Mykella reached out with her Talent, trying to explore just what it was about that scepter … and found herself being hurled from the chair across the room into the stone wall opposite the casket. She half staggered, half slid sideways on the wall, then ended up with her boots sliding out from under her and landing in a heap on her rear on the floor.
While her shields absorbed much of the impact, her eyes blurred for a moment, and she found herself breathing hard. She just sat there until she could see straight. Then she slowly forced herself erect, looking to the casket set in the wall. The lid had fallen shut, cutting off the worst of that purple radiance.
And I’m supposed to be able to hold that? She definitely didn’t want to touch that scepter without using Talent, and it was all too clear that whatever powered the scepter or whatever controlled it reacted violently to Talent. She could also understand why the soarer had said that moving the scepter would make it easier to find. The casket or box that held the scepter clearly muted its power, so much so that it was barely detectable with her Talent from more than a few yards away—except that it did “brighten” the gold and crimson of the purple web nexus where the Table had been.
Was there anything else around that might make it easier to handle the scepter? After moving the chair away from under the chest and back toward the table-desk, Mykella approached the too-tall chest and opened the top right-hand drawer. Inside were two greenish crystals that held an ugly lambent purple. Mykella touched neither, nor did she brush the sheets of what looked to be a shiny parchment with her gloved fingertips. Although she could see that the top sheet was covered with strange symbols, each symbol written exactly in the same size as the next, she could read none of the symbols. That could wait.
She closed the drawer and opened the other one. It contained some coins, a pair of shears, and a thin coil of wire. She opened the double-width drawer below to discover a long shimmering garment of some sort, all a golden silver, with large strange symbols down the front.
Even touching the fabric seemed repugnant, and she quickly closed the drawer.
Turning back to the table-desk, she opened the single wide drawer, but there was little inside—a miniature knife with the purpleness she disliked, an oblong block of jade with an enameled and unfamiliar seal upon it, and some sort of stylus in the form of a leafy branch. There were also a number of sheets of the eternal parchment, all blank. She closed the drawer, standing there for a time, trying to think.
She agreed with the soarer that taking the scepter was unwise, assuming that she could even have found a way to touch it, but she couldn’t exactly stand around and guard the scepter, either. Finally, she made her way from the chamber, well aware how unsteady her steps were.
At the end of the passageway, she decided not even to return to the Table chamber that no longer held a Table but concentrated on the darkness beneath, reaching out to the greenish black and letting herself drop into the depths. As the blue marker of Tempre hurtled toward her, she sensed “behind” her the increased brightness of the yellow-orange marker. Was that where the other “scepter” was hidden? Lysia, was it?
Even if it happened to be there, what could she do? Whatever else she could do, even checking to see if her surmise was correct would have to wait until she recovered her strength. Not for the first time, she wished that she’d been taller and stronger, like her sisters … but there was little she could do about that now.
Mykella slipped back through the granite of the palace to her chambers. Her entire body was shaking as she emerged in her bedchamber, and her legs were so weak that she immediately sat down on the edge of the bed.
She’d found one scepter—for all the good it had done her—and she was getting more and more tired and angry at finding out the more that she learned and did, the worse matters seemed to get.
Except … she was so tired that she wasn’t going to be awake long enough even to stay angry.
32
On Quinti morning, awakened by Uleana’s firm rapping on the apartment doors, Mykella was stiff and sore all over, a state that seemed to be happening more than she’d like, but she made it to the breakfast room only to find herself there alone. Crumbs at Salyna’s place suggested that her youngest sister had eaten bread and cheese early and left for the Southern Guard complex and her auxiliaries and their training. Mykella finished most of her own breakfast—an omelet of sorts with warm dark bread and ham strips—and was working on a second mug of tea when Rachylana appeared.
The redhead settled into her chair and looked at Mykella. “What happened to you? You’re purplish as well as green.”
“I ran into a nasty relic of the Ifrits in dealing with the Table.”
That got her another look.
“What? Isn’t the Table door locked?”
“It is, but being Lady-Protector does have advantages. These days, I need to use the Table to see things.”
“What sorts of things?”
“What Cheleyza is doing, what some of the Seltyrs are doing…”
“Can you tell what Skrelyn is doing? Or the Landarch?”
“I can only look for people I know personally,” Mykella admitted. “And I can only see what’s happening close to them at the time I’m looking.”
“That’s better than nothing.”
“Sometimes.” Mykella’s voice turned wry. “Most of the time, people aren’t doing much that tells you anything, and I can’t spend every moment watching them.” Not to mention that it was difficult to distinguish between a harmless meeting, a rant against her, or an actual plot. “How are things coming with the ball?”
“The invitations are out, and we’ve already had quite a few responses. Chief High Factor Lhanyr and his wife will be here, and so will Seltyr and High Factor Almardyn…”
Mykella listened to the others who would be attending, then asked, “Will you let me know what response you get from the First Seltyr? As soon as you do?”
