“Yes, sir.” I wasn’t about to argue with that.
As I walked across the quadrangle to my quarters, I kept thinking about Veblynt’s comments. Why he hated Ryel, I had no idea, but he as much as suggested that I act during the Foliage Festival. What bothered me was that was when I’d already planned to do just that.
Were Veblynt’s words a lure? Or a suggestion?
In the end, it didn’t matter. I was running out of time, and some opportunities occurred only once . . . and it was more than clear that waiting would only result in more attempts on my family—and eventually, if I did not act, more deaths.
Somehow, I didn’t think that taking off the next few days meant skipping exercises and running. So I got up and subjected myself to Clovyl’s tortures, then cleaned up and headed to breakfast.
Kahlasa, Ferlyn, Chassendri, and Maitre Dyana were all at the masters’ table. Maitre Dyana was on the right and beckoned for me to sit by her. There was no reason not to, and I might learn something.
Dyana let me pour my tea and take a sip before she spoke. “The events of the past week cannot strengthen your position in certain matters.”
“That’s likely.” I wanted to see what she might say.
“Have you decided what to do?” Dyana might have been asking about the weather.
“My brother’s memorial service was yesterday. What I decide does not matter. Only what I do and how I do it matters.”
“That is true.” She sipped her tea. “It also matters who knows what.”
“Or who does not,” I pointed out.
“Someone always knows, even if there is no proof.”
“Master Dichartyn always wants proof.”
“Does he? Or does he merely want proof when you wish the Collegium to act?”
I smiled. “There is a difference.”
“Exactly.”
I knew what she had conveyed, but I appreciated the confirmation. “What do you think about the Jariolan-Ferran war?”
“The Ferrans will attempt to hold on until spring so that they can then attack with their superior equipment. They will likely lose before then. Even if they win, they will lose.”
“Because they will lose so many men?”
“Because they will lose so much expensive equipment and so many highly trained men while the Jariolans will lose men that they can easily replace. We have already destroyed the best vessels in the Ferran fleet.”
“Why didn’t they see that would happen?”
“Technically advanced equipment is only effective when it is used where it was designed to be used and when its use embodies superior tactics. You have among the strongest shields of anyone in the Collegium, but you know enough not to use them against a heavy cannon. That is a question of usage. . . .”
Mostly, I just listened.
Then, after breakfast, I went to the studio and worked for close to two glasses on the final touches to Master Rholyn’s portrait, then made arrangements with Grandison for framing it, after Rholyn saw the final version when I showed it to him on Samedi morning.
I cleaned up the studio to some degree, then washed myself up again, before heading out across the Bridge of Hopes to find a hack to take me out to my parents’. I walked more than a block up the boulevard before finding one. Once in the hack on the way out the Boulevard D’Imagers and then the Midroad, I went over what I’d planned for Samedi and decided on one change—if I could make it work.
I arrived at the house at a quint before noon.
Mother opened the door. “Rhenn! What a pleasant surprise. Are you here for lunch?”
“I’d thought so . . . if it’s possible.” I stepped inside and closed the door, then followed her back through the parlor toward the kitchen.
“Remaya will be pleased. Just the two of us are here . . . and Rheityr, of course, but he’s napping right now.”
Remaya looked up from where she was sitting at the table in the breakfast room. “Rhenn . . . I’m glad you came. I wasn’t at my best yesterday.”
“I cannot imagine why,” I said lightly. “Are you feeling better today?”
“There are days, and there are days that are not quite so bad.”
“Rhenn . . . just sit down,” Mother insisted. “I’ll be out with lunch in a bit.”
I sat down across from Remaya.
“Thank you for what you said about Rousel. It was so like him. He was so alive. You should have seen him with Rheityr.” Her eyes brightened with moisture that did not quite turn into tears. “You never did.”
“No. I’ve not been allowed to travel much.”
“He did have that,” she said. “He loved Rheityr so much.”
“He loved you,” I pointed out.
“Rhenn . . . I know you were once interested in me.” She smiled sadly. “I loved Rousel. I still do. I always will. Besides that . . . your Seliora is far better suited to you than I ever would have been.”
I had to agree. “I know. I just didn’t know it back then.”
“I did.”
“Yes, you did.” I paused. “Why did you say that yesterday, those old Pharsi words about the daughter of the moon? You looked so stunned when you saw us.”
“I couldn’t help it. There’s an old book in my parents’ house. Father said it was very rare. It was written in Pharsi, but he let me read it—look at the drawings, really. I had to promise to be careful. My favorite drawing was the daughter of the moon. Seliora looks just like that drawing, and that’s her name, and you looked so powerful and severe, like Erion. I . . . I never saw anything like it.”
“Farsight . . . or real sight?”
“Both . . . I think.” She paused. “Rhenn . . . please don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . I’ve always known there was something different about you, besides being an imager. Rousel didn’t always do things right, and sometimes he said things that could be hurtful. I know. I saw it with you, but he didn’t mean to. He never did. You seldom say thoughtless or cruel things, yet . . . I think I’d be truly terrified if you ever became my enemy. Not that you would, but do you understand?”
