The Lord-Protector's Daughter

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I imagine his thoughts were elsewhere. Most people don’t love numbers the way you do. Jeraxylt was right; Father was fortunate that you caught the problem.” Salyna glanced toward the window and the setting sun. “Do you have any idea who was really behind it?”

  “Ideas?” Mykella offered a rueful laugh. “Ideas are easy. Proving them is something else, and without proof…” She shrugged.

  “Men like proof,” Salyna said dryly. “Sometimes, it’s a joy to provide it, especially with a saber, even a practice blade.”

  “More about blades?” asked Rachylana as she stepped into the parlor.

  “And men,” replied Salyna.

  “Berenyt is good with a blade.”

  Salyna and Mykella exchanged glances.

  Rachylana glanced from one sister to the other, then flushed. “Not that way. You two…You’re terrible.”

  “We didn’t say anything,” Mykella said. “Not a word.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Rachylana shook her head. “Besides…Father wants to get me away from Tempre as quickly as he can. You know that.”

  “He’s teased you,” Salyna pointed out, “but that’s not the same thing.”

  “It is too.” Rachylana eased the needlework frame back toward Salyna and sat on the other end of the settee. “Mykella has her numbers and ledgers and isn’t interested in anyone here in Tempre. You’d rather practice with sabers—the sharp kind. That leaves me.”

  “It’s not entirely up to Father,” Mykella pointed out. “He can’t really make an envoy choose someone who the envoy doesn’t think is right.”

  “Maybe not the Landarch’s envoy, or a Seltyr from Southgate, but any prince-heir from the coast will take whoever’s offered. So would one of the Illegean horde leaders. You wouldn’t like that, would you?” Rachylana looked at Mykella. “They don’t even know what ledgers are.”

  “Don’t be cruel because you’re angry,” said Salyna softly.

  Rachylana shivered, opened her mouth, then closed it, pulling the heavy blue woolen shawl around her. She looked to Mykella. “Aren’t you cold in just that tunic?”

  “It’s nightsilk, and I’m wearing a nightsilk camisole under it.”

  “So am I, and I’m still freezing. You don’t ever seem to get cold anymore.”

  Mykella hadn’t noticed that, but both her sisters were bundled up—and there was ice gathered on the inside of the parlor windows. The palace wasn’t exactly the warmest of buildings, and most chambers were without hearths.

  The chimes announcing dinner echoed outside the parlor, and Mykella rose. “I wonder what’s for dinner.”

  “You don’t want to know,” said Salyna. “It’s one of Father’s favorites—overcooked, fried, and pounded river trout, doused in cheese and buried in rice.”

  Salyna was right. Mykella hated river trout. To her, the fish tasted like river mud, and nothing disguised that. “We might as well face it,” she said resignedly.

  Feranyt and Eranya were already in the family dining room when the three sisters arrived, followed in moments by Jeraxylt.

  The Lord-Protector seated himself, as did Jeraxylt, then the four women.

  Akilsa immediately began to fill the wine goblets with a clear vintage, and Muergya began serving.

  “Ah…hot river trout,” offered Feranyt, “just the thing for a cold winter evening.”

  “It is warm,” agreed Rachylana.

  “That it is, and tasty, too,” agreed the Lord-Protector.

  Mykella refrained from disputing that, and instead had Muergya serve her the smallest morsel of trout possible, and as much rice and cheese as possible that hadn’t been close to the fish.

  After eating several mouthfuls, and taking a swallow of wine, Feranyt looked up. “On Octdi night, we’ll be having a reception and a formal dinner with the Deforyan envoy. I expect each of you young women to talk to him.”

  Although Rachylana smiled politely, Mykella could feel her anger…and a certain despair.

  “Who else will be there?” inquired Salyna.

  “All of us”—Feranyt nodded toward Eranya—“and Joramyl and Lady Cheleyza, and several other ministers and their wives, including Seltyr Porofyr and Arms-Commander Nephryt.”

