Rex Regis

31

By the time Quaeryt returned to the Chateau Regis and stabled the gelding, then walked up to his and Vaelora’s chambers, it was slightly past second glass. He found Vaelora in the sitting room reading.

“What are you reading?”

“The most recent history of Bovaria that I could find.” She closed the book and set it on the side table. “Was Taelmyn there? How did matters go?”

“He wasn’t there, but Lady Rhella was. She was less than enthusiastic about my presence or my past actions.…” Quaeryt went on to recount the conversation, word for word, as well as he could recall it. “She seemed slightly less imperious, just slightly, when I left.”

“Few who have not been in your boots, dearest, will ever understand. They will only look at the numbers slain in a single battle and ask why it could not have been different. Most will fail to understand that a long war has a far greater toll, both on those who fight and on those on whose lands battle after battle are fought. Little you or I can say will change that. Those who advocate restraint or mercy against a ruler who has attacked without provocation and who has terrorized his own people understand neither rulers nor war.”

“That may be. It was almost as though my telling her that her sister was alive happened to be some sort of imposition.”

“It may be. Perhaps the ‘honorable’ thing for Eluisa to do was to slash her wrists in her bath or throw herself in the Aluse and drown. Or perhaps Eluisa’s flight in some way disgraced Rhella … or she feels that it did.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but I did give her the address where she could write Eluisa, if she chooses.”

“You did what you could. She didn’t know any more about Kharst’s imagers?”

“She said she didn’t, and I don’t think she does.”

“The three evil ones … That almost sounds like Kharst never had any more than three dedicated to his personal … uses. Not recently, anyway.”

“That may be, but I don’t like the idea of three imagers that powerful remaining hidden in Bovaria … or anywhere in Lydar, for that matter.”

“They wouldn’t have fled to Khel,” Vaelora pointed out.

“No. I’d guess that they’re somewhere in Bovaria, likely in the north or northeast, and most likely as guests of a High Holder, who may not even want them as guests. I’d wager that the three are together for mutual protection.”

“The same idea you have for the Collegium, but with a less worthy end.”

“That bothers me. We might have to visit hundreds of High Holders…” Quaeryt paused, then asked, “Have you and the clerks been able to come up with any listing of High Holders? Do you have any idea how many there are in Bovaria?”

“We have a partial list and there are almost four hundred, but some of those may have run afoul of Kharst for all we know.”

“Do you know how many there are in Telaryn?”

“Father once said that there were more than six hundred in Telaryn, but some were barely that. Why?”

“I was just wondering how many the imagers might have to deal with … assuming we can make the Collegium work.”

“Too many,” said Vaelora with a laugh.

Quaeryt nodded. “The other thing she mentioned was the use of lead to protect senior officers against imaging. They must have worried that Kharst would use imagers against them.”

“I’m surprised that Kharst’s imagers survived, if he used them as assassins and destroyers.”

“I wonder if all of them did. Rhella said no one knew their names. He could have had more than three so that if one of them were killed-”

“Or failed.”

“With no one knowing their names … they could be anywhere, even somewhere here in Variana.”

“That’s why you need to hold your shields at all times, dearest.”

“At almost all times,” Quaeryt quipped back.

“All times when you’re out of the chateau and even those times when you’re in groups here in the chateau.”

“Almost like a prisoner.”

“That’s why you need Imagisle. Why I need Imagisle. I want you around for a long time.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Quaeryt glanced toward the window. “I wonder if we should line the bedchambers of the imagers with lead … at Imagisle, I mean.”

“Because other imagers might image in their sleep?”

“That was my thought.”

“Wouldn’t lead be hard to image in place?”

“It might be possible, so long as they were imaging from outside, but we’d have to be very careful. We might even have to have lead ore carted to Imagisle.” He shook his head. “That part of things will have to wait for a time. Bhayar still doesn’t have full control over Bovaria. Rather, we don’t know if he does, and we won’t until we know more about what’s happening with Myskyl.”

“Do you honestly think that Myskyl and Deucalon are planning to overthrow Bhayar?”

“I worry that they’re trying to set up matters so that they could, if everything goes well for them, but that there will be no traces of what they plan if matters don’t. That way, they can always be the perfect obedient marshal and submarshal, just carrying out orders.”

