Imager's challenge

59

After the remainder of Solayi that was indeed quietly and comfortingly long and boring, I had managed to determine, at least in my mind, much of what must have occurred, although it would likely be weeks before the events that would confirm, or disprove, what I thought I had worked out. I was still exhausted when I finally went to bed, and my sleep was thankfully dreamless.

For all that, when I woke, my thoughts were of Rousel. Matters seemed to be working out for me-or I had managed to work them out. Yet in a way, Rousel had been the one to pay for them. Because of his death, so had my parents, and Khethila, and even Culthyn. I’d always feel that loss . . . and the lesson that came with it, one that Dichartyn had hammered at me from the beginning, but which I hadn’t felt. Everyone around a powerful imager paid when the imager failed to see or to anticipate what he should have. The costs fell, I was beginning to see, most heavily on those closest and those who could not protect themselves. That was why there were security and covert imagers, not so much to resolve problems, but to stop them before they became too large and the consequences too great.

Inadvertently, I had just provided an object lesson to High Holders, one that I had no doubts Maitre Poincaryt would ensure that they understood. Yet, few except High Holders would ever know of that lesson, and that was because of something else that had become apparent to me, but well understood by Maitre Poincaryt and Maitre Dichartyn. Given human nature, every large catastrophe or event with adverse consequences that could be attributed to someone or some human creation would be, and that attribution would provoke a reaction, and the reaction would provoke yet another. Sometimes, if rarely, public attribution was salutatory. Sometimes it was necessary. Usually, it just led to demands for action and revenge, which led to more demands and actions.

I noted those thoughts as I dressed to head out for exercise and running. The cold shower didn’t feel all that bad when I returned, and I was feeling less depressed after I dressed and walked across the quadrangle to the dining hall.

“Rhenn, how was your weekend?” asked Ferlyn as I settled down to eat.

“Long. I was duty master yesterday. Oh, I did finish the portrait of Master Rholyn, and it’s being framed. I don’t know where Maitre Poincaryt will hang it, though.”

“How do you think things will go with the Civic Patrol after that Temple explosion?”

“I imagine they’ll settle down. Most people just want to get on with their lives.” I helped myself to two of the fried flatcakes and dowsed them with berry syrup.

“What will they do with you?”

“Whatever Maitre Poincaryt and the Civic Patrol decide, they’ll let me know in a few days. It just could be that they’ll want me to stay with the Patrol and be more circumspect. We’ll have to see.”

“You don’t seem that worried.”

“It won’t do any good. Not now.” I laughed. “I should have worried when Master Dichartyn asked if I wanted to be a covert imager.”

From beside Ferlyn, Maitre Dyana offered a slight nod and a smile.

After breakfast, given all that had happened, I did use a duty coach to take me out to NordEste Design for one last important action, something that I felt had been assumed, but never formalized, and in some matters, formality was absolutely necessary. So I stood outside the private door at just past seventh glass. I clearly wasn’t expected, because I had to bang the brass knocker several times.

Finally, the door eased open, and Seliora stood there. She looked less than pleased, although some of the irritation faded as she recognized me. “Rhenn! What are you doing here? Aren’t you working?”

“You might say that my duties have been temporarily suspended. A few more things have happened, and we do need to talk.” I tried to keep my face formal.

“How bad . . .” She stopped. “It can’t be that bad if you’re here.”

“That depends on how one defines ‘bad.’ Might I come in?”

“Oh . . . yes.” She paused, then stepped back. “This is a working day, you know?”

“I know. That’s why I’m here early.” I stepped into the foyer, closing the door and turning to her.

“What is it?”

I thought I caught a trace of humor behind the question, but I wasn’t quite certain. “To begin with, Madame D’Rhennthyl-to-be, assuming you agree, you see before you a Civic Patrol captain and Maitre D’Structure.”

For a moment, Seliora looked absolutely stunned. “A Patrol captain and a Maitre D’Structure?”

“Apparently, I’ve made it impossible for anyone else to be Patrol captain in Third District, and my imager abilities merit an advancement, and that advancement entitles me-if I am married-to one of the larger quarters for families on Imagisle.”

She still kept looking at me.

“So I would like to ask you, and your parents, formally, for your hand. I haven’t actually done that.” I paused. “We can’t announce it to anyone else until Ryel’s successor is confirmed, but I’ve been told that will occur within the next month or two. That will allow quiet planning for a suitable and proper Pharsi wedding.”

At that, her arms did go around me.

This time, we held on to each other for a very long time.