The Lord-Protector's Daughter (21 page)

On Quattri, Feranyt was smiling
broadly as he took his place at the breakfast table. “Matters are looking promising indeed.”

Mykella could sense his satisfaction, but what bothered her far more than that was that the node in his life-thread held a shade of bluish gray. “Promising, Father?”

“Joramyl tells me that the envoys from Dereka and Southgate both seem pleased and that they plan to return to their lands with recommendations for the Landarch-heir and the heir of the High Seltyr of Southgate, and their choices do not conflict.”

Across the table from Mykella, Jeraxylt nodded knowingly.

But which of us gets bartered to whom…and for what?
Mykella feared she knew all too well who was likely destined to go where. Strangely, she worried more for Salyna than for herself. Was that because she could escape? Yet, what sort of life would that be, fleeing from everything she knew? And for what? Still….

“Are you going to tell us?” she finally asked.

“You probably already know, daughters, but until an actual offer of a match is made, no one will say anything. Nor will I.”

Salyna and Mykella exchanged glances. Salyna was pale. Rachylana was trying to conceal a smile of satisfaction.

“Next week we are expecting an envoy from the Prince of Midcoast,” Feranyt added.

Rachylana's half-smile vanished.

“Is there anything else we should know?” Salyna's voice trembled slightly.

Mykella sensed that the emotion behind the unsteadiness was neither sorrow nor despair, but fury barely held in check.

“Not for now.” Feranyt continued to smile.

Jeraxylt spoke quickly. “I did hear something interesting yesterday.”

“Oh?” asked Rachylana.

“Some of the Southern Guards on patrol saw a ghost of Rachyla the other night.”

“A ghost? That's absurd,” snapped Salyna. “She's been dead for centuries.”

“They say they saw her. They swore it. Two of them.” Jeraxylt nodded seriously. “Good solid men, too. They said that she was floating in the air, or walking on it.”

“Maybe it was a soarer,” suggested Mykella.

“That's ridiculous. Soarers are just as dead…and they have been for longer,” added Rachylana.

“The pier watch saw her, too,” added Jeraxylt, “but the woman he saw floated over the water, and she was partly shrouded in mist.”

“That had to be fog,” Mykella said. “There are always patches of mist or fog over the river in winter.”

“A ghost is more interesting, though.” Jeraxylt laughed, then paused and looked at Mykella. “Duadi night, at the reception, someone was talking to you about Rachyla, weren't they?”

“Oh, that was Lady Gharyk,” Mykella replied. “She was telling me that there was a portrait of Rachyla in Lord Gharyk's study on the lower level of the palace.”

“I'd forgotten about that,” mused the Lord-Protector. “It's been there for years. There's some story about it…” He paused, then shook his head. “I don't remember, but it's another one of those legends that don't make much sense. I recall looking for something in the archives to verify it, but there wasn't anything to it at all. No proof at all, and what's the point of talking on and on about something that you can't prove?”

Lord Gharyk thought there was.
But Mykella did not speak that thought, though she trusted Lord Gharyk's words about the portrait far more than her father's, and that was somehow sad.

“Do you have any other news…that is more…substantial?” asked Feranyt, looking at his son.

“Majer Choalt will be leaving on Octdi to take command of all of the Southern Guards' operations out of Soupat,” Jeraxylt replied.

“You said he was a good man, didn't you?” asked Mykella.

“Very good,” replied Jeraxylt, “and he was effective in dealing with the nomads. He learned a lot from Undercommander Areyst.” Jeraxylt paused. “There's some talk about Areyst being dispatched to the east once the terms of the border-guarding agreement with Deforya are worked out—”

“This isn't the place for discussing that,” Feranyt said.

“I didn't know that brigands were a problem in Soupat,” offered Salyna, clearly obeying the letter of their father's prohibition, but not the spirit.

Jeraxylt looked to Feranyt, who nodded, before replying. “Commander Demyl says that the winter has been cold and that with the coming of spring they'll be especially dangerous this year.”