“What about the dispatches-the ones Bhayar hasn’t received?”

“I’d wager that Bhayar never directly ordered them to report. There is also a faint possibility that the couriers are being waylaid and killed by Bovarians.”

“Very faint, but you’re right about the orders. Brother dear would never think that necessary.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder what else Bhayar would not have thought necessary. Or what you’ve overlooked and not specifically required or inquired about. He hoped that whatever it might be, it wasn’t serious.

“What are our plans for dinner?”

“A quiet dinner with brother dear.”

“I could ask him if he actually ordered Myskyl to report…” Quaeryt shook his head. “He can’t have done that. Myskyl reports to Deucalon. Even if Bhayar asked Deucalon for reports…”

“Myskyl could claim he never received such orders.”

“Which he likely didn’t because it wasn’t in Deucalon’s interest to make that specific. It’s an assumed order in the chain of command.”

“What do you think Bhayar will do?”

“Sooner or later, he’ll send me to see what’s going on.”

“And Myskyl and Deucalon know that, and Myskyl will be waiting for you.”

“Not if he doesn’t know I’m coming.”

“He knows. He just doesn’t know when,” Vaelora said. “If you and Bhayar keep your departure and destination quiet and don’t tell Deucalon, you just might arrive before he expects you.”

“That’s likely the best we can do.”

“What are you going to do before dinner?” asked Vaelora, standing.

“At some point, I want to study the maps of the land and towns north of Variana.”

She eased closer to him. “At some point?”

“Later … I think,” he said as her hands took his, and their eyes met.

Much later, as Quaeryt lay beside Vaelora in the wide and comfortable bed, he couldn’t help but smile. Never would he have dreamed that he would marry, let alone be wed to a woman as beautiful and intelligent as Vaelora.

“Do I make you happy?” she whispered in his ear.

“You do … deliciously. Do I make you happy?”

“You do. Tell me again what you were thinking that afternoon in Finitas when Bhayar summoned you into the governor’s study.”

“I was worried. He told me that I was a problem, that I solved problems he didn’t know he had in ways he wouldn’t even have considered, and that he’d thought long and hard about what he needed to do to keep me in line. I was wondering if he was going to assign me to a post in Midcote or somewhere even more remote, and then he said he’d come up with a solution, and that we’d come to like it. I wasn’t even sure what he meant … until he opened the door and you were standing there. And then you said, so sweetly, that you’d find a way to have my jacket tailored around my splinted arm for the wedding. I was stunned.”

“You looked stunned.”

“Happily stunned,” Quaeryt said. “Now … you tell me what you were thinking. Again. I like hearing it.”

“Brother dear kept telling me the whole long ride to Tilbora that I was proving a terrible challenge to him. He said I was so much of a challenge that he dared not leave me alone with Aelina in Solis. He kept asking why I persisted in writing a penniless scholar. I told him that there was no one else to write who dared return my letters, especially with wit … and that you were proving that he was right to send you to Tilbor. He grumbled that you’d left him no choice, either in sending you or in forcing him to ride to Tilbor. I didn’t quite believe him, but he can be incredibly headstrong … and by the way, you have curbed that, dearest.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he knows that you can stand up to him, and that he can’t bully you.”

“He also knows that I’ll back you.”

“That, too.” Vaelora smiled and kissed Quaeryt’s cheek.

“What were you thinking when he dragged you into the governor’s study?”

“He didn’t do that. He put me in a side study and told me to stay there until he dealt with pressing matters. He even posted one of his personal guards there to make sure. I wasn’t sure whether he was going to force me to tell you never to write me again, or tell you the same. I really didn’t expect what happened.”

“Go on,” said Quaeryt with a grin.

“When he started talking about us … and he never actually said we were to be wed until he’d talked around it for half a quint-”

“It wasn’t that long.”

“It seemed that long. I wanted to stomp on his boots with mine. He couldn’t even admit that we might actually like each other.”

“He does have a strange sense of humor.” Quaeryt grinned again.

“Dearest…”

Quaeryt didn’t let her finish the complaint. Instead, he kissed her.

Later … they had to wash up and dress in a hurry in order to make it down to the family dining chamber in time for dinner with Bhayar.

