“I read a blessing. I gave him what you didn’t.” Rachylana looked defiantly at Mykella.
“You had that right. I didn’t say family couldn’t mourn. I didn’t say you couldn’t grieve. I didn’t say you couldn’t give a blessing. I only said there would be no public memorial.”
“You didn’t even tell me.”
“No … I didn’t. I’m sorry. I should have.”
“You should have.”
“You’re right. I should have.” Even with everything plaguing her, Mykella should have told Rachylana. But she hadn’t.
“You never wanted me to be happy.”
“I want you to be happy.” Mykella tried to project that feeling toward her sister, tried to put the feeling in her words. “I never thought Berenyt would make you happy, but I wanted you to be happy.”
“It’s too late, now. You ruined it all.” With that, Rachylana turned and walked out of the study. She didn’t slam the door, but she left it open.
Mykella just stood there. What else could you have said … that was true? Finally, she stepped forward and eased the door shut. Then she walked to the window, where she looked out across the courtyard and toward the green towers that flanked the Great Piers.
As the third glass of the afternoon on Octdi arrived, there was a knock on the study door, and Mykella looked up from the account ledgers dealing with forestry.
“Envoy Malaryk…” announced Chalmyr.
Mykella did stand and wait for Malaryk, but she remained on her feet only long enough to acknowledge his presence before taking her seat and gesturing him to the chair on the left.
“Lady-Protector, you are most gracious in acceding to my request so soon after such tragedies have befallen Lanachrona.”
“I appreciate your solicitousness, Envoy Malaryk, and that of those you represent, but I am recovered from the tragedies. They came earlier, with the murders of my brother and father. Now, we must do what is right and necessary.”
“In the midst of such … tragedies … one must admit that having a … Lady-Protector in Tempre is not something that anyone had contemplated. You must admit that never has a woman held power in any land in Corus.”
“Oh?” offered Mykella. “It almost did happen here in Lanachrona. Mykel the Great named Rachyla as his heir and successor.”
Malaryk smiled condescendingly. “It could also be said that the Alectors almost survived.”
Mykella held back a retort—that some had survived, except that they had been changed by the Cataclysm—or changed themselves in reaction to it—into Talented humans. That was what the soarer had told her, and so far the Ancient had been correct in what she had conveyed. Instead, Mykella smiled politely. “All those almosts are in the past. Now, a Lady-Protector rules in Tempre.”
“That is true. It is a great change. Any time that rule changes in any land is an unsettled time, and not all who become rulers remain rulers.”
Mykella well understood that … and the veiled threat behind the words. “Perhaps you have a suggestion, Envoy Malaryk?”
“I can suggest nothing because the situation here in Tempre has gone beyond my instructions from Seltyr Gheortyn.”
Mykella waited, then replied calmly, “I imagine you have some observations.”
“Ah … observations. One may observe without understanding, and then, the one to whom one entrusts the task of observing may also fail to understand.”
“Such possibilities always exist, Envoy Malaryk.” Mykella paused before adding, “Without offering such an observation, one might lose potential advantages or useful information out of the mere fear of the lack of understanding.”
“You are wise beyond your years, Lady; but wisdom, alas, is not all that decides what may happen in the world.”
Mykella forced herself to smile again, tired as she was quickly getting of Malaryk’s verbal games. “True. Wisdom without strength is limited, as is strength without wisdom, and knowledge does not always equal wisdom. You will note that I do indeed listen.” Not all that patiently.
Malaryk nodded his wide and jowled head slowly and sagely.
Again, Mykella waited.
Finally, the envoy spoke. “You will understand that when I speak, I can speak only about what I observe and not about what may or may not occur in Southgate or even elsewhere here in Tempre, or in, say, Midcoast or Northcoast.”
“I do indeed. You have made that most clear. You represent carefully and well the interests of Seltyr Gheortyn, and for those very reasons I would hear your observations.”