“They'll be planting crops, like everyone else,” replied Salyna. “Brigands never attack places like Soupat in the spring. It's not on the main trade routes, and those are the only places where there's much in the way of booty early in the year.”

Soupat was on the way to nowhere, Mykella reflected, except for the copper mines immediately to the south of the town. She didn't like the idea that both Choalt and Areyst were being posted away from Tempre—not at this time and not when both were characterized as “good men.”

“If Undercommander Areyst is likely to be posted to the east,” Mykella said, “perhaps that posting should be delayed until matters of matching are determined. Then he could accompany…whoever…It would be good to have someone of experience…” She smiled as winningly as she could, hating herself for stooping to that.

Feranyt frowned for a moment, then nodded. “That might be for the best. It might indeed. I'll so inform Arms-Commander Nephryt.”

Mykella could sense the puzzlement from all of her siblings, especially from Salyna, and she wasn't surprised when her younger sister cornered her in the corridor after breakfast.

“Why did you do that?” Salyna's voice was low, if intense. “You don't even know the undercommander. You're not serious about going to Dereka, are you?”

“I didn't say I was.” Mykella smiled. “It hasn't even been formally proposed, for either of us, but Undercommander Areyst is supposedly a good and solid officer, and if a match is made and accepted…I'd certainly feel better, the way things are happening, with someone like that commanding the escort party.”

“They could still…” Salyna broke off her words. “Yes…I can see where that might be for the best.”

“It's all I can think of right now.”

Salyna nodded.

After that, Mykella quickly washed up, then checked how she looked in her chamber mirror. Just as she stepped out and closed her door behind her, heading for the Finance study, Rachylana appeared.

“A mere undercommander, Mykella? What's come over you?”

“I don't even know the man,” Mykella pointed out. “I just want protection.” And that was true, so far as it went.

Rachylana smiled widely. “How do you know you're going to Dereka?”

“I have black hair. Salyna's blond. You darkened your face when you met the Southgate envoy.”

“That's hardly—”

“Would you like to wager against it?” Mykella forced a smile.

Rachylana could only keep looking at Mykella for a moment before she glanced away. “You think you're so smart.”

“I know I'm not. I just do what I can.”
If I were really smart, I'd have figured out what to do about things, and I still haven't.

Rachylana's voice dropped into almost a whisper. “Be careful, Mykella. Please.”

The concern in her words—and behind them—touched Mykella, and she swallowed, but only said, “Thank you.”

“Nothing's quite right, but there's so little we can do,” added Rachylana. “You and Salyna always think you can do something, but you can't, and…I don't want you hurt or angry.”

Salyna's furious, and I'm not that much less angry.
“I understand, but we're all different.”

This time, Rachylana was the one to nod, before offering a sad smile, and then turning away.

As she watched Rachylana walk away, Mykella couldn't help but wonder what her sister knew or suspected. She also knew Rachylana had said all that she would. After a moment, Mykella began to stride down the corridor toward the Finance study.

When she entered, she merely nodded to the acting chief clerk.

“Good day, Mistress Mykella,” offered Maxymt.

“It is, if you like cold rain and fog,” Mykella replied dryly. “I'd rather have snow.”

“They'll both pass before long, and travel to other places will be far more pleasant.” The clerk proffered his oily smile.

“Only if one stays on the high roads or waits until the mud is gone, and that will be a while.” Mykella walked to the shelf that held the Southern Guard accounts and slipped the ledgers out, then carried them to her table. “Has Lord Joramyl made a decision on Shenyl's replacement?”

“Not yet, but it will not be too long, I understand.”

“That puts extra work on the others, especially Haelyt.”

“They do not appear to be overstrained…as of yet.”

Mykella merely nodded. She'd said enough, and talking to Maxymt was like trying to carry water in a sieve. She ended up frustrated and never accomplishing anything.