Even so, Bhayar was waiting outside the archway. “I trust you had a pleasant afternoon.” He smiled. “I am envious.”

“I did suggest you send for Aelina,” said Quaeryt.

“As did I,” added Vaelora.

“I will … after certain matters are resolved.” Bhayar gestured toward the table beyond the archway. “We’re having a Bovarian beef dish, similar to paprikash, but somewhat less fiery, I’m told.”

Once the three were seated, with Bhayar at the head of the table and Quaeryt and Vaelora on each side of him, Bhayar looked to Vaelora. “Red wine?”

“Please.”

“And pale lager?”

“Of course,” replied Quaeryt, “although I’m certain the wine would be excellent as well.”

“It is, but at family dinners, personal taste outweighs protocol.”

The serving girl poured the red wine into Bhayar’s and Vaelora’s goblets, and then filled Quaeryt’s beaker from a separate pitcher. Then she and another server brought in two platters and a covered casserole dish. After that, the servers departed.

Bhayar served Vaelora, and then himself, both the grass rice and the mushroom beef paprika over it, and the early almond beans. Quaeryt served himself.

Bhayar lifted his glass. “A toast to family.”

“To family,” replied Quaeryt and Vaelora.

Then Bhayar lifted his knife. For a time, no one spoke. The beef was mildly seasoned, and far more to Quaeryt’s taste than the fiery Yaran paprikash so often served in Solis and Extela, and the grass rice had been cooked well enough that it was only slightly crunchy. The almond beans were perfect.

After a time, Bhayar set down his utensils, took a swallow of wine, and then said, “There is another reason for this dinner besides enjoying it with family.”

Quaeryt nodded and waited.

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise,” said Vaelora demurely.

“I know you wouldn’t, sister dear.

“I’ve been considering what you both told me yesterday. I also have to confess that the lack of dispatches bothers me greatly. I’m inclined to think that some Bovarians are waylaying dispatch riders in order to disrupt matters … and possibly create mistrust and confusion between Myskyl’s forces and Variana.”

“That is possible,” said Quaeryt evenly. “It would take considerable resources to intercept every single rider over two months. If that is what is happening, that would indicate a group of High Holders or wealthy factors.”

“Precisely,” rejoined Bhayar. “But … there is also the possibility that Myskyl has somehow been made a captive of sorts, either by plotting High Holders or by Kharst’s imagers. I honestly do not see him as a traitor … but I also cannot dismiss that possibility.” Bhayar looked to his sister. “But that is only one possibility.”

“So Quaeryt must look into at least three possibilities, none pleasant.”

“Who else better?” Bhayar raised his eyebrows.

“What exactly do you have in mind?” asked Quaeryt.

“I’d like you to take first company and Subcommander Calkoran’s remaining company and ride north to investigate the situation. I leave to you the matter of imagers. I see no point in dispatching Eleventh Regiment.”

“Because one regiment will make no difference, one way or another?” asked Quaeryt.

“Do you think it will?” countered Bhayar.

“No, but I’ll agree to that only if you issue orders that Eleventh Regiment reports only to you or me, and not to Deucalon.” Quaeryt paused. “Or to the Minister of Administration and Supply for Bovaria.”

Bhayar shook his head ruefully. “I think that’s unnecessary, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll issue that order.”

“In writing, so that I can give a copy to Subcommander Khaern before we leave.”

Bhayar nodded.

“We’ll leave on Meredi morning, if that’s agreeable.”

“Good.” Bhayar paused and took a sip from his goblet. “I don’t like this … I have to tell you. I’ve sent messengers with instructions twice in the last six weeks … and I’ve heard nothing.”

Quaeryt refrained from commenting, only acknowledging that he had heard Bhayar’s words with a nod and an attentive expression.

“I’ve also considered what you heard from the widow of High Holder Ryel … do you think her report is accurate?”

“I fear that it is very accurate,” replied Quaeryt.

“As do I,” added Vaelora. “I talked to her privately for a time as well.”

“Well,” Bhayar said almost ruefully, if with a touch of humor in his voice, “you did say that holding Bovaria would be difficult.”

