“It’s … different.”
Mykella took a deep breath. Nothing she said was likely to change her sister’s mind. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe once Salyna thought it over …
“Why did you designate Areyst as your heir?” Salyna finally asked.
Mykella offered a rueful smile. “Why do you think?”
“You wanted the support of the Southern Guards.”
“That … and I didn’t want to upset things any more than I had to.” Mykella paused. “Right now, as things are, would you want to be designated as my heir?”
Salyna tilted her head. “No. At first, I was hurt. Then I realized that your decision protects both Rachylana and me … a little, anyway. We can’t do what you can.”
Mykella wanted to say that she couldn’t do what Salyna could with weapons, but realized that saying it would come out as condescending. “That’s only for now.”
“Can you teach me what you know?”
“I don’t know. Did you really see anything in the Table?”
“No … I didn’t want to say anything.” Salyna paused. “Areyst did, didn’t he? Is he like you?”
“No. He has to have a trace of Talent, but that doesn’t mean he could do what I can. The old records said that some of the followers of Mykel could see the soarer who appeared to him, during the Cataclysm, but most could not, and none of the others who saw the Ancient ever showed Talent.” Again … that wasn’t quite true. There was no record of any of them showing Talent; but if someone had wanted to conceal it, who would know after hundreds of years? “The soarer appeared to me in the walled garden the first time. That was several days before she touched me, and I could see her, but Rachylana was standing next to me, looking right at the soarer, and she saw nothing.” Mykella could sense Salyna’s disappointment, and added, “I didn’t see her ever, before that. Maybe you will.”
“You’re just trying to cheer me up.”
Mykella smiled gently. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“I’m glad you tried.” Salyna stood. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
“It has.” That was something on which they could definitely agree.
Mykella was tired. She’d spent the afternoon discussing the necessary changes in guarding the palace and other matters involving the Southern Guards with Areyst, following his recommendations, except about supplies, where she had asked him to look into several matters before dealing with procurement. Salyna had been closeted with the chatelaine, trying to take over what Mykella had done for years.
Mykella rose and followed Salyna from the family parlor, then to her own bedchamber, the one that had been hers from the time she could remember, and the one she needed to leave, if she wanted any privacy at all, since its door opened onto the main upper corridor. That had never been a problem when she’d been the relatively insignificant daughter of the Lord-Protector, but now … with Southern Guards posted practically outside her door, unfortunately, with reason, it would be. She’d already asked Chalmyr and Chatelaine Auralya to remove any personal items of her Father’s or Joramyl’s from the apartments that had served them, and to clean the rooms thoroughly before she moved into the small suite that held a personal study, a sitting room, a wash chamber, and a bedchamber.
As she bolted the door to her bedchamber, she hoped she could sleep.
3
Septi morning, Mykella was up and in the family breakfast room early. She hadn’t slept well. Salyna was already there, looking down at a mug of something, likely cider, and she had circles under her eyes. The two ate almost silently.
Not surprisingly, Rachylana had not yet made an appearance at breakfast, and, before getting up to finish readying herself for the day, Mykella instructed Muergya that on no account was Rachylana to be served in her room, and that no special meals were to be prepared for her.
“… you can leave something here for her, but nothing more,” Mykella concluded.
“Yes, Lady.” The serving girl glanced toward Salyna, then back to Mykella.
“Just tell her that those were my instructions.”
“Yes, Lady,” Muergya repeated, before hurrying away into the serving pantry.
“That will just make her more angry,” Salyna observed.
“I’m sorry if it does, but she’d rather have had us married off and enslaved and Lanachrona in ruins.”
“It will be anyway. Your romantic dreams won’t last long.” The bitter words came from Rachylana, who stood in the doorway, attired in a long black dress, with a black shawl, and a set of polished black onyx beads around her neck. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, and her mahogany red hair was swept back into two silver clips. “You won’t be able to kill every armsman that the other lands send against you.”
