Magi'i of Cyador

XLIX

FROM WHERE HE sits on the edge of the settee, Lorn takes in the main room of Ryalth’s quarters-the low ebony table before him, the straight-backed black oak armchair where Ryalth sits, and beyond that the green ceramic brick privacy screen that protects the door from the inside. Behind him and to his right is the alcove that contains the circular eating table and two armless chairs, and the door to the small balcony. To his left is the narrow archway to the bedchamber, and beyond that, the small bathing chamber. Lorn finds it hard to believe that two eightdays have already flown by.

His eyes light on the painting-the portrait of Ryalth as a young girl-wearing a high-necked blue tunic, and a thin golden chain. He has admired it every time he has come intoher quarters, but never said a word. “Your parents had that done?”

“Just before they died,” she affirms. “I was supposed to take the ship, too, but I got so sick that mother insisted I stay with my aunt Elyset. She was really my great-aunt, but I always called her ‘aunt.’ She died just before I met you.” Ryalth gestured around the room. “Most of this came from her house-the things Wynokk didn’t want. I did get to keep my bed, but everything else went to pay father’s debts. He lost everything when the ship went down.”

“You don’t like to spend coins on yourself.”

“Father did, and on us.” Her smile is mirthless. “There was nothing left.”

Lorn nods, then asks gently, “Why did you give Myryan the pin and the coins for the house?”

“I should have known you’d see that.” She barely shrugs. “You love her, and you couldn’t do anything. I didn’t want you to be upset when you returned.”

“And Kysia … you pay her to watch what happens in the house?”

Ryalth shakes her head. “How did you find that out? She’s never laid eyes on you.”

“Because someone has been watching me, and it wasn’t the cook or Sylirya. I never have seen Kysia, except from behind or at a distance, and that means someone who knows about the Magi’i and doesn’t want to be discovered. Besides, there was no other way you could have known what you needed to know to help Myryan.” He lifts his hands helplessly. “No one else would have cared.”

“You helped me … when no one cared, and you kept helping me. There wasn’t much I could do to repay everything. I helped Myryan.” The redhead looks down at the ancient blue wool carpet that displays a border of what appear to be interlocked ropes, surrounding a trading ship under full sail.

“Your father’s ship?” Lorn points to the blue-hulled vessel portrayed in the carpet and partly obscured by the low table before him.

“No one wanted a carpet showing a sunken trader. I got to keep that, too.”

“And that’s why you invest in cargoes carried on many ships?”

She nods. “The profits are lower, but the houses will take our golds because it lowers their risks. I choose carefully. So far, we have lost but one cargo.”

“You’re a careful woman.”

“Except with you.”

Lorn is not sure exactly how to respond. “I suppose I am a risk.”

“Not nearly so much as I’d thought, and you have made us more than a few coins.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“You were right about the cuprite,” Ryalth says. “What made you suggest that?”

“I couldn’t say.” Lorn smiles crookedly. “It felt right.”

“Do you have any more ‘feelings’ like that?”

“Cider,” he suggests. “Or something like it. Or wine.”

“Because coffee is getting scarce?”

“More because there won’t be any at all in a few years, I feel.” He shrugs. “People will drink something else, but I don’t know what.”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

Another thought strikes him. “Iron … not immediately, but in another few years.”.

“Scarcely anyone uses it here.”

“Other lands will, though.”

Ryalth frowns. “I do know some traders who use the Hamorian Exchanges.”

“I can’t think of anything else. Not now.” He stretches, glancing out to where the sun hangs over the dwellings higher on the hill to the west.

“You still haven’t asked me to meet your parents.” Ryalth offers a half-humorous pout.

Lorn understands it is but half-humorous.

“You’d frighten them-badly.”

That draws a deeper frown from her.

“I mean it. They’d see how much I care. They couldn’t avoid it. They’d also see how capable you are. Neither one could hide knowing that-not from other Magi’i.”

“You’re aiming to become the Majer-Commander, aren’t you? Or trying?”

“It’s been done before,” Lorn replies lightly.

