Heritage of Cyador

XLVI

Lerial spends the remainder of sixday, as well as sevenday morning, on preparations for the Mirror Lancers’ departure and return journey to Cigoerne, making certain that the wagons are in good condition, and arranging with Captain Dhallyn to obtain provisions and other supplies when the time comes that they can finally leave. As he sits in the small conference room at Afritan Guard headquarters that he is using as his personal command center, he has to admit, if only to himself, that he has mixed feelings about departing.

Why? Is it just because he feels that what he and the Lancers have accomplished in Afrit has been worthwhile for both Afrit and Cigoerne … and has doubts about what of equal worth he can do in Cigoerne? Or the fact that he isn’t looking forward to returning to wondering about what Lephi is doing … and dealing with the unvoiced comparisons. Or … how much does Kyedra play into your feelings? More, he suspects, than he had ever thought, possibly because for years he has recalled her as she was when she had visited Cigoerne with her father as a young girl … most likely just to make her familiar with Cigoerne in the event she ended up as Lephi’s consort. Yet now that he has seen her … she’s too good for Lephi …

Lerial can’t help shaking his head. You’re still the second son.

He turns his attention back to the supply lists and logistical requirements, but less than a third of a glass later, a ranker knocks on the conference room door.

“Yes?”

“There’s a messenger from Arms-Commander Rhamuel, ser. He would appreciate your coming to the palace at your earliest convenience.”

“Thank you.” That doesn’t sound good. “If you’d ask Squad Leader Dhoraat to select a squad to accompany me, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be at the stables shortly.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial jots a note to himself to check on grain for mounts. Given that it’s late spring, just about as far as possible from most grain harvests, supplies are likely to be short in many places on their return, and he’d prefer to carry more with them, just in case. Then he takes all his papers back to his quarters before making his way to the stables, where Eighth Company’s Third Squad and his own gelding are already forming up.

A half glass later, just before the first glass of the afternoon, he and Third Squad rein up outside the palace stables. Lerial does notice that white and black mourning drapes have been hung on the gates and the main entrances. From the stables, he makes his way to the west wing of the palace, but before he can turn toward the sitting room Rhamuel has been using, an Afritan Guard ranker hurries up to him.

“Overcaptain, ser, the duke is now in his receiving study. This way, if you would, ser.”

Lerial follows the ranker to another door, still on the second level, but overlooking the west entrance to the palace. Inside the door is an anteroom, with two table desks. A palace guard sits at the table desk set directly facing the door, while Norstaan is seated at the other desk, set well to one side.

“For the moment, Commander Sammyl and I are sharing this one,” Norstaan explains. “Go on in. He’s expecting you.”

Lerial opens the door to the inner chamber and steps into a much larger room. At one end is a circular conference table with six chairs around it, and at the other is a large table desk, behind which Rhamuel is seated, with stacks of papers arrayed around him. In the corner of the study is a chair on wheels, essentially a chair fastened to a frame to which small cart wheels or the like have been attached.

“You’ve moved, I see.”

“Norstaan pointed out that, now that I’m duke, I’ll need to see more people at one time, and that I needed a more proper receiving study. The wheeled chair was his idea. One person can push it, and I can even move the wheels sitting in it. For a short distance, anyway. It’s a great improvement, even if it does squeak and squeal. Sit down.” The pleasant expression on Rhamuel’s face vanishes.

“Trouble?” asks Lerial.

Rhamuel nods. “The palace guards I sent looking for Mykel and Oestyn…”

“Yes?” replies Lerial cautiously.

“They’ve found the bodies of some of his escort guards-what’s left of them.”

“What about Mykel and Oestyn?”

“There’s no trace of them.” Rhamuel shakes his head. “Ghersen-he’s the squad leader I sent-he’s very methodical. He stopped at every village and hamlet along the way. He found the inn where they stayed the second night … and the innkeeper said that they had left very early, before dawn.” Rhamuel offers a sardonic smile. “Neither Mykel nor Oestyn would leave that early. Not willingly, and Ghersen knew that. I imagine he was rough on the innkeeper. He’s now convinced that the innkeeper had nothing to do with it-especially since his son was found at the bottom of the well the next morning, and one of the serving maids was missing. The innkeeper said that everyone slept late that morning. Ghersen questioned some locals, and several said that the inn wasn’t open until midmorning.”

