The Lord-Protector's Daughter (12 page)

Mykella didn't lie awake on
Duadi night, but neither did she sleep all that well. Again, her dreams were far from pleasant, especially the one in which the Ifrit appeared and purple arms rose from the Table and captured her, time after time. Despite the chill in her chamber, she awoke damp with sweat that smelled of fear, and it took her longer than usual to wash up and dress. Part of that slowness was because she was still thinking, distractedly, about how little she had been able to learn or accomplish through the Table and how long it was taking her to learn much of anything about either the Table or the tariff situation.

When Mykella stepped into the breakfast room on Tridi morning, she was surprised to see Jeraxylt sitting in his place, wearing a clean Southern Guards uniform. “When did you get back from your maneuvers?”

“Early evening,” he replied with a smile.

“You weren't at dinner.”

“I had other plans.” His smile was broader.

Mykella managed not to flush or to make a cutting remark. She just nodded as she settled into her place just before her father stepped into the breakfast room.

“Good morning,” offered Feranyt cheerfully.

“Good morning.”

“It's good to see you all so cheerful.”

Both Muergya and Akilsa served breakfast, beginning with Feranyt—crispy bacon, cheese omelets that were warm enough that Mykella could see the heat rising, and mixed berry biscuits.

“What did you do on your maneuvers in Viencet?” asked Salyna.

“Maneuvers,” replied Jeraxylt after swallowing a bite of omelet.

“I know
that
,” replied Salyna. “What kind of maneuvers? Charges? By squad or by full company? Open terrain pursuit?”

“Pretty much everything. They have a special area there where they train…” Jeraxylt let his words die off as he took a swallow of spiced tea.

“All the replacement troopers before they're sent to the border posts?” pressed Salyna.

“Salyna,” interjected Feranyt, “you might let your brother eat his breakfast.”

“Yes, Father.”

Mykella could tell that Salyna was irritated, despite the sweetness in her voice.

After that Salyna didn't say much, and neither did Mykella nor Rachylana.

Before long, Feranyt finished his second mug of spiced tea, then rose from the table with a nod at his offspring and strode off.

Mykella followed immediately, but waited outside the family breakfast room for Jeraxylt because she definitely didn't want Rachylana to hear the conversation that would follow, whether Jeraxylt agreed with her plan or not. As he stepped into the hall, she cornered him. “Have some of the guards left or been stipended off?”

“How would I know?” Jeraxylt looked past her down the corridor toward the staircase to the main level of the palace.

“You know everything about the Guards,” Mykella said gently. “You've told me how many companies and battalions there are…”

“The numbers change every week, and every season. There might be a few less now. Some of the companies are under strength.” Jeraxylt paused. “I wouldn't know about stipends to ranker guards. I do know that Majer Querlyt petitioned for an early stipend because of deaths in his family. The Arms-Commander granted it. Commander Demyl said that there were reasons to grant it, but they only gave him a half stipend, and if he'd served two more years, it would have been full.”

“Was he a good commander?”

“One of the best. He and Undercommander Areyst were the ones who turned back the Ongelyan nomads three years ago, and he hardly lost any men at all. Neither did Areyst. Oh, Majer Choalt was there, too, but he was a captain then. Good man, though.”

“Jeraxylt? How would you like to help me?” Mykella tried to make her voice confidentially winning.

“Mykella…I am rather…involved in my training.”

“What I have in mind will certainly not interfere with your training.” She offered her most persuasive smile.

“Whom do you want to meet?” He grinned broadly.

“It's not that kind of help.” She didn't need Jeraxylt's assistance in meeting men, not that she'd seen any in the Southern Guards or around the palace who appealed to her. “I need to follow up on some of the tariff collections, and I need an escort.”

“Mykella…” His voice expressed extreme doubt.

“Of course, I could make it known that you've been bedding Majer Allahyr's younger daughter.”

“So?”

“Father wouldn't be pleased that you're taking your pleasures with the younger sister of his mistress, nor would he like it known. Besides, if you help me, you'll get to ride through Tempre in that uniform, and everyone will know who you are and admire you.”

“Why don't you ask Arms-Commander Nephryt?”

“My asking him might make matters…difficult, because, well…I hope you understand. Anyway, the collections don't match up. You don't want to see Father cheated, do you?”

“I don't know…”

“Would you like to be cheated when you become Lord-Protector?” she asked. “Would you like to see the cheating continue until you do, and then have to be the one to tell everyone that they can't keep doing what they've done for years?”