“Except you want me as well. Or do you want me because I can help you?”

“I’ve wanted you from the beginning. I never thought about using you to become a Majer-Commander … or anything else.” He frowns. “I did want you to help me make some coins at first. I have to admit that, but that bothered me.”

“So you gave me the chest out of guilt?”

“Guilt … and love.”

“I don’t think anyone knows you.” Ryalth shakes her head. “Every time I see you, and every scroll you send … there’s always something new, like a gem polished into so many facets that the sparkle doesn’t ever let you see the stone.”

“Do you want to see the stone?”

The redhead nods slowly.

Lorn stands and steps around the low table and takes her in his arms, kissing her, and then lifting her, carrying her to the bedchamber, where he lays her on the deep blue quilt. He lies beside her, holding her, and begins to whisper in her ear, half-nuzzling her as he does.

She listens, then stiffens, her eyes wide, as he adds two more sentences.

After a moment, Ryalth kisses him gently on the cheek, leaning back away from him slightly, before she murmurs in his ear. “Alyiakal must have been one of your ancestors.”

“Not that I know.”

“How could you?” She laughs and rolls away from him. “You said you had to have dinner with Myryan and Ciesrt. It’s getting late, and I wasn’t invited. I’m hungry, and you have to go.” She offers a mischievous smile. “Should I dab you with a little scent?”

“I don’t want to leave you.” He cocks his head to the side,taking in the deep blue eyes. “Actually the scent is a good idea. Ciesrt will tell his sire.”

“Devious-”

Lorn gives a quick headshake as he senses the chill of a screeing glass. He draws her to him, as if passionately.

Her arms go around him, if not in passion, at least in comfort, and they hold each other for a time-until he can sense the chill fading. Slowly, he kisses her cheek, then leans back. “Thank you for understanding.”

“I could almost feel … someone watching ….”

“They were … through a glass.”

Ryalth shivers. “Do all Magi’i live like that? With the knowledge that nothing is private? Nothing secret?”

“Most can’t sense it except faintly. Even my father has to be concentrating.”

“You can sense that? And they wouldn’t let you stay as a magus?”

“Being of the Magi’i isn’t just ability,” Lorn states flatly. “It also has to be the most important aspect of your life. Father’s pointed that out several times, indirectly, since I’ve returned to Cyad.”

In a fluid movement, she rolls away from him and off the bed and to her feet, slipping to the low vanity under the high north window. She opens the chest on the vanity and draws out a vial. “After that, you definitely need some scent.” Her lips quirk in a smile Lorn knows is forced.

“I don’t like leaving you.” Lorn slips to his feet and walks up behind her, easing his arms around her waist.

“I know.”

He can feel her sigh.

After a moment, she adds, “I know you’re opposing your family, and I know you asked me to … come to Geliendra ….”

“But you want everything to be in the open.”

“Yes.”

He laughs, softly, almost bitterly. “All the senior Magi’i know about you and me. Were that were open enough.” The bed chamber is silent, and he adds, more softly, “I will putour consortship in the open. Haven’t I kept my word?”

“You have. You have more than kept it.” Ryalth turns out of his arms to face him, but still holds his left hand. “We would not be here, had you not.”

Lorn traces her jaw line with his fingers.

“I am not angry with you.” Her eyes harden. “I cannot say the same for your parents. Or the Magi’i.” Her fingers rise to touch his cheek, and she bends forward and whispers, “But I will come to Geliendra at the end of your first year.”

“I will be there, with everything arranged.”

“Good.” A smile, bright and simultaneously wistful, appears. “You’d better get ready to go.” She half-turns and reclaims the vial. “And you will wear some scent. Not so much as last time. I want them to understand I also have some small amount of taste.” She dabs a fingertip of the fragrance on each of Lorn’s cheeks, then holds his face in her hands, and kisses him gently.

He returns the kiss, equally gently.

Slowly, they separate.

Lorn reclaims his tunic from one of the wall pegs, then dons and fastens it.

“You are a handsome man.”

He shakes his head.

“You are.”

“I’m glad you think so. Very glad.”

