Lady-Protector

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  That would have to wait. For now, Rachylana needed more work with Salyna.

  “Give these to the senior squad leader when you can.” She handed the keys to Maeltor, then began to walk across the hall toward the open door.

  When she emerged into the light, she saw a crowd of more than a hundred people watching from the square. She squared her shoulders, then said, using Talent to boost her words. “Everything is fine. The prisoners are in their cells, and those who have used the gaol improperly are in custody—or dead.”

  Then she waited as a Southern Guard led the gray to her, and she mounted—barely making it. She was light-headed, and her hands were shaking. She definitely needed to return to the palace and get something to eat.

  As she rode back northward, she realized that she had more questions than answers. Who had been paying Huatyn? How many were there? Would she be able to find out once his injuries were treated? Or would she just have to close that ledger?

  There was also the question of why a Southern Guard healer was stationed in the palace? Had that been Areyst’s doing? When he returned later in the tenday, she just might ask.

  There wasn’t much she could do about the missing Lhuatyr. She’d never met him, and she couldn’t use the Table to find him. About all she could do was offer a reward for his capture, something like ten golds alive, five dead. At the very least, trying to evade capture might send him packing from Tempre. All of the mess around the gaol pointed out—again—why it was unwise to let anything slide. Things always seemed to go from bad to worse.

  How can you do everything at once? You don’t have enough golds and enough trustworthy people.

  For those shortages … she had no immediate answer.

  50

  On Tridi morning, Mykella rode over to the Southern Guard buildings to try to get more information from Caenoral and Huatyn. She learned little new from Caenoral simply because she didn’t have enough information to ask questions pointed enough to sense his reactions. Caenoral had been especially insufferable, in his polite and greasy way, promising to reveal everything he knew in return for clemency and exile. In the end, Mykella left him without committing to anything.

  Huatyn had just been resigned when she had stopped outside his cell.

  “How much did Porofyr pay you?”

  “I never met Minister Porofyr.”

  “Was someone connected with First Seltyr Khanasyl the one who had you kill the man who fired the warehouse of High Factor Hasenyt?”

  “I don’t know. Fellow gave me ten golds to keep him quiet. Never saw him before.”

  Most of her inquiries elicited a similar frustrating, if truthful, response. One did not.

  “Did you tell Lhuatyr to have Minister Gharyk killed?”

  “No! He’s always been a hothead. Gharyk couldn’t have proved anything except substandard fare. No reason at all to go to Caenoral.” Huatyn shook his head. “Frigging son of a poisoned sow … I told Kluatyn not to tell him…”

  That had seemed all too true. In the end, Mykella rode back to the palace in a thoughtful mood. Caenoral knew literally where all-too-many bodies were buried, but to give him clemency? Or to have to spend days and days learning enough to ask decent questions? And how could she justify letting him go with all that he’d done? She had the feeling she’d be better off letting him be executed, information or not.

  When she returned to the study, Chalmyr was, as always, waiting. “Lady … the announcements are ready to be dispatched.”

  Announcements? Then she recalled—the letters to various functionaries, not to mention Khanasyl and Lhanyr, about her appointment of Zylander as Minister of Highways and Rivers. “Thank you. Please dispatch them. Make sure that Lhanyr and Khanasyl get theirs first.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  Mykella retreated to her too-warm study, where only a light breeze intermittently fluttered through the windows.

  Just before the second glass of the afternoon, Chalmyr announced, “First Seltyr Khanasyl to see you, Lady-Protector.”

  Mykella managed not to smile. She could sense that the old scrivener had used her full title to remind Khanasyl where he was. “Have him come in.” She did stand.

  The large, if not overlarge, Seltyr entered the study and offered a bow that was precise in respect, despite a certain amount of concealed anger. “Lady-Protector…”

  Before he could say more, Mykella gestured to the chairs and seated herself, then waited.

  Khanasyl slipped into the middle chair and offered a wide and insincere smile. “Lady-Protector,” he began again, “I have just received your announcement of the appointment of High Factor Zylander as the new Minister of Highways and Rivers.”

  Mykella nodded but did not speak.

  “I must say that I find your choice somewhat perplexing. Minister Zylander will be the first factor to hold the post in many, many years.”

  “You wonder how I could appoint a ‘mere’ High Factor rather than the traditional appointment of a Seltyr?”

  “I must say that the choice has raised more concerns about your interest in trade.”

  “Why should it? The last Seltyr to hold the post stole from the Treasury and tried to flee to Southgate. At least one other Seltyr considered the same. I have not seen any factors attempting either. They seem to be quite interested in commerce and trade … and in remaining in Tempre.”

  “Still, it is unusual … and I did offer several names for your consideration.”

  “Yes, you did. You might recall that I asked for those recommendations, First Seltyr. You offered me three. None was suitable. I asked the Chief High Factor for his recommendations. One was suitable, and has great understanding of commerce and trade. All have pressed me to appoint a minister. How would you have proceeded?”

  Khanasyl frowned. “All those I recommended understand trade.”

