26
On Quattri, Rachylana told Chalmyr that Mykella was slightly indisposed. That was Rachylana’s suggestion, one that Mykella was happy to take, especially since she was even more bruised and sore than she had been on Tridi. She only left her chambers to eat and, once, to check the Table, just to make certain that it was not flashing. In fact, it seemed slightly duller. Mykella hoped that was an indication that another Ifrit attack was not imminent, but there wasn’t much she could do about when or if more Ifrits might arrive … and she did need the rest—and food.
When she was stronger, though, she needed to investigate about the silver mirrors Would they help her with the deep dark green? Or were they even usable anymore?
Quinti morning, she took her time getting dressed, insisting for one of the few times in her life on using the porcelain tub filled with near-steaming water. While the warm water soothed her while she was washing, it cooled too quickly, and she was still sore when she made her way to her formal study. Tired as she had been on Quattri, by Quinti, the thought of remaining cooped up in her quarters seemed like confinement. She had taken Rachylana’s advice and used powder and a touch of unguent to cover those welts on her face that had not faded.
Chalmyr offered his usual pleasant greeting when she stepped into the anteroom, then cleared his throat.
“Yes, Chalmyr?”
“Lady … the envoy of Prince Skrelyn has requested a few moments of your time…”
“Is he here…”
“He awaits below.”
“I’ll see him.” Why is he still in Tempre? As a spy? “Also … would you send word that, if he’s in Tempre, I’d like to see Commander Areyst.”
“Yes, Lady.”
Mykella entered the study, and, for a moment, the very walls felt as though they were pressing in on her. Had her father felt that way? She shook her head. She’d been Lady-Protector for something like half a season, and she was feeling hemmed in? Did all rulers feel that way?
She laughed softly and ruefully. Those with any intelligence do …
Before long, Vaerlon was entering the study and bowing. “Lady-Protector, you are most kind to see me on such scant notice.”
Mykella gestured to the chairs, waiting until the envoy seated himself in the chair farthest from her. “I see little point in making someone wait to prove that I can do so. If ever you must wait, it will be because I am already engaged. On what matter did you wish to speak?”
For a moment, Vaerlon was silent.
Mykella could sense that her directness had caught him off guard. She waited.
“Lady-Protector, you must realize that it is most unusual … most unusual … in dealing with matches…”
“I fail to understand what you find unusual, Envoy Vaerlon. Would you care to explain?”
“This … business of having outside matches meet…” For all of Vaerlon’s apparent uneasiness, beneath the words was calculation.
“It might be considered unusual by some, but is it not equally unusual to think that a man and a woman who will spend years together should be matched without ever seeing each other?”
“That is always the way it has been done.”
“Not always. Mykel the Great had certainly met Rachyla before they were matched. So have others.”
“Those were different times.”
“Are not all times different times?”
“Indeed they are, Lady-Protector, and in times that are different, there is often great stability in relying upon customs tried-and-true. That is a maxim I have often heard from Prince Skrelyn.”
“He must have many maxims. Does he guide his conduct by a few that are tried-and-true?”
“He is an accomplished ruler, Lady-Protector.”
Mykella almost sighed. “Surely, you did not wish merely to tell me, once more, that my desire that the prince see any of us he might consider matching, is unusual. Or is there some other matter we should discuss?”
“You did say that the times are unusual…” replied Vaerlon.
“I did, and I believe you agreed, Envoy Vaerlon. Yet I have the feeling we may not think the same matters are the ones that are unusual.”
“Or we may.” Vaerlon smiled. “In one instance, I do believe that we might well agree. Some have said that the brigands who attacked the palace and Seltyr Klevytr’s villa were not brigands at all but Alectors who wished to bring back the old ways. That would be a most unusual occurrence, would it not?”
Where did he hear that? “When anyone attacks the palace, that is unusual. When it occurs soon after a new ruler takes over the palace, that is also unusual. But anyone who attacks the palace and the villa of a noted Seltyr is a brigand. Brigands are not unusual. They have been around since there have been cities. These brigands did have ancient weapons, and that is less usual, but weapons do not make a brigand an Alector any more than claiming a title makes a man a Seltyr.” Mykella paused. “How did Seltyr Klevytr come to tell you this?”
“I do not believe I said that.”
Mykella gained the impression that Klevytr had not been the source, and said, “Thank you for the clarification. As you must know, Seltyr Kelvytr was not at his villa when the Southern Guards dealt with the brigands. He is a cautious man, one unlikely to make a judgment without being present or without the word of someone equally trustworthy.”
Vaerlon smiled pleasantly but did not reply.
“Do you not think so?” pressed Mykella.
“I could not say, for I have but met the Seltyr in passing.”
“But you have met First Seltyr Khanasyl, have you not.”
“How could one not encounter such a presence?”
“Indeed.” He’s more than met Khanasyl. “When do you expect Prince Skrelyn in Tempre?”
“I do not know if he will consider coming to Tempre for the purpose of a match. He has certainly not had time enough to receive my last message and to reply. And, as I indicated to you, he believes most firmly in the old ways.”