“I did,” admitted Quaeryt, “but I would that I’d been wrong.” And I didn’t expect Myskyl and Deucalon to play matters out in quite this fashion.

“I won’t give you instructions, because you’ll do what you will in any case. Just do what you think is best.”

Haven’t I always? “I do have one request, though.”

“Oh?”

“It would be most helpful if you avoid talking to Deucalon about anything before Meredi, but especially about what the imagers and I will be doing.”

“You think that’s necessary?”

“I don’t know. If there’s some collusion between the two, the delay could make a difference. If there’s no collusion, the delay won’t matter.”

Bhayar nodded. “I can see that. But won’t he see what you’re doing?”

“Someone will see two companies going in two different directions, but not Eleventh Regiment, and neither will head north immediately.”

“I’ll take care not to say anything.” Bhayar’s tone was resigned.

“Thank you. I’ll do my best on this, and I’m certain Vaelora can handle the ministry in my absence.”

“She can, but some might not be too pleased.”

Such as Deucalon. “They won’t say anything,” replied Quaeryt, “not to you.”

“Now that we covered that,” Bhayar said, “I’d like Vaelora’s thoughts on how the grounds you and the imagers re-shaped might be planted, and what sort of gardens might be appropriate.”

“I would think that you might wish a stone promenade down from the carriage waiting area to the circular road, with narrow gardens on each side…”

Quaeryt was happy to listen as the two discussed the grounds. He had his own ideas for Imagisle, and he doubted Bhayar even cared, so long as the Chateau Regis was to his and Aelina’s tastes.

Later, after a dessert consisting of cherry tarts, the three rose, and Bhayar made his way to the rear staircase that led directly to his study.

“I don’t like the idea of your not having Eleventh Regiment,” said Vaelora as she and Quaeryt walked up the grand staircase toward their quarters.

“If this is a Bovarian plot, I certainly don’t need a full regiment.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I think it’s the least likely possibility, but sometimes it is the least likely possibilities that are what has happened … as we discussed earlier this afternoon.” Quaeryt grinned at his wife.

“You don’t believe that Bovarians are behind this, do you?”

“I don’t know who or what is, but if Myskyl’s in full revolt against Bhayar, one regiment won’t make a difference, not when he has six, and I can trust Khaern to protect you and the remaining imagers. Besides, if there is a revolt or plot, I’ll have to figure out how to deal with it without destroying Bhayar’s own regiments. Otherwise, everything will fall apart in any case.”

“Why can’t people be loyal?” Vaelora shook her head. “I know. They all think they can do a better job.”

“Sometimes they might be able to,” said Quaeryt, thinking of Rescalyn, “but usually they never think of the costs to others caused by their efforts to gain the power to do what they think is best. That’s why trying to overthrow a decent ruler because you think you can do a better job often leads to a far worse situation … even if you succeed in toppling the ruler. And nothing works very well for months or years. Look at the mess we had in Extela and how much remains to be done here.”

“You think Bhayar is only decent?”

“He’s better than that, but he’s not outstanding yet, and he won’t be until he learns more and consolidates his power. Deucalon might be a bit better as an administrator, but he doesn’t really know when to take risks. Myskyl would be worse, and he doesn’t know it, but he’s a very able schemer, the type of man able to undermine anyone, but not all that good as a leader. He’s been fortunate because he’s always had a capable superior officer and good subordinates.”

“And what about you, dearest?”

“I’m decent, maybe a bit better with small groups, and I’ve had very good subordinates. I’m very good at getting distasteful but necessary tasks done for a ruler. I’d make a good maître of the Collegium.”

“I think you’re better than you think.”

“Even if I happen to be, no one-not High Holders, not factors, and not most of the people-would ever want a known imager to be the head of anything except other imagers. But no one except a strong imager can hold a group of imagers together. My experiences with the ones I command have made that very clear.”

“Let us hope that events unfold in a way that allows your expectations, dearest.”

“They won’t.” Quaeryt laughed softly. “Whatever may be occurring with Myskyl won’t unfold the way we wish without a great deal more effort. I know that, and so, I suspect, do you.”

“One can hope.”

“One can always hope, but hope without great effort is usually fruitless.”

Vaelora reached out and took his hand as they reached the top of the grand staircase, squeezing it gently.