Less than a glass past midday, scarcely half a glass after he'd arrived and closeted himself in his study, Joramyl opened the inner door and beckoned. “Maxymt, we need to talk over some things.”

“Yes, Lord Joramyl.” The acting chief Finance clerk immediately rose and walked quickly from his table, closing the inner study door behind him.

Although the heavy-set clerk was not that large or ponderous, his walk was a scurrying, swaying waddle, reminding her of a lizard in a hurry.

Mykella glanced to the closed outer door, then raised a concealment shield and tiptoed up to the inner door, where she focused her Talent beyond the door into the study, trying to make out the conversation. Even so, she could only hear parts of the low-voiced interchange.

“…keeping the ledgers as you ordered, sir…”

“…any hope of squeezing out some golds?”

“…she knows where every gold goes…no way to divert anything…”

“…no matter…for now…pay for it myself…won't be long before she's matched and gone…won't matter then…better head back to your ledgers…”

After she slipped back to her own smaller table and the Southern Guard accounts she had been reviewing, Mykella dropped the concealment shield. Sitting there looking down at the entries, she couldn't help wondering about Joramyl's last words, because she had sensed a falseness about them. Yet he'd made no secret about wanting her matched and away from Tempre.

Quinti passed. So did Sexdi,
Septi, and Octdi—and her weekly trip to the Great Piers—and then came Novdi afternoon, when Mykella stood in the reviewing stand for the traditional parade to mark the end of winter and the turn of spring, although, formally, that did not occur until Decdi evening. For the past four days, Mykella had watched and listened, and worked with her Talents, and used the Table to observe others. Yet she had learned absolutely nothing she had not suspected or known already, and she had no more proof about anything, or not the kind of proof her father would have accepted. Joramyl and Arms-Commander Nephryt continued to meet, as did Joramyl and the Lord-Protector. The Finance ledgers remained scrupulously kept, and Rachylana talked far too much in far too great detail about what she would wear to the ball on Novdi night.

Only one thing, so far as Mykella could tell, had changed. She continued to observe herself and others with her life-senses, if that happened to be what they were, and from what she could tell, only her life-thread held that strange combination of black and green. Everyone else's seemed to be some shade of brown, although a few held traces of yellow. She had the feeling that with each day that passed the green in her thread was becoming more brilliant, and the black was shrinking away bit by bit. But was she just imagining that? Was she imagining everything?

As she stood in the reviewing stand, the wind gusting around her, grateful for the nightsilk jacket she wore, Mykella forced her concentration back to the avenue below the stand and waited for the companies of the Southern Guards stationed in Tempre to ride past. The small reviewing stand was set at the base of the Great Piers, equidistant from the green towers at each end. The mounted guard companies rode northward toward the Piers along the great eternastone highway that split farther to the south, heading west to Hafin and southwest to Southgate, due south to Hyalt and east to Krost and the wine country of Syan. Once the guards reached the reviewing stand, they would turn onto the Palace Road and head due east past the palace itself, and then back to their compound.

When she'd been little, Mykella had once asked her mother why the reviewing stand wasn't before the palace, but Aelya had just smiled and said, “It's tradition. Tradition is very important. Some day you'll understand how important.”

Tradition might well be important, but the day was raw and damp under heavy gray clouds, and a chill wind blew out of the northeast with such vigor that Mykella wouldn't have been surprised to see snow by the next morning, whether spring was supposedly on the way or not.

Mykella stood to her father's left. Had Jeraxylt not been riding with the Southern Guards, he would have stood to his father's right. Instead, Lord Joramyl did. To Mykella's left was Cheleyza, while Salyna and Rachylana stood below them. Mykella still found it hard to believe that she was only five years younger than Cheleyza.

Four Southern Guards bearing trumpets rode toward the stand, raising their instruments to their lips. A crisp but lengthy fanfare echoed into the chill air. A good fifty yards back rode the standard bearers of Third Company, followed by the company officer and his squad leaders, and then the company rankers.

“I don't ever get tired of watching the guards,” offered Cheleyza. “They ride so proudly and so well.”