“He won’t say no,” predicted Rachylana. “Even if he’s totally against you, he’ll be here.”
“Why do you say that? The Seltyrs don’t want me to succeed.”
“They probably don’t. Most of them, anyway, but you’ve proved you’re powerful. Those who don’t have good connections in Southgate can’t afford to offend you. That’s why nine Seltyrs have already said they’ll attend. With that many attending, the First Seltyr can’t snub you without appearing weak. He’ll make an appearance and be very charming. He’ll hope that you won’t be.”
Mykella sighed. “I’ll have to be exceedingly charming and warm, then.”
Rachylana nodded. “Exceedingly, and you should also have the commander here. If he’s not—”
“Some will think that I’ve lost the full support of the Southern Guards?”
“Or that you think he’s beneath you.”
Areyst wouldn’t like that, Mykella knew, but he’d understand. He understood far more than he ever said. That was another reason why she was attracted to him.
Rachylana laughed.
“What?” asked Mykella.
“The look on your face. I’ve never seen that expression before. You’re actually really interested in him—and not because he’s your Arms-Commander.”
Mykella realized she was blushing. Then she shook her head. “Only you would see that.” Except you really didn’t see it so much as sense it. That worried Mykella, yet she didn’t see any more green in Rachylana’s life-thread—or did she?
She wanted to shake her head. So much depended on what she sensed, but she often had no way to cross-check what she felt.
“Is that why you named him your heir?”
“I wouldn’t have named him if he weren’t trustworthy, no matter how I was attracted to him.”
“That’s not an answer,” pursued Rachylana, with a smile.
“No … it’s not, but it’s the only answer I have.”
“You two are like dustcats. Everyone else depends on you, and you’re both capable of t
earing up everything in sight, and you just keep circling each other.”
“Rachylana … That’s stretching things.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Not by much. I’ll bet you use the Table to look at him every chance you get. If you aren’t, you’re wasting an opportunity.” Rachylana grinned.
Mykella found herself blushing again.
“Oh … you are!”
“I’m not. I didn’t even think of that. Besides, it doesn’t work that way.”
Rachylana just shook her head, then took the smallest chunk of bread and nibbled on it.
“You don’t eat anything,” Mykella said.
“I can’t. Otherwise, I’d look like a cow. It’s disgusting how much you and Salyna can eat.”
“If you exercised the way she does, you could, too.”
Rachylana paused, then said almost mournfully. “I might have to.”
Mykella refrained from laughing and finished the remainder of her tea.
After breakfast, she returned to her quarters, then checked the Table. It wasn’t any brighter. If anything, it appeared slightly duller than it had the previous day. Is that really so, or is that just the way you perceive it? How can you tell?
The problem was that she couldn’t, but she was fairly certain that it wasn’t obviously brighter.
She stepped up to the mirrored surface and commenced her searches. Cheleyza was in what looked to be a stable talking to an ostler and several officers in cavalry uniforms identical to the one she wore. Former Commander Demyl was donning a white uniform in a comparatively small bedchamber. Areyst was meeting with a group of Southern Guard captains, and his image remained shadowed in silver and green. Khanasyl stood in his factorage, gesturing vigorously at an underling, who was not quite cringing. She could find no image of Duchael—none at all. She wondered what else he had known and who had killed him.
Not that you’ll ever know a fraction of what he did or even find his body. She might discover who was behind his murder, but proving it would be close to impossible. The longer she was Lady-Protector, the more she was discovering how little the laws or the Charter meant to the Seltyrs, and yet … You don’t want to be like them, but power is all they respect.
Maxymt was still on the run, looking more haggard than ever.
After a moment, she concentrated on Majer Sheorak. She actually recognized where he was, if only because of the color of the Vyanhills to the east. He was riding north on the eternastone highway that connected Krost to Borlan, and he’d be riding for another two tendays before he reached Dereka. So few people truly understood how large Corus was, and how far apart the larger cities were. It was almost as if the cities had been built first …
Her mouth dropped open. Of course they had been. The Alectors had placed the Tables first, then built the cities around them and the eternastone roads around them. It was the only way any of that made sense. For a moment, she just thought, but thinking about the past would not solve her present problems.
She let the Table revert to mirrored silver, then dropped into the deeper darkness beneath the palace, but none of the Table markers seemed noticeably brighter. That was fine with her because she really didn’t want to travel to confirm the location of the other scepter, not until she had recovered more from her last adventure … and she still hadn’t had time or energy to look for the silver mirrors … if there even were any others.
Then she returned to her quarters and walked to the antechamber to her study, where, as usual, Chalmyr was waiting.
“Have we heard anything from High Factor Pytroven or Zylander?”
Chalmyr extended an envelope. “This was delivered less than half a glass ago by a messenger from High Factor Pytroven. His messenger waits below.”
