Charyn glanced down, noticing for the first time an envelope set on the side of the flat area that held his single sheet of notes. The outside read “Rex Charyn.”
He forced his attention back to the anomen and those who waited for him to speak. Finally, he began.
“It is difficult to talk about someone who has just died. It’s all too easy to slip into simple phrases about someone you respected and loved. Or to exalt them beyond belief or to become overly sentimental. My father, Rex Lorien, would have wanted none of that. Even as his son, I found him almost an enigma, a man who was devoted to his family and his land, but who refused to show how much he cared. He believed in being fair, and he changed the laws in many instances to make them more fair, yet those were the changes that created upheaval and discontent. He hated to take advice, yet he could tell what was good advice and what wasn’t, and he usually took the good advice, much as it galled him. He disliked people who saw a problem and refused to address it, but he did his best to remain civil in dealing with them. He was also honest and direct in saying what he believed. As with all of us, he was not always right, and he was sometimes grudging in accepting when he was not right, but I never saw him fail to accept what was right when the time came … in the end, I can only say that he was a far better rex and a far better man than even he believed himself to be. Would that any of us will be able to have that said of us when our time comes.”
After Charyn finished, he picked up his notes and the envelope and stepped back.
Saerlet moved to the pulpit. “At this time, we wear gray and green, gray for the uncertainties of life, and green for its triumph, manifested every year in the coming of spring. So is it that, like nature, we come from the grayness of winter and uncertainty into life which unfolds in uncertainty, alternating between gray and green, and in the end return to the life and glory of the Nameless. In that spirit, let us offer thanks for the spirit and the life of Lorien, as both a rex and as a man. Let us remember him as a child, a youth, a man, a husband, and a father, not merely as a ruler or a name, but as a living breathing person whose acts and spirit touched many. Let us set aside the gloom of mourning, and from this day forth, recall the fullness of Rex Lorien’s life and all that he has left with us.”
With those words, Alyna and the women in the anomen let the mourning scarves slip from their hair.
Then came the traditional closing hymn—“For the Glory.”
“For the glory, for the life,
for the beauty and the strife,
for all that is and ever shall be,
all together, through forever,
in eternal Nameless glory…”
When the closing hymn ended and Saerlet had delivered the benediction and sending forth, those attending—at least those in the rear of the anomen—hurried out onto the paved area before the church, where Vaelln’s picked man would scatter the coins.
Then Alastar looked to Charyn and said, “That may have been one of the best and most accurate statements I’ve ever heard about your father. You did well.”
“Very well,” murmured Alyna.
And so far no one has shot at me or exploded Antiagon Fire around us. At that moment he recalled the envelope he still held and immediately broke the unstamped black wax seal. The note inside the envelope was short.
If you fail to protect your factors, you will suffer the same fate as your father.
Charyn handed the sheet to Alastar. “The envelope was set on the pulpit, just to the side. I didn’t see it until just before I was to make my remarks. Someone seems very set on protecting the factors.”
“Someone with considerable resources,” replied Alastar after scanning it, showing it to Alyna, and then returning the sheet.
Charyn eased the single sheet back into the envelope.
“I’ll get Chorister Saerlet,” said Alyna. “He might have seen someone. You two move back into the corridor.”
Alyna didn’t have to go far, because she returned with the chorister in moments, almost as soon as Charyn and Alastar were standing in the corridor beyond the door.
Charyn couldn’t help but notice that Saerlet looked annoyed.
“Is something amiss, Rex Charyn?”
“You might say so.” Charyn lifted the envelope that held the threat. “This envelope holds a threatening note. It was set on the flat of the pulpit,” said Charyn. “How did it get there?”
Saerlet glanced from the envelope to Charyn. “I wouldn’t know, Your Grace. It wasn’t there when I went over everything.”
“When was that?” asked Alastar.
“A quint before the service, Maitre. It might have been a bit earlier. There were some men, they said they were factors, but I don’t think they were, even if they were dressed like they were … You know how sometimes people just don’t fit in their clothes.”
“What about the men?” asked Alyna.
“Oh, they were trying to get into the factors’ section and my assistant felt they didn’t belong there. They left in a huff.”
“Distraction,” said Alastar. “Would you recognize any of them? Not that we’ll likely ever see them again.”
“I … I don’t think so, Maitre.”
“If you learn more, I’d like to know. Immediately.” Charyn looked hard at the chorister.
“So would we,” added Alyna in a firm voice.
Charyn could see the chorister shrink into his robes. “I will. I certainly will.”
“Good,” said Charyn.
The same four escort troopers were waiting, if slightly farther down the corridor.
“Sir, Maitres, it’d be best if we waited a bit. Chassart’s still flinging coins.”
“We can wait,” said Charyn.
“You were right about the threats continuing,” observed Alastar, “not that I doubted it for a moment.”
Charyn paused, thinking, then said, “I’m going to be meeting with both the High Council and the Factors’ Council of Solidar on the eighteenth, the first glass of the afternoon. I’d very much like you to be there. Would you consider that?”