They walk to the door of her quarters, where he turns and kisses her cheek again.

“Be good to dear Ciesrt,” she says as she opens the door.

“Only for Myryan’s sake.” Lorn offers a rueful smile and steps back.

Ryalth closes the door, and he turns and walks slowly down the steps and out to the Road of Benevolent Commerce.

He eases into a brisk walk up the Thirteenth Harbor Way East, and then turns eastward on the Road of Perpetual Light. At the click of hoofs behind him, he glances over his left shoulder to see a gig approaching. In it are a woman in healer green and a magus in white, looking perhaps ten.years olderthan Lorn. Neither looks at him as the gig passes.

He walks almost another block before an open carriage passes in the other direction. This time, the two passengers nod. The man wears a lancer uniform with the simple starburst of a commander; the woman wears a formal green tunic of shimmercloth, and a necklace of emeralds set in silver that sparkles well beyond the carriage. Lorn nods back with a smile.

The sun is beginning to drop behind the trees on behind the dwellings set uphill of the Road by the time Lorn turns up the walk to Myryan’s dwelling. A light and cool breeze sweeps up from the harbor, promising a cold evening. He smiles at the faded golden lily on the exterior privacy screen before he rings the bell.

The viewing slit opens, and then the door. “Come in, Lorn,” Myryan says warmly, but she does not step from behind the exterior privacy screen.

He steps around the screen and into the house, where Ciesrt stands beside Myryan, a long-fingered hand on her left shoulder. His long fingers seem strangely delicate compared to Ciesrt’s tall form and broad shoulders.

Myryan’s nose wrinkles, just slightly, as Lorn nears them, and, suddenly, she winks.

Laughing inside, Lorn keeps a polite smile on his lips and inclines his head. “It’s good to see you, Ciesrt.” His voice is warm and friendly.

“You, too, Lorn.” Ciesrt’s nose twitches, and he rubs it inadvertently with his right hand. “It’s been a while.” He gestures to the left archway from the foyer.

“Thank you.” Lorn follows the motion into the front sitting room.

There, Myryan and Ciesrt take the settee, leaving the sole armchair for Lorn. He settles himself and turns toward the couple. “I like the dwelling. You’ve done much with it, Myryan.”

“She has, indeed,” Ciesrt responds, proudly, putting his arm around her slender shoulders and squeezing slightly. “She is a wonderful consort.”

“She’s always been a wonderful sister,” Lorn replies, “and an excellent healer, from what I have heard.”

“She cooks well also, but before long, we will have a cook so that she can spend more time with her garden, and, some time soon, we hope, with the children.”

“From what I heard,” Lorn answers, looking at Myryan, “you’ve already done much with the garden.”

“The soil by the wall is just right for brinn, and I started some astra plants in the fall. they feel strong ….” The healer’s eyes brighten as she begins to detail her plans. “ … it’s cool enough for winterseed, but I’ll need more lime for that …. Ciesrt said he’d crush it for me ….”

Lorn listens, enjoying the enthusiasm and the warmth in his younger sister’s voice, and the sparkle in her eyes as she speaks of gardens to come.

Abruptly, Myryan stops and bolts upright. “Oh … I have to finish dinner … a few things, and I’ve been meandering on about gardening.”

“I liked hearing about it,” Lorn says.

“She loves that we have our own garden,” adds Ciesrt.

“Just keep talking.” Myryan stands, patting Ciesrt on the shoulder. “I can hear from the next room,” she adds as she pauses by the archway, before disappearing.

Both men smile.

“She has so many talents to be a good consort,” Ciesrt muses. “My parents were so pleased. Father, especially, likes that she understands so much, and that he can talk to her like he would me or any other of the Magi’i.”

“Myryan’s always been quick,” Lorn admits. “She’s very sensitive. She understands things without people having to yell at her or tell her twice.” He hopes Ciesrt will understand exactly what he says.

“That’s what I like about her,” answers the young mage. “She knows what I need, without my having to explain everything.”

Lorn nods. “She likes things calm and peaceful.”