“You did indeed suggest that. I have indicated how I feel, and he will doubtless take that into account in deciding whether to proceed or not.”
“He is a most discerning man.”
“As are you, Envoy Vaerlon. I take it that you will be leaving us to return to Hafin?”
“That is my plan and my charge, Lady-Protector.”
“Then I wish you well, and may you have a safe journey.” Mykella stood. “Perhaps you will be fortunate and meet Prince Skrelyn in Salcer, so that your travels will not be unduly long.”
Vaerlon rose in response and bowed slightly. “One can never tell, Lady-Protector. One can never tell.”
Once the study door was firmly closed, Mykella rose from behind the desk and walked to the window. The spring sunlight offered little reassurance.
From Vaerlon’s internal reactions, she doubted he would be traveling all the way to Hafin, but did he even know what Skrelyn planned? And why was Vaerlon dealing with Khanasyl? According to what she’d overheard years before, Skrelyn had effectively banished all but a few Seltyrs from Midcoast and restricted the holdings of the remaining High Factors. She doubted that had changed.
“Lady?”
“Come in.”
Chalmyr opened the door, inclined his head, then stepped forward and handed her a folder. “Minister Gharyk brought this up. He said you were expecting it.”
Expecting it? Oh … the document dealing with the head gaoler. “I am, thank you.”
When Chalmyr closed the door, she sat down and slipped the large envelope out of the folder. There were three pages, and each was filled with precise and detailed script. She began to read. By the time she had finished, she was shaking her head. Huatyn certainly needed to be removed … yet … was that something she should do immediately?
After a time, she replaced the document in the envelope and the envelope in the folder and placed both in the open-topped box on the bookcase shelf. She wanted to consider that more fully. Then she took out the
map folder, laying it on the desk and settling down to study the map that showed the border between Lanachrona and Midcoast—the area around the west highway.
She was still trying to memorize details when Chalmyr rapped again.
“The commander is here.”
“Have him come in.”
The study door opened, and Areyst stepped inside. He bowed, then straightened.
Mykella took in his short blond hair and the pale green eyes that seemed to look through her, but not cruelly or coldly, but warmly, yet as though he understood something about her. She held in a soft laugh. He did. He was ten, if not fifteen, years older than she was, and he had far more experience with women than she did with men. “Commander.” Mykella did not stand. That would only have betrayed her soreness. She motioned to the chair nearest her.
“Lady-Protector. I had heard that you were … indisposed … yesterday.” Concern and curiosity lay behind the polite statement. He seated himself gracefully.
“Indeed I was … but not in any normal manner. We’ll get to that in a moment. I have a question for you. I want an honest answer. Do I appear green or shrouded in a greenish mist to you at times?”
A wry smile crossed the commander’s lips. “I had not expected such a question as that. Yet I should have.”
“And?” pressed Mykella.
“I would not put it quite that way. It is more like you are enhanced by the faintest of green lights.” He paused for the slightest moment. “That light casts no shadows, and I do not think others see it. I have said nothing to anyone. Might I ask if that is because you can do things as do the Ancients?”
“Why should you have anticipated the question?” asked Mykella, deliberately ignoring his.
“I saw the figures in the Table. Your youngest sister did not, although she was careful not to say that she failed to discern them.”
“What did you see when you looked at the Ifrits at Klevytr’s villa?”
“An ugly purple-pink glow around them.”
“Exactly. Some people can see as we do although I think we sense it more than see it.”
“Is that why you picked me as Arms-Commander?”
“No. I picked you as Arms-Commander because I thought you were capable, as did others, and because I know you are honest. What I have revealed to you is because I know you can see what others do not.”
“Thank you. I would not wish to hold my position for reasons other than what I can do for you and for Lanachrona.”
“It is likely, although I do not know for certain, that the more I learn how to do in the fashion of the Ancients, the brighter that green light or glow will become. More people will likely note it, and I fear that I will need to be … circumspect. However … the reason I was ‘indisposed’ yesterday was because on Tridi, I found myself fighting four more Ifrits.…” Mykella went on to explain what had happened, if as briefly as she could. “… and when I returned, I was … shall we say, not fit to be seen…”
“You are wearing powder. Is that…”
“To cover some of the bruises and welts? Yes.”
“Lady…”
Mykella shook her head. “There’s nothing to say. There’s no one else to do what must be done. It’s our ill fortune that we must face the coastal princes and the Ifrits at the same time.”
“It may not be ill fortune,” offered Areyst. “If they can use the Tables as can you…”
Mykella almost used words she never uttered with anyone else around, then caught her tongue. “They might well have chosen this time for exactly that reason.”
“That … or it could be ill fortune. I have found that, for all the sayings about fortune favoring the good, it always seems to favor the evil who are bold.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because that is what I have seen.” Areyst smiled. “I do not believe that fate or the world conspires against the good. It is that those who are good look to avoid unnecessary fighting or bloodshed. They will wait, knowing that fighting kills more good men than evil, because, I believe, most men and women are at heart good. Those who are evil and seek to gain goods or power have no compunctions about acting and letting others die to achieve their own goals. So … fortune appears to favor the evil.” He shrugged. “Was not that part of what led to your father’s downfall?”