  Why Porofyr? wondered Mykella. Was that because he was the minister for highways and rivers, and part of the talks between Deforya and Lanachrona involved more than the guarding of the highways against brigands?

  “And…Jeraxylt,” Feranyt added, “the envoy was kind enough to bring a miniature of the Landarch’s young cousin.”

  “How old is she? Twelve?” A certain scorn lay behind Jeraxylt’s words.

  “Young compared to the Landarch. She is actually about a year older than you are, but she looks to be rather pretty.”

  “Rather pretty?”

  “Enough,” said Feranyt firmly. “Because of who we are, all our choices are limited, and that includes yours in the matter of marriage. Your sisters understand that, and so should you. A suitable match is vital for the Lord-Protector.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jeraxylt nodded, politely.

  Behind his pleasant expression Mykella sensed anger close to fury. Why hadn’t she seen that before?

  “Many would give everything for an attractive, well-connected, and wealthy spouse,” Eranya said cheerfully.

  No one but Mykella seemed to sense the contempt behind her words, and certainly not Jeraxylt.

  “Exactly,” murmured Feranyt. “Exactly.”

  “There wasn’t any coal in the scuttle in the parlor,” offered Rachylana.

  “You could have gotten some from the coal bin in the courtyard,” suggested Feranyt.

  “There wasn’t any there, either,” said Salyna. “Not in mid-afternoon, anyway.”

  “Then bring it up with the steward. That’s Jodhar’s job, to make sure we’re supplied with what’s necessary.”

  Salyna nodded, but Mykella caught the sense that she was both less than satisfied, yet pleased.

  After dinner, Mykella drew Salyna aside. “What about the coal?”

  “Oh…Jodhar wouldn’t talk to me about it. That’s why I asked Father. Tomorrow, after I work out, I’ll suggest that he take steps to replenish the palace’s coal supply—and I’ll still have my saber with me. But, this time, I’ll have Father’s express backing.”

  “You could have said that anyway.”

  “No. Unless he’d actually said it, Father wouldn’t back me up. You know that. He’s very particular.”

  “He’ll know you tricked him into saying that.”

  “He will, but he always stands by his word, no matter what.”

  That, reflected Mykella, could be a strength…and a terrible weakness, if one had been deceived. “Then we should have a warm parlor before long.”

  “We will, indeed.” Salyna smiled.

  By the time she finally slipped away from her sister and, under her concealment shield, down the two sets of stairs to the Table chamber, Mykella had already decided that she needed to use the Table to track not only Joramyl, but Berenyt and Nephryt.

  Once she opened the door to the chamber, she tried to sense if the Ifrit might be trying to use the Table, but all she felt was the faint purple glow that was always present. She stepped up to the Table and began to concentrate on seeking Joramyl.

  The mists cleared to reveal her uncle seated at a heavy round table. To his left was Arms-Commander Nephryt. The two were talking. Heavy goblets were set before each man, and a third goblet was set before one of the two empty chairs. There was something…something about the chamber in which the two were seated. Mykella frowned, looking at the image.

  The door opened, and another man stepped through. For that moment, Mykella caught a glimpse of the outer hall, with the stone walls and rose columns…and belatedly recognized the entry hall of Joramyl’s grand mansion. The private study lay behind one of the doors she’d seen, with easy access off the entry. Only then did she concentrate on the latest arrival, Commander Demyl,
second in command of the Southern Guards.

  The very presence of the three together, meeting in Joramyl’s mansion, confirmed for Mykella her feeling that her uncle was the one behind the diversion of golds—and that the diversion was more than mere greed on his part. Since she could not make out their words as they sat around the table and talked, she had no idea to what degree the three were plotting.

  Yet…with her limited knowledge and lack of what her father regarded as proof, not to mention his inflexibility, how could she tell him?

  She continued to watch the three for close to a glass, yet outside of a number of gestures, the most revealing of which was when Nephryt said something with great vehemence, and Joramyl clearly calmed him with what looked to be soothing words, Mykella could make out nothing, although she did get the impression that Joramyl was cautioning patience.

