The Lord-Protector's Daughter (14 page)

She concentrated on the greenish blackness in the stone beneath her. Time passed more slowly, and the effort clearly took more energy, but she began to drift down through the sand and stone and into the chill beneath, although the greenish black did not seem quite so cold as the purple of the Table in Tempre. Locating the blue point that was Tempre was far easier, and before long she stood on the Table from which she had departed.

Mist billowed off her nightsilk jacket—ice-mist.

She did not sense the purple of the Ifrit, and she vaulted down from the Table, then turned to see if she could determine what Joramyl might be doing. The mists swirled and then vanished, showing her uncle still riding. This time, he was in a more lighted place, and coming down the main avenue past the public gardens and toward the palace. He was accompanied by the same men in black and another figure, hooded, but in brown, so that she could not make out either his hair or face.

Her entire body began to shiver, and her legs to tremble.

Why did using the Table leave her so exhausted? It didn't seem to take that much effort, and the effort was all in her head, wasn't it?

She released the image shown by the Table and stepped back, then turned. Slow step by slow step she made her way from the chamber, along the corridor and up the narrow lower staircase. Only just before she unlocked the staircase door did she create a concealment shield. Immediately, she began to shiver. Yet she dared not be discovered.

How she made it along the west main level corridor and then up the main staircase undetected, she wasn't certain, but once she stepped into her own chamber, she released the shield…and swallowed.

“Where have you been?” asked Salyna crossly, looking up from the old armchair by the window, blinking, as if she'd dozed off. “Rachylana's upset and furious, and I couldn't find you anywhere.”

Mykella sank onto the bed. “I was out…on the narrows…” That was the only explanation that came to mind.

“In an ice-storm? You were outside on those slippery stones? You could have fallen right into the courtyard.” Salyna shook her head, half-sleepily. “It's stupid to risk getting yourself killed when you don't even know whether the Deforyan envoy might ask for your hand for the Landarch's heir.”

“I had to think,” Mykella evaded.

“That wasn't very thoughtful.”

“I won't do it again.” Not that she'd actually done it, but she certainly didn't want to reveal what she had been doing. “Rachylana's really upset?”

“Wouldn't you be? Father looked right at her when he said it.”

“She's interested in Berenyt, but Father wouldn't allow that,” said Mykella.

“Do we know that? He's never really said so.”

“That would cause problems for Jeraxylt in the future, especially if he marries and only has daughters. Father wouldn't do that.”

Salyna nodded, then stood. “I'm going to bed. Stay off the balconies in this weather.” She walked toward the chamber door.

“I'm tired, too,” replied Mykella. “And I won't climb out the window to any balconies. Not until we have better weather, anyway.”

“Good night.”

After Salyna finally left, Mykella undressed and climbed under the quilts on her bed. The shivering did not subside for close to half a glass, she thought. For all her exhaustion, she found she was not sleepy. She couldn't help but wonder what Joramyl had been doing, but what worried her most was her recollection of the almost puzzled and unbelieving air behind her father's acceptance of her findings about the missing tariffs.

Still…eventually sleep did claim her.

After all her worries, which
had not only been increased by her father's words and certainly not helped by her efforts with the Table, Mykella slept poorly and restlessly, but found herself struggling to get out of bed long after Uleana had rapped on her door. She finally managed to struggle up and get to the washroom, then back to her chambers, where she quickly dressed. She paused and glanced out the window. The sun had risen, and white light shimmered everywhere. The ice-storm and its dark clouds had passed, although her windows were frozen shut, and lines of ice ran across the sills. She was more than glad to be wearing nightsilk when she finally left her chambers and headed for what would be a late and quick breakfast.

Even from down the corridor, she could see her father waiting outside the breakfast room. He turned, as if waiting for her. His face was stern, and she could sense concern…and sadness. He motioned to her.

“What is it?” Mykella asked as she stopped before him.

“I said that I would look into what you found out,” Feranyt began.

Mykella waited.