And they're all so handsome
. That thought was as clear to Mykella as though Cheleyza had shouted it. There was something else about Cheleyza…a faint thread in addition to her own life-thread, so faint that Mykella had almost missed it. But no one else had two. Mykella almost nodded. Her aunt was pregnant. Why hadn't she noticed earlier? Or did a life-thread develop as the child grew within its mother?

“They do ride well, all of them,” replied Mykella, after grasping to come up with a response.

Just before Third Company passed the Lord-Protector, the standard bearer lowered the company ensign in a salute, holding it at a forty-five-degree angle all the way past the stand before snapping it back erect.

“Joramyl rides so very well,” Cheleyza said, with obvious pride. “Far better than the guards.”

“I'm certain he does,” Mykella agreed, quickly adding, “Here comes Second Company, and you can see Berenyt there, at the front.”

“He rides well, too, like his father.” Cheleyza paused.

Mykella caught an impression of something about Berenyt…less than favorable, but so fleeting that she could not determine what it might be. “He doubtless takes after his father in many ways.”
As in plotting and treachery.

“What are you wearing to the ball tonight?” asked Cheleyza.

“Something green…I think. And you?”

“Blue and silver, with a special shimmersilk scarf from Dramur. Joramyl wants me to look my best.”

“I'm certain he does.” Mykella kept the sarcasm she felt out of her voice. Even so, she could sense Salyna's amusement from below her.

Rachylana seemed oblivious to the conversation, her eyes following Berenyt as Second Company neared and then passed the reviewing stand. Berenyt, like all the guards, did not turn his head toward the stand.

“Joramyl is very particular about the way I look.”

“Many husbands are, I've heard.”

“You'll find out, dear, and before all that long, from what I hear.”

“It may be a time. Neither Southgate nor Dereka is that close, and the envoys will not leave until tomorrow or Londi at the earliest,” Mykella pointed out.

“That time will pass quickly, and you had best make plans for what you wish to take with you.”

“Did you find that difficult?” asked Mykella politely.

“Not at all, but then, Joramyl did arrange for an extra baggage wagon.”

“That was thoughtful of him.”

“He is most thoughtful and very wise in how he thinks ahead.”

After Second Company came First Company, and Mykella was happy to change the subject by noting, “Oh, there's Jeraxylt, leading his squad.” She could also see a well-endowed redheaded girl at the end of the reviewing stand, taking a special interest in her brother. Her brother did not look to the reviewing stand, nor did he smile as he and his squad rode past.

Following First Company were the senior officers of the Southern Guards, followed in turn by the headquarters group. First came Undercommander Areyst, and Mykella sensed both respect and sadness as he bowed his head to the Lord-Protector.

Sadness? Does he suspect or know something?
Mykella wanted to ask him, but she couldn't very well corner him and blurt out a question.

Behind Areyst was Commander Demyl, but while the commander looked toward the reviewing stand and bowed his head to the Lord-Protector, Mykella could sense Demyl's contempt. Arms-Commander Nephryt merely radiated arrogance, despite his formal nod to Feranyt.

Mykella glanced sideways toward her father and uncle. Her father had nodded in satisfaction once the guards had passed. So had Joramyl, but her uncle's smile concealed another sort of satisfaction. Exactly what that meant, Mykella could not tell, except that it made her even more uneasy.

What could she do? She
knew
what others were thinking and feeling, and yet she had no proof of anything beyond what she had shown her father, and now, even that proof had been reduced to uselessness by Kiedryn's supposed suicide and her father's unthinking trust in his brother. And before long, unless she could do something, she wouldn't even be able to watch the treasury and his land's finances.

In the meantime, once they returned to the palace, she'd have to ready herself for the evening ahead…and attending a ball where, once more, she'd be scrutinized like breeding stock by one or both of the envoys and where every word would be weighed and analyzed.

She kept smiling as she prepared to leave the reviewing stand with the others.