The Lord-Protector's Daughter

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The smile that followed Eranya’s words was not totally sympathetic, Mykella thought, but she thought she understood how her father’s mistress felt. Eranya was bartering herself to better her future, with no guarantees at all for how long Feranyt’s favor would last, while Mykella and her sisters would be granted far more in comfort and favor merely by the fact of their birth.

  “I had not heard that,” Mykella found herself saying, “but I am glad that they considered our happiness in a distant and strange land. We are fortunate in Tempre, and I would that more men considered the happiness of women.”

  The slightest hint of a frown crossed Eranya’s forehead, then vanished. “We are indeed fortunate here, and beholden, especially to your father.”

  This time, the momentary stiffness of disapproval belonged to Rachylana.

  Feranyt laughed, but Mykella could sense his uneasiness.

  “We’re all agreed then,” the Lord-Protector said. “We’re most fortunate here.” He gestured for one of the serving girls to refill his wine goblet.

  Until that moment, Mykella hadn’t realized that he’d downed a full goblet during the interplay among the women. Had he been that uneasy in announcing the foreign envoys? Were they more important than she and her sisters thought?

  “We are indeed,” added Eranya.

  Fortunate? By comparison to what? Mykella shivered. Even wearing nightsilk, she was a trace cold, but then the palace was always cold in winter.

  After eating several bites of the already cool fowl, she stifled a yawn. All she really wanted was to finish dinner so that she could go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.

  12

  Mykella slept dreamlessly and woke not that long after dawn. She knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep. Unless she was exceedingly tired, once she woke in the morning, she was awake for the day. Even as a small child, she’d been told, she’d seldom taken naps.

  She walked to the window and pulled back the hangings, then looked to the west. There, just above the horizon, was the three-quarter green-tinged disk of Asterta—the moon of the Ancients. Asterta had always intrigued her, although she could never have said why. Because she couldn’t, she’d never told anyone. Salyna preferred the pearly light of Selena, and Rachylana didn’t seem to notice either moon much at all.

  With a half-smile, Mykella turned from the window and began her preparations for the day, heading to the washroom, washing up, and then returning to her chamber to don riding gear before making her way to the family breakfast room. Since Novdi was an end-day, Mykella and her sisters could eat breakfast anytime that they pleased.

  Mykella had barely seated herself in the breakfast room when Salyna appeared. Muergya poured plain strong tea into Mykella’s mug, then looked to Salyna.

  “Tea is fine for me,” said the younger woman.

  “We just have egg toast and ham and syrup. That’s all that’s hot,” offered the serving girl.

  Both sisters nodded.

  Mykella cupped her hands around the mug. The breakfast room was cold, even colder than her bedchamber, and she was glad to be wearing a wool sweater—also black—over her nightsilks.

  “I hadn’t heard anything about envoys for matches until Father mentioned it last night,” Salyna said, once Muergya had hurried away. “Had you?”

  “No,” replied Mykella. “The other morning he even denied that there were any coming. I have to wonder what changed that.”

  “He said that they requested…” Salyna let the words trail off.

  “Someone had to let them know that there was a possibility…” Mykella stopped. “Do you think…Rachylana?”

  “She’d have to have gone through someone else.”

  “She wouldn’t have gone through Berenyt…” Mykella stopped. “Unless…”

  “Unless she was pretending that we were the ones interested,” Salyna said, her voice low. Abruptly, she shook her head. “I can’t believe she’d do that. Even Rachylana…”

  “Someone did, unless it’s a coincidence,” Mykella pointed out. “I don’t believe in coincidences like that.”

  “What about Cheleyza?”

  Their uncle’s young wife? That was a definite possibility, Mykella thought. “She’d have reason. Is she expecting?”

  Salyna shrugged. “If she is, she’s not showing.”

  “How do she and Berenyt get along?

  “How would any of us know?”

  “Rachylana might,” mused Mykella. “Could you bring it up with her? I’ve already said too much about Berenyt.”