Jeraxylt thought about that for a moment. “How do you know…” He shook his head. “You and your ledgers and figures.” Then he cocked his head and smiled.

Mykella could sense what he was feeling—the mix of wanting to show initiative, the appeal of being seen in uniform, and the idea of wanting to call in a future favor from Mykella, as well as a certain doubt.

“I can get some of my squad to do it tomorrow afternoon, the first glass of the afternoon,” he said after a moment. “I'll make it a squad exercise. They'll think it's all an excuse, but it's the sort of thing they'd think I'd want to do.” Another smile followed. “You do realize…”

“That I'll owe you a favor? Yes. But it has to be the same kind—nothing that's improper.”

Jeraxylt nodded. “I'll expect the same diligence from you when I'm Lord-Protector.”

“You'll have it.” That, she could promise, and he would certainly need it…assuming she hadn't been packed off to Dereka or some other awful place.

When he stepped away and headed for the main staircase, she realized that she could sense that her brother also had one of the unseen threads that ran from him into the ground—but his thread was more of a golden brown, and it trailed into the distance, while hers seemed to plunge into the depths beneath the palace. Everyone had such a thread, but what did the colors and the direction in which the thread stretched mean? What did it mean?

After she washed up and left the family quarters, Mykella headed toward the Finance chambers for another day of looking at figures and trying not to appear concerned, while she waited to see what she could learn from visiting various factors on Quattri. If Jeraxylt would keep his promise. If…

The remainder of Tridi dragged
out, while Mykella sat at her table and reviewed and refigured, then calculated some more. Usually, working with the ledgers and tracking the numbers calmed her, but not on Tridi, because the more she figured, the more different places she thought she was finding where golds had been diverted in differing ways. But in all of those instances, she had no proof, only a sense based on the patterns of the figures themselves.

At dinner she said little, leaving the conversation to Eranya and Rachylana, who talked about the forthcoming year-turn ball. Once her father and Eranya had left, and then Jeraxylt, she thought about visiting the Table once more, then decided against it, even as a small voice in her thoughts insisted that she would regret not doing so. Yet…knowing that the Ifrit was waiting…lurking, she just could not bring herself to descend into the depths.

Breakfast on Quattri didn't begin all that more auspiciously.

“You didn't spend all that much time on maneuvers,” Salyna said to Jeraxylt. “Will you be doing more before long?”

“Maneuvers and exercises are scheduled regularly,” he replied. “We have to be prepared for whatever might happen.”

“Berenyt says that the Prince of Northcoast and the Prince of Midcoast are developing an alliance and will attack us in the spring.” The redhead smiled brightly.

“On what basis did he make that pronouncement?” asked Feranyt, his tone skeptical.

“He just said it,” replied Rachylana.

“Words without backing are just words. So are numbers,” Feranyt said dryly.

“I'll ask him,” replied Rachylana. Her face tightened slightly, but she did not say more.

Mykella was not about to dismiss Berenyt's words as casually as her father had appeared to, especially since Berenyt's stepmother just happened to be the daughter of the Prince of Northcoast.

After that, conversation was rather limited, and Jeraxylt hurried away immediately after Feranyt rose.

“Berenyt, always Berenyt,” Mykella said quietly.

Before Mykella could say more, Rachylana snapped back, “He's more interesting than all those ledgers you bury yourself in. You can't wed a ledger, you know.” Then she turned to Salyna. “Nor a saber, either.” She pushed back her chair, stood, and walked out of the breakfast room.

Salyna and Mykella exchanged glances.

“You can't tell her anything,” Salyna said quietly, “not if it's the slightest bit critical of Berenyt.”

“He's using her so much, and it's so hard not to say anything,” Mykella replied.

“We all make our own mistakes.” Salyna stood. “I might get to spar with Dulfuss this morning. He's good. I always learn when I work out with him.”

“That's good.” Mykella swallowed the last drops of her tea, then rose.

After washing up, she made her way to the Finance study, where her eyes kept skipping over the pages in the ledger while she waited for the time when she could leave and saddle the gray and meet Jeraxylt. She just hoped he had remembered and had been able to arrange everything.

A good quarter glass before Jeraxylt and his squad were to meet her, Mykella was already mounted, her ledger in the saddlebag, waiting in the cold winter air of early afternoon. She was vaguely surprised at how warm the nightsilk riding jacket was, but she was most comfortable as she studied the rear courtyard of the palace.

Finally, Jeraxylt rode in and reined up beside her. “The squad's waiting in front.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and urged the gelding forward beside her brother's chestnut.