Alastar laughed softly. “For the very fact that you asked, I’d be happy to be there.”
“Thank you.”
It was almost a quint later before the three of them were in the plain coach headed back to the Chateau D’Rex.
Charyn was still thinking about his impulsive invitation. Is it really a good idea to include the Collegium Maitre? Charyn almost shook his head. It might be a very bad idea, but his father had tried to keep the imagers out of things until he’d had no choice, and that hadn’t avoided battles and bloodshed. Maybe bringing them in now would be better. He didn’t see how it could be worse.
But if it is … He tried not to shudder.
31
Once Charyn was back at the chateau and had thanked Alastar and Alyna profusely and seen them off in the plain gray imager coach, he made his way up the grand staircase and to his mother’s sitting room.
The three seated there all immediately stopped talking and looked at Charyn, Howal especially.
“I’m back. No one attacked me, or even tried. They did leave me a note.” He withdrew the envelope from his jacket. “You might want to read it. Maitre Alastar and Maitre Alyna were with me. They’ve already read it.” He handed the envelope to his mother.
She extracted the single sheet, read it, and handed both envelope and note to Bhayrn without speaking.
Bhayrn read it and looked to Charyn.
“Howal can read it. He needs to know as much as anyone.”
After Howal read the words, he slipped the note back into the envelope, then returned both to Charyn.
“Does anyone have any thoughts about the note?” Charyn looked to his mother.
“No … except that they seem rather single-minded.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Bharyn.
Charyn was glad his brother had asked the question, because he’d wanted to, except he’d thought it was a stupid question
to ask.
“Both the High Holders and factors have more than just problems with the Jariolan privateers,” replied Chelia. “Many of the High Holders have not changed their planting and harvesting for centuries. Your brother has, and it’s increased the harvest and golds on his personal lands by a third, and he’s only twenty-two. Your father instructed the landwardens to look into doing the same…”
Charyn hadn’t known that, but somehow that seemed so like his father.
“… He’s had enough sense to learn about the exchanges. Most High Holders know nothing. Only a comparatively small number of factors avail themselves of the exchanges. There are problems everywhere, but whoever killed your father persists in focusing on just one thing.”
“Factors do that,” replied Bhayrn. “All they care about is golds, and what costs them golds.”
“That’s true,” said Charyn, settling into the straight-backed chair across from his mother, “but the High Holders aren’t much better.”
“I can’t imagine a High Holder demanding that the rex protect the factors. They’d sooner die. Any of them,” countered Bhayrn.
“What do you think, Howal?” asked Charyn, knowing that he wasn’t going to get much more of import from his brother.
“I cannot speak to what the factors or the High Holders think or may do, sir, but the fashion in which the note was written was interesting.”
“In what way?”
“It was written in standard merchant hand—”
“I told you!” exclaimed Bhayrn.
“If you would let Howal finish,” said Charyn firmly. “Go ahead.”
“Standard merchant hand is used by anyone in trade. That person could be a clerk, a factor, or a High Holder who has factorages. Clerks are trained to copy the letters in exactly the same way, against a copybook that has precise renderings of the letters. Any deviation from the letters is severely punished. That was how I was taught as a boy. It is almost impossible to determine who wrote something in standard merchant hand.”
“Could you still write that?” asked Charyn. “Is it a skill that one never loses? So that a man who once learned it could still do it?”
“I could,” replied Howal. “I can’t speak for others.”
“That means it could be anyone involved in merchanting or trade,” concluded Chelia. “Or anyone who has clerks. Is that not right?” She looked to Howal, not to either of her sons.
“Yes, Lady Chelia.”
“It still makes it more likely that it’s a factor,” declared Bhayrn.
“More likely, but that doesn’t rule out many others. For all we know, the writer could be an army officer or senior squad leader who was trained as a clerk or someone who is neither and who is a skilled forger imitating standard merchant hand,” Charyn pointed out. “What it does mean is that whoever is sending these notes not only has resources, but is very clever.” As if that hadn’t been obvious from the start. “And that they’re familiar with the standard merchant hand, which is something I’d never even heard of before Howal mentioned it. I’d be willing to wager that more than a few High Holders have never heard of it, either, especially those not in factoring or trade.”
“I said it had to be factors,” insisted Bhayrn.
“So you did,” replied Chelia, “but it could be others.”
“Thank you,” Charyn said to Howal. “I never would have known.”
Chelia nodded to Howal, then turned back to Charyn. “Did you hear anything about Aloryana?”
“I did. I asked the maitres how she was doing. Maitre Alyna assured me that she was doing well and that she was getting along very well with Lystara.”
“Lystara?” asked Bhayrn.
“Their daughter. She’s sixteen and already a maitre. Maitre Malyna said that Lystara was even a stronger imager than Malyna herself and that Lystara is the youngest person ever to be a maitre.”
“That’s not surprising, given her parents,” said Chelia. “What else did they say?”