  “I imagine so.” Salyna smiled wryly. “I’ll have to wait for the right time.”

  That might be a while, reflected Mykella.

  Muergya returned with platters for each of them, and they ate with relatively innocuous conversation, conscious of the serving girl standing and waiting in the pantry.

  Before all that long they had finished, then gathered their riding jackets and gloves, and made their way down to the main level and along the wide corridors to the east door.

  Once she was outside, Mykella’s breath steamed in the cold morning air, under the bright silver-green sky, as she and Salyna crossed the east courtyard to the stables. Mykella preferred to saddle her own mount—the sturdy gray gelding—as much to prove that she could, as to be certain that everything was as it should be.

  In less than half a glass, she led the gelding out of the stables and mounted. Salyna was already waiting. Mykella noted that there were six Southern Guards in the courtyard, mounted and waiting. Usually, there were only two guards for each of them—unless they were headed into the city or farther away from Tempre. She turned to Salyna. “Six?”

  “I mentioned we were taking a ride to Rachylana, but…she said she wasn’t sure she wanted to come with us.”

  At that moment, Rachylana walked sedately across the courtyard, wearing a deep green and form-fitting leather riding jacket that set off her hair and her figure. She glanced toward her sisters. “I’ll only be a moment. Ostryl should have the mare saddled and ready for me.”

  Mykella wasn’t certain whether she felt more like sighing or laughing. Trust Rachylana to make an entrance—even if only Southern Guards could appreciate it. Then, that was also another dig at Mykella, without saying a word. Mykella glanced toward Salyna.

  Her younger sister just offered the tiniest headshake.

  Rachylana was as good as her word, leading the mare out and mounting quickly within moments. She then rode over and reined up beside Salyna.

  “Shall we go?” asked Mykella, easing her gelding forward.

  One of the guards rode ahead and opened the iron-grilled gate at the northeast end of the courtyard. Beyond the gate lay the Preserve, its ancient and high oaks and maples bare in the winter, with only a scattering of pines and firs to provide a touch of green.

  The path immediately north of the gate was packed clay, wide enough for three riders, but Mykella found herself riding with one of the Southern Guards, her sisters behind her. Within moments two more guards eased past her and took the lead.

  Mykella forced herself to smile. Although she would have much preferred to have ridden in the lead, the Southern Guards had their orders, and arguing would just have been futile. It also would have resulted in displeasing her father, as well as possibly limiting her freedom even more. So she watched everything, from the men riding in front of her to signs of game well away from the main path, which had turned eastward, paralleling the River Vedra, although the wooded hills to the north blocked any possible sight of the river from the main riding path. Still, if she could persuade her sisters to ride for a time, they would come to the path that led through a low point between the hills to the river. As they left the palace behind, and Tempre itself, the wind picked up, coming out of the north-northeast and carrying a hint of the chill and ice of the Aerlal Plateau.

  They’d ridden a little more than a vingt when Mykella heard Salyna, not all that far behind her, change the nature of her casual conversation
with Rachylana.

  “I was thinking about what Father said at dinner last night,” Salyna began.

  “Oh…he says many things.” Rachylana’s voice conveyed uninterest, almost boredom.

  Mykella forced herself not to look back, but to look to the path ahead.

  “About envoys seeking matches,” Salyna prompted. “Just last week Father said he hadn’t sent out any messages or feelers. Even if he had sent a messenger the day after he told us, there wouldn’t have been time for any responses. It’s a good week by fast post-rider to Southgate, and that’s the closest capital.”

  “It has to be a coincidence. We are among the few daughters of rulers. Of a marriageable age, that is,” replied Rachylana.

  “You didn’t happen to indicate that to someone, in passing, perhaps?” asked Salyna.

  “Why would I do that? I’m certainly not in any hurry at all to be married off to some outlander in a near-barbaric place like Fola, or a land like Deforya where it’s winter two-thirds of the year.” She paused. “I can see why you’d think it puzzling, but I don’t want a match like that, certainly not badly enough to send out hints to anyone.”