“You’re assuming that all of them will attack,” said Mykella, taking a last swallow of tea from her mug.
“You’re assuming that they won’t. Besides, just how many of the Southern Guards will follow your tame commander?”
“All of them, just about,” replied Salyna. “He’s anything but tame. He’s the first commander in years with field experience, and they respect him.”
“Oh … I forgot. You spar with the Guards. You think they’d tell you the truth?”
“They have so far,” replied Salyna.
For a moment, Rachylana said nothing. Then she walked to the far end of the table and seated herself.
Mykella looked at Rachylana, wondering whether she should say more.
Salyna shook her head.
Mykella cleared her throat. “When you’re up to it, Rachylana, we do need to talk.”
“Why? You’ll do whatever you want. You always have.”
Salyna winced.
“Because,” replied Mykella calmly as she rose from the table, “I’ll only be guessing what you’d like unless I know what it is you want.” Even so, after we do talk, you’ll still say that you told me what you wanted and that I ignored you, even when I haven’t. “You know where to find me.”
Rachylana looked away.
After glancing at Salyna, who gave the smallest of headshakes, Mykella left the breakfast room.
Back in her bedchamber, possibly for the last time, Mykella glanced into the mirror over the dressing table. She’d decided that she’d continue wearing what she always wore—the black nightsilk camisole and undertrousers, with a black nightsilk shirt that was really a tunic, and black nightsilk trousers over her black boots. The double layer of nightsilk was warm enough, if sometimes, in summer, too warm, and offered protection against all manner of weapons—even without her Talent shields. As formfitting as the nightsilk undergarments were, their protection was not absolute. The fabric woven from the wool of the nightsheep of the Iron Valleys stiffened harder than iron under a blade thrust or a bullet, but the pressure still caused some injury, especially given Mykella’s tendency to bruise easily. Holding Talent-shields for a long time, she’d discovered the previous day, was also exhausting although she knew she’d need to do so whenever she left the palace. Hopefully, she could work out a compromise that protected her without wearing her down.
She turned away from the mirror and stepped from the chamber, walking toward the southwest corner of the palace that held the formal study-library. There were still two guards stationed in the main corridor flanking the outer study doors, and she nodded to both as she stepped past them into the antechamber.
Chalmyr stood waiting inside. “Good morning, Lady-Protector. A Majer Smoltak is waiting below. He requests that he be allowed to see you. He is—”
“The aide to Envoy Sheorak. At the moment, I’d prefer to see the majer rather than the envoy.” Mykella had no doubts Smoltak knew that as well, which was why he was requesting the audience.
Chalmyr nodded. “There is also a written request from Envoy Malaryk.”
“I’ll see him tomorrow afternoon. Late in the afternoon.” Mykella didn’t feel like seeing the Seltyr from Southgate at all, but there was no
sense in putting off such a meeting more than that, and there wasn’t anyone else she trusted to handle the matter, not yet. “Oh … would you arrange meetings for me with Minister Gharyk, Minister Porofyr, and Forester Loryalt? I’d like to start with Lord Gharyk, if possible, but I’d like to see Commander Areyst after I meet with the Deforyan if the commander’s around.”
Chalmyr offered a slight smile. “I am certain I can do that. Will you see the Deforyan majer immediately?”
“There’s no reason not to, is there?”
“I would think not. I will send for him.”
“Thank you, Chalmyr.”
The older scrivener inclined his head before leaving, and Mykella stepped into the formal study. The account ledgers she had requested were stacked on a side table, and she took the main ledger, the one that summarized the expenses by ministry. She smiled. Chalmyr had provided a thick square pillow for the seat of the desk chair.
She’d barely studied the first half page of the ledger when there was a rap on the door, and Smoltak, wearing the uniform of a Deforyan lancer, stepped into the study and bowed deeply. “Lady-Protector.”
