Rex Regis

26

On Vendrei, Quaeryt was up early, and waiting in Bhayar’s study when the Lord of Telaryn entered.

“What disaster is about to befall us?” asked Bhayar sardonically.

“Why do you ask?”

“For you to be here well before seventh glass … it must be urgent.”

“Not urgent. Merely troublesome.” Quaeryt pointed to the conference table. “I need your seal and signature on these.”

“For what?”

“To deal with Bovarian factors, and possibly High Holders, in order to keep them from demanding prices that are excessively high, particularly in selling provisions to your armies, and so that I don’t have to do something to them that all of us might regret.”

“You will … and I will anyway, no doubt.”

“There are two documents. One for me, and the other for Vaelora. Each requires your seal, and each states that we are empowered to act in your name, as full ministers, in matters of administration and supply within the boundaries of Bovaria for the purpose of dealing with matters of import in administration and in obtaining any and all supplies necessary for the needs of Lord Bhayar, including but not limited to those required for the maintaining of forces or officials in the pursuit of law and order.”

“You think they’ll suffice?” Bhayar walked to the table and picked up one of the documents. “Without the threat of force?”

“They’ll make a veiled threat more veiled and thus more palatable. If nothing else, they’ll provide a rationale for punishing someone for not obeying.”

“Always useful,” said Bhayar dryly. “Why does Vaelora need one?”

“To do the same when you’ve sent me somewhere-like to Rivages to see why you haven’t heard from Submarshal Myskyl.”

“We’ll wait a few days.”

“As you command, sir.”

“Don’t press it, my friend.”

“No, sir.”

“I suppose another signature or two won’t raise significantly more problems than you’ve already created.” Bhayar sat down and signed one document, then the other. “Is there anything else?”

“Besides the fact that every factor in Variana wants a new road to his front door?”

Bhayar laughed. “I’ll leave the determination on which roads are built where to the Ministry of Administration and Supply for Bovaria.”

“That might be for the best.”

After exchanging pleasantries with Bhayar, Quaeryt left the study and walked down to the ministry studies, where he bestowed Vaelora’s certificate to her. “Your personal authorization to browbeat High Holders and factors.”

“I’m overwhelmed.”

“That makes two of us. I’m going to meet with the head of the factors’ council this afternoon … if he’s in.”

“You aren’t sending word?”

“No. I don’t want to leave the impression with Ernyld, and Deucalon, that we’re not acting immediately on his problem. If the chief factor’s not in, I’ll just leave an invitation for him to visit us on Lundi. The kind he’d be foolish to ignore.”

“You’re acting like a governor again.”

“I don’t think I did in Montagne … as I recall everyone telling me. This time … I’ll try to do it with polite meetings and a veiled approach.” Not that your approach in Extela was in the slightest veiled.

“You can’t veil the power you hold, dearest.”

“No … but I can give them the chance to be reasonable.”

“Some will force the issue.”

“I hope not. I really don’t want to make too many examples.”

“You may not be able to avoid it.”

At that moment, there was a knock on the study door. “Amalyt D’Anomen to see you, Lady and sir.”

“The chorister at the Anomen Regis?” murmured Vaelora.

Quaeryt nodded to her, then said, “Have him come in.”

Amalyt, white-haired and as tanned as when Quaeryt had seen him nearly half a year before, stepped into the study. His lined face bore an expression that Quaeryt might have called stern but kindly … had he not already met the chorister. Amalyt’s gray vestments, unsurprisingly, were of a far higher quality than those worn by Gauswn.

“Greetings, honored chorister,” offered Quaeryt.

“Greetings to you, Lady Vaelora, and you, Commander.”

“What brings you?” asked Quaeryt.

“You may recall that Lord Bhayar was kind enough to employ his imagers to repair and rebuild the Anomen Regis…”

Quaeryt managed to smile politely, although that was difficult, since he had been the one to arrange for and oversee the repair. “I do indeed.”