Mykella used her belt knife to slit open the envelope. She replaced the knife, then extracted the single sheet, reading it quickly. “He would be pleased to call upon me at the second glass of the afternoon, tomorrow, if that would be convenient.” She nodded. “That would be convenient. Would you draft a quick reply to that effect?”
“Yes, Lady. I’ll have it for you shortly.”
“Have we heard anything about Forester Loryalt’s return?”
“No, Lady.”
“Thank you.” Mykella smiled as warmly as she could and stepped into the formal study, glancing toward the windows and the hazy silver-green sky that suggested neither rain nor warmth.
33
Mykella woke early on Sexdi and dressed in her customary nightsilks. While she was still sore and bruised in spots, she’d had nightmares about the scepters. So she immediately dropped into the darkness and followed the green-black ways to the yellow-orange marker that the soarer had said was Lysia.
When she emerged from the depths, she found herself standing beside a Table, one alternating shades of purple and pink, if ever so slightly. She glanced around, but there was no one in the Table chamber. Nor could she sense anyone, or pick up any feel of the ugly purple that would have suggested an Ifrit was near or had been recently. But … there was a faint purplish gray feel … somewhere. She stepped toward the Table and concentrated on the idea of the scepter.
When the mists swirled, then parted, they revealed the image of a seal—similar to the one she’d seen when she’d thought of Efra—except there were two crossed scepters beneath a larger silver scepter that glowed purple. The image blanked, to reveal an Ifrit with jet-black hair and purple eyes. Those eyes opened wide, then filled with what Mykella could only have called hatred.
Immediately, purplish arms rose out of the Table.
Mykella stepped back, strengthening her shields, and angled a Talent probe to the nodes of each arm. The arms collapsed, leaving a residue of purple and lingering hatred that she could only sense. The Table surface had returned to a mirror finish.
That didn’t help much.
She studied the Table again, trying to sense the same sense of purpleness she’d felt from the other casket, but all she could feel was that it was somewhere near. After several moments, she turned toward the open passageway that led up the stone steps to an upper level. She had taken three steps when she realized that the sense of purpleness was fading, and she turned back to the Table chamber.
Slowly, she walked around the chamber, occasionally looking at the Table. Then she stopped and looked at the stone wall closely. To the left of a light-torch bracket was the faintest line in the stone, just like the one in Dereka, and another line a yard farther left. She reached for the darkness beneath and eased herself through the stone and into the passageway beyond the wall. While there was doubtless some sort of mechanism to move the stone, she saw no point in wasting time trying to figure out what it might be.
The purpleness was far stronger in the corridor that stretched before her some ten yards, lit by another ancient light-torch. She walked slowly to the end of the corridor and looked inside the chamber to the left. Like the room holding the other scepter, the one before her was square and looked to be the same size, roughly five yards on a side. As in Dereka, there was a table-desk positioned against the wall near one corner, with a long-legged chair before it. Farther to the right was a single wide and tall chest of drawers, with the same odd dimensions.
She glanced down at the floor beside the desk. There lay a set of garments, a green tunic trimmed in brilliant purple, with matching trousers, and black boots. All the garb radiated a silver sheen suggesting embedded lifeforce, even after all the years the clothing had lain there.
Lifting her eyes, Mykella could see the closed casket that had to hold the scepter, positioned in a niche in the wall adjoining the one before which the table-desk was set. Purpleness oozed from the casket.
She stepped forward, avoiding the garments, and lifted the heavy chair with legs far too long for her, setting it down before the wall. Again, she almost had to climb the chair to be able to stand on the seat and touch the casket.
Should you open it? How else wil
l you know if it’s the scepter?
She had to turn the crystal key before she could ease the heavy lid up slightly, just enough to see the silver and black scepter and the three crystals—and feel the power. Then she quickly but carefully lowered the top. Before easing herself off the chair, she took a deep breath. She did know exactly where both scepters happened to be, for all the good it might do her.
Should you take the keys and lock the caskets? Somehow that felt wrong, almost useless. She had the feeling that if the Ifrits came seeking the scepters, they’d either have their own keys or the tools to force the caskets.
She carried the chair back and placed it about where it had been. She did leave the scepter chamber before she reached out to the darkness to return to Tempre.
Once back in the palace, she ate a hurried breakfast, after Salyna and before Rachylana appeared, then finished dressing and made her way toward her formal study.
Early as it was, Chalmyr was waiting. “There are missives on your desk, Lady.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, briefly, and entered the study.
Envelopes—almost a score—were laid out on the wood. She sat down and looked at them. Then she took out her belt knife and slit open the first one, and began to read.
Lady-Protector—
I appeal to your sense of fairness and justice. The dye-makers have raised the price of the red and yellow dyes. They say this is because the Ongelyan traders will not travel farther than Indyor because their faith will not allow them to enter a land ruled by a woman. I must plead that you reduce my tariffs, for with the price of dyestuff, I cannot match the prices offered to the coastal traders by the Seltyrs of Southgate …
Lady-Protector Page 29