  Finally, she let that image lapse, and concentrated on trying to find Berenyt next. The Table obligingly revealed him in a bed—not alone, and not with Rachylana, thankfully, but with a slender, if shapely, brunette whom Mykella did not recognize. She let the image fade immediately. She was neither a voyeur nor able to deceive herself into thinking that watching would reveal anything she didn’t already know about her cousin.

  There was no point in telling Rachylana about Berenyt, either, because Mykella didn’t know who the woman was and couldn’t have explained plausibly how she knew what Berenyt was doing. But…perhaps…perhaps, Salyna might know…if Mykella broached it in the right way.

  That might offer a possible way to alert Rachylana about how Berenyt viewed women…and how little respect he would have for Rachylana were they ever matched.

  Unfortunately, trying to warn her father about his brother was going to be far harder.

  She turned from the Table and walked slowly from the underground chamber, her boots scuffing on the stone floor as she headed for the narrow staircase.

  24

  Mykella did not sleep all that much better on Sexdi night than she had the nights before, but she’d been so tired that, when she woke to Uleana’s knocking on Septi, she did not remember her nightmares, but only the vague uneasiness that told her she had indeed had them. When she opened the window hangings, she almost wanted to pull them shut again because a gray fog enshrouded the palace in a chill gloom.

  Instead, she pulled on a robe and left her chambers to wash up.

  Salyna, smiling cheerfully as most early risers did, was leaving the washroom, and Mykella gestured for her to stop.

  “You have that look,” Salyna said, if pleasantly. “What is it?”

  Mykella glanced in the direction of Rachylana’s chambers, then said in a low voice, “Do you know who the brunette is that Berenyt’s seeing? The one he’s keeping from Rachylana?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve overheard a few things, too many to be mistaken.”

  Salyna frowned. “Have you told Rachylana?”

  For all Rachylana’s airs, Mykella didn’t want to see her sister used and hurt, and neither did Salyna. That was clear.

  Mykella shook her head. “I thought you might know. You’re around the Southern Guards more.”

  “No. I’ve seen looks, and I wondered.”

  “Can you find out without letting her know?”

  Salyna smiled wryly. “I can try, but…we’ll see, won’t we?”

  “I don’t want her hurt…”

  “Neither do I, but what she wants is going to end up hurting her one way or another.” With another smile, a sadder one, Salyna turned toward her chambers.

  Mykella hurried through her morning efforts and managed to make it to the breakfast room just behind her younger sister. She had barely seated herself when Rachylana and Jeraxylt arrived, followed by Feranyt.

  Beyond his cheerful “good morning,” Feranyt said nothing until he had taken several healthy swallows of his spiced tea. “I’d hoped the envoy from Southgate would be here by the end of the week, but the latest dispatch indicates he will not arrive until Duadi at the earliest.”

  “An envoy from Southgate?” asked Salyna.

  “The Seltyrs do have a preference for blondes, I hear.” Feranyt grinned at his blond and youngest daughter.

  Salyna grinned back, but Mykella sensed the anger behind the grin.

  Rachylana maintained a pleasant expression, behind which, all too obviously to Mykella, simmered irritation. “Have you met with the Deforyan envoy?”

  “Only briefly, when he presented his credentials,” replied Feranyt. “He has been meeting with various ministers, including your Uncle Joramyl. It’s less than wise to appear too eager to meet and negotiate personally with an envoy.”

  And even less wise to let Joramyl and Nephryt negotiate for you. But Mykella concealed her thoughts behind a pleasant smile, instead saying, “I thought you had not requested an envoy from Southgate.”

  “I didn’t, but when one requests to come and meet, it’s not wise to refuse. There’s little sense in antagonizing a neighboring land over something like that. Besides, at some time before long, you all will have to be matched and married.”

  “We are still young,” offered Salyna.

  “You are, but your sisters are the right ages, and matching can take time.” Feranyt offered a nod that signified that he would not discuss that issue any longer, then began to cut the ham strips beside the cooling omelet on his plate.