“It has been brought to my attention that the Anomen D’Variana, located near the River Aluse, also suffered damage, if not so grievous, as a result of the battle of Variana…”

“And?” Quaeryt kept his voice pleasant.

“The imagers did such a good job in restoring the Anomen Regis that I naturally thought that they should be considered to repair the Anomen D’Variana.”

“I see.” Quaeryt kept his voice pleasantly neutral.

“It would appear that they are not unduly occupied.”

“Actually, they’ve been quite occupied, chorister, and there are only half the number of imagers here in Variana that there were when they repaired your anomen.”

“Still … it should not take that long.”

“All I can promise is that we will look into the possibilities.”

Amalyt looked from Quaeryt to Vaelora. “Lady … if you might intercede. The faithful would appreciate any assistance.”

“I fear, Chorister Amalyt, that what Commander Quaeryt has told you is quite true. The number of imagers is limited, and the tasks assigned to them already will take some considerable time.”

And one of the precepts of the Nameless is for those who can to make the best efforts they can, for the Nameless helps best those who help themselves. Quaeryt kept that thought to himself, recalling all too well how intransigent the chorister could be.

Amalyt offered a heavy sigh. “Chorister Bryal will be most discouraged. We had so hoped.” He paused. “I would not wish to have to be the one to tell Bryal that Lord Bhayar could offer no encouragement.”

“You do not have to tell Chorister Bryal anything,” replied Quaeryt, “save that you have brought the matter to Lord Bhayar’s attention. There are many demands upon him and upon his men and resources.”

“That is so, but I would have hoped, especially with your scholarship and knowledge of the Nameless…”

“As Rholan once said,” replied Quaeryt, “to imply or to seek the favor or lack of favor on the part of the Nameless to obtain a human goal or end is in itself a form of Naming.”

Amalyt’s eyes hardened.

“We will look into the matter,” Vaelora promised, gently.

“I do hope it will be soon, Lady.”

Vaelora smiled warmly. “We will do what we can.”

Neither Quaeryt nor Vaelora spoke until the study door was firmly closed behind the departing chorister.

“If we don’t do something,” Quaeryt said, “he’ll spread the word that the imagers are creatures of the Namer, or something like it.”

“And that Lord Bhayar cares little about the anomens of Variana.” Vaelora gave the smallest of headshakes. “I’ve only seen him twice, but there’s something about him … like he’s a creature of the Namer.”

“You haven’t had another farsight?”

“No. Only the one about you being surrounded by something.”

“You can’t tell me more?”

“No. You were in light and then suddenly trapped in total darkness.”

Quaeryt almost shivered. He’d never liked confined quarters … ever. “Why do you feel that way about Amalyt?”

“It’s a feeling.”

“He’s definitely a hypocrite. The richness of his vestments alone proclaims that.”

“He’s worse than that. I couldn’t tell you why.”

“He’s likely to be the first of many. The way matters are going, everyone with any degree of power is going to come through that door asking for the imagers to do this or that. If we say no, because they’re involved with something else…”

“They’ll claim Bhayar doesn’t care … or the imagers are too proud to help anyone.”

“I think we’re just going to have to tell them all that the imagers have nowhere permanent to live, and that until they have time to build their own quarters, they’ll only be available for the most urgent of tasks-such as replacing failing bridges across the River Aluse. Or something equally vital.”

“What will you do about the Anomen D’Variana?”

“I’ll send Baelthm to look at it. Then we’ll figure out what we can do. It might only need moderate repairs.”

“It needs more than that,” said Vaelora. “Chamion wouldn’t be here begging, otherwise.”

Quaeryt had no doubts that she was likely correct.

For the next several glasses, he and Vaelora worked, with more than a few interruptions, to finish the changes to the proposed code of laws, which now included a section on factors. Then Quaeryt went over the simple supply reports from Ernyld’s clerks in an effort to get a better feel and understanding of the supply problems. Then he wrote out a shorter version of one of Alylor’s lists.