“There was a great deal of validity to your findings. So much so that…well…Kiedryn is dead. He took poison last night, right here in the palace. Can you believe that? Joramyl found him this morning. He left a note, saying that he'd stolen far too many golds. He said he was sorry, but he didn't want to disgrace his family. The note pleaded not to make matters public…”

Mykella managed not to gape. Kiedryn? He had likely been the only honest one there, besides Mykella herself. And Joramyl had found him?

“His family will have to accept exile, of course, but there's no reason to make it public.”

“Kiedryn couldn't have…” Mykella protested.

Feranyt shrugged sadly. “I know you thought he was honest, but at times appearances are deceiving. I saw the note. Joramyl showed it to me, and we even compared the writing to his. He wrote it, without a doubt.”

Under what sort of duress?
Mykella swallowed. She'd even seen Joramyl in the Table mirror, doubtless bringing Kiedryn back to the palace, but…how could she explain that? Even if she could get her father to see objects in the Table, it would still be her word against Joramyl's, and there was no way her father would take her word over his brother's. That, she knew, and speaking against Joramyl would only result in her being unable to do anything…not that what she had done had gone as planned.

“I know this is hard for you, daughter, but that sort of hard truth comes with ruling. Those you trust most are often those who betray that trust.”

“But…Joramyl?”

“He's been as solid as a rock.”

“He's never been in the Finance study before midmorning.” Mykella managed to keep her voice level. “It seems a little strange that he was the one to find Kiedryn.”

“I asked him to look into it. He wanted to be there early to confront Kiedryn before anyone else was around.”

Mykella managed to nod.

“There's just no help for it. Joramyl's assistant steward will take over until we determine a permanent replacement for Kiedryn. I'm counting on you to help him.”

“Yes, sir.” Mykella felt that her voice was coming from someone else. Why couldn't her father see what was happening? Yet she could sense that trying to convince him that his own brother was behind it all was futile.

Feranyt patted her on the shoulder. “I'm counting on you. I already ate. I need to get ready to meet with that envoy now.”

Envoy? What envoy? Mykella just stood there as her father turned.

After Feranyt continued toward his official study, Mykella began to walk toward the breakfast room, only to find Jeraxylt standing outside the service pantry, also waiting for her.

“Father was pleased, you know,” offered Jeraxylt. “He said you handled things the way a smart woman should…finding out what was happening, you know, and letting him know.”

A smart woman? How smart had she been? Poor honest Kiedryn had been poisoned and set up as the guilty party, when Joramyl was the one who'd been diverting the golds—and now matters were even worse, because both her brother and her father believed Joramyl, and she had no proof at all who had diverted the golds…and no way to obtain it now that Kiedryn, who might have been able to help, was dead, and now that everyone was convinced of Kiedryn's guilt.

Mykella walked into the breakfast room and sat down. Now what could she do?

“Mykella, that Deforyan envoy is already here.” Rachylana's eyes were red. “Father said…” She stopped, as if she could say no more.

“He said that the Landarch's heir is partial to redheads,” added Salyna, “especially beautiful ones like Rachylana.”

“You have to do something,” Rachylana said. “You have to.”

Mykella could feel the despair and desperation behind her sister's words. For a moment she said nothing. Finally, she said, “These days…these days, Father isn't listening to me, either.”

“He just said something about your saving thousands of golds. He'll listen to you. He will.”

“He'll listen about golds, but not about matching us. I'll try, but…” Mykella paused. “He and Uncle Joramyl just talk about what good consorts we'll make.”

“Please. I don't want to go to Dereka,” pleaded Rachylana.

“You're the only one Father will listen to,” added Salyna.

Me? He doesn't listen to any of us, not really
. “I'll see what I can do, but I'm not sure any of us have a choice about to whom we're matched or where we'll be sent.”
More like shipped like prized breeding cows.

“We should have some choice,” Salyna declared.

“We should, but we don't,” Mykella said, picking up the mug of tea and taking a sip.
Why can't you see that?

