.”
“Rankings are meaningless,” Amaya said. She looked to Jerinne, and made sure the girl understood what she was saying.
“Yeah, well I’m over it,” Fredelle said. “But I wanted to say goodbye proper to this place. And to you.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
Fredelle sighed. “We have a morale tour throughout northern Druthal. Thirty army forts in as many weeks.”
“I—” Amaya grabbed the woman and embraced her. “I’m sorry I was always such a clod.”
“Yeah,” Fredelle said. “But I liked you anyway.”
Amaya pulled away. “Good luck with the tour.”
“Thanks,” Fredelle said. “I’m going to wander about, maybe bug Clinan for a session with those hands of his. We don’t have anything like him in the army.”
“Now I see why you came.”
Fredelle shrugged as she went up the stairs. “He really is a miracle; don’t take him for granted.” She pointed to Jerinne. “You keep your head up, girl. Remember what I told you.” With a wink she added, “Everything I told you.”
Amaya looked to Jerinne, who was blushing slightly at that. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Jerinne said quickly. “Just a joke we had at the party.”
Amaya remembered something of Fredelle and her “jokes,” and understood perfectly. “All right, then.”
“Is training on a break for lunch?” Jerinne asked. “Should I head to the mess?”
Looking at Jerinne, an idea settled in Amaya’s mind. “Actually, no.”
“All right. What do you need me to do?”
Amaya took her by the arm. “We’re going to go have lunch ourselves, away from everyone else. I have a few things to tell you.”
Jerinne walked with her out the door, a look of concern on her face. “What’s going on, Madam Tyrell?”
“First off, when it’s just you and me, drop the madam. It’s Amaya.”
Chapter 30
DAYNE FOUND LADY MIRIANNE waiting for him in front of her carriage at the bottom of the Parliament steps, looking dashing in her dark blue striped waistcoat, cravat, and trousers, with leather cap and boots.
“How is it you make a man’s suit look like high fashion?” he asked as he approached.
“This is going to be high fashion for ladies,” she said. “Mark me, this is the look young women of Maradaine will be sporting in the autumn. I’m seeing to it.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
She laughed, sweet and infectious. “The hat is a Marikar suncap. It was the hat the suffragettes in Oblune wore this year, and by all the saints I will mak
e it the thing to wear.”
“Show that Oblune is leading the way.”
“Exactly,” she said. She opened the carriage door, but on the seat was a pile of newssheets. Throne and Chairs, High Maradaine Gazette, First News Maradaine, and more, including Veracity. She fanned them out. “Would you look at that?”
All the papers, of course, had headlines about the election—though only the Gazette and Veracity prominently placed “Women Get the Vote in Oblune!”—but the main story in every newssheet was about the rescue of the Scallic ballots. Included in each story was a drawing, the same drawing in every one—a flattering depiction of Dayne holding a shield up to keep a plume of fire off the ballot boxes, while Jerinne and Amaya were in the background rescuing hostages and fighting mercenaries.
“This isn’t right,” he said. “I’m not the story here. Amaya and Jerinne deserve as much credit.”
“So humble,” she said. “But I can be proud of you. Now, I am famished, so let’s go.”
The Nimble Rabbit was quite busy, as would be expected on a holiday, and most of the outside tables were full. However, Hemmit, Maresh, and Lin were at their usual table, joined by Jerinne and Amaya. Mirianne took the lead approaching the table, clutching the newssheets to her chest.
“So he’s apparently gone to ground,” Hemmit was saying. “Not that I blame him, but—”
“Are we interrupting?” Lady Mirianne asked.
“Not at all,” Hemmit said, getting to his feet. “Please, join us.”
They sat down. “Who’s gone to ground?” Dayne asked.
Hemmit took a sip of his wine. “One of the Patriots who was working with Tharek reached out, said he had—he had a story for us, but he got clobbered when the Deep Roots abducted us. So I can imagine he took it personally.”
“Why were you even wanting to talk to such a disreputable man?” Lady Mirianne asked.
“We do somewhat specialize in the disreputable, my lady,” Lin said.
“I suppose you do, and—” Before she finished the waiter approached.
“What can we get for you today?” he asked.
She looked at Dayne and gave an impish smile. “Lamb sausages with onions and duck-crisped potatoes, plenty of bread and . . . you do have Jaconvale mustard, yes?”
“Of course we do, ma’am,” he said. “Is there any other kind?”
She beamed. “That is very much the right answer.” She gave a wave to the whole table. “And the bill for all of this is going to me.”
Amaya started, “We couldn’t—”
“No argument,” Lady Mirianne said. “It is the least I can do for all of you, who have done so much to save our country.” She looked to the waiter again. “And wine all around, except for that one who should probably have cider.”
“Hey now,” Jerinne said.
“That I agree with,” Amaya said.
“Settled,” Mirianne said, and the waiter went off. “Now, where was I?”
Dayne recognized the look on her face. “You have a plan.”
“Of course I do,” she said. She took the pile of newssheets and passed them out. “Mister Niol, I believe that is your drawing sporting the front of all these papers?”
“It is,” Maresh said, scowling as he looked at it.
“You drew this?” Amaya said, looking at the picture. “It’s very good.”
“Well, I did have a good view of the whole thing,” he said. He shook his head angrily. “Can you believe they all swiped it? Those bastards.”
“I’m not that shocked,” Lin said.