  “I am certain they do, but I caught one trying to bribe an assistant minister, another with a temper so violent that none wish to work with him, and a third who dislikes me intensely, so much so that he almost left Tempre.”

  “I could not speak to those matters.”

  “You do not have to, First Seltyr, but I must.” Mykella smiled. “Unlike my predecessors, I cannot assume that merely because a man is a Seltyr he will be knowledgeable, loyal, and trustworthy. As we both know, there are good Seltyrs and those who do not have the best interests of Lanachrona in mind. The same is true of High Factors, of course, and even crafters.”

  “You would not…”

  “No. I would not, but a minister must consider the needs of all.”

  “This is most unprecedented…”

  “That is because the times are unprecedented, First Seltyr. When I make future appointments, I will again ask for your recommendations, and should you present someone as qualified and devoted as did the chief High Factor, I will certainly consider him with great care.” Mykella rose. “I am so glad you came to see me, and I do look forward to seeing you at the season-turn ball.”

  Khanasyl rose quickly. “And I you, Lady.”

  Mykella remained standing after the study door closed.

  She knew she had been brief with Khanasyl, but she had been pleasant, and she had conveyed that she was certainly open to his recommendations of qualified Seltyrs. Even so, she was still fretting slightly by the time she walked to the family dining room that evening, not just about Khanasyl and the attack on Gharyk and all the other nagging items that she seemed unable to fully resolve but about the likely attack on Lanachrona itself

  With all her pondering, she found herself stepping through the archway close to a glass later than normal. Yet she was the first one there although, after she seated herself, Rachylana hurried in, breathing heavily.

  “I thought you’d already be eating,” offered the redhead as she slid into the chair across the table from Mykella.

  “I was late, too.” Mykella poured amber wine from the carafe into her goblet.

  Muergya set two platters on the
table. “We tried to keep the cutlets warm, Lady.”

  “Thank you.” With this weather, that shouldn’t have been hard. Mykella turned back to look at Rachylana. “I wasn’t sure either you or Salyna would be here.”

  “I don’t have to eat all the meals with the recruits, now that I’m an officer trainee. Salyna and Maeltor decided that she needed someone else below her in the chain of command. I’m better at blades than she thought, and I can ride well.”

  Mykella just looked at her.

  “I’m not that good at attacking with a saber…”

  “But you can sense others, and that gives you an advantage.”

  “And there are many things I didn’t have to learn.”

  “So you’re a provisional undercaptain or something?”

  “Something,” Rachylana admitted. “It won’t be decided until they talk it over with you and Areyst.”

  “That does make sense. Have they told the other auxiliaries who you are?”

  “No.” Rachylana took a long swallow from her goblet, then looked directly at her sister. “I want to know something.”

  “What might that be?”

  “What prompted you to choose Areyst as Arms-Commander and as a possible match? You scarcely knew him when you made him your heir.”

  “All the officers whose judgment I trusted, and even some whose judgment I didn’t, all agreed that he was a good field commander. I could tell that he was honest and that he respected the position of the Lord-Protector. No one else did—except possibly Commander Choalt—and I’ve never met him.”

  “That explains why you named him Arms-Commander. You’ve already explained why you named him heir, and I understand that.” Rachylana paused and took another, smaller, swallow of her wine. “Why did you consider him as a possible match—the only possible match, it appears—when you knew so little about him?”

  “Whoever I match and wed has to be for more than attraction,” Mykella said. “If I wed any suitor from Southgate or the coastal principalities, it would be a disaster. I’m the ruler, but they’re all raised to believe that women are subject to their men. I can’t have that, and neither can Lanachrona. I might wed the Landarch’s son, without those problems, because they, or at least their envoy, believe I’m descended from the Ancients, but that would create another problem because Deforya and Tempre are so far apart that he’d end up having to rule there, and I’d end up ruling here, and that’s not the way I want a marriage to be. That leaves marrying someone in Lanachrona.” She offered a sardonic smile. “From what you’ve seen and heard about the available sons of Seltyrs … can you see why I don’t care for that.”

  Rachylana laughed, a sound with an undertone of sarcasm. “That’s a very good argument, Mykella. It’s very, very good. I don’t believe a word. You thought that out after you’d decided.”

  Mykella smiled, ruefully. “You’re right. I went on my feelings, but that doesn’t mean they were wrong.”

  “I had feelings, too.” Rachylana did not quite snap.

  “Are they the same feelings that you have now?” Mykella looked straight into her sister’s eyes.

  After a moment, Rachylana shook her head. “They were still feelings.”

  “There are feelings, and there are feelings. I can look back and point out what I just said. Is what I said wrong, even if I started from a feeling?”

  “No.” After a moment, the redhead said, “You were fortunate. I wasn’t.”

  It was more than fortune. “I can’t turn away, even if it happened to be fortune, can I? Should I?”

  “You make it sound so cold … so calculating.”

  “It’s not … quite that way,” Mykella admitted. “It isn’t for him, either. You know that. You’ve said as much before.”

  “Then … why don’t you show it?” A hint of testiness emerged in Rachylana’s voice.

  “I can’t. Not yet. He knows that, too.” You hope he does.

  “You and Salyna … you have to prove everything.”