Mykella closed the ledger, eased it aside, rose from behind the desk, and gestured to one of the chairs before the desk. “Please sit down.” When she had danced with Smoltak at the ball some tendays before, he had appeared to be some ten years older than she was, but seeing him in the study, she decided he was likely closer to fifteen, with a few silver hairs amid the light brown short-cut thatch. She reseated herself and waited until he looked at her, appraisingly. “What can I do for you, Majer?”
“You understand, Lady-Protector, that Envoy Sheorak finds himself in an … anomalous position.”
Again, Mykella noted his heavy accent, but it scarcely bothered her, and that had to be the effect of her Talent in some way. “So he sent you to determine what that might be?” From the feelings she sensed, Smoltak was acting on his own, but she wanted to get his response.
“No, Lady. You already know I have taken that liberty because, with your accession to power, everything will change drastically, all across Corus. While I am but a simple majer and an aide to the Heir of Light, I am from Deforya. I have seen the power of the Ancients. You hold that power. I would not have it arrayed against the Landarch or his heir, and I would prefer a certain … understanding between Lanachrona and Deforya.”
Much as she liked Smoltak’s frank and warm directness, Mykella smiled coolly. “You want an understanding, rather than a treaty, because any formal alliance might cause others to act contrary to Deforya’s interests, not to mention the fact that, if you or Envoy Sheorak proposed it, the Landarch would be offended, if not forced to repudiate it or discipline you both. Yet you also do not want Lanachrona to consider the Landarch as an enemy or as opposed to our interests.”
Smoltak’s smile was half-embarrassed, half-rueful. “Let me also say that the Heir of Light would have been greatly overmatched had you not changed … circumstances.”
“In response to the question you did not ask, Majer … my sisters will be allowed to make their own choices in the matter of marriages, and I strongly doubt that either will agree to a match without meeting a prospective suitor. Nor will I agree to such unless I meet that suitor.”
Smoltak nodded slowly. “That will make matters … difficult.”
“You should also know that I have been more impressed by the manner in which you and Envoy Sheorak have comported yourselves than I have been with any other envoys.”
Smoltak nodded. “Thank you. Perhaps we should return to Dereka to consult with the Landarch.”
Mykella nodded. “You will need to inform both the Landarch and Aldakyr of the changes in circumstances, but, before you depart, I would suggest that you wait for a missive from me to the Landarch. It might be a day or so.”
“I do believe we can wait for a day or so.” Smoltak smiled. Or even the ten long days of a week.
Mykella could sense the last unspoken words as if they had been written on the air between them—and that the idea of waiting actually pleased the officer. She’d have to think about that. She was learning that, while she might sense what people felt, knowing how they felt often didn’t translate into knowing why they felt that way. She rose. “Good day, Majer. I appreciate your initiative, and I trust you will convey my best to Envoy Sheorak.”
The majer stood quickly and bowed. “That I will, Lady.”
Mykella walked to the window and looked out on a morning that remained gray, though the clouds had lifted somewhat. The drizzle had stopped, but the stones of the courtyard still held the sheen of rain.
She wasn’t totally looking forward to seeing those of minister rank who had served her father although there were not that many. Government in Lanachrona was comparatively simple. The Finance Ministry set and collected tariffs, served as depository and as a reserve holder for the commercial lending houses, and minted all Lanachronan coinage. The Ministry of Highways and Rivers maintained the ports and piers, including the towpaths and maintenance buildings on the Vedra, and the major irrigation canals of Lanachrona. It also set the standards for all canals and sewers and inspected the sewers and the midsize irrigation works across Lanachrona. The Ministry of Justice, headed by Lord Gharyk, supervised and set the standards for all local patrols throughout Lanachrona, operated all the low courts, and the court of review in Tempre, maintained the gaols, the workhouses and work camps for law-breakers, and administered the official standards of weights and measures. The Arms-Commander of Lanachrona was the head of the Southern Guards and responsible for all its men and facilities. If Lanachrona were invaded, and the Lord-Protector—or Lady-Protector—issued a proclamation, the Arms-Commander could also conscript able-bodied men to serve for the duration of the invasion. Lastly, there was the Forester of Lanachrona, responsible for all permits for logging on the Protector’s lands and on all privately-held lands, and for inspecting and assuring that all logged lands were replanted. Five branches of government under the Lady-Protector, and one of them was vacant. So far.