I was afraid I did. I nodded.
“Seliora is like you in that, too.”
“Like him in what?” asked Mother, carrying in a teapot and mugs. “Who is?”
“She was saying that Seliora and I were more alike that we might have realized.” I looked to Remaya. “That was what you said, wasn’t it?”
“They’re both very determined,” Remaya confirmed.
“It’s good Seliora is,” Mother replied. “If a woman doesn’t have a mind of her own with Rhenn, she won’t have any at all.”
Those words surprised me. “Mother . . .”
“You know that, dear. That’s why Khethila’s so strong. She had to be to argue with you.” She smiled and returned to the kitchen.
“She knows you, Rhenn,” Remaya said.
Moments later, Mother came back with a large platter filled with warmed items left over from the afternoon before—pastry crescents filled with spiced ground lamb or cheese, cheese and sausage slices, grape leaves stuffed with rice and lamb, and beef baolas. There was enough on the platter before us to feed the entire family and then some.
“I think that’s more than enough,” I suggested.
Remaya smiled.
Still, I was hungry, and I didn’t talk much while I removed a fair share of what was on the platter.
“This being with the Civic Patrol,” Mother said, “it sounds dangerous. How long will you be doing this?”
“Usually, an assignment there is for a year, sometimes longer. But the conscription teams only visit an area every two to three years. It’s likely that the worst is over for now.”
“I can’t say as I like it.”
“Sometimes, it’s just fate,” Remaya interjected. “Rousel wasn’t . . . he wasn’t doing anything dangerous.” She shook her head, her eyes bright, again. “It doesn’t make sense . . .”
“You mean that I can be standing
close to an explosion,” I said, “and escape, while Rousel dies in a freak accident?”
Remaya nodded.
“Life’s never what we expect,” Mother said. “You’ll send yourself to the madhouse if you think it’s always going to work out or make sense. Chenkyr thought Rhenn here would be a factor. Rhenn thought he’d be a portraiturist. They were both wrong.”
“I think he’s better off as an imager,” Remaya said, sniffing slightly.
I stood. “I think I ate too much. I’d just like to walk around in the garden for a bit. I need to stretch my legs and think.” That wasn’t quite true. I needed to see if I could approach Ryel’s chateau in the way I’d planned.
“It’s a bit chill out there,” Mother said.
“I’ll be fine.” I made my way out onto the rear terrace, beyond which lay the garden, more to the north than directly back, a modest wall garden no more than twenty yards by ten, with a stone path making its winding oval way around the bushes and the flower beds, although the annuals had succumbed to the recent frosts.
When I reached the northwest corner, I studied the small lily pond. It was partly dry, but that wouldn’t hinder my attempt. Where I stood also wasn’t visible from the kitchen or the parlor. I looked at the corner of the pond, then concentrated on imaging a narrow bridge along one side. I stepped on the imaged bridge, and it cracked, and I had to jump back. Clearly, I needed a stronger structure.
It took me three tries before I managed to image what I required. In time, I made my way back to the parlor, where Remaya and Mother had gone from the breakfast room. Remaya was nursing Rheityr.
“I see my nephew is awake.”
“Awake and hungry,” Remaya replied dryly. “Very hungry.”
“I’ll need to go.”
“It was nice of you to come, dear. Will you be able to come for dinner tomorrow?” Mother asked.
“I’m afraid not. I can’t make any plans until I find out what the Collegium has planned for me. They’re concerned that I was too visible because of the problems with the Temple.”
“The newsheets were very complimentary,” Remaya said.
“The Collegium tries to avoid being public, even in a positive way,” I replied.
“Will we see you at all tomorrow?”
“Like Father, we often work on Samedis. There are things I have to finish,” I pointed out, “and I’m the duty master on Solayi.”
“It sounds so much like the Navy,” Remaya said.
“In some ways, it’s much easier. In others, it’s much harder.” I inclined my head to her, and then to Mother, before she accompanied me to the front door.
“You do take care, dear,” were her parting words.
“I’ll certainly try.”
I did have to walk out to Saenhelyn Road before I could find a hack, since Charlsyn wasn’t around. By the time I stepped out of the coach on Hagahl Lane it was two quints past fourth glass.
Bhenyt was the one who opened the door. He grinned and called upstairs, “You were right, Aunt Seliora. It’s him!” He locked the door and raced up the stairs.
I followed, more sedately, at least in comparison.
Seliora was waiting, wearing what looked to be her working garb—the dark blue split skirts and a matching jacket over a beige blouse. She still looked wonderful.
She felt wonderful, too, when I put my arms around her and kissed her.
When we disengaged, she said, “It’s a good glass until dinner.”
“We can talk, can’t we?”
“Is that all you had in mind?” She raised her eyebrows.
“No, but that’s all that will happen.”
“It’s too cold to sit out on the terraces, and Father has some friends in the lower plaques room,” Seliora said.
We ended up sitting on the settee in the main entry hall.
“There were more assassins than the one yesterday,” Seliora said carefully.
“That’s what you hinted,” I replied.
“Mama and Grandmama are still looking into it.”