Neither said anything until they were at the head of the column.

“Where do you want to start?” he asked. “At the barge-piers or the Great Piers?”

“Actually, the first place is that of Seltyr Almardyn.”

“You said we were visiting tariff collectors,” Jeraxylt murmured, his tone cool.

“No,” replied Mykella softly, “I said we needed to check on the tariff collections, and that means visiting those bargemasters and trade factors who paid them.”

“They'll just say that they paid…”

“They have to have receipts…and I'll
know
if they're accurate, once I compare them all.”

“You would.” The words were under his breath. “Column! Forward!”

The faint chill breeze stiffened into a colder wind as they rode westward from the palace and then turned south. Seltyr and High Factor Almardyn's warehouse was less than a block to the south of the Great Piers, an ancient amber stone structure of two stories with a series of loading docks on the west side.

Jeraxylt had the squad rein up in front of the front entrance, a simple doorway, if with an ornate marble arch above it. He accompanied Mykella to the door. “You would start with a Seltyr.”

“He's first on the list.”

Clearly, the sound of a squad of Southern Guards had alerted someone, because Almardyn himself opened the door. His eyes widened as he looked from Jeraxylt to Mykella, and back to Jeraxylt, but he barely paused before saying, “Please come in.”

Mykella noted that his life-thread was more of a deeper brown, and somehow…frayed.

The two followed him to the study, a small white-plastered chamber with a table-desk, and wooden file boxes stacked neatly to the right. There, Almardyn turned. “Both the Lord-Protector's heir and daughter at my door…I am indeed honored. Might I ask why?”

“It's a bit…unusual,” Mykella said. “You might know that I oversee the accounts of the Finance Ministry for my father…”

“I did not know, but would that all daughters were so dutiful…”

Mykella could sense the doubts, but she just smiled before speaking. “And I discovered that some figures had been entered incorrectly. It might be that an entire column was one set of numbers off, but since several of the payment receipts were spoiled, it seemed that the easiest thing to do was to check with those who paid the last tariffs.” Mykella did her best to project absolute conviction and assurance, along with a hint of embarrassment about Lord Joramyl.

“What would you like of me?”

“Just a quick look at your receipt for your fall tariff,” Mykella said. “I may not have to visit every factor, but since the lists are in alphabetical order…”

“I'm the fortunate one. Just a moment.” Almardyn turned and lifted one box, then another, opening the third. “Should be on top here. Yes.” He turned and extended a heavy oblong card, bordered in the blue of the Lord-Protector. “Here you have it. The seal is quite clear.”

“I'm certain it is,” Mykella replied. “The fault lies not with you or the tariff collector.” She copied the number into the new ledger she carried, one she had designed to show the discrepancies. Almardyn had paid a good ten golds more than had been entered in the collection ledger. She straightened. “Thank you very much, Seltyr and High Factor. Your diligence and cooperation are much appreciated.”

“I'm certain your sire appreciates yours as well,” replied Almardyn.

“We do thank you,” Mykella said, inclining her head slightly, before turning to depart.

Little more was said, until Mykella and Jeraxylt had left the factor's building.

“For all your fine words, he'll still think you're checking to see if he's a thief,” murmured Jeraxylt as they walked out and to their waiting mounts and Jeraxylt's squad.

“Not after word gets around that everyone's been visited,” replied Mykella. “Besides, is anyone going to fault a Lord-Protector for checking on tariff collections once in a while during his reign?”

“It's going to cause problems,” predicted her brother.

“I'm sure it will, but it will create more problems if we don't verify that it's happening and how much Father is losing.”

“That's the only reason I can see for this.”

Mykella had to jump to mount the gelding, since there was no mounting block nearby and she wasn't about to ask for a leg up. Besides, she had done that for years, and managed it relatively gracefully, she thought.

Once mounted, she turned in the saddle. “We'll see High Factor Rhavyl next. He's just two blocks down.”

“That's not in alphabetical order…” began Jeraxylt.

“I know, but I wanted to disarm Almardyn as much as I could. I did arrange the order so that it's the shortest to ride.”

Jeraxylt shook his head.

Out of the twenty-three bargemasters and High Factors Mykella visited, she managed to meet eighteen. With the exception of Hasenyt—the sole factor whom the Lord-Protector and Mykella knew personally—every single one had a receipt for paying more golds than had been entered in the ledger as having been received, a fact Mykella did not reveal even to Jeraxylt.