  “Do you think Lady Cheleyza might? She’s always trying to be helpful. She did send a dress to Mykella.”

  “She did. That’s what she’s like. She wouldn’t do something behind anyone’s back. She’d either ask if one of us wanted help, or she’d tell Uncle Joramyl that he should do something to help us.”

  Mykella frowned. She didn’t believe Cheleyza was anywhere near that forthright, and she couldn’t believe Rachylana thought so, either, but she had gotten the feeling that Rachylana believed what she had said about not wanting to be married off, and yet…

  “Ladies…there’s someone coming. They’re riding up from the south.”

  The three guards rode forward to form a line, reining up and drawing their sabers. Mykella reined up and waited calmly, glancing back at her sisters. Salyna fingered the saber at her waist.

  “It’s Berenyt,” Rachylana declared with a smile.

  “Berenyt?” questioned Salyna.

  “I told him we’d be taking a ride. He said he might join us. He’s coming from the south, because that’s where Lord Joramyl’s estate adjoins the Preserve.”

  In fact, very shortly Berenyt appeared, letting his mount carry him toward Mykella’s party at a measured walk. Berenyt wore a dark blue heavy-weather Guard riding jacket over his Guard uniform. After he reined up, he bowed in the saddle to the three young women. “Ladies…you set a quick pace.”

  “Mykella always does,” replied Rachylana.

  Berenyt turned his eyes on Mykella. “Perhaps a match to one of the wealthy nightsheep herders might better suit your temperament, Mistress Mykella.”

  Mykella knew she flushed at the insult, but she could hope that her reaction was concealed by the ruddiness caused by the wind and the ride. “My temperament perhaps, cousin, but certainly not my taste…just as you might be suited by temperament to a passionate Hafin courtesan.”

  Berenyt stiffened in the saddle.

  “Mykella…” murmured Rachylana from where she had reined up her mare behind her older sister.

  “Definitely a northern temper you have, cousin,” Berenyt said, almost languidly.

  Mykella could sense the anger beneath the slow and casual cadence of his words. She shouldn’t have reacted so directly, but for more reasons than she could count, she disliked and distrusted her handsome blond and green-eyed cousin. “I’ve been known to be intemperate, cousin, but let us lay that aside and ride. I had thought we might take the river trail, and then come back along the west wall path of the Preserve.”

  “A healthy ride on a brisk day,” agreed Berenyt.

  Mykella nodded to the Southern Guards. “We’d best be going, then, if we wish to be back while it’s still light.”

  The three van-guards eased their mounts ahead.

  Mykella let them move away before she urged the gelding forward. She disliked being hemmed in, either while riding or in any other fashion.

  Salyna eased her mount up beside her older sister, while Berenyt guided his mount around Salyna and swung in beside Rachylana.

  Mykella did not look back as Rachylana began to speak to Berenyt. “Where did you find your mount? He’s magnificent.”

  “He’s been bred out of the best of the Ongelyan stock that Great-grandfather procured as a settlement when he turned back the nomad invasion. He can run forever….”

  “You trained him, didn’t you?”

  Salyna glanced at Mykella, then let her eyes drift back before shaking her head so slightly that neither Rachylana nor Berenyt were likely to see the movement from behind, even had they been watching Salyna.

  Mykella concentrated on riding and taking in the Preserve for the rest of the ride, that and ignoring the low intermittent conversation between Rachylana and Berenyt.

  Once they returned to the palace in late afternoon, although she didn’t much feel like it, Mykella unsaddled the gelding and began the tedious but necessary grooming and rubdown. She was about half through when Salyna appeared by the stall wall.

  “You don’t have to do that,” observed Salyna.

  “No, but I should.”

  “Only sons who will be Lords-Protector should,” countered Salyna.

  “Has Rachylana left?” asked Mykella.

  “She and Berenyt went to the solarium.”