“So I’m correct in assuming that you were not paid by any of these newssheets for your work?” Mirianne asked.
“Certainly not,” Maresh said.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’ve already had my lawyer write up actions against each of these on your behalf.”
Hemmit almost spat out his wine. “You did what?”
“It’s not right, and I want to make sure that you—all three of you—are credited for the great work you are doing, and properly compensated for it.”
“That’s very kind, my lady,” Maresh said.
“Tish,” she said. “And no more of that ‘my lady’ stuff from the three of you. You can call me Miri, as my closest friends do.”
“Are we?” Hemmit asked.
“Of course,” she said. “All of you, at my party, protected people, stayed calm, and kept things from being much worse.” She reached across the table and took Amaya’s hand. “And I’m so glad to see you here. Yesterday I received so many notes from people who spoke so highly of you and your actions that night. Let alone how you saved the Acoran votes. Please say we can be friends.”
Dayne saw a bit of discomfort on Amaya’s face, but despite that she said, “Yes, of course, my l—Miri.”
“Capital,” Mirianne said. “Along those lines: Hemmit, Maresh, and Lin, I think the work you are doing with Veracity Press is vital and critical to the health of this city. You are providing a viewpoint that more people need to be confronted with. So I want to start financing the Veracity.”
Dayne was a bit surprised by that, but perhaps this was more of Mirianne’s “armchair subversive” attitude coming forth. She did like to appear shocking, and funding a small firebrand of a newssheet like Veracity would certainly do that.
“Are you sure, my lady?” Hemmit asked.
“Miri,” she said firmly. Food and more wine arrived, and Mirianne filled Dayne’s glass and her own.
“I am positive,” she said. “I don’t expect returns on my investment, and I don’t want you to do anything different with what you’re writing. I just want you to not worry about the money, and be able to get this out to more people.” She tapped energetically on her copy of the Veracity. “I want you to be so big they won’t dare steal from you.”
The three of them looked at each other a bit confused, but none of them looked displeased at the idea. “Well, then, we’d welcome that,” Lin finally said. “Saints know we were barely scraping by as is.”
She raised her glass. “Then we are settled.”
Hemmit raised his glass, and then everyone did, glasses clinking together. Everyone drank and then began eating, and Mirianne and Hemmit began discussing details.
Lin slid down the bench next to Dayne. “Jerinne told me about the sister finding her, the bishop at the stationhouse.”
“I don’t suppose you want to talk about it?”
“Magic, as I do it, is only part of the mystical world. What . . . what I think Bishop Issendel can do is called ‘Faith’ by scholars.”
“Fitting.”
“In that no one, as far as I know, truly understands it or its limits. Or can prove it’s real.”
Dayne shuddered, and took another sip of wine. “I think it’s quite real.”
“As do I. And it terrifies me. From what I’ve seen, what I’ve read, it’s the . . .”
“Power?”
“For lack of a better word—that can actually change a person. Change who they are. That kind of power, in the hands of someone in the Parliament?”
“As you said, terrifying,” Dayne said. “Or it would be, but I can’t see Ret being terrifying with it.”
She looked skeptical. “Maybe he’s a gentle soul. But imagine that power, wielded by someone without his moral code.”
Dayne didn’t want to think what that could mean. Before he could respond, Mirianne turned to them and gave them both a little scowl. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s making your faces quite dour. I don’t approve.”
“Yes, my lady,” Lin said, filling her plate again. “Drink up, Dayne. I fear we’ll need to fortify ourselves in the coming months.”
After they all had several plates of sausages and potatoes and more wine, Amaya leaned over to Dayne. “How are you doing?�
��
“I could sleep for another eight days or so,” he said. “You?”
“About the same.” She looked at Jerinne and back at him. “I’m worried about her, and things at the chapterhouse.”
“How so?”
Amaya was about to answer when the bells of one in the afternoon rang out. Mirianne stood up.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was already one bell. I need to go meet with my managers.” She kissed Dayne, just a little too long and hard for polite company. He was blushing when she released him, and then she put a goldsmith card of account in his hand. “Get that back to me tonight, my love.” Then she was off.
Dayne composed himself and turned back to Amaya. “Sorry, you were saying?”
A few emotions played over her face, and Dayne wasn’t sure how to read her. After a moment, she settled on something. “Jerinne, listen up.”
“What is it?” Jerinne asked, moving closer.
Amaya looked at them both, lowering her voice, and turning away from the others, who were discussing logistics of the new phase of The Veracity Press. “I don’t want to go into it all right now, but something is wrong at the chapterhouse, and . . . I’m not sure I trust the Grandmaster.”
That was a shock. “Why?”
“For one, he keeps putting Jerinne at the bottom of the rankings, despite my insistence that she does not belong there.”
“I knew it,” Jerinne said.
“Ease down,” Amaya said. “So that means she’s stuck with no mentor. The only one without one.”
“That isn’t right at all,” Dayne said.
“And you,” Amaya said. “Are stuck at the Parliament, away from the chapterhouse. So whatever is going wrong there, wrong with the Grandmaster . . . and maybe I’m wrong . . . but whatever it is, you will be clear of it.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“Well, this is what I nee—what I hope you can do. Both of you.”
“Both of us?” Jerinne asked.
“You two, I trust,” she said. “So, in as much as Jerinne is under my authority, I want her to work with you as her mentor. Informally.”
Shield of the People Page 34