A little before noon, he rode out from Chateau Regis, heading along the road toward the Nord Bridge, accompanied by four rankers, the smallest number that seemed appropriate for a commander and a minister. He also carried full imaging shields, both to maintain his abilities and with the awareness that after what had happened to Skarpa there was always the possibility, however small, that he could be a target.

The sky was overcast, unlike the previous days, and a cool, almost chill, wind blew out of the northwest, where in the distance Quaeryt could see darker clouds, but the gray clouds overhead were high enough that he didn’t expect rain immediately. Whether the rain would hold off until he was back at the Chateau Regis was another question.

While people on the street glanced at him, taking in the uniform of a Telaryn officer, the looks were almost cursory-as they had been in most places in Bovaria after the initial shock of seeing Telaryn forces had passed. Almost, mused Quaeryt, as if who ruled mattered far less than how they rule. Or perhaps the apparent attitudes of people reflected a fatalistic feeling that Bhayar and his troopers couldn’t possibly be any worse than what they had endured under Rex Kharst and his sire. There did seem to be more vendors and people along the north road, but whether that was because of the improvements to the road or simply because life was getting back to a normal fashion was something Quaeryt had no way of telling.

Had he not made inquiries he might well have dismissed the modest structure situated on the corner of the east river road and an unnamed lane just past the Hotel D’Variana, which looked less imposing than many inns he had encountered over the past two years. He reined up outside the small two-story building, dismounted, and handed the gelding’s reins to the nearest ranker.

“I hope not to be too long, but one never knows…”

“We’ll be here, sir.”

Quaeryt strode toward the door, almost stumbling as his left boot heel caught the top riser of the three stone steps leading to the entry. He caught himself, opened the door, and stepped into a small and low-ceilinged entry hall.

The clerk seated behind a narrow table in the middle of the hall looked up as Quaeryt walked toward him. His eyes widened as he took in the uniform and Quaeryt. “Sir?”

“Commander Quaeryt. I’m also Minister of Administration and Supply for Lord Bhayar. I’m here to see Factor Chaekyr.”

“Is he … expecting you?”

“I hope not, but he will wish to see me.” Quaeryt projected a sense of authority.

“I will tell him you’re here, sir.” The clerk rose and headed for the door at the right side of the hall, through which he disappeared after opening and closing it barely enough to squeeze through.

Quaeryt waited, not terribly long, but enough to observe a fly making several circuits around the table that the clerk had hastily vacated, before the clerk returned.

“Factor Chaekyr will be happy to see you, sir.”

Happy? I think not. “Thank you.” Quaeryt nodded and made his way to the door that had been left just slightly ajar, stepping through it, and closing it behind himself.

Chaekyr D’Factorius had dark brown wavy hair, pale and watery green eyes, and a full square-cut beard of a shade redder than his hair. He looked to be roughly ten years older than Quaeryt as he rose from behind a broad and empty polished wooden desk that was likely older than Quaeryt.

“What can I do for you, Commander? Or is it ‘Minister’?”

“It’s both, but ‘Commander’ will do for now. I’m here to discuss the price of flour and other supplies.” Quaeryt gestured for Chaekyr to sit, then sat down in the left chair of the two facing the head of the factors’ council of Variana.

Chaekyr frowned. “I don’t see what that has to do with me. Prices are set by each individual factor, not by the council.”

“Once … I would have thought that as well.” Quaeryt smiled politely. “I doubt you know this, but I served as the princeps to Governor Straesyr of Tilbor. The princeps deals with matters of commerce. Then I was appointed governor of Montagne. The war came along, and Lord Bhayar needed my talents in that fashion. Recently, Lady Vaelora and I concluded a mission to Khel. Along the way, we encountered, shall we say, a misunderstanding about grain and flour shipments from Laaryn, and I had to investigate how prices were set…” Quaeryt looked directly at Chaekyr. “Now, I find, as was the case in Laaryn, that every factor who supplies grain and flour, as well as other items, sets his price at exactly the same level as any other factor, and that price is far higher than it was before or during the war. Some of that, obviously, occurs because we are farther from last year’s harvest. That, I understand. A gold and two silvers for a barrel of flour, I don’t. Especially when it appears that others pay lower prices.” That was a calculated guess on Quaeryt’s part, but it fit the patterns he’d seen.