  “Leaving others to take care of their mounts, and at her suggestion, I’d wager.”

  “I didn’t see him protesting.”

  “I heard you asking her about the envoys,” Mykella said, returning to currying the gelding.

  “She denied that she had anything to do with it,” Salyna said.

  “No…that’s not quite what she said. She said she certainly wasn’t interested in a match with any outlander.”

  “Do you think…?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” replied Mykella firmly. Except she did. Rachylana was scheming to get Mykella and Salyna married off and out of Tempre so that she could marry Berenyt. While marriages to cousins were frowned upon, they weren’t forbidden and occasionally occurred, usually when they involved land, holdings, or the family of the Lord-Protector.

  13

  On Decdi morning, the true end-day of the week, the Lord-Protector’s family had a late morning brunch, rather than breakfast. When Mykella reached the table, just behind Salyna, it was not because she had risen later, but because she had been thinking, not only about the question of envoys for matching, but also about the irregularities in the Lord-Protector’s accounts. The problem with the accounts remained that she was likely to be the only one to claim that there were discrepancies, and she still had nothing her father would accept as proof.

  As Mykella seated herself, she noted that both her father and Jeraxylt wore the leather vests they used for hunting. Salyna wore a similar vest, except hers was more scuffed and well-worn.

  “I hear you all had a long ride yesterday,” Feranyt said cheerfully.

  “I didn’t,” said Jeraxylt.

  “Your sisters did. So did your cousin Berenyt.” Feranyt turned to Mykella. “How was it?”

  “I always enjoy the river trail the most, especially on an end-day. Sometimes, you can feel as though the trees had been there forever. The Preserve is special.”

  “It is,” agreed Feranyt. “Some of the Seltyrs are claiming it shouldn’t belong to the Lord-Protector.”

  “That’s stupid,” snorted Jeraxylt. “Who else’s would it be?”

  Mykella took a sip of the tea that Akilsa had poured. It was tolerably warm and strong enough. She immediately took two slices of the sweet cheese bread from the platter in the middle of the table.

  “That’s not the question,” Feranyt replied. “First, those who want something try to get everyone to believe that it’s not yours…or shouldn’t be. Then they start suggesting that it would be better handled by someone else, usually themselves,
on behalf of someone else who does indeed appear truly deserving. Of course, if they persuade everyone to let them administer it, somehow, in time, it ends up as theirs…or they make a healthy amount of gold in transferring it to yet another party.”

  “For the Preserve?” asked Rachylana. “It’s just woodland.”

  “It’s very lovely woodland on high ground where a great number of High Factors or Seltyrs would love to place an estate, and it’s close to Tempre.”

  “They wouldn’t do that, would they? Really?” pressed Rachylana.

  “I’m not about to let them, but they would if they could. Most people would take what they could if they could get away with it,” said Feranyt.

  Mykella nodded, but she wondered why her father did not see that his words might well apply to his own brother.

  After several moments of silence, Salyna spoke. “You’re going hunting today, aren’t you?”

  Jeraxylt ignored her words and instead cut a section of egg toast and stuffed it into his mouth.

  “Why, yes,” answered Feranyt. “At least, we’d thought to.”

  “Might I also go with you?”

  Feranyt frowned slightly, tilting his head to the left, as if considering the matter.

  “You’ve never been hunting,” mumbled Jeraxylt.

  Mykella concealed a smile. Her father was not quite so circumspect, and the corners of his mouth quirked upward.

  “I’m almost as tall as you are and just as good as you are with a blade,” Salyna said.

  “You’re better than some,” Jeraxylt conceded.

  “If I’m better than some, and you’re that good, and I’m with you, then you don’t have to worry about me, do you?” Salyna said.

  Feranyt laughed. “You can come.”

  Jeraxylt smiled, reluctantly. “You can see how it’s done.”

  “That would be good,” Salyna agreed.

  Mykella had to admire Salyna for her adroitness and timing. A year earlier, she would have pressed the issue directly.