“It’s a long story that you’ll have to hear later.”
“Mama is all right? And Horazt?”
I nodded.
“Thank you, sir.” He inclined his head seriously, then turned and walked back to the others.
Once the three entered the dining hall, I waited for several moments, then made my own way in. Ferlyn, Chassendri, and Isola were already at the masters’ table and must have come in by the south doors. I walked toward them.
Ferlyn looked at me as I sat down. “The word is that a Tiempran Temple exploded in the taudis, and hundreds were killed or wounded.”
“That’s right. About half marines and half taudis-dwellers and some patrollers. The priests planned it. Some of them and the taudis-leader who helped them are in gaol.”
“And I suppose you managed to capture them?”
“With some help, yes.” I smiled. “If you wouldn’t mind passing the red wine. It’s been a very long day.”
On the far side of Ferlyn and Chassendri, Isola laughed. “You did ask, Ferlyn.”
“You aren’t going to say more, are you?” he asked.
“I’d rather not. I’m sure I’ll be asked a lot of questions at the hearing. The wine, if you would?”
“I’ve told you this before, Rhenn, but you know how I hate the fact that you covert types keep everything so quiet.”
I offered a deep and loud sigh. “Ferlyn, over two hundred people died this morning. Probably as many as that were injured. The Tiemprans put explosives in their Temple and gathered worshippers to chant for the conscription teams to leave, just to goad the marines into advancing on the Temple. I warned the colonel against it. I couldn’t prove what would happen. He ignored me. The Temple exploded. I did my best to clean up what I could.” I offered a very polite smile. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t feel like saying more.” I paused. “Now . . . might I please have the wine?”
He passed the carafe to me.
After a long period of silence, Isola spoke. “Ferlyn, there are reasons why the covert imagers don’t feel like talking about what they do. It might help if you respected those reasons.”
That was as close to a reprimand as I’d ever heard from Chorister Isola.
Chassendri winced.
Ferlyn turned to me. “I am sorry, Rhenn.”
“I apologize for being short, Ferlyn. It really has been a very long day, and I’ll have to work with the conscription teams next week as well.”
Isola looked to me. “Shault?”
“His mother is all right. I found that out and told him before dinner.”
“Thank you.”
Ferlyn didn’t quite look at me for the rest of the meal, but I wasn’t certain I wanted to look at myself, either. For all that I’d told myself that I’d done what I could, couldn’t I have done something more? Yet I couldn’t have persuaded the colonel not to attack on the basis of a Pharsi farsight vision, and anything that would have persuaded him would have been an invention, if not an outright lie that would have come back to haunt me, the Patrol, and the Collegium—assuming I could have even thought up something like that quickly enough. Harraf had accepted my warning only because he knew something about me and because it fit in with his own plans.
I did sleep on Vendrei night. The gray drizzle that greeted me when I woke on Samedi morning and looked out my window wasn’t cheering. On the other hand, when I stopped outside the dining hall and picked up the newsheets, I was gratified to see that while there were stories about the Temple explosion, the stories blamed the Tiempran priests and only noted that patrollers from the Third District had captured the priests and others involved in the explosion. That would change when I appeared at the hearing, as I suspected I would, but for now, few knew, and that was for the best.
Even more cheering was that no one was at the masters’ table at breakfast except Isola when I arrived. I sat down beside her gratefully.
“Thank you for your words last night.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled warmly, and genuinely, not that she wasn’t always genuine. “You were upset. I could tell.”
“I was.” I filled my mug with tea, then took a sip before saying more. “I knew that it would be wrong to attack the taudis-dwellers. I mean, that something terrible would happen, but I couldn’t persuade the colonel. Even Harraf could see I knew. That’s one of the few times he’s listened, but the colonel wouldn’t listen to either of us.”
“That’s one of the problems with being a military officer,” she replied. “In combat, you can’t hesitate. Many of them can’t break that habit when they’re not dealing with out-and-out warfare, not unless you can lay out absolute proof. Dealing with people, even mobs, takes a different set of skills.” She shook her head. “I don’t think anyone could have changed the colonel’s mind.”
“I can tell myself that, but . . . I still keep trying to come up with what I might have said.”
“That’s why there is a covert branch of the Collegium. That’s also why it must be small.”
I understood the first; I wasn’t sure I understood the second.
“There’s always the temptation to think we know better, that our way is better, that everyone else doesn’t see what is obvious to us. Our way usually is better, but that doesn’t matter if people fear and distrust us to the point where they would do anything to destroy us. With a small covert branch, things do happen, but they don’t happen to many people, and the people to whom they happen usually deserve them. Even when people aren’t sure about that, there’s enough distrust of those who are well off and powerful that people are likely to think there must have been a reason. That works only so long as people don’t think it could happen to them, and it can’t with a few handfuls of covert imagers.” She paused. “If they’re careful.”
That made sense.
“You pose another problem, though. Covert imagers have great individual powers. You have to have them to survive. We have to let you have them so that we can survive.”