“That sounds like someone put sleeping draughts in the food or lager.”

“My thought as well.”

“Didn’t Oestyn have some personal guards?’

“That thought has also already crossed my mind.” Rhamuel shakes his head. “I still have trouble believing Oestyn … he was so devoted to Mykel…”

“There are two possibilities,” Lerial suggests.

“I’ve thought of both. One is that Jhosef set it all up, using Oestyn, who had no idea of what was happening. The second is that Oestyn has been playing his father’s plaques all along. In the end, it doesn’t matter at all.” Rhamuel takes a deep breath. “Ghersen questioned people all around there, but no one would admit to seeing anything. Maybe they didn’t. He went to a little place a good kay off the main road because someone had said something about seeing a strange wagon coming back from a swampy lake in a hill valley where there are stun lizards and mountain cats. When he was going through the hamlet, he saw a little girl in a gray shift, and that made him curious.”

“A gray shift?”

“The material seemed to be the same as that used for palace guard undertunics. He questioned and prodded. In the end, one of the villagers led him to the swampy lake. They found some remains. The stun lizards and cats hadn’t left too much. Perhaps six or seven, but all were palace guards-except for a young woman.”

“The serving maid?”

Rhamuel shrugs. “Most likely. There were still wagon tracks in places-just one wagon.”

“Someone familiar with the area. How far is it from Lake Reomer?”

“A short day’s ride. It’s also a short day’s ride from Lake Jhulyn, if in a slightly different direction.”

“So what merchanters have summer villas on Lake Jhulyn?” asks Lerial. “Or Lake Reomer?”

“Reomer is the duke’s lake. Khamyst, Nahaan, and Jhosef-among others-have villas overlooking Jhulyn. Maesoryk has a much grander villa on his own lake, midway between the two. Jhosef and Maesoryk are not in Swartheld.”

“You mentioned Maesoryk wasn’t here earlier. What about Alaphyn?”

“We knew his villa here was empty, but he also left word at his factorage that he was removing himself and at family to Dolari.”

“In Heldya. That explains all his ships leaving Swartheld last sixday.” Lerial pauses, then asks, “You want me to go visit those villas? Is that it?”

“Not yet. Not until Ascaar arrives. I did want you to be able to think things over. Once he arrives, if all goes well, I thought Norstaan could take my personal squad and escort you and one of your companies on a tour of the lakes area.”

“A company?”

“It might make matters easier.”

“Especially if Afritan Guards aren’t used against Afritan merchanters?” Lerial raises his eyebrows.

“There is that.” Rhamuel smiles grimly. “I did send out the proclamations that Aenslem suggested … and declared official mourning for Atroyan and Natroyor. It will be days before they’re posted even everywhere here in Swartheld, and longer before they get to Shaelt and Luba and the more out-of-the-way towns and hamlets.”

“Then you’re both duke and arms-commander.”

“For what it’s worth, considering I’m not exactly able to move around much.”

“What about Aenslem’s suggestions?”

“They’re good, but I don’t see much point in struggling to get into a coach until most of the people have a chance to learn they have a new duke.”

Lerial can see the wisdom in that. “Have you heard anything from His Mightiness Duke Khesyn?”

“No. Do you think we will?”

“Did your father or Atroyan?”

“Very, very seldom.”

“Then it’s unlikely. What could he say? Accuse you of untoward conduct after he’s invaded Afrit? Complain about the destruction of Estheld after he’s attacked Luba, Shaelt, and Swartheld?”

For a moment, Rhamuel smiles, then looks at the stacks of papers, as well as a thick ledger. “I have to get ready for a meeting with Cyphret.”

“Cyphret?” Lerial frowns, trying to recall where he has heard the name.

“Cyphret is minister for merchanting, and senior minister. He controls the duke’s wallet, so to speak. I have no doubt that we are woefully short of golds.”

