The first family member she saw was Mared. Her youngest sister sat on the front veranda, waiting to be the first to see Maera arriving so she could spread the news. As the party turned into the approach to the manor, Mared jumped up, waved both arms, and ran inside. By the time the carriage halted in front, Mared and Anid, the next-youngest sister, stood at the bottom of the stairs, her mother and father on top.
“Maera, Maera, you’re home!” shouted Mared, rushing to hug her eldest sister the moment one of her feet met the ground.
“Yes, and I’m glad to see you, too,” reciprocated Maera with a hug of her own, soon widened to include Anid—who, being four years older than Mared and considering herself more mature, waited until both of Maera’s feet were on the ground.
“You’ve been gone so long!” said Mared. “You said it would only be a six sixday visit. It’s been eight sixdays!”
“Turns out, there was more to do than I expected, but I’m glad to be home.”
With her arms around her sisters, she climbed the stairs to her parents.
“Welcome back, Maera,” said Breda with a twinkle, a kiss on the check, and a hug. “And yes, we all missed you terribly. Even your father, although he might not admit it.”
“What do you mean, I won’t admit it?” exclaimed Hetman Keelan and enveloped his daughter in a crushing hug. “I hadn’t realized it until your mother told me, but this is the longest you’ve ever been away from home. I confess to all present that I missed you. Of course, mainly for assisting me in clan affairs.” His smile and embrace belied the last words. After another round of hugs, the family went inside.
“Where is Ceinwynd?” asked Maera. “Still pouting?”
The next-oldest sister blamed Maera for their father’s cool reception to potential Ceinwynd suitors. Statements by both parents that she was still too young did nothing to dissuade her belief that they were waiting for the eldest daughter to marry first. Maera suspected another reason was that her parents thought Ceinwynd too immature for that serious step but hadn’t conveyed it convincingly to Ceinwynd. Maera also knew Ceinwynd considered herself unattractive and wanted a head start on getting a husband.
“Oh, you know Ceinwynd,” said Breda. “Being put-upon by the world is her normal condition. I forget exactly what terrible imposition we put on her today, so she’s in her room, sulking again.”
“It’s something to do with a new dress she insists is essential to her happiness,” said Culich, resignedly.
“Oh, yes, now I remember,” Breda said. “Anyway, she’ll be down for dinner, and if the pattern holds true, she’ll be close to normal by then.”
Home, but Not Present
Maera outwardly resumed her routine. She ate morning meal with various combinations of her three sisters or ate alone. When called on by her father, she helped prepare communications to his boyermen, to other hetmen, or with whomever he corresponded. She accompanied her mother and sisters on shopping in the city and exchanged letters with Anarynd “Ana” Moreland, her best friend, and whose family was distantly related to the Moreland hetman. In her rooms or the St. Tomo’s library, Maera continued her studies of Caedellium history and books available about other lands on Anyar and refreshed her studies of several mainland languages. She arranged to copy several texts from St. Sidryn’s library and walked the manor grounds. During that time, an astute observer would have noted that her walks lasted as long as an hour or more, instead of the usual quarter to half-hour. Breda Keelan was an astute observer.
“Have you noticed anything about Maera since she got back?” Breda asked Culich one evening, two sixdays after her daughter’s return.
“Noticed what?”
“If she’s acting different.”
“Different?”
“Yes, different,” she said in exasperation. “Your daughter, you know, the one away at St. Sidryn’s for over a month.”
Breda now had her husband’s attention. His eyes focused on his wife, as he considered the original question. “Maera acting different. I assume you mean from before she went to St. Sidryn’s?”
“Yes,” said Breda, looking heavenward and shaking her head.
Culich reviewed the last few days since his daughter’s return. Was she acting differently?
“Now that you mention it, she seems a little quieter than usual.”
“And her dress?” Breda prompted.
“Her dress . . . her clothing . . . how she dresses, you mean? N-o-o-o, can’t say I’ve noticed anything.” Culich then smiled at his wife. “But I take it from the direction of this conversation that Maera’s been acting different in several ways, including being quieter than usual and dressing differently, I’m sure you’ll enlighten me about details I’ve missed.”
Breda rapped him affectionately with her hand.
“I admit I may be imagining it, but I’d swear Maera is taking more care of her clothes and appearance. She’s never fussed over such things, except on formal occasions when she has to be the ‘hetman’s daughter.’”
“I’ll take your word in matters of Maera’s clothing. Is it supposed to mean something?”
“With any other young woman, I might wonder if she’s taken an interest in a young man.”
Culich started. Maera? He was quiet, while he processed his wife’s intuition. He couldn’t find anything supportive in his memory, but he had long ago learned to listen to his wife about certain matters. His reasoning centers now took over. If Maera was interested in a man, who would it be? If someone new, she must have met him at St. Sidryn’s. Nothing in her letters had—
Culich’s internal dialogue churned, making new connections.
Wait . . . someone had been prominent. Not in her personal letters, but in her observations and reports.
Yozef Kolsko?
Breda watched her husband’s face during his review. The expression “read like a book” might not be part of the Caedelli lexicon, but it would have been appropriate for her detecting when an idea coalesced in Culich’s mind.