“Lystara is teaching Aloryana the basics of imaging. Maitre Alyna said that it appeared Aloryana has the talent to be a maitre, but that it will take several years of dedication and hard work.”
“Good,” said Chelia.
Charyn suspected that meant his mother was glad that Aloryana would have to work hard for several years.
“She can concentrate on imaging and being who she is,” added Chelia, “and not worry about who she’ll have to marry.”
“So that all sorts of less desirable types can try to persuade her to marry them for whatever inheritance she has?” said Bhayrn sarcastically.
“She has no inheritance, Bhayrn,” said Chelia, “except what your brother chooses to give her.”
“Can imagers even inherit?” asked Charyn. “I’ll need to ask Sanafryt about that.”
“I know that factors make a practice of disinheriting sons who are imagers,” said Howal. “Especially firstborn sons.”
“Do they have to?” asked Charyn.
“I don’t know that, sir. I just know what I said, coming from a factor’s family, you know.”
Charyn almost asked if Howal had been a firstborn son, then realized that might suggest to Bhayrn who Howal really was … and he didn’t want to do that, not because he distrusted his brother, but because Bhayrn often talked before he thought … and having outsiders know that Howal was an imager would make it even harder for the imager to protect Charyn and Bhayrn. And after that warning note … you’d be even more vulnerable.
“Factors only care about golds and who gets them.”
“Bhayrn,” said Chelia coolly, “that refrain is getting tiresome, true as it may be. We all know that.”
Charyn thought he saw a trace of a smile appear at the corner of Howal’s mouth and then instantly vanish.
Bhayrn appeared about to say something when Chelia added, “That’s quite enough.” Once more she looked to Charyn. “How did the memorial go … and whom did you see there?”
“I did see Factor Elthyrd, and of course Marshal Vaelln and Minister Aevidyr, Minister Alucar, and Minister Sanafryt … and their wives. Ferrand and his father.” Charyn wasn’t about to mention Estafen, although he had appreciated Estafen’s presence, because that would reveal more than he wanted even his family to know.
“Not Lady Delcoeur?”
“I didn’t see her.”
“Not surprising. She’s never liked memorial services.”
“I was glad Ferrand came. Oh, the only other High Councilor that I saw was High Holder Fhaedyrk. There might have been others, but I wasn’t in the best position to see everyone who might have been there.”
“Did Saerlet omit the confession?”
“He did, and the hymn after the charge was the one you requested, ‘In Vain a Crown of Gold.’”
Chelia nodded. “Could you tell what the reaction was to what you said?”
“They were all attentive.” What else could they be? “Outside of the envelope, there was no sign of any trouble.”
“I’m very glad of that, dear.” Chelia smiled. “I think Bhayrn and I must have inundated poor Howal with more than he ever wanted to know about the chateau. I’m quite ready for some quiet, and I imagine you are as well.”
Charyn got the message and stood. “We’ll leave you until later.” He nodded to Howal, although he knew that the gesture was quite unnecessary, since the imager had stood when Charyn had done so. “Are you coming, Bhayrn?”
Belatedly, his brother rose, and the three left the sitting room. Charyn was the last, and he smiled warmly at his mother before he closed the door.
32
Charyn walked down the grand staircase. He usually took the circular staircase when he was going to breakfast, but for some reason he found himself walking down the center of the polished marble risers, his boots echoing with each step, an echo that seemed deeper and more ominous. Why that would be he had no idea. Nor did he have any idea why his breath steamed so much in the chill air. Had the chate
au staff failed to keep the fires burning?
As he neared the bottom, he noticed that neither of the two guards posted there moved, almost as if they were statues. He could see his breath, but not theirs. He tried to slow his steps, but it was as if his legs would not obey, carrying him downward until he was on the last riser, and then on the polished white stone of the main level, even with the pair of guards.
The guard on the right turned, unbelievably swiftly.
Charyn gaped, because the man had no face, even as he raised a pistol that Charyn had not seen and aimed it right at Charyn’s forehead.
Charyn tried to throw himself to the side, but his entire body felt as though it were encased in freezing molasses, so gelid that he was unable to move quickly. He could see the bullet as if it crept across the freezing air toward him as he struggled against whatever held him captive. He could not look away …
“No!”
The sound of his own voice shouting hoarsely echoed everywhere.
“NO, no, noooooo…”
Abruptly, he could move—except he was back in his bedchamber, sitting bolt upright in his bed, with Palenya looking at him.
“It’s all right…”
Even her words seemed to echo in his ears. “… all right … all right … all right…”
“You had a nightmare. You’re all right,” she repeated.
Even in the cold air of the bedchamber, Charyn realized that he was sweating.
“Do you want to tell me?” asked Palenya.
For a moment, Charyn couldn’t speak, because his throat was so dry. Finally, he managed to moisten his lips. “I was walking down the grand staircase … One of the guards at the bottom shot me. I couldn’t move in time. I could see the bullet coming, and I still couldn’t move in time. And the guard was faceless.” He couldn’t help shuddering. “It seemed so real. I didn’t even think it was a dream.”
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