  And you don’t? “I have to prove it to the Seltyrs and High Factors, or I’ll be using my Talent every moment of every day for the rest of my life and ruling by sheer power. I don’t want to do that.”

  “You may, anyway.”

  “I have to try.”

  “What about Areyst? How will he feel about it all after he discovers who you really are?”

  “That’s another reason why he has to succeed as Arms-Commander before anything can happen.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “Then … it doesn’t matter … because I won’t be Lady-Protector, and he won’t be Arms-Commander.”

  Rachylana looked across the table. “Oh … Mykella…”

  The redhead didn’t need to say more.

  51

  By early afternoon on Septi, Mykella found herself walking to the study windows and looking out. The air had cooled with the arrival of high clouds and a westerly breeze, but she still felt warm and constricted in the study, and it was all too clear that summer was likely to arrive with a vengeance. Her quick trips to Lysia and into the darkness helped cool her, but the effect did not last long. The pulsations of the Table at Lysia were slightly stronger, but not strong enough that she could sense them from Tempre itself.

  When she returned to her desk from another walk to the windows, she picked up the missive that had arrived that morning from Almardyn and scanned the lines again.

  … while you did not pick the most popular of candidates, few would be willing to argue that you picked a man who is not qualified. Zylander is highly qualified. That may make him less desirable to many Seltyrs and factors, but that is of value to the Protector of Lanchrona …

  Interesting that he’d now rather refer to the “Protector” than to the “Lady-Protector.” A brief smile faded as another thought struck her. Are matters so bad that you have to reread the favorable missives?

  She set down the missive and walked out into the anteroom. “I’m going to the Table chamber.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  Mykella could have gone to her apartments and called the darkness, but for some reason, she felt like walking. That meant, of course, that one of the stair guards accompanied her from the base of the main staircase to the guarded doorway to the smaller staircase in the northwest corner of the palace. Since the lower corridor was empty, she didn’t bother with unlocking the iron-shuttered doors, but used the greenish darkness to slip through the walls into the Table chamber itself.

  The Table itself remained the same dullish unseen purple to her senses, but more like a dull black stone to her eyes, except for its mirrorlike surface. She stepped up to it and concentrated on Cheleyza, only to find that the image that appeared after the mists swirled and cleared showed her aunt riding down a broad stone-paved avenue, with long shadows falling across the avenue, suggesting tall buildings on one side.

  “It has to be Salcer…” There weren’t any other cities close enough for Cheleyza to have reached.

  After that, she went through another series of searches, but none revealed anything but scenes of routine activity, nothing untoward, and she made her way back up to her formal study.

  Shortly after the third glass of the afternoon chimed, she saw Areyst ride into the palace courtyard. She remained at the window, trying to remain calm and composed, until Chalmyr rapped on the door.

  “Lady—”

  “Have the commander come in.” She found herself blushing, and she took a slow breath before walking deliberately toward her desk.

  The door opened, and Areyst stepped into the study, then bowed.

  “Commander.” Mykella tried not to look too long into his eyes as he straightened. She failed, if not too obviously, but that didn’t matter … much … because, as she looked away, he lowered his eyes.

  “Lady. I am here as requested.”

  She could sense a hint of … something. Attraction, concern, or both?

  “I’m glad that you are.” She seated herself and w
aited for a moment. “How was your trip from Viencet?”

  “Hot and without problems.” He leaned forward, ever so slightly, in the chair. “As soon as I arrived, Undercaptain Salyna appeared.”

  “About the season-turn parade, I presume?”

  He nodded.

  “What is your honest opinion, Commander?”

  “I have always been uneasy with the idea of women being used as troopers in combat, and I fear this is a step toward that.”

  “The Alectors did so.”

  “And they perished.”

  “Not for that reason. Do you doubt women would be helpful, especially now?”

  Areyst shook his head. “That is the problem. They would be helpful. Even without full training, I can see how they have kept headquarters in better shape. Yet…”

  “Is their progress too slow?”

  “Captain Maeltor has sent reports on the auxiliaries. Your sister—or sisters—have been more effective than he imagined possible.”

  “Then … do you think they should ride on Novdi?”

  “I must admit that I see the advantages, but you realize that will not sit well with many in Tempre.”

  “I know that, but I have seen that matters must change. Now we have a reason to make that change. It would be harder if we tried later.”

  “Then I will agree that they should ride, but as a secondary group before the main headquarters party.”

  “That would be for the best.”

  He smiled. “You are also persuasive and effective. That seems to be a trait you all share.”

  “How effective has Salyna been?”

  “According to Captain Maeltor, most ride as well as any ranker after initial training, and they behave like guards. Some are still a little awkward with sabers, but all can use a rifle and get the bullet into a target. Most can do so from the saddle. Provisional Undercaptain Rachylana has made exceptional progress.”

  “Oh?” Mykella wasn’t surprised but wanted to hear more.

  “She insisted on additional sparring with the captain, on the grounds that no one else could teach her. He noted that she was exceptionally … fierce, but disciplined.” Areyst smiled wryly. “I fear she may have impressed him too much.”