The study door opened a fraction. “The commander is here, Lady.”
“Have him come in.” Mykella turned and walked back to the desk, waiting for Areyst.
The commander entered, wearing the cream and blue uniform of the Southern Guards and carrying a roll of paper, possibly a map. She surveyed him, both with her eyes and her Talent, almost smiling as she found his eyes appraising her. He was interested. That she could sense. He was also cautious. That was also good. She was in no hurry to match herself. Besides, not marrying immediately might hold off her enemies a little, particularly if they happened to think she might be available. Let them think that for now.
“Lady … you summoned me…”
She gestured for him to take a chair and seated herself.
“Before we discuss other matters,” Areyst began, “I wanted you to know that I have assigned Captain Maeltor to duty here in the palace for the time being. He has a trusted squad at his command, and he answers only to you, or me, in your absence.”
Mykella nodded. “You foresee … difficulties?”
“No one can force you to do anything, but it might be … more acceptable if you used the captain to deal with some situations rather than your rather formidable abilities.”
Mykella laughed gently. “You’re saying politely that I might otherwise be in a situation where I might have to slaughter some angry man and that having him escorted away by the captain would be politically more acceptable.”
“Do you not think so?” Areyst smiled.
“In this, I accept your counsel and assistance, Commander.”
“For today, he will be stationed in your antechamber with a guard for a courier.” After a moment, Areyst went on. “There is one other matter with which I must trouble you.”
“Only one?” asked Mykella gently. “Or merely the most pressing?”
“The most awkward, I fear. You had ordered that the bodies of the usurper and
his son be tendered to his family, for cremation and placement in the family memorial…”
“Oh…” Mykella swallowed. With Cheleyza’s flight from Tempre, Mykella was effectively the most senior member of Joramyl’s family. Amid everything else, that aspect of matters hadn’t struck. “Have Chalmyr and the steward arrange for the cremation this evening. Their ashes will go in the family mausoleum.” Traitors or not, they were family. “There will be no ceremony.”
Areyst nodded. “You did summon me. In what else might I be of aid?”
“You saw in the Table that Cheleyza is headed back to Northcoast, did you not?”
A quick flash of puzzlement flickered in his pale green eyes as he sat, the map still held in his left hand. “I saw her in a barge on the Vedra, as did you. The Vedra flows west and north from Tempre. That is in the general direction of Northcoast.”
“You wonder why I asked that? Because not everyone can see what appears in the Table.” Mykella paused. “I did not tell you that Cheleyza is carrying Joramyl’s child.”
“I had wondered, with the haste of her departure…” Areyst’s lips, neither thin nor excessively full, quirked into a faintly rueful smile. “The envoy from Prince Skrelyn is still here in Tempre, you know?”
“I knew he was here. I assumed he hadn’t left yet.”
“You know why he is here?”
“Joramyl said he was seeking a match for his son, presumably with Rachylana. I haven’t found any missives or papers.” Mykella snorted, a most unladylike sound, but she didn’t care. “I won’t, either.”
“It is unlikely. I have found none in the studies of either Commander Nephryt or Commander Demyl. When there are no records, that suggests matters are not as they should be.” Areyst cleared his throat. “Prince Skrelyn is seeking a match, but not for his son. His consort died two seasons ago in childbirth. He has no sons.”
Mykella could read the political currents. “Cheleyza’s older brother is Prince of Northcoast. He and Skrelyn were already considering attacking Lanachrona, according to Joramyl.”
Lady-Protector Page 3