“I cannot tell others at what price…”

“Head factor…” Quaeryt said mildly, but projecting authority. “I am merely suggesting that those factors who attempt to obtain excessive prices for goods traded at lower prices to those besides Lord Bhayar’s forces are acting most unwisely, particularly since it appears most likely Lord Bhayar and his successors will be ruling Variana for many, many years.”

“What do you expect of me, Commander?”

“Expect? From what I have thus far seen of factors here … very little. But … if a chief factor were wise, truly wise, he might explain to other factors that pursuing excessive gains in the short run might lead to changes that they would find most … unsatisfactory in the long run. And if prices remain high, it is possible that the long run will arrive rather soon.”

“I still do not see…”

Quaeryt smiled again, tired as he was of the game. “As Minister of Administration and Supply for Bovaria, with Lord Bhayar’s approval, I can issue laws affecting commerce and trade. I would prefer not to. Lord Bhayar would also prefer that, but that preference will change if he finds that his forces are paying higher prices than others. The laws will change, and those who break the laws will find themselves broken. There is at least one factor in Laaryn sentenced to death for his failures. Now … it would seem that such unpleasantness is unnecessary … unless greed cannot be restrained by your factors.”

Chaekyr took out a large white kerchief and blotted his forehead. “Rather warm in here, I find.”

“It could be much warmer.”

“I take your point, Commander. You understand that I can only pass on your words.”

“I do indeed. I also understand that the chief factor can be most persuasive … or he would not be chief factor.”

“Not always so persuasive, I fear, as some think.”

“That is also true.” Quaeryt shrugged. “But replacing a chief factor who offers good counsel with one who would refuse to see what well might occur would suggest that greater … oversight of the factors might well be necessary.” He extended a sheet of paper. “This is a listing of those factors who provided identical prices to Lord Bhayar’s forces. We would not be so concerned about the fact that the prices were similar, because prices in trade do tend to gather around the same level … but when they are identical and excessive for but one buyer…”

“I see your point, Commander, and I will endeavor to convey that to the factors in question … as well as others.”

“For now … I can ask no more. I look forward to your success.” Quaeryt smiled a last time, then rose, nodding to Chaekyr before turning and leaving.

On the ride back to the Chateau Regis, Quaeryt shook his head more than once in thinking over his meeting with Chaekyr. While he’d been more diplomatic in dealing with the chief factor than he had been in Montagne, he had no doubts that he’d come across as less than tactful to the politely slimy factors of Variana. How can you be tactful to men whose only god is not the Nameless but the pursuit of golds at any cost to anyone but themselves? Without a resort to force on your part, or the threat of it, nothing will change their conduct and practices.

* * *

Quaeryt had barely dismounted in the courtyard of the Chateau Regis when an older ranker limped forward toward him.

“Commander, sir … Lord Bhayar would see you immediately in his study.”

“Thank you. I’m on my way.” Now what?

For the first time in weeks, Quaeryt actually found Bhayar seated behind his desk. The lord motioned for Quaeryt to sit down.

“You requested me?”

“Where were you? With the imagers?”

“No. I was meeting with the chief factor of the factors’ council of Variana about excessive prices charged to Deucalon by local factors.”

“And?”

“I was more diplomatic. I suggested that he might persuade the factors to be reasonable, but that you have little patience for greed at the expense of your forces.”

“If he doesn’t?”

“I’ll have to be more direct.”

Bhayar nodded. “There’s a High Holder’s widow who wants to see me. It’s something about inheritances and the like. See if you can resolve it. She’s in the small audience room.”

“Along the lines we discussed?”

“Just don’t go farther.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Bhayar waved Quaeryt away.

Quaeryt made his way across the hall and down two doors, where another ranker opened the door for him.

“Good afternoon, Commander.” The ranker inclined his head.