“You are most patient for a woman so young, Lady Mykella.”
I won’t be if you don’t stop weaseling and get on with saying what you have in mind to manipulate me. “I am looking forward to your observations, Envoy Malaryk.”
“You are most kind to hear my words.”
“I doubt that either of us believes the other kind, but the exchange of information is often mutually beneficial.”
“Ah … yes … information. Information and ties based on mutual benefit, such as alliances. Alliances are often to the advantage of any new ruler, particularly in instances where the alliance is sealed by direct personal ties between those ruling adjoining lands…”
In short, you want me to agree to marry Gheortyn’s idiot son and effectively turn Lanachrona into a fiefdom of Southgate, or failing that, to match Salyna to the idiot, then agree to every proposition Gheortyn makes. “That is most astute, Envoy Malaryk, not that I would have expected anything less from a man of your experience in the world. It is also a proposition to which I would have to give full and most serious consideration … were it to be presented to me with the full knowledge of such a ruler.”
Malaryk nodded. “I could expect no more, and I request your indulgence while I return to Southgate and report to the Seltyr on the developments here in Tempre…”
“There is one other matter,” Mykella said. “Before any match can be agreed upon, my sisters and I must meet such a suitor.”
“That … that is most unusual. It is not … traditional…”
“It may indeed be a departure from recent practice, but if we are to speak of tradition, Mykel the Great met Rachyla—properly chaperoned, of course—several times before they were wed. I believe, from what my aunt told me, that such is still the practice for some in Southgate.”
“Ah … yes … but … the distance…”
Mykella merely smiled.
Once Malaryk had left her study, Mykella just sat behind the desk for a time. She needed to talk to her sisters more about their desires. Except she had talked to Salyna, and her youngest sister really didn’t know what she wanted, and Rachylana wasn’t speaking much to anyone—especially to Mykella.
By the time she had read and signed all the letters Chalmyr had penned for her, and changed one or two, checked the master ledger of the Finance Ministry against the needs outlined by Areyst, and confirmed that the additional timber-sale funds had not been transferred to any other ministry account—or to that of the Lord-Protector—it was time for dinner, and her head was aching. So were her lower back and rear.
Salyna and Rachylana were already in the family dining room when Mykella entered and seated herself, if gingerly. Immediately, Muergya brought in a fowl casserole, along with lace potatoes. Mykella poured half a glass of wine and passed the carafe to Rachylana.
“You met with that envoy,” said the redhead. “When am I going to Southgate?”
“You aren’t. I told Malaryk that we would entertain any suitors, but that we needed to meet them before agreeing to a match.”
“I’ll never be matched. Never. Not after everything you’ve done.”
Mykella suppressed a sigh.
“Don’t look at me like that, either,” snapped Rachylana.
“How was your day, Mykella?” asked Salyna brightly.
“Besides discovering that Joramyl pocketed something like another seven thousand golds from cutting timber that shouldn’t have been, that
the Southern Guard companies stationed here are undertrained, that Malaryk wants me to be matched to that idiot son of Seltyr Gheortyn and intimated that I didn’t have the strength to rule … other than that, you mean? Oh … and that Porofyr was spending golds as it they rained from the sky?”
“That’s what being Protector is all about,” offered Rachylana blandly. “Among other things.”
Mykella managed to smile sweetly although she bridled inside. “It is indeed.” She took a larger helping of the casserole than she probably should have and eased the dish in front of Rachylana, then turned to Salyna. “How was your day?”
“Better than yours.” The youngest sister laughed. “I didn’t get in any arms practice, though.”
“No one will want to practice with you anyway,” murmured Rachylana. “Not now.”
“Oh, they’ll practice with me,” replied Salyna cheerfully. “They just won’t test me much, but I can improve my shooting now because no one will tell me I can’t do it.”