“Can’t you seize Alaphyn’s villa and assets?”

“That won’t likely be enough.”

“Aenslem said that you need to raise tariffs.”

“I’ll have to, but they aren’t paid until midfall, and that means I’ll have to borrow golds from Fhastal.”

“Suggest that he forgo usury as a public duty.”

“I might at that.” After a pause, Rhamuel says, “There is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t seen Kyedra lately.” The new duke’s words are blandly uttered.

“Not since last eightday. Haesychya has quietly kept her out of sight.”

“Perhaps you should pay her a call. She may think you don’t think much of her because you only talk to her when you go to see Aenslem as a healer.”

“Will her mother let me?”

“Whether Haesychya approves of your seeing Kyedra or not, she can’t afford to refuse you so long as your behavior isn’t untoward, and I doubt that yours ever would be.”

“I’ve been reluctant to impose … given…” Lerial shakes his head.

“Matters have changed greatly over the past season. More than you’ve considered.” Rhamuel smiles. “Let’s just say that I don’t want my niece to think badly of you.”

“Neither do I,” admits Lerial.

Since there is nothing else pressing, at least not until Ascaar arrives, once Lerial leaves the palace, he and his squad head for Aenslem’s villa, where the guards admit them without question.

Lerial is just about to enter the villa when Haesychya steps out.

“Why might you be here today?”

“I came to see Kyedra.”

“What if she does not wish to see you?”

“Then she can tell me that herself. Or whatever else she may wish.”

Haesychya smiles at his last words. “When you say that to a woman, you risk much, Lerial.”

Her tone is so humorously ironic that he cannot help but laugh, if softly. “Thank you for the observation, but I’d rather know what a lady I appreciate thinks than have to guess.”

“Appreciate … an interesting choice of words.”

“Not really. Accurate. Appreciation of anyone or anything is the first step to understanding.” He smiles. “Then, perhaps understanding should come first. Either way, I think they go hand in hand.”

“In that, I would quite agree.” Haesychya gestures. “This way. She is in the lady’s study she seems to have appropriated.” She leads the way into the entry hall.

Lerial follows, then moves beside her.

“I had thought we might not see you again, except at official functions, and that would mean not at all, since there are likely to be none at all for the foreseeable future.”

“Proper mourning, you mean?” As he asks the question, Lerial realizes that he has not seen mourning head scarves on either Haesychya or Kyedra. But then, they don’t wear head scarves in the home … or family homes.

“Proper hypocrisy. Only a few care.”

“You, Kyedra, and Rhamuel … perhaps a very few others,” Lerial says.

“You don’t.”

“How could I care that deeply-honestly? Mourning would only convey respect on my part. I met your consort once, as a child, and twice more here. You cannot mourn, not deeply, someone you do not know. I am far more deeply concerned about what his death has cost you and Kyedra.”

Haesychya almost stops short of the north archway, looking at Lerial. “You actually mean that. Why?”

“I’ve seen enough of you both to have more feelings and understanding about you two.”

“I should have asked why you were willing to say that.” She keeps walking along the north corridor.

“Because it’s true.”

She shakes her head ruefully. “‘Truth’ is a word whose meaning is unique to each person.”

“Usually … but not always.”

Haesychya does not reply but eases open a door on the west side of the corridor. “Dear, you have a caller.”

Lerial stands in the doorway with Haesychya, unwilling to enter unless welcomed in some fashion.

For just an instant, Kyedra’s eyes widen, in pleasure, Lerial hopes. He inclines his head. “It came to me that with all the aiding of your grandfather and uncle I had not paid you the attention I wished.”

“You truly are here to see me, and not Grandpapa?”

“I had no thoughts at all of seeing him. He seemed perfectly healthy yesterday, and I have no doubt I would hear were he not.” Lerial takes several steps into the room, hoping her expression is at least a conditional welcome.

“I will leave you two,” Haesychya steps out of the study and closes the door behind herself.

For a moment, neither Kyedra nor Lerial speaks.