“We should talk about it,” I said, “but can it wait? I’d rather not until after tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What will you do?” Seliora asked, her voice calm enough that I knew she knew that I intended to act.
I forced a smile. “First, there’s something I won’t be able to do. That’s the sitting for your portrait tomorrow.”
“I thought as much after what Factor Veblynt said.”
“I’d also like to borrow the mare tomorrow afternoon, say around second glass.” I paused. “It’s an imposition, but I hope it’s the last one.”
Seliora raised her eyebrows.
“Not in the same way,” I amended my statement. “I’ll probably always be imposing.”
She did offer that mischievous grin, the one I hadn’t seen in a while, and had missed. I tried to concentrate on that and not what Samedi might bring.
After completing my normal early-morning schedule on Samedi, I put on my heavier winter grays and headed along the quadrangle to the dining hall and breakfast. The few masters who did eat at the dining hall must have slept in or gone somewhere for the weekend because Chassendri was the only one at the masters’ table.
“You’re dressed for winter,” she said cheerfully.
“I was cold after my shower.”
She laughed. “That’s right. You covert types practice masochism.” She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll take my smelly laboratory any day.”
“What do you do besides give grief to primes and seconds?” I could still recall my earlier sessions with her.
“I try to work out chemical formulations that can be imaged into being.”
“If they can be imaged . . .”
“Think about it, Rhenn. Would any imagers be able to image metals or the like if they didn’t know what they were imaging? And for some things, like gun cotton, the manufacturing process is very dangerous, but the end product is less dangerous. So it makes sense.”
She was telling me yet another aspect of imaging I hadn’t even considered. So I listened carefully.
After finishing breakfast, I hurried to my studio. Once there, I checked over Master Rholyn’s portrait carefully, both in shadow and in half-light, and in full light, trying to make sure that there wasn’t anything that appeared untoward in differing lighting. So far as I could tell, there wasn’t. I set it up on the easel, angled so that it was in good light from the north windows, and then went to work on Seliora’s portrait. I couldn’t do much else, anyway, and I did want to finish it before too long.
Rholyn arrived a few moments after the last bell of eighth glass, wearing the imager’s standard heavy gray winter cloak, and shaking himself as he stepped into the studio. His face was red. “It’s too much like winter out there.”
“It is cold,” I agreed, refraining from pointing out that he hadn’t had to take a cold shower after running four milles in the chill.
“Is it finished?”
“I’d like to think so, sir, but I’d appreciate your looking it over.” I pointed toward the easel.
Rholyn stepped toward the portrait, warily, seemingly as if he expected some unpleasant surprise. Then he stood and studied it. Finally, he looked to me. “It will do.” Then he grinned, the first time I’d ever seen him do so, so far as I could recall. “I have to admit, Rhenn, it’s very good. Not as flattering as I might like, but Mharrie will be very pleased when she sees it.” He paused. “What happens next?”
“I’ve made arrangements for it to be framed, and Maitre Poincaryt will determine where it will be hung. I’d judge that might be either in the receiving hall or possibly in the public corridor outside the dining hall. He has not told me, however.”
Rholyn turned away from the portrait. “Master Dichartyn told me about your accomplishments with the Civic Patrol. You were fortunate in finding the Tiempran priests.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Except it wasn’t fortune at all, was it? You ha
d someone watching for them for days, I’d wager.”
“I asked someone. I didn’t know if they would.”
“You know, Rhenn, you’re the kind of imager that every maitre of the Collegium wishes for . . . and then regrets wishing for when he arrives.”
“I’m going to have to request a little clarification of that, if you wouldn’t mind, sir.”
“Often, I’m requested to clarify. I will, for you, but I’m not certain it will be at all helpful.” Rholyn chuckled. “You have powerful shields and untapped abilities. You’re intelligent, moderately good-looking, but not excessively so, and generally deferential. You continue to work and learn. You quietly, and sometimes not so quietly, question why the Collegium and the Council operate in the fashion that they do. I imagine you do the same with the Civic Patrol. You’re always seeking a better way to do something. The problem is that you are already sometimes correct, and you’re likely to become more so as you learn more. Very few people really want better ways to do things. They want easier ways, and seldom is better easier. Better also means change, and no matter what they say, people resist change. You have the power to change things. When someone has that power, it disturbs people. When someone actually forces change, it disturbs them even more. You’ll have to determine where you go from here, but I would suggest that you limit your suggestions and acts to those that are most valuable to the Collegium.” He smiled. “But I do appreciate the artistry in the portrait. Thank you.”
He was still smiling, as if at a private jest, when he left.
I couldn’t give the portrait to Grandison until Lundi. So I set it where it wouldn’t be disturbed and went back to work on Seliora’s portrait until slightly before noon, when I headed back to the dining hall. Since I was the only master at lunch, I ate quickly and then returned to my quarters.
After cleaning up and making a few preparations, I left my rooms and crossed the quadrangle on my way to the Bridge of Hopes and East River Road. From what I’d garnered from Iryela and Veblynt, Ryel’s foliage event was a late-afternoon and early-evening celebration. It might even last into evening, but to see the trees from the tower required daylight.
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