“You’ve thought of something, dear,” she prompted.
“Just that if this happened while she was at St. Sidryn’s, there’s only one name that comes to me. A name of someone who caught her attention, although I wouldn’t have associated the attention with anything personal—at least, without your original questions.”
A light went on behind Breda’s watchful eyes. “The mysterious stranger the Beynoms have written about? Yozef something or other?”
“That’s the only name I can come up with. Of course, it could be someone different whom she never mentioned, all of this assuming there is anything to this at all and not just our imaginations.”
Breda sat back in her chair, folded her hands in her lap, and stared off over Culich’s head. He gave her the same time she had given him.
“You may be right,” she said after a long moment. “It could fit. I’ve read you parts of her letters to me, and I’ve seen the ones to you. What I may not have shared with you is that at times, when referring to this Kolsko, her writing sounded enthusiastic. For Maera, anyway. Now that I recollect her words, perhaps a bit entranced, although she didn’t come right out with it. She wrote that he listens to her and values her opinions and knowledge. They evidently spent many hours together, with Maera telling him about Caedellium’s history and customs, and he explaining his various projects to her. I guess at the time when I read the letters, I was pleased that Maera kept busy and interested in the visit. Now . . .”
“I should talk to Maera about this,” said her concerned father.
“No,” said Breda, “I should talk with her first.”
“You don’t think they . . . you know?”
Breda snorted. “You should know your daughter better than that. If anything, Maera takes her duty to the family and clan too seriously. Did they bed while she was at St. Sidryn’s? Definitely not. Whatever is going on inside Maera, however, it’s something new for her. I’ll see if I can tease it out of her. You know your
daughter, though. If she doesn’t want to tell us something, she won’t.”
Letters
While Maera herself wasn’t sure what she thought—or more accurately, felt, she knew the departure from St. Sidryn’s had been too abrupt. If she had been confused at the time, what must Yozef be thinking? She decided she wasn’t angry at him. However, Yozef might believe her offended by his effrontery at kissing a hetman’s daughter.
Why had he kissed her? Did he think she’d encouraged him? She didn’t see how, although her experience was limited, despite Ana’s fruitless attempts to teach her the art of flirting.
As for Yozef, as much as he seemed to have adjusted to Caedellium, who knew whether the customs of his people and hers confused mutual understanding? Whatever Yozef’s feelings and intentions, it was she who broke off communication. He had attempted to apologize if the kiss offended her. She had refused to speak with him after the kiss and had barely acknowledged his presence on the morning when she left to return to Caernford. Therefore, it was up to her to reinitiate contact.
Maera first wrote of her pleasure at having met him and thanked him for time spent showing her his shops and discussing issues of mutual interest. She closed the short, neutral letter with crafted questions about his projects and her arrangement to copy several books he’d expressed interest in reading. The questions implied a desire for answers and thereby a return letter to Maera. She omitted mention of their picnic or her departure.
Eight days later, a return letter arrived. Given that the quickest she might have received an answer was four days, after those four days she worried he wouldn’t answer, and as each day’s mail arrived, her anxiety grew. She found herself both relieved and unexpectedly nervous when Yozef’s letter came. She tore open the outer paper and quickly scanned the letter, then relaxed and slowly read it again. He was pleased to receive her letter and learn she had arrived home safely. He had been happy to show her his shops and discuss issues and thanked her for arranging book copying. He answered her questions and countered with a couple of his own about her family, her studies, and how was the weather in Caernford? The exchange left open opportunities for future letters.
Yozef Kolsko Is Different
It was two days after Maera’s parents discussed her changed behavior and possible implications, when Breda Keelan sensed the opportunity had arrived to probe. In the early afternoon, mother and daughter sat on the back veranda finishing mid-day meal. The conversation had been about the usual: Mared’s interests in learning, much as Maera had been at that age; Anid’s chaffing at scholasticum work; Ceinwyn’s moping so much, her mother had finally taken her to task. They touched on news of the Narthani, Maera’s latest letters from Anarynd, and wasn’t this the nicest weather? With the preliminaries out of the way, Breda struck. Guilelessly, she hoped.
“I’m glad you met and became acquainted with this Kolsko fellow. He seems to be making quite a mark in Keelan and beyond. He sounds very mysterious.”
“Mysterious? Yes, I suppose so. Mysterious sounds somewhat ominous, though.” Maera paused for a moment. “Different? Definitely.”
“How different?”
“Certainly, with all of the new ideas he’s brought with him, particularly making things we didn’t have on Caedellium before. Not just the ether and kerosene lanterns, but new soaps, papers, and yes, the kotex.”
Breda smiled. “I have to say, it seems odd for a man to think of such a product. I can’t imagine your father even discussing the topic. He’d be mortified. So how does Yozef Kolsko do it?”
“Mother, he just casually knows things. That was only one example. Diera is alternately ecstatic and chagrined at the new medicant knowledge she’s learned from him. As with so much, it’s not that he’s an expert in any particular area. He seems to pull pieces of knowledge out of the air.”