After that, conversation was minimal, partly because, Mykella suspected, she didn’t make an effort to be outgoing, partly because she felt Rachylana would just make more snide comments. Later, following an all-too-quiet dinner, Mykella peered into the family parlor.
Salyna was seated on the settee, embroidering a design. She looked up. “Rachylana went to her room. She said she didn’t want to talk to either of us right now.”
“Did she tell you about Berenyt?”
“In great detail.” Salyna shook her head. “She finally admitted that you didn’t have much choice, but she won’t ever tell you that.”
“I know.” Mykella stepped into the parlor, letting her senses range beyond the chamber, but no one else was near. She closed the door behind her. “I need your help.”
“My help?”
“If you would … come here.”
As Salyna set aside the embroidery and rose, Mykella concentrated on not only raising her Talent shields, but linking them to the heavy stone beneath her boots. “Try to knock me over.”
“That’s help?”
“It’s the help I need.”
“I could hurt you…”
“Not if this works, but make the first push gentle in case it doesn’t.”
The blonde raised both hands, then stepped forward and thrust them toward Mykella’s shoulders. Her hands stopped just short of Mykella’s tunic. “Oh!’
“Now … harder, but be careful. You could hurt your hands,” cautioned Mykella.
Despite being more than a head taller than Mykella and a good stone or more heavier, even after several attempts, Salyna had no success in moving Mykella.
“That’s enough.’
“I don’t understand. What was this all about? When Commander Nephryt slashed at you…” Salyna shook her head.
“He slashed down and sideways at me. After that I discovered, since I’m so small, I can still be knocked over or backwards if I don’t take precautions.”
“Stirrups,” said Salyna knowingly.
“Stirrups?”
“If a Southern Guard didn’t have stirrups, he could get pushed right out of the saddle when his saber hit the enemy. It’s the same thing, sort of, isn’t it?”
Mykella smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.”
Salyna looked at Mykella. “You need some sleep.”
“I need to study a few more things, but I won’t be up too late.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Stiff, sore, and tired as she was, Mykella wasn’t about to make any more Table trips, not until she was more rested. Instead, she walked back to her formal study and went over the maps, the ones that showed at least some of the hills that lay along the eternastone highway that ran from Tempre to Hafin.
She had an idea …
6
Mykella did not sleep well and woke early on Novdi, while the sky was still lightening into featureless gray. She stretched and sat up in bed, wondering if she should slip down to the Table. She shook her head. So early in the morning, she’d see nothing of value. While she would also have liked to see what Skrelyn and Chalcaer were doing, the Table wouldn’t display the images of people she hadn’t met personally even if it weren’t early in the day.
When she finished washing up, using cool water left from the night before, and dressing, she made her way to the breakfast room.
Muergya saw her and swallowed. “Just a moment, Lady.” The serving girl rushed off, down the side serving stairs leading to the kitchens.
Mykella didn’t want to sit down alone. She wandered into the serving pantry. All that remained was a half a loaf of dark bread, under a porcelain cover, and a small wedge of yellow cheese. You will have to wait. She walked back to the table and sat down.
Before that long, Muergya reappeared with a tray, on which was a teapot with steam curling from the spout, a plate of fried cakes, and what looked to be some sort of eggs covered in cheese. “I’m so sorry, Lady,” said the serving girl breathlessly as she slid the teapot and platters in front of Mykella. “I didn’t know you’d be up so early.”
“Neither did I,” replied Mykella dryly. “I had a lot on my mind.”
“I’ll be back with the ham strips in but a bit, and the stewed apples.”
Salyna eased into the breakfast room as Muergya left and sat down across the table from Mykella. “What do you have planned for today?”
“Inspecting Joramyl’s villa with the commander. I’m hoping dear Uncle hid some of those missing golds.”
“If he didn’t?”
“I’ll see what personal items there might be that can be sold.”
Salyna raised her eyebrows.
“Given how much he stole from Father and Lanachrona, I don’t think that’s unfair.”