“I feel like everyone wants me to resolve things, but they don’t like the way I do things, but can’t suggest a better way, at least not until after I’ve acted.”
“It’s always that way when people have great abilities. You’ll learn to live with that. You have a greater problem than that, Rhenn.” Her voice turned sad, yet sympathetic. “What happens when an imager’s powers are too great to conceal? Does he refuse to act, because it will make him and the Collegium a target? Does he limit his power, when that limit will assure that others die? Or does he act and endanger all that generations of imagers have striven to build?”
“You make it sound like I have that kind of power.”
“I think you do, but if you don’t, you will.”
I wanted to ask how she knew, but decided against it. Instead, I said, “Do you have any suggestions for how to deal with that?”
“No matter what you do, when great power is applied, people get hurt. Even when you’re right, people will get hurt. Sometimes, when you’re wrong, fewer get hurt in the short run, but more over time. But”—she drew out the word—“most of the time, failing to use power at all ends up hurting people worse. That’s something that some fail to understand. And that’s all I want to say about it.”
“Thank you, anyway.” I laughed softly. “How are the fried cakes?”
“Quite good. They’re not even soggy this morning.”
Later, as I left the dining hall, hurrying through the drizzle, I considered what Isola had said. I thought I’d already known it, but it helped to have someone else say it. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had known I knew, but had said what she had to help me sort things out. It was also clear that she did not see quite eye-to-eye on the issues of power with either Master Dichartyn or Maitre Poincaryt.
I reached the studio a good two quints before eighth glass and immediately set to work on those sections of Rholyn’s portrait that I could complete without him being present. He arrived promptly as the bells were chiming the glas
s.
“Good morning, Rhenn.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“How are you coming on the portrait?”
“I’ll try to finish what I need from you today. If you wouldn’t mind standing again?”
Master Rholyn put one foot on the crate and turned his head.
“A touch back to the left, if you would.”
“Like this?”
“Good. Thank you.”
I needed to sharpen his jawline, and his right ear, and that’s where I started. I didn’t say anything for a good quint, just painted.
“You can relax for a moment, sir.” I had to change the tint of the skin next to his eye, and I didn’t have the right umber.
Rholyn shook himself, loosening his shoulders. “I understand that the Temple explosion happened where you were patrolling.”
“Not exactly. It was near the round I was helping with.” I added a touch of umber to the palette.
“You know, Rhenn, too many strange things happen around you. That’s not good for the Collegium. The Collegium has survived by being unobtrusive, by not flaunting power or suggesting mystery.”
“I understand that, sir. What happened yesterday would have happened whether I had been there or not. Without my cautions, more would have died, and without my searching the taudis, no one would have any proof of what happened and how.”
“All that is true. Is it all for the good? Doubtless the hearing will reveal the Tiempran presence in the taudis. That will require that we exact some penance or cost from the Tiemprans. To do so will result in the Caenenans feeling vindicated, and that will create greater friction and conflict in Otelyrn.” He shrugged. “The Council may feel that matters would have been better had the Tiemprans not been implicated.”
“If they were not, sir, the marines would have attacked the taudis, and even more taudis-dwellers would have been killed and injured.”
“That is doubtless so. But how many more in Solidar will die because we must do something to demonstrate to the Tiemprans that they cannot foment disruption in L’Excelsis? And how many councilors will wish that you had not brought that aspect of matters to their attention? How will that affect the Collegium?”
All of what he said made sense, unhappily. It also suggested that there was no end to anything, because no matter what anyone did, someone somewhere would react adversely, leading to more violence and death somewhere else. “Less than positively, sir, I am certain. Yet I would have difficulty in not trying to protect those who would have been hurt or killed through no fault of their own, save that of being poor and with fewer abilities.”
“There are powerless innocents who always die. That is not the question.”
“What is, sir?”
“The real question is what is necessary to preserve the government that offers all citizens the greatest protections and opportunities. Unless one preserves the structure, all protections and opportunities will vanish, except for the powerful.”
“I can see that, sir.” I could also see that we did not agree totally on what constituted that structure, because, limited as they were, the taudis-dwellers were still part of L’Excelsis and Solidar, but I pushed away those thoughts for the moment and concentrated on the portrait. “If you wouldn’t mind resuming that position . . .”
Rholyn did so silently.
I actually worked until a quint past ninth glass before I finally looked up. “Thank you.”
“Is it finished?”
“It’s not quite finished, but I won’t need you to sit anymore. I would like you to come by next Samedi and see it before it’s framed.”
“Might I look?” For the first time, he sounded deferential.
“Of course.” I stepped away from the easel.
Rholyn walked around and stood about two yards back from the canvas. He didn’t say anything for a time, then turned. “It’s accurate, if not so flattering as it might be, but far less severe than it could have been.” He nodded. “I thank you.”
Once Master Rholyn left, I went back to work on his waistcoat, touching up some details that had bothered me, and then on his trousers. All in all, it was less than a quint before noon when I finished cleaning up. I never liked to mix the pigments for one portrait for those used for another. It was too easy to slip into similar colorations.