“The same to you.”

The blond woman seated in one of the chairs at the side of the chamber rose immediately as Quaeryt entered. A momentary frown passed across her brow and then vanished.

“Good afternoon, Lady.” Quaeryt stopped a yard or so from the woman and studied her.

She was tall, if not quite so tall as Vaelora, and fair-skinned, with penetrating gray eyes, although those eyes had dark circles under them. Quaeryt judged her to be roughly his age. She wore a tailored black skirt, a dark silver-gray blouse, and a black jacket that matched the ankle-length skirt that showed polished riding boots. Her hair was drawn back from her face.

“You’re not Lord Bhayar. Who are you?”

“I’m Commander Quaeryt. He asked me to meet with you. You are?”

“What can you do about High Holder inheritances?” Her tone was somewhere between angry and resigned.

Quaeryt also detected a strong accent in her Bovarian that he could not immediately place. He replied in Tellan. “I can see that whatever your difficulty may be is either addressed or not.”

“Or not?”

Quaeryt smiled and waited.

“Oh … I’m sorry. I’m Tyrena D’Ryel. At least for the moment.” Her Tellan-and her name-suggested several things.

“You are the widow of High Holder Ryel, the late minister of waterways and the reputed spymaster of Rex Kharst?”

“Not reputed. All Bovaria appeared to know that.” Her voice was firm.

“You are concerned about the holding … and what will become of it … and you?” Quaeryt reverted to Bovarian.

“In my place, would you not be?” she replied in her lightly accented Bovarian.

“In your position, especially, Lady, I would be most concerned.” Quaeryt paused. “Almost as concerned as if you had … written critiques of military commanders in books.”

“I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about, Commander.”

“Did the jewels and golds provide a sufficient dowry for Ryel?” Quaeryt asked gently. “Or was it the enticement of a holding sufficiently distant from Variana … and from Rhecyrd, Khanara?”

“Will you drag me before Bhayar in chains, more than twelve years later?”

Quaeryt admired the cool calm in her voice, not to mention the fact that she refused to dissemble or plead.

“I have no intention of doing such. Nor, at this point, does anyone in the Chateau Regis, including Bhayar, know who you are.”

“What do you want, then? Favors?”

Quaeryt smiled. “No. Answers from you to see what is possible. Do you have children?”

“What does that matter?”

“Please answer the question.”

“I have a daughter.”

“From Ryel, so far as anyone knows?”

“She is his.”

“Is she the only blood heir?”

“So far as I know. Ryel doubtless had other offspring, but that was a matter he kept to himself.”

“How old is she?”

“Iryena is nine.”

“You are telling me the truth?” Quaeryt image-projected both authority and the sense that lying would be fatal.

While Tyrena paled, she did not move. “I am. Would that I were not.”

“Good. You are to write a petition to Lord Bhayar stating that you are the lawful widow of High Holder Ryel D’Alte and that you wish to act as guardian and administrator of the holding for his daughter Iryena D’Alte until she is of age to marry a man suitable to become High Holder and approved by Lord Bhayar.” After a pause, Quaeryt said, “This is not a ploy to put you off. If you wish to write that petition here and now, in the study of the Ministry of Administration below, I will wait until you have finished, and then I will write a writ for Lord Bhayar’s signature which will affirm your guardianship and the finding that the holding and lands of Ryel will remain with your daughter and her offspring.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It is best for Lydar that you did not inherit Tilbor, and it is also best for Lydar and Bovaria that you retain Ryel.”

“What, really, do you want?”

“If you can provide it, any information on Submarshal Myskyl and what has happened to his regiments. I will approve your petition, regardless, but that would be helpful.”

“You are not a mere commander.”

“Nor are you a mere widow, Lady Tyrena.”

“I did not expect this.”

“Nor I. About the Telaryn forces in the north?”

“The submarshal has visited many of the high holdings near Rivages, including Ryel. He went over it like a tariff collector, and he demanded a hundred golds as a token tariff. My … husband was most careful in not displaying his wealth…”

“Especially since he had less of it than was sufficient for his aims?”