Mykella nodded. “He wanted to believe the best of those close to him.”
“Hope for the best but never close your eyes or mind to what is.”
“Will you be leaving soon for Viencet?” she asked.
“I had thought to leave on Septi. That is when the next two squads return, and I will accompany those now here in Tempre to Viencet and their increased training. I will leave Captain Maeltor and Undercaptains Jionyl and Bursuin here.” He paused. “Will you need their assistance in dealing with … Ifrits?”
“They cannot help there. I may need their help in dealing with other matters. I hope not.”
“Other matters?”
Mykella offered a crooked smile. “I cannot be everywhere.”
“No one can be, not even a Lady-Protector with the skills and gifts of the Ancients. Captain Maeltor will do whatever you request.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you require of me?”
“Not at the moment, Commander.” Not at the moment. She stood, managing not to wince.
“Moving still hurts, does it not?” he asked gently as he rose.
“Not so much as yesterday.”
“Lady … I would not be untoward … but as you can, I would that you consider your own health.”
Mykella detected the slightest flush … and a certain embarrassment, and she wanted to reach out and take his hands. She did not. “I will do my best, Commander.” Her eyes met his. “Thank you,” she added softly.
Areyst bowed. “Good day, Lady, and do take care.” He turned, careful not to look back.
He really does care.
That thought warmed her through—until she started to sit down, and a line of pain flashed from her shoulder down her back.
27
On Decdi night, the three sisters gathered for the evening meal in the family quarters. The remainder of the week had passed … if not quickly, neither as slowly as it might have. Mykella had not left the palace. She’d been unable to find Treghyt using the Table, and that meant the old healer was dead. Maxymt was still on the run and appeared more gaunt than ever, while Demyl was now an officer in the Southgate forces, or so it appeared from the white uniform and the other officers apparently obeying him. Of greater import, Cheleyza was still in Northcoast, and she and Paelyt were definitely supervising troopers, or cavalry. Chalcaer wasn’t around his sister all that much. That also bothered Mykella.
Areyst had departed for Viencet on Septi as planned, and Mykella had to admit she did miss him, but she knew the Southern Guards would need all the extra training that Areyst and Choalt could provide and that there was little point in Areyst’s remaining in Tempre.
When Mykella had called up the darkness in the Table chamber, just enough to sense beyond Tempre, she had found that none of the Tables or the colored markers were any brighter, and the one at Blackstear had faded noticeably. She had not attempted to seek and control the dark green of the depths because, until Decdi, she had not felt fully recovered from her skirmish with the Ifrits. That delay bothered her, even though the Tables seemed to give no indication of an immediate Ifrit arrival or attack. Even so, as she settled into her place at the table, she resolved to make another attempt later that evening.
She took a large helping of the crust-covered fowl, then eased the hot casserole dish to Salyna. Before sampling the steaming mound of fowl, vegetable, and potato chunks, Mykella poured herself a full mug of tea. Then she broke off a large chunk of the dark bread she preferred.
“I’m glad it’s hot,” said Salyna. “It was chill out this afternoon.”
Mykella took a sip of tea and nodded although she hadn’t been
outside.
“You’ve been quiet, Mykella,” offered Rachylana. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look better, but the green hasn’t faded much.”
“She isn’t green,” insisted Salyna.
“I probably am,” Mykella said. “It comes from using the Table and traveling the way the Ancients did. Not everyone can see it. It doesn’t have anything to do with how I feel.”
“Why can she see it, and I can’t?” asked Salyna.
“I don’t know.” That was only partly true, because so far as Mykella knew, no one who did not have at least a trace of green in her life-thread could see the green. She just didn’t know why that was so. “You might as well ask why some women have blond hair and some black.”
“Was Mykel the Great the oldest?” asked Salyna.
“It can’t be that,” pointed out Rachylana. “Father and Grandfather and Great-grandfather were the oldest, and they couldn’t see anything in the Table, and none of them believed there were soarers still alive.”
“They didn’t even believe in the Table,” Mykella said.
“They should have,” muttered Salyna.
Mykella could sense a certain frustration and desperation in Salyna. “You’ve got a very busy week ahead.” She lifted her mug of tea and looked to her youngest sister.
“Many tendays like that to come. It’s better than doing some things.”
“You mean, like arranging balls?” replied Rachylana edgily. “Do you really think these women auxiliaries will help—except by reducing the number of harlots near the Southern Guard barracks?”
“Most of them aren’t harlots,” Salyna replied. “There are more sculls and sweeper women, and third and fourth daughters from laboring families who don’t want to be harlots and sculls.”
“The guards will look down on them,” predicted Rachylana.
“There aren’t many guards in Tempre right now. They won’t look down on them by the time I’m finished with them.”
“I’m certain of that,” replied Mykella. “Do you think many will finish your training?”
“Not all of them will. That’s why I’m starting with sixty-five.”
Lady-Protector Page 24