“So, it’s not that he’s that smart, just that his people have more general knowledge than we do?”
“Oh, it’s assured his people know so much more, but he’s smart himself.”
“How smart, compared to other people?”
Maera considered. “Probably at least as smart as Diera and Sistian or any of the scholastics at St. Sidryn’s and St. Tomo’s.”
Breda noted that Maera hadn’t included her father in the list of the smartest people she knew. She wasn’t offended. Culich Keelan never pretended to be an intellect. He wasn’t dense, and his intuitions, skill at reading people, and ability to see long term, when combined with honesty and integrity, made him a formidable hetman.
“And what about yourself, Maera? Is he as smart as you?”
Maera looked sharply at her mother. She knew Breda understood that her eldest daughter was smart—very smart. Breda also had been comforting when Maera expressed frustration over dealing with others who couldn’t follow or agree with her thinking. However, Breda had never directly asked for Maera’s own evaluation, nor had Maera ever given it. Until now.
“No,” said Maera. “I can’t say he is. I’ve never met anyone smarter than me.” She continued looking straight at her mother with a firm and only slightly defiant stare. “He’s definitely more so than all but only a few men I’ve met, although he’s smart in a different way.”
“How different?” asked Breda, surprised at Maera’s bluntness, boast, or honesty, depending on how accurate was her assessment.
“I couldn’t put my finger on it, until I realized he didn’t feel pride in his intelligence and knowledge. It just was. He simply takes it for granted and doesn’t mind others disagreeing with him or showing more knowledge.”
“Could one of those others be yourself?”
Maera’s cheeks colored, though she continued to look straight at her mother. “Yes, it could. All my life people have thought of and looked at me as being somehow not quite correct. When I was young, at times I tried to hide that I was smart to get people to like me more, but it never worked. Even you and Father. Mother, I know you and he love me, but there’s always a hint that you wish I was a little more like other daughters. As for Father, though he values my help, in his heart of hearts he wishes I’d been born a son and feels awkward that I’m a different kind of daughter.”
“Oh, Maera,” said her suddenly teary-eyed mother, “both your father and I have always loved you dearly. If we’ve ever made you think we wished you were anyone other than who you are, please forgive us!”
Maera patted her mother’s hand. “I’m not blaming either of you. If anything, I’d blame God or myself. Him for making me a person who feels out of place or myself for not either somehow changing myself or just accepting the way the world is.”
“And Yozef Kolsko, how does he see you?”
“I sense he accepts me as I am. Possibly because he’s not from Caedellium and doesn’t come with ideas of roles he expects me to fill. Maybe his people are just different from ours. Maybe he’s different. I don’t know the reasons, but I didn’t feel I had to worry about what I said. If he didn’t understand something I was telling him, he simply asked it to be explained again or in more detail, not that he had any problem with me knowing more. When I disagreed with him, we’d discuss our differences and either come to an agreement or resolve to disagree without the need for one opinion to win out. It was . . . exhilarating.”
Breda could hear some of the exhilaration and perhaps a relaxation of spirit, in Maera’s tone, and, on hearing it, pangs of regret saddened her that Maera was only now able to share such feelings.
“So, Yozef Kolsko brought all this out in you, dearest?”
“Yes,” asserted Maera.
“And more?”
“More?”
“You know what I mean, Maera. More than just being comfortable with him. He’s a man, you’re a woman—what do you think I mean?”
The color on Maera’s cheeks came again, spreading to more of her face. “I like him, Mother. He’s nice, compared to most of the men I’ve met. Not that being a hetman’s daughter, the eldest daughter, and one expected
to produce an heir to Keelan has allowed me to meet all that many men. And let’s be blunt, the last few years the few new men I’ve met have been potential suitors. They’ve been hetmen or boyermen’s sons, and those roles constrain what kind of men they grow into. I’ve always assumed one day I’d marry one of them for the sake of the family and Clan Keelan. I’d hoped to find a marriage like yours and Father’s, but I’d given up that dream. I know my duty, that the day will come when I’ll have to marry and have children. It’s just . . . I dreaded that day and the thought of living the rest of my life with one of those suitors.”
“I take it it’s different with Yozef?” Breda unconsciously switched to using only his first name.
Maera was quiet, as she looked off into the fields north of the manor. Her gaze moved over the green fields, groves of trees, and scattered patches of wildflowers. “I don’t know exactly what I feel.” Several moments passed. “But it occurred to me that if I had to marry him, I don’t have the dread I did with the suitors. I can’t say if that’s love like between you and Father, but as different . . . yes, even strange . . . as Yozef is, I respect him and am comfortable around him. No, that’s not quite right either. There were a few times when we were together at St. Sidryn’s that I felt more at ease than I can remember for years, except when I’m with Ana.”
“Let’s look at this from another perspective, dear,” said Breda, a conspiratorial tone creeping into her voice. “Just for discussion’s sake, what would be the advantages to the clan if you married Yozef?”
Maera looked sharply at her mother. She recognized the tone of voice from when she was plotting to convince Culich of something he might not initially favor.
The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) Page 12