  Mykella did the same.

  After breakfast, Mykella followed her father out into the corridor.

  “You have something on your mind, daughter?”

  “I do. I was thinking about Kiedryn…”

  “He betrayed his trust. He paid for it, and suffered little.” Feranyt’s voice was hard.

  “Not about that part of it…about what it means, about being Lord-Protector…”

  “Trust is everything to a ruler.”

  “Father…do you think all those you command are loyal?”

  “What sort of question is that?” The firmness was supplanted by anger, although not all of it showed in the Lord-Protector’s voice.

  “I thought Kiedryn was loyal. Before this happened, you did also. How can a Lord-Protector tell? You rely on those around you. Anyone might betray you. Arms-Commander Nephryt…even Lord Joramyl, were he so inclined…”

  “Mykella…I will not hear even the slightest suggestions that men of such honor and loyalty—”

  “Father, I did not say that,” Mykella interjected quickly. “I only meant to ask how one knows, when you must trust so many, and when those you trust the most could harm you the most. I worked with Kiedryn. I trusted him. So did you. How do you know who is honest and who to trust? How can you tell?”

  Feranyt looked at his daughter.

  Mykella looked back, trying to project earnestness and honesty.

  “If you cannot tell, you will not long remain a ruler.”

  Mykella managed to keep looking interested, much as she wanted to point out that what he had said was obvious. “You must have ways, things you look for.”

  “Most times, you can trust those you have known for a long time and who have not betrayed you in ways large or small. Likewise, you can trust those who would have much to lose if anything happened to you. Those who appear too eager to please must be watched, as must those who cultivate indifference, for no one is truly indifferent to a ruler.”

  At her father’s last words, Mykella nodded. She had not thought in those terms.

  “Beyond that, dear daughter, it is a matter of learning and experience.”

  “Thank you, Father. I will keep your words in my thoughts.”

  Mykella managed to keep a thoughtful expression on her face until she reached the Finance study, where she tried to greet Maxymt pleasantly, before getting on with instructing him and checking recent entries.

  About a half glass before midday, Joramyl strode into the upper level Finance study, ignoring Mykella and beckoning to Maxymt. The acting chief finance clerk stood and fo
llowed Joramyl into the inner study, closing the door behind him.

  With no one else in the outer study, Mykella raised her concealment shield, then walked over to the inner study door, trying to use her Talent to overhear what Joramyl said to Maxymt.

  “…state of accounts?”

  “All are perfect. Not even the daughter can find fault with them. She has searched diligently.”

  “She…Keep watching her…”

  “That is not difficult. She thinks that everything is in the ledgers.”

  Mykella decided to offer an opportunity. She walked toward the door leading to the corridor, letting her boots hit the stone floor heavily. Then she opened the outer door and closed it, before quietly easing back into position beside the door to the inner study. There, she stood, listening once more.

  Abruptly, Mykella straightened as Maxymt opened the door and peered out, then closed the door again.

  “She’s left…for the moment. She’ll doubtless be back. She watches like a hawk,” said Maxymt quietly.

  “What about Shenyl?”

  “That’s been taken care of.”

  Shenyl? What about the entry clerk? What had they done to him? Mykella feared she knew. But why Shenyl? He hadn’t been involved with the tariffs. He handled the accounts of the Southern Guards. Except…. her use of the Table had revealed Nephryt plotting with Joramyl.

  “For now…do nothing to cause her alarm.”

  Mykella could hear footsteps. She walked to the outer door, opened it slightly, then closed it firmly and released the concealment shield before walking back to her work table and seating herself.

  Only a few moments after she had begun to look at the ledger before her did Maxymt leave the inner study. She could sense his eyes on her, but she did not look up.

  Mykella wanted to hurry right down to the main level and the narrow interior room where the clerks transferred entries and expenditures to the main account ledgers. She did not. Instead, she began to study the expenditures for repairs of roads and bridges within Tempre. She checked page after page of the detailed ledger. Nothing seemed unusual, and that bothered her. Or was she coming to trust no one?