Whisper of Waves

70

6 Uktar, the Year of the Wave (1364 DR)

SECOND QUARTER, INNARLITH

While the warm autumn rain drenched the city of Innarlith, Marek Rymut finally met Willem Korvan. Marek had heard his name, and even seen him from afar, on a number of occasions. He knew, too, that Willem had been seeing his niece Halina. He knew, in fact, what inns they frequented and when. Marek could call to mind specific details of the young Cormyrean’s career, from the moment he came to Innarlith in the employ of the master builder-an important professional acquaintance of Marek’s-through the rumors of Willem’s having murdered the old senator Khonsu and through to his ascension to the senate in the debt of Meykhati.

“You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?” Marek asked, a sly grin splitting his face.

Willem squirmed in his chair, his eyes darting to Meykhati, who was the only other person at the small table in their private room at the Peacock Resplendent. Marek enjoyed watching the junior senator’s discomfiture almost as much as he enjoyed watching the junior senator himself. The Cormyrean was a beautiful, almost perfect specimen. The structure of his face was worthy of sonnets, his broad shoulders enough to murder for.

“M-Master Rymut,” Willem stammered, his lovely face turning red. “Sir, please forgive me if I’ve given you that impression.”

“Oh, you’re forgiven,” Marek replied with the same sly grin.

Willem’s eyes moved around the room, settling on nothing and doing everything he could to avoid looking at Marek.

“You have been avoiding him, haven’t you, Willem?” Meykhati said, his eyes flicking to meet Marek’s.

Willem sighed and his squirming turned into a sort of agonized writhing.

“Do tell,” Marek teased.

“I, um …” Willem muttered, looking at Meykhati with such desperate, powerless pleading that Marek started squirming too, but for very different reasons.

“Perhaps it’s his chivalrous Cormyrean ways,” Meykhati explained, “but Willem here was concerned that he meet you only after he had achieved a certain position in the city-state.”

Marek smiled and nodded, hoping his expression would help the junior senator relax at least a little. It appeared to help.

“Well, then,” the Red Wizard said, “now you’re a senator, and I can’t imagine you hoped for more than that.”

“No,” Willem answered, the blush fading from his cheeks. “No, sir, I couldn’t possibly.”

“I must be honest with you, Willem,” said Marek. “I’ve been curious as to why our paths haven’t crossed until now. We have so many friends in common, I thought there must be a reason. Now that I have that reason, all is forgiven.”

Willem blushed again, but not as badly, and nodded.

“Was there something you wished to discuss with me?” Marek prompted. He enjoyed the young man’s company but had business to attend to in the Land of One Hundred and Thirteen. “Perhaps you’ve come to ask for my niece’s hand in marriage?”

Marek chuckled at the look of mute shock that exploded from Willem’s face.

“I think that’s lovely,” Marek went on, his heart not allowing him to torment the young man too much. “She’s a terribly lovely, lovely girl and I would imagine your children will be equally lovely, if not even more lovely. We’ll plan a lovely wedding and invite everyone who’s anyone in Innarlith.”

Meykhati struggled not to laugh every time Marek said “lovely,” which was why he said it so much. Willem appeared more and more distressed. Marek had seen condemned men with the same expression as the magistrate described the time and manner of their deaths.

Beshaba preserve us, Marek thought. I’m going to enjoy him!

“Thank you, Master Rymut,” Willem mumbled, eyes glued to the tabletop.

“Oh, no, Willem,” Marek said, putting a gentle hand on the Cormyrean’s strong forearm, “we’re to be family. I insist you call me Marek. Or would you prefer Uncle?”

Willem snatched his arm away, which made Meykhati laugh again.

“I imagine that you’ll be ending things with the master builder’s daughter,” Marek said, only slowly withdrawing his own hand. Willem’s face went from red to white. “A man in your position has to learn where to go for his dalliances. You certainly don’t play up, as it were.”