She barely ate any breakfast, but she did manage to finish the mug of tea, and that helped settle her stomach…mostly.

Then, girding herself up, she made her way to the Finance chambers.

The man who rose when Mykella entered the outer chamber was barely a span taller than she was, and squat, like a human toad, she thought. Although his hair was sandy brown and curly, Mykella felt that greasy black would have suited him far better. He smiled, and from behind the white teeth and sincere expression flooded insincerity. Even his life-thread seemed snakelike, holding a sickly yellow-brown. “Maxymt, at the service of the Lord-Protector.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Maxymt. The Lord-Protector has asked me to make sure you're familiar with the ledgers and accounts.”

“Once I've had a chance to become familiar with these, you really won't have to check the ledgers, Mistress. The Lord-Protector's daughter shouldn't be doing a clerk's work.” Oiliness coated the insincerity of every word.

“How well do you know the accounts?” she asked. “Could you tell me which ledger holds the receipts from the smallholders? Or the one from the vintners? Or the distinctions between common factors and crafters?”

Maxymt smiled, again showing brilliant white teeth. “I'm certain that won't be hard to determine…assuming that Kiedryn was not too…creative.”

“I'm sure that you will be able to learn,” Mykella replied, “but while you are, I'm certain my father would wish me to continue as I have.”

“As you wish, Mistress Mykella.”

She could sense a most palpable dislike behind the honeyed words. Now what could she do, except try to strengthen those abilities awakened by the Ancient and her growing, but growing all too slowly, Talent? “We might as well get started. First, I'll show you the summary ledgers, and then the individual account ledgers, and you can go through each one to gain some familiarity.”

“Yes, Mistress Mykella.”

Almost a glass later, Joramyl hurried into his Finance study, smiling at Maxymt, who was still studying the master ledger, and at Mykella for a moment. Berenyt followed his father, and he did not look at Mykella.

Mykella
had
to know what they were saying. The moment Maxymt turned his head, she gathered her sight-shield around her and tiptoed to the study door, where she stood, her ear against the crack between door and jamb, trying to make out what the two said.

“…don't talk about it here…”

“…just wanted you to know…Mykella's sharper than she looks…don't think she'll accept…knew Kiedryn too well…”

“…and what could she do, Berenyt? The Lord-Protector saw the confession…she's just a woman, barely more than a girl. If my brother weren't so sentimental, he'd have long since sent her to Dereka or Southgate and gotten a pile of golds for her as well…what women are for…golds and heirs…At least, he doesn't listen to her the way he did to her mother. Good thing Aelya died when she did.”

Mykella stiffened. There had been something more there, behind the words, and she missed the next phrases.

“…besides, Feranyt's offspring's meddling served us well…not have to worry about Kiedryn any longer…now…don't come see me here more than once a week…Off with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mykella slipped back to her table and, once the acting head clerk was looking in the other direction, released the sight-shield.

Maxymt turned with a start. Then he stared at Mykella. “Where did you come from?”

“Come from? I've been here all along.”

“You weren't there a moment ago.”

Mykella shook her head. “I haven't left the chamber. You would have heard my boots. Everyone's always said that I walk heavier than some of the guards. I did drop my figuring paper and had to bend down to get it.”

“That must be it.” Maxymt shook his head.

Mykella could tell that he wasn't totally convinced, but she hadn't dared to hold the sight-shield any longer, in case someone else had walked in, or Berenyt walked out.

That fear was confirmed, because the door to the inner study opened, but, once again, Berenyt didn't look in her direction when he hurried out of his father's study.

Even though she had to
keep explaining matters to Maxymt intermittently through the afternoon, to Mykella, the remainder of the day felt never-ending, and she accomplished little beyond that instruction and keeping herself outwardly calm and composed. Joramyl left by midafternoon, with only a statement to Maxymt that he would be back by midday on Septi…and without a glance at Mykella. She did feel, all too clearly, his more than palpable dislike of her.