Finally, he leaned over in the saddle. “You haven't told me what you've found, and I've gone out of my way…”

“I don't know for sure, yet,” she temporized. “Now I have to compare the numbers to the tariff ledgers. I used a fresh ledger, because I didn't want to take the one with the receipts from the palace.”

She had to work hard to keep a pleasant expression as they rode back toward the palace. She had no more than reined up outside the gates to the courtyard, about to take her leave of Jeraxylt, when another officer rode toward them. He was blond, of medium height, and muscular. While his face was calm, she could sense the anger.

“Oh, frig…” muttered Jeraxylt. “I knew this might be trouble. That's Undercommander Areyst.”

The undercommander reined up and looked directly at Jeraxylt. His green eyes conveyed a chill that was not reflected in the tone of the words that followed. “I don't recall authorizing any sort of patrol in Tempre.”

Mykella eased her gray gelding forward, cutting between Jeraxylt and the senior officer. She smiled politely. “Undercommander? Does the Finance Ministry serve the Lord-Protector?”

Areyst turned to her, not that he had a choice. “I beg your pardon, Mistress Mykella?” His tone remained cool.

“I asked you if the Finance Ministry served the Lord-Protector.”

Areyst's thin lips turned up slightly at the corners. “How could I possibly contest that, Mistress?”

“On behalf of the Ministry, I requested an escort to check some tariff records. Perhaps I should have contacted you directly, but was there any harm done by Jeraxylt's arranging the escort for me?” Mykella extended the ledger she carried. “I was cross-checking the entries in this ledger. Would you care to see them?”

“I think not, Mistress. Your word, as is your sire's, is more than enough.”

Mykella thought she sensed a grudging admiration from the undercommander, the man third in line of command for the Southern Guards, although his anger had not totally abated. “Thank you, Undercommander. I apologize if I've caused any difficulty, but, as always, I have only the best interests of the Lord-Protector and the people of Tempre at heart, as I know you do.” Mykella tried to project true concern, which she felt, because she could sense the basic honesty of Areyst, whom she had only seen previously from a distance, or in passing. She added, “If there is any fault, it must be mine, for I was the one who requested the service of my brother. If you find that a fault, please tell the Lord-Protector directly, and let him know that it was my doing. Jeraxylt was only trying to accommodate me.”

Areyst smiled faintly, an expression now devoid of bitterness or anger and holding barely veiled amusement. “It might be best if it were logged as a commercial verification patrol.” He turned to Jeraxylt. “I would appreciate it if you would do that.” Then he looked back to Mykella, still appraising her. “I would also request, if further such patrols are needed, Mistress Mykella, that you contact me.”

“I would doubt the need anytime in the immediate future, Undercommander, but I will indeed follow your advice.” And she would, because she could sense that honesty and loyalty ran all the way through him…and through a life-thread that held a faint green amid a golden brown.

Areyst eased his mount forward slightly and nodded to Jeraxylt. “Your squad will be doing arms practice on foot tomorrow. Riding the stones all afternoon is hard on mounts.”

“Yes, sir.”

Only after Areyst had ridden off, eastward, in the direction of the Southern Guard compound, did Jeraxylt turn to Mykella. “You owe me double for this.”

“I do,” she acknowledged demurely.
And you owe me far more than you realize.

By the time she had unsaddled and groomed the gelding, then returned to the Finance study, only Kiedryn remained, and he was replacing the ledgers on the shelves.

“Mistress Mykella.” He nodded.

“I'm going to take several of the ledgers to my chambers, Kiedryn. I'll have them back in the morning. They won't leave this level of the palace.”

“I'm certain they won't, Mistress.”

Mykella gathered the tariff collection ledger, as well as the current account master ledger for the Southern Guards, then left Kiedryn to close and lock the study.

After the evening meal, at which Feranyt made no mention of patrols, thankfully, Mykella retired to her chambers to study the ledgers. That required going through the collections, line by line, season by season, and then comparing the entries to the figures she had recorded from the stamped and sealed receipts she had observed.

It was a good two glasses later when she leaned back and looked over her calculations.

What she had suspected was in fact true. The total discrepancy for the fall tariffs was close to two hundred golds. If the same had been true for the other four seasons, and her estimates suggested that it had been, Joramyl—or someone—had diverted close to a thousand golds from just seventeen factors and bargemasters. Her calculations suggested that other diversions were also taking place, but she was not about to try further excursions without presenting what she had verified to her father. Nor, after his remarks that morning, was she about to suggest those other diversions, not until she had a similar level of proof.