The look on Willem’s face was priceless. It was plain that he wasn’t sure what Marek meant by “play up,” but he’d get it soon enough. It was Marek’s way of telling Willem that, at least in the Thayan’s mind, Phyrea was Halina’s better, and she was, after all.

“I have every confidence that Willem will do anything to avoid embarrassing either of us or himself,” Meykhati said.

“She’s a charming young thing, though, isn’t she?” Marek prodded. “Phyrea, I mean. Why, in another life, I might have … Well, in another life.”

“Y-you …” Willem stammered. “You know Phyrea?”

Meykhati looked at Willem with disappointment, but the younger man didn’t notice.

“Oh, I’ve known her family for years,” Marek replied. “Even then, well … everyone knows Phyrea, if you know what I mean.”

Willem’s expression was plain. He didn’t know what Marek meant, but he was nervous just the same.

“I haven’t seen her in months,” Willem said. “She left the city. She’s gone to live in the country.”

“Not any more,” Marek was pleased to inform him. “She’s been back for some time. Apparently, the fresh air sufficed to rejuvenate her spirit. Anyway, she seems different somehow. Perhaps she’s simply maturing … growing out of certain things, and so on.”

Willem wore his emotions so plainly on his face Marek would have been embarrassed for him if he hadn’t been having so much fun.

“She’s …?”

They looked up when someone walked into the room, surprised that the privacy they’d paid so dearly for had been interrupted. Marek relaxed when he saw that it was Nyla. He’d almost forgotten that she had been included in the invitation. Apparently, Meykhati was tiring of showing his new boy off to the right people one at a time and was wrapping things up faster.

“Nyla, darling,” Marek said as he stood.

The other two men stood too, as was customary when a lady entered a room, though at least Marek and Meykhati knew that Nyla was no lady. Marek grinned and they embraced. The woman’s eye patch tickled his face. Meykhati didn’t touch her, but they nodded at each other. She didn’t appear to notice Willem at all at first.

Meykhati made the introductions, and Marek could feel the woman begin to take Willem in. Though she was years his senior, the look in her one eye, the purse of her lips, and the twist of her hips on her chair made it clear that she saw all the things in Willem that Marek had seen.

“So, Senator Nyla,” Marek said, “your trade is well, I hope?”

Nyla grimaced at him. She had taken complete control of prostitution throughout the city years ago and had made herself one of the wealthiest women in Innarlith. Though everyone knew how she made the coin that bought her seat on the senate, and almost every other senator availed himself of her services from time to time, there was an unspoken agreement on the part of all the aristocracy not to address it. Profit from it, live it, but for goodness’s sake, don’t talk about it. Marek adored that sort of genteel hypocrisy.

“Fine,” Nyla answered. She brushed an errant strand of hair off her eye patch. “And you, Master Rymut? It’s been over a month, but you seem no worse off for very nearly being blown back to Bezantur.”

Marek laughed and said, “Oh, no, it wasn’t nearly that bad, my dear. A half-hearted attempt by a poor, lonely, misguided, unfortunate soul. Seems he was miffed with me for having assumed some of his clients some months back. He’s a kind of journeyman alchemist, I’ve been told. Not a good one, but good enough to make loud noises and upset a fine afternoon’s walk. Anyway, I’m from the city of Nethjet.”

They stared at each other for a moment that Marek was sure was uncomfortable for Meykhati and Willem.

“Well,” Nyla said at last, “I’m glad you’re well. I can’t say I remember hearing, though … has the assassin been executed yet? I was told there was some kind of complication?”

“No, the would-be assassin is quite alive,” Marek said. “In fact I’ve recently petitioned the ransar for his release.”

The three senators looked at him with mouths agape. That reaction alone was worth the effort to effect Surero’s parole.

“Really, senators,” he said. “Don’t be bloodthirsty.”

“He tried to kill you, Marek,” Meykhati said.

The Red Wizard shrugged and sat back in his chair.

Meykhati started in on a diatribe about the ingratitude of the masses, but Marek didn’t pay any attention.