When the time came to close the Finance study for the day, Mykella explained the details to the acting chief clerk and watched.

As he stepped out into the corridor and locked the door, Maxymt smiled politely and said, “I'm certain it will be a relief to you when I can take over all these duties.”

“My father and I will be gratified when everything is as it should be.” Mykella smiled. “Good afternoon, Maxymt.”

“Good afternoon, Mistress Mykella.”

Maxymt was graceful enough in his movements as he walked to the main staircase that Mykella revised her initial assessment of the man. He wasn't a toad, but a lizard, with the ugliness of a toad, and the sinister aspect of a snake.

She immediately walked to the washroom adjoining her chamber in the family quarters, because she felt she had to wash up after spending most of the day with the man. The wash water was like ice, but she still felt cleaner when she finished and dried her hands and face. Then she slipped into the family parlor. She needed less revolting company.

Salyna was already there, working on her needlepoint, and wearing a heavy sweater. Frost coated the inside of the windows, and Mykella noted that the hearth held but embers. There was no coal in the brass scuttle to the side of the fire screen.

Salyna looked up. “You must have had a difficult day. I heard that you discovered the finance clerk was diverting golds? Is that true?”

How could Mykella answer that without lying and disclosing more than she wanted, but without blaming Kiedryn? After a moment, she spoke. “I did discover that someone was diverting golds. Jeraxylt helped me get the information. I showed the figures and the ledgers to Father. He told Lord Joramyl. That was yesterday afternoon. This morning, Lord Joramyl found Kiedryn dead of poison and a note in Kiedryn's hand confessing that he had taken thousands in golds.”

Salyna looked at Mykella. “You don't believe Kiedryn did it, do you?”

“What I believe doesn't matter, Father pointed out. Only what can be proved does. The only proof points to Kiedryn.”

“He couldn't have done it,” Salyna said quietly. “The chief clerk doesn't actually handle the golds, does he? It's more likely the head tariff collector or someone like that. They'd have enough golds to pay for and arrange Kiedryn's death to cover their tracks.”

“Father believes it was Kiedryn.”

“Father is too trusting. He doesn't talk to enough people outside the palace.”

Mykella agreed with that, but she only said, “We don't, either. Well…maybe you do, because you talk to a lot of the guards.” She paused, then added, “What do they say?”

“All of them knew by midday, but they aren't saying much.”

“That's not good.”

“I worry about Arms-Commander Nephryt,” said Salyna. “I've never liked him.”

“Do you think he might have been in league with whoever did take the golds?”

“I don't know. He's capable of it.” Salyna set the needlework frame down beside her on the settee. “But so is Commander Demyl. So are some of the other ministers.”

“Father must know that,” Mykella said. “That's why he wanted Uncle Joramyl as Finance Minister. He trusts him.” Mykella kept a pleasant expression, but tried to catch whatever reaction Salyna might have.

“They are brothers.” Salyna paused. “Joramyl saw the figures, and he didn't catch what you did. Is that because he doesn't spend the time you have?”

From what Mykella could tell, Salyna didn't show any repugnance or any other feelings besides curiosity. After a moment, Mykella replied, “He only spends a few glasses a day in the Finance study. Still, he's anything but stupid.”

“I imagine his thoughts were elsewhere. Most people don't love numbers the way you do. Jeraxylt was right; Father was fortunate that you caught the problem.” Salyna glanced toward the window and the setting sun. “Do you have any idea who was really behind it?”

“Ideas?” Mykella offered a rueful laugh. “Ideas are easy. Proving them is something else, and without proof…” She shrugged.

“Men like proof,” Salyna said dryly. “Sometimes, it's a joy to provide it, especially with a saber, even a practice blade.”

“More about blades?” asked Rachylana as she stepped into the parlor.

“And men,” replied Salyna.

“Berenyt is good with a blade.”

Salyna and Mykella exchanged glances.

Rachylana glanced from one sister to the other, then flushed. “Not that way. You two…You're terrible.”