“It’s so restful when I come home from the Quarter atnight.” Ciesrt smiles. “So much better than I’d ever thought being consorted could be.”

“Lancers aren’t expected to become consorted until they’ve been captains for at least several years,” Lorn says conversationally. “What are you doing now … I mean the kind of work?”

“Third level adepts do mostly support work … transfer chaos, clean up after projects, that sort of thing. I do some of the chaos cell transfer, and whatever else I’m called to do.”

“It’s an exciting time for a magus, Vernt tells me, with everything going on.” Lorn leans forward, conveying an interest in what Ciesrt may offer.

“It is. All the projects …” Ciesrt shrugs.

“I understand. I’m going to be headed to the Accursed Forest. They say that what you’re doing may be of some benefit to us poor lancer types there.”

“Father is enthusiastic about it,” Ciesrt responds. “I can’t say anything, you understand, but they’re working on a new kind of barrier.” He shrugs. “I don’t know much about how it works, but … it should help the Mirror Lancers greatly.”

“If it does, we could move more lancers to the north,” Lorn points out.

“If it does, you may not need lancers at the ward-walls, I hear.”

Lorn nods. “There’s much else that could occupy the lancers.”

“How have you found being a lancer?” asks Ciesrt, after a moment of silence.

“I seem to have a talent for it,” replies Lorn. “Or a talent for surviving while being one, anyway.”

Lorn looks up to see Myryan standing in the archway, waiting, listening.

Ciesrt leans forward on the settee, his eyes on Lorn, apparently unaware of Myryan’s return.

“You still do not talk of duty and commitment,” points out Ciesrt.

Lorn fingers his cleanshaven chin before replying, understandingCiesrt’s allusion, and understanding, too, that he has been discussed by Ciesrt and his father, the Second Magus. “We all have a duty to uphold Cyador and the Path of Light,” he begins slowly. “That is my commitment as well. You have found that way that best suits you, Ciesrt. I have found a way at which I am good. I am still working to see how to make it best suit me.” Lorn offers an open smile. “It is harder when you are not born into the way for which your talents fit you.”

“I can see that,” Ciesrt says, a hint of patronage in his tone.

“What about you? How have you found being an adept?” counters Lorn gently.

“My father is, and his father’was before him,” Ciesrt says, “and his before him. So far as any know, we have all been mages and healers back to the days of the Firstborn of chaos. Father has a glass in his study … one so old …”

The familiar chill of a screeing glass passes across the room. Myryan and Lorn exchange glances, but neither speaks, letting Ciesrt, apparently oblivious to the chaos-glass scan, continue to address Lorn.

“ … goes back beyond the time of Alyiakal, but it’s too fragile to use anymore. With all that tradition, why wouldn’t I want to be a magus?” Ciesrt smiles. “I’ve found it rewarding. I like being able to help provide power for the firewagons, and the firelances you lancers use to halt the barbarians. It makes me feel worthy to direct chaos into the making of cupridium.” The lips of the magus curl slightly. “I’d feel wrong saying these words to most lancers, but you were a student magus, and you are of the Magi’i, and you are Myryan’s brother.”

“I understand,” Lorn says. “Most lancers wouldn’t, not in the way you mean.”

“That’s it,” Ciesrt says. “Most wouldn’t.”

Myryan clears her throat.

“Yes?” Ciesrt looks up, a look of annoyance passing swiftly across his face and vanishing as he realizes his consort has been in the sitting room.

“If you do not wish to eat cold emburhka …” Myryan ventures gently.

Lorn stands. “I am hungry … and it’s been a long time since I’ve had emburhka.”

Ciesrt also rises. “I’d forgotten … of course, you wouldn’t. Not in the Hills of Endless Grass.”

“I used mother’s recipe-the way Elthya used to fix it.”

Lorn can’t help but smile at her half-mischievous, half-imploring tone. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

“It is. She’s a wonderful consort,” Ciesrt says proudly.

Lorn ensures that the smile remains on his face as he follows Myryan to the dining area. He will speak of small matters, and little else, for the remainder of the evening.