“Not unfair at all. Is it wise?”
Mykella nodded. “You’re right. I’ll ask Gharyk how to proceed, but I think we can gather them for safekeeping. I should have done that earlier although the villa has been under guard.”
“You’ve only been Lady-Protector for something like four days.”
Mykella smiled sadly. “How long doesn’t count. Only how well.”
Salyna snorted. “You are like your namesake.”
“How would you know?” countered Mykella with a grin.
“The histories say that he left nothing to chance, not even his wife.”
“Salyna!”
“You won’t leave that to chance, either, will you? You’ve already planned that out, haven’t you?”
“I have ideas,” temporized Mykella. “Whether they work out is another matter.”
“You’ll work them out.”
“We’ll have to see,” demurred Mykella, turning her attention to the tea and food that Muergya was placing before her.
Before long, she made her way down the side corridor, where she unlocked the door to the anteroom and slipped into the formal study. There she drafted a request to Lord Gharyk asking for an opinion as to the disposition of the personal property of a traitor who had embezzled from the Treasury and who had been executed without repaying the funds. Then she began to go over the expenditures made in the spring a year ago, hoping to see where she might cut spending in order to free golds for the Southern Guards. While she made her calculations and estimations, she heard Chalmyr arrive but did not go out and greet him.
Just before eighth glass, she rose from the desk and donned the black nightsilk riding jacket she had brought, but not worn, then stepped out into the anteroom. “You can leave for the day, Chalmyr. I won’t be back until after midday. I’ll see you on Londi.”
“I could wait, Lady … if there’s anything urgent.”
“There’s nothing that urgent.” Not that needs to be written right now. Other things, yes, such as finding out if any golds were left behind by Cheleyza.
At that moment, Areyst stepped into the anteroom. “Third squad is ready, Lady.”
“I haven’t e
ven groomed—”
“I had that taken care of,” replied the commander with a smile. “You have more important tasks than grooming these days.”
Much as Mykella knew that, she would have liked to groom her gray gelding. Because you’re afraid of becoming a prisoner of being the Lady-Protector? Where all the simple tasks are handled by others? After the briefest hesitation, she said, “Thank you,” then walked toward the door that Areyst held open for her.
Still thinking about all the changes in her life, she did not speak until they were on the main level and close to the east end of the palace, past the majority of the ministry offices, where various functionaries of traders and Seltyrs were gathered to finish whatever business they had before the ministries closed for the end-days at noon. “Have you had any reports from the squads guarding the villa?”
“They report that no one has tried to leave, except some servants. They had already fled. None of those remaining seemed surprised.”
“I wonder how much has been taken.”
“By the servants? I would guess very little. They have nowhere to go, and sooner or later they would be caught and punished.”
That still left the question of what Cheleyza had taken with her, but there wasn’t any point in speculating. Mykella pushed the east courtyard door open and stepped out into a gray day with low clouds that threatened rain. One of the guards held the reins to the gelding, positioned beside a mounting block. That did make getting into the saddle much easier. She and Areyst rode out of the palace courtyard at the head of the squad, then turned eastward, toward the main compound for the Southern Guards, located precisely two thousand yards—one vingt—from the center gate to the palace grounds. The entry road fronting the palace joined the older eternastone avenue that led to the Guard building, and Mykella guided the gelding onto the ancient road—although it appeared as though it had just been constructed.
That part of the eternastone avenue, which was also the high road that eventually ran south, then east out of Tempre, led to the villa that Joramyl had called his estate, although it belonged to whoever was Lord-Protector—or Lady-Protector. In less than half a glass, Mykella, Areyst, and the troopers who accompanied them neared the villa. It stood east of the road and back a good three hundred yards at the end of a paved drive that curved through low gardens. The two-story structure formed a V, with the open area between the two wings forming the entry courtyard, with the entry portico on the north wing and a walled garden filling the innermost section of the vertex of the V.
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