“We didn't say anything,” Mykella said. “Not a word.”

“You didn't have to.” Rachylana shook her head. “Besides…Father wants to get me away from Tempre as quickly as he can. You know that.”

“He's teased you,” Salyna pointed out, “but that's not the same thing.”

“It is too.” Rachylana eased the needlework frame back toward Salyna and sat on the other end of the settee. “Mykella has her numbers and ledgers and isn't interested in anyone here in Tempre. You'd rather practice with sabers—the sharp kind. That leaves me.”

“It's not entirely up to Father,” Mykella pointed out. “He can't really make an envoy choose someone who the envoy doesn't think is right.”

“Maybe not the Landarch's envoy, or a Seltyr from Southgate, but any prince-heir from the coast will take whoever's offered. So would one of the Illegean horde leaders. You wouldn't like that, would you?” Rachylana looked at Mykella. “They don't even know what ledgers are.”

“Don't be cruel because you're angry,” said Salyna softly.

Rachylana shivered, opened her mouth, then closed it, pulling the heavy blue woolen shawl around her. She looked to Mykella. “Aren't you cold in just that tunic?”

“It's nightsilk, and I'm wearing a nightsilk camisole under it.”

“So am I, and I'm still freezing. You don't ever seem to get cold anymore.”

Mykella hadn't noticed that, but both her sisters were bundled up—and there was ice gathered on the inside of the parlor windows. The palace wasn't exactly the warmest of buildings, and most chambers were without hearths.

The chimes announcing dinner echoed outside the parlor, and Mykella rose. “I wonder what's for dinner.”

“You don't want to know,” said Salyna. “It's one of Father's favorites—overcooked, fried, and pounded river trout, doused in cheese and buried in rice.”

Salyna was right. Mykella hated river trout. To her, the fish tasted like river mud, and nothing disguised that. “We might as well face it,” she said resignedly.

Feranyt and Eranya were already in the family dining room when the three sisters arrived, followed in moments by Jeraxylt.

The Lord-Protector seated himself, as did Jeraxylt, then the four women.

Akilsa immediately began to fill the wine goblets with a clear vintage, and Muergya began serving.

“Ah…hot river trout,” offered Feranyt, “just the thing for a cold winter evening.”

“It is warm,” agreed Rachylana.

“That it is, and tasty, too,” agreed the Lord-Protector.

Mykella refrained from disputing that, and instead had Muergya serve her the smallest morsel of trout possible, and as much rice and cheese as possible that hadn't been close to the fish.

After eating several mouthfuls, and taking a swallow of wine, Feranyt looked up. “On Octdi night, we'll be having a reception and a formal dinner with the Deforyan envoy. I expect each of you young women to talk to him.”

Although Rachylana smiled politely, Mykella could feel her anger…and a certain despair.

“Who else will be there?” inquired Salyna.

“All of us”—Feranyt nodded toward Eranya—“and Joramyl and Lady Cheleyza, and several other ministers and their wives, including Seltyr Porofyr and Arms-Commander Nephryt.”

Why Porofyr?
wondered Mykella. Was that because he was the minister for highways and rivers, and part of the talks between Deforya and Lanachrona involved more than the guarding of the highways against brigands?

“And…Jeraxylt,” Feranyt added, “the envoy was kind enough to bring a miniature of the Landarch's young cousin.”

“How old is she? Twelve?” A certain scorn lay behind Jeraxylt's words.

“Young compared to the Landarch. She is actually about a year older than you are, but she looks to be rather pretty.”

“Rather pretty?”

“Enough,” said Feranyt firmly. “Because of who we are, all our choices are limited, and that includes yours in the matter of marriage. Your sisters understand that, and so should you. A suitable match is vital for the Lord-Protector.”

“Yes, sir.” Jeraxylt nodded, politely.

Behind his pleasant expression Mykella sensed anger close to fury. Why hadn't she seen that before?

“Many would give everything for an attractive, well-connected, and wealthy spouse,” Eranya said cheerfully.