“Yes. That worked in our favor. The submarshal has settled his forces at other holdings. He has made Fiancryt his headquarters. Some of that might be because Lady Fiancryt was widowed, without heirs, and is said to be modestly attractive.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“It is said that the submarshal has met with many High Holders over the course of the fall and winter, and has neither attacked nor dispossessed any of them. He has imposed the same tariff of one hundred golds on all.”

“Has he sent regiments any distance from Rivages?”

“No. He has sent small parties to towns. His officers have met with the wealthier factors, but the factors have said little. His regiments drill and conduct maneuvers almost every day. He is keeping his forces ready. That is clear.”

“Does he have visitors that seem … unusual?”

“That … I would not know. It seemed better not to be unduly interested.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I have no facts, only feelings.”

Feelings from a woman who had effectively ruled Tilbor for a time suggested more than mere emotion. Quaeryt frowned. “Did not Rex Kharst have imagers?”

“Ryel said he did. I never saw or met them.”

“Do you know what happened to them?”

“I thought they were killed with the others in the battle here.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about Submarshal Myskyl?”

“Only that I would not trust those whom he seems to trust among the High Holders. Although…” she paused, “he is said to be most careful of those who enter his presence, and he is said to receive them always in the same small study at Fiancryt.”

Quaeryt asked a number of other questions, but it was clear Tyrena had told him all that she knew about Myskyl’s operations and maneuvers. Then he asked, “When the submarshal visited Ryel, was he unpleasant?”

“No. He introduced himself, then merely ignored me as much as he could.”

“As Rhecyrd did in years past?”

“How did you know that?”

“I spent a little time as princeps of Tilbor,” Quaeryt admitted. “One of the sisters mentioned it.”

“They talked to you?”

“They believe I did them a service, righted a wrong.”

“Did you?”

“What I did in that instance righted several wrongs, I believe, theirs among them. It had to do with an unfaithful commander of the Khanar’s Guard, or rather his son.” Quaeryt smiled. “Shall we go down to the ministry studies so that you can write your petition?”

Tyrena stiffened. “How will you treat the widows of other High Holders?”

“In a similar fashion to you-with the possible exception of one or two whose husband’s acts may merit the loss of the holding.”

“Such charity.” Her words were dubious.

“Practical. Lord Bhayar would prefer not to dwell on the past. He will be most severe to those who do not pledge allegiance, pay their tariffs, and support his rule. Shall we go?” Quaeryt gestured toward the door.

When they reached the ministry study, Quaeryt opened the door and escorted Tyrena inside. Vaelora rose from her desk, an expression that held puzzlement and amusement.

“Lady Tyrena D’Ryel, might I present you to Lady Vaelora Chayardyr, the other Minister of Administration … and also my wife.”

Tyrena glanced from Vaelora and then back to Quaeryt.

“She needs to use the conference table to write a petition to Bhayar so that he can approve her guardianship of her daughter until she is of age to marry.”

“She may use my desk if she wishes,” said Vaelora, easing away from her desk.

“Chayardyr? You’re … a sister of Lord Bhayar?”

“I am.”

“He let you marry…”

“No,” replied Vaelora. “He ordered us to wed.” Vaelora looked to Quaeryt.

“I will leave you ladies.” He looked to Tyrena. “Did you leave retainers somewhere?”

“They are waiting in the main entry.”

“I will let them know that it will be a time before you return.” He nodded and left the study, not without wondering what might transpire.

Once away from the two, he walked swiftly to the main entry, where he found two guards and an older woman. “Lady Tyrena is meeting with Lord Bhayar’s sister at the moment. It may be a glass or so before she returns.”

All three nodded.

Quaeryt left them and returned to the clerks’ study, where he spent a quint going over the summary reports from Deucalon. There was no mention of expenditures by Myskyl. Quaeryt hadn’t expected any entries, but there was always the possibility.

Then he returned to the study that held the two ladies.