Then I hurried to the dining hall, where I ate alone at the masters’ table. I could see Shault, sitting with Lieryns and some other primes, and he didn’t seem withdrawn. For that, I was grateful.
After eating, since the drizzle had stopped even if the clouds remained, I wandered toward the Bridge of Hopes, where I needed to meet Seliora, but I reached there well before first glass. I almost took a seat on one of the stone benches before realizing that it was so wet that my trousers would have been soaked through.
I couldn’t help but think about what Master Rholyn had said. He and Master Dichartyn were saying the same thing, if in different ways. Master Dichartyn was basically saying that anything I did had to be invisible because visibility would hurt the Collegium. Master Rholyn was saying that innocents should be sacrificed for the good of Solidar. In both arguments, the implication was the same—the individual mattered far less than either Solidar or the Collegium. While that was certainly true, the corollary was that the individual mattered not at all, except in service to the larger group . . . and that I could not accept.
Just before first glass, a hack pulled up on the east side of the river, and three figures emerged—Seliora, Odelia, and Kolasyn. I stood and walked to the west end of the bridge.
After seeing me, Seliora hurried across the Bridge of Hopes, even though the drizzle had died away. Just before she reached me, she turned and waved to Odelia and Kolasyn. They reentered the coach, and the driver flicked the reins. She did not step toward me.
I moved to her and hugged her, but her response was almost perfunctory.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Is it your family? Or me?”
“How can I say? I feel . . .” She shook her head again.
“Do you know what’s happened this week?” I asked.
“With you, Rhenn . . .”
“How would you know? Is that it?” I wanted to laugh, and not happily, either.
She looked intently at me. “Will you tell me?”
“I will. I said I would.”
“Do we have to do the portrait today?”
“No. I wouldn’t want you to sit for it when you don’t feel right about it.” And it was clear she did not feel like sitting.
“Would you come home with me? This very moment?”
“Of course.” I took her arm.
“What about the paints?”
“I didn’t leave anything out that will harden or spoil. I can clean up the rest tomorrow morning.”
“You’re certain?”
I could sense the relief in her voice. “Very certain. Do you want to talk now?”
“No. At home.”
Whatever it was, it had to be serious if the independent Seliora didn’t wish to say anything except within the walls of NordEste Design. I wanted to ask what I’d done, but decided against that. Had she decided that I was not for her? Was it because she’d learned how I’d handled Alynat? Or the fact that I’d struck at Alynat first?
We walked back across the bridge. A long silent quint passed before we could get a hack, and the two quints before we reached Hagahl Lane were even quieter. Seliora refused to look at me. No one greeted us at the door, and Seliora unlocked it with a heavy brass key. After we stepped inside, she relocked it, then started up the steps to the second level. I had to hurry to catch up to her.
Betara met us at the top of the steps, and Seliora slipped away from me and stood beside her mother.
“We’re glad to see you’re all right,” Betara said. Her voice was even, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. “The newsheets said that only one patroller was killed when the Tiempran Tem
ple exploded.”
“That . . . it was fortunate.”
“Was it mere fortune?” asked Betara, her voice still even.
“Not totally,” I admitted. “I had another farsight flash on Solayi night. I couldn’t tell when it would happen, only that it was in daylight. I let it be known the priests might have explosives. The captain wasn’t certain, but he kept the patrollers away. We tried to dissuade the naval marines, but they wouldn’t listen. The captain insisted that he and I observe. I had to use my shields to protect us.” My laugh was rueful. “I didn’t even want to save him.”
Betara nodded. “That might frighten him more than anything.” Her face turned somber. “You might like to know that so far there have been three people who our friends have had to vanish around your parents’ home.” Betara raised her eyebrows. “How did you know that they would attempt to attack your family? Was that farsight?”
I couldn’t not explain, not when Betara was using her contacts to protect my family. “No. Alynat—that’s Ryel’s nephew—died on Meredi when the wheel bearings froze on his racing trap. After I’d done that, I had the feeling that something might happen to my sister. There weren’t any flashes. I’m not in a position to protect her. I don’t know if Seliora told you why I can’t stay there at night . . .”
Betara nodded, reserving judgment.
I gave a ragged smile. “I’ve always wanted to ask for Seliora’s hand. But I couldn’t risk letting anyone know until I finish dealing with Ryel. For that to work out right, I had to start with Alynat, not Ryel or Dulyk.” I knew Betara and Seliora would understand that, given the chain of inheritance for High Holders. “But I’m not done. I can’t be.”
I could see consternation and relief mixing in Seliora’s eyes.
Betara smiled, warmly, actually. Then she nodded. “I thought that might be what you had in mind.” She glanced to her daughter, then laughed softly. “He’s Pharsi inside and out. By finding someone who didn’t seem to have the blood, dear, you found one who was more so than any man in the family.”
That chilled me, even as I had to accept what she was saying.
Betara’s eyes went back to me. “When?”
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