No one but Mykella seemed to sense the contempt behind her words, and certainly not Jeraxylt.

“Exactly,” murmured Feranyt. “Exactly.”

“There wasn't any coal in the scuttle in the parlor,” offered Rachylana.

“You could have gotten some from the coal bin in the courtyard,” suggested Feranyt.

“There wasn't any there, either,” said Salyna. “Not in mid-afternoon, anyway.”

“Then bring it up with the steward. That's Jodhar's job, to make sure we're supplied with what's necessary.”

Salyna nodded, but Mykella caught the sense that she was both less than satisfied, yet pleased.

After dinner, Mykella drew Salyna aside. “What about the coal?”

“Oh…Jodhar wouldn't talk to me about it. That's why I asked Father. Tomorrow, after I work out, I'll suggest that he take steps to replenish the palace's coal supply—and I'll still have my saber with me. But, this time, I'll have Father's express backing.”

“You could have said that anyway.”

“No. Unless he'd actually said it, Father wouldn't back me up. You know that. He's very particular.”

“He'll know you tricked him into saying that.”

“He will, but he always stands by his word, no matter what.”

That, reflected Mykella, could be a strength…and a terrible weakness, if one had been deceived. “Then we should have a warm parlor before long.”

“We will, indeed.” Salyna smiled.

By the time she finally slipped away from her sister and, under her concealment shield, down the two sets of stairs to the Table chamber, Mykella had already decided that she needed to use the Table to track not only Joramyl, but Berenyt and Nephryt.

Once she opened the door to the chamber, she tried to sense if the Ifrit might be trying to use the Table, but all she felt was the faint purple glow that was always present. She stepped up to the Table and began to concentrate on seeking Joramyl.

The mists cleared to reveal her uncle seated at a heavy round table. To his left was Arms-Commander Nephryt. The two were talking. Heavy goblets were set before each man, and a third goblet was set before one of the two empty chairs. There was something…something about the chamber in which the two were seated. Mykella frowned, looking at the image.

The door opened, and another man stepped through. For that moment, Mykella caught a glimpse of the outer hall, with the stone walls and rose columns…and belatedly recognized the entry hall of Joramyl's grand mansion. The private study lay behind one of the doors she'd seen, with easy access off the entry. Only then did she concentrate on the latest arrival, Commander Demyl, second in command of the Southern Guards.

The very presence of the three together, meeting in Joramyl's mansion, confirmed for Mykella her feeling that her uncle was the one behind the diversion of golds—and that the diversion was more than mere greed on his part. Since she could not make out their words as they sat around the table and talked, she had no idea to what degree the three were plotting.

Yet…with her limited knowledge and lack of what her father regarded as proof, not to mention his inflexibility, how could she tell him?

She continued to watch the three for close to a glass, yet outside of a number of gestures, the most revealing of which was when Nephryt said something with great vehemence, and Joramyl clearly calmed him with what looked to be soothing words, Mykella could make out nothing, although she did get the impression that Joramyl was cautioning patience.

Finally, she let that image lapse, and concentrated on trying to find Berenyt next. The Table obligingly revealed him in a bed—not alone, and not with Rachylana, thankfully, but with a slender, if shapely, brunette whom Mykella did not recognize. She let the image fade immediately. She was neither a voyeur nor able to deceive herself into thinking that watching would reveal anything she didn't already know about her cousin.

There was no point in telling Rachylana about Berenyt, either, because Mykella didn't know who the woman was and couldn't have explained plausibly how she knew what Berenyt was doing. But…perhaps…perhaps, Salyna might know…if Mykella broached it in the right way.

That might offer a possible way to alert Rachylana about how Berenyt viewed women…and how little respect he would have for Rachylana were they ever matched.

Unfortunately, trying to warn her father about his brother was going to be far harder.

She turned from the Table and walked slowly from the underground chamber, her boots scuffing on the stone floor as she headed for the narrow staircase.