Vaelora immediately said, “I had Lady Tyrena add a few items to her petition. I thought that, should she remarry, the lands would still go to her daughter.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem…”

“You need to sign next to me,” added Vaelora.

At the end of the petition, beneath Tyrena’s signature, was a single sentence that bore Vaelora’s perfect penning: “Approval of the petition of Lady Tyrena D’Ryel-Alte is recommended.”

Quaeryt signed beside his wife, then imaged his seal beside hers.

Beneath their signatures was another short line. “It is so ordered, in spring after the fall of Variana to Lord Bhayar of Telaryn, this day of 13 Avryl.”

“We should present the petition, and Lady Tyrena, to Lord Bhayar while he is present in the chateau,” announced Vaelora, stepping back from the desk.

Although Quaeryt had not intended to do that, he could see Vaelora’s point. “Shall we go, Ladies?”

None of the three spoke until they reached the ranker by Bhayar’s door. The ranker looked to Quaeryt.

“Commander Quaeryt, Lady Vaelora, and Lady Tyrena D’Ryel-Alte.”

The ranker repeated the names, then opened the study door at Bhayar’s gruff, “Have them enter.”

The three advanced to where Bhayar stood beside the conference table.

“Lord Bhayar, might I present Tyrena D’Ryel-Alte, the widow of the late Ryel D’Alte, High Holder of lands near Rivages.”

Tyrena curtsied gracefully. “Lord Bhayar.”

Vaelora presented the petition. “There is but one heir, a daughter, and according to your instructions, the petition requests the lady be appointed as guardian until her daughter is married, and that the lands follow the bloodline of Ryel and Lady Tyrena.”

Bhayar took the petition, read through it carefully, then walked to his desk and signed it, then applied his seal. “Hold the lands in allegiance, Lady, and all will be well.”

“That I can do, Lord Bhayar, in full faith and thanks.” Tyrena curtsied deeply. “As I can, I will speak of your sense of fairness and justice.”

Bhayar looked to Vaelora, who stepped forward and took the sealed petition, and murmured almost voicelessly, “Thank you.”

“We will not take more of your time, sir,” said Quaeryt, inclining his head.

Bhayar smiled, then added, “I trust your return to Ryel will be peaceful, Lady, and give my greetings to your daughter.”

“I will indeed, Lord, with gratitude.”

The three left the study and walked down to the main entry. The two guards in black and silver livery looked relieved to see Tyrena, as did the older woman, also in black and silver.

Tyrena looked to Quaeryt, then to Vaelora. “I cannot thank you enough. One hopes for justice, but one cannot always expect it.”

“Lord Bhayar has always attempted to be just,” replied Quaeryt.

“It helps greatly when those who serve a ruler also believe in justice. That has seldom been the case in Bovaria, but I can hope that it will be so now.” Tyrena curtsied once more, then stepped back.

While Tyrena’s voice was firm, Quaeryt thought he saw a slight brightness in the eyes of the former Khanara.

As Quaeryt and Vaelora walked back toward the ministry studies, he asked, “How was your conversation with Tyrena?”

“You are a very naughty man, dearest.”

“Why?”

“Because you neglected to mention who she was … or to inform her who you are.”

“I told you her name-” Quaeryt couldn’t help but grin, even as Vaelora interrupted him.

“Dearest … that was most disrespectful. I didn’t tell her that.” She paused. “What did Bhayar say before you met with her?”

“I didn’t tell him who she was, except that she was Ryel’s widow. I wasn’t sure, not until I met her.”

“He’ll find out, sooner or later.”

“Possibly, but I doubt she’ll ever set foot in Variana again. She’ll raise her daughter and pay her tariffs and rebuild her holding.”

Vaelora nodded. “You may be right … this time.”

“What did she ask you?”

“That is between us. You did impress her, though.”

“And that’s not disrespectful-”

“Impressing other women might fall in that category…”

“Not unintentionally,” Quaeryt mock-protested.

Vaelora smiled sweetly, then grinned.