Finally, Kyedra motions to the armchairs flanking a low table. “We could sit.”

Lerial smiles. “We could indeed, Lady.”

“That…”

“… sounds too formal? Perhaps, but I would not wish to be presumptuous.” Not after all you have been through.

“You’ve been anything but.” Kyedra offers a mischievous smile. “Except with your eyes.”

“I like it when you smile.”

“I believe you’ve mentioned that before.”

“It bears repeating, because you have a most enchanting and radiant smile.” Before Kyedra can reply, Lerial adds, “And that is neither presumptuous nor excessively flattering because you do.”

“Are you going to insist on putting words in my mouth?”

“My apologies, Kyedra.”

“That is much better … Lerial. I do like your name. It fits you.”

“As does yours you.”

“‘Kyedra’ sounds harsh.”

“I don’t think so.”

She smiles, fleetingly, before speaking again. “Enough of names. Why are you here?”

“I told you. I wanted to see you. You, not your grandfather or your mother. I’ve been reluctant to press, given that my presence seemed … to your mother … less than welcome, except as necessary to heal your grandfather.”

“Then why did you press … today?”

“Because I wanted to see you, because…” He smiles, almost saying, I think you know, before realizing just how presumptuous and condescending those words might sound. He swallows. “Because, I wanted you to know just that-that I wanted to see you.”

“You know that we do not decide our fates … or consorts.”

“That is possible, but it cannot hurt to know what we feel.”

“It could hurt very much. Look at Uncle Rham. He still loves your aunt.”

“You know that?”

“You didn’t?”

“Not until I met him.” Lerial pauses. “Will you keep something between us? Because if it doesn’t turn out, it could hurt him even more.”

“You will have to trust my judgment on that. I cannot pledge to something I don’t know.”

Lerial doesn’t hesitate. “I sent a dispatch to my father more than an eightday ago, asking for a healer for your uncle, the same healer that had healed him once before. I suggested that it would be for the best for both Cigoerne and Afrit. I also suggested that she arrive by rivercraft, since that would be faster.”

Kyedra’s mouth opens.

“Was I wrong?”

She shakes her head, then says, “I would suggest that you have Norstaan pass the word to all pier guards that a healer from Cigoerne may be coming and that he will supply a squad to convey her to the palace if such a healer arrives. Norstaan will keep that confidence, as will I.”

“I should have thought of that. He did make the arrangements for sending the dispatch, and I know it got as far as Subcommander Ascaar and that he sent it on.”

“Then it is in your father’s hands … and hers.” She looks directly at Lerial. “Thank you. Even if it is not to be, thank you.”

Lerial decides not to bring up the possible complications if Emerya does choose to come to Swartheld, although her presence would not likely cause as much of a concern as once it might have-you hope-given what the Mirror Lancers have done for Afrit.

Kyedra offers a full smile, the one that transfigures her. “I’m glad you came.”

“So am I.”

“I want to hear more about you, your sister … not about the fighting…”

“Only if you’ll offer the same…”

“But nothing about what may or may not be. Do you understand?” Her voice is firm as she asks the question.

“I do. Too many others can determine the future.” Lerial phrases his words that way because he is not willing to accept that others have full control of their fate.

“Start with your sister.”

While Lerial wonders about why Kyedra would wish that, he begins, “She was only two when we first met, and she’s changed quite a bit since then. Like you, she knows her own mind, and there have been times…”

Lerial and Kyedra are still talking nearly a glass later, when there is a knock on the study door.

“You can come in, Mother,” says Kyedra with a smile, saying in a lower voice to Lerial, “It can’t be anyone else.”

The study door opens and Haesychya follows the serving girl bearing a tray into the study. On the tray are two platters, one of butter biscuits and one of small cakes, along with three beakers and a pitcher of pale lager.

Lerial understands fully, but lets Haesychya make the obvious statement.

“I can’t let you have all of Lerial’s time, Kyedra.”

“I’m glad you let me have some of it.” Kyedra smiles cheerfully.

So am I, thinks Lerial, knowing that after the refreshments, and casual and polite conversation, it will be time for him to take his leave.