The Lord-Protector's Daughter (6 page)

That evening after dinner, Mykella
sat in the family parlor, a history of Lanachrona in her lap. Across from her, Salyna was seated at one end of the green velvet settee closest to the low fire in the hearth, working on a needlepoint crest. Mykella couldn't help but contrast that domesticity to the focused ferocity within Salyna that doubtless surfaced when she had a saber in her hand. Yet Mykella could understand and accept that duality in Salyna—and in herself, although she had no desire to wield a blade. What she could not understand was Rachylana's acceptance and willing subordination to men, especially to someone like Berenyt.

While Mykella finally succeeded in losing herself in reading the history, in time she looked up, half-bemused, half-irritated. She'd read the parts about Mykel, about how he'd been a Cadmian majer in command of an entire battalion, how he had routed all the forces of the Reillies and Squawts just before the Great Cataclysm, and how he had followed a soarer's instructions to cross the boiling Vedra to Tempre to protect the city. Chapter after chapter had followed, telling of all the battles he had fought and won over the years in establishing and expanding safe boundaries for Lanachrona and in vanquishing invaders and brigands alike.

What intrigued and annoyed Mykella was that there was nothing about
how
Mykel the Great had accomplished anything. There was but a single paragraph dismissing the legend that he had been a Dagger of the Ancients, and that didn't even explain what a Dagger of the Ancients was supposed to have been. Mykella suspected that dismissal was proof that he had been just that, but what a Dagger of the Ancients was remained undescribed. Kiedryn's explanation had conveyed nothing, and her own brief searches of the archives had revealed nothing she did not already know, except that mention of the proclamation that Mykel had signed making Rachyla his immediate heir, which had come to nothing since she had died first.

Mykella tightened her lips as she looked around the parlor with its green upholstered armchairs and settees, the dark oak side tables, and the green and blue heavy, if slightly worn, carpet with the Lord-Protector's crest in the middle. Rachylana had not joined her sisters after dinner. She had eaten little at table, claiming she felt unwell. Mykella had sensed her physical discomfort. Jeraxylt and her father rarely joined them in the evenings, not with their other evening interests. So the youngest and eldest daughters had the parlor to themselves.

The book still in her lap, Mykella stared at the darkness beyond the window, a darkness broken only by the scattered lights of Tempre, those that could be seen from the second level of the palace. She knew that unseen danger surrounded them all, especially her father and brother, not only from the warning of the Ancient, but from what she had begun to sense. Yet no one else seemed to feel the slightest sense of danger or unease. Was she imagining it all? But if she weren't, why didn't her father or her sisters see anything at all, especially her father?

After each of the times she had visited the Table, Mykella had felt that she had gained something in what she could feel or sense. Yet…how could merely sensing or feeling more than others save her land? She thought about Berenyt's momentary reaction once more.

Finally, she spoke. “Salyna…I need your help.”

“I'd be happy to, but…” Her younger sister's forehead wrinkled up into a puzzled expression. “…just what do you want me to do?”

“I just want you to look out the window for a little while, and then look back at me. Take your time looking out the window.”

“Look out the window and back at you? That's all?”

“Please…just do it.”

“I can do that.” Salyna's tone expressed puzzlement, but she stared out the window.

Mykella concentrated on trying to create an image of the armchair in which she sat—vacant, without her in it, the lace doily just slightly disarrayed…

“Don't do that!” Salyna's words were low, but intense.

“What did I do?” asked Mykella, releasing the image of the empty chair.

“It…it was awful. You weren't there. I knew you had to be…but you weren't.”

Mykella almost wished she hadn't tried the shield. “I hid. I did it to see if I could move so quietly that you couldn't see me. What else could I have done?” She could sense Salyna's confusion, as well as her sister's feeling that Mykella
couldn't
have gone anywhere else.

For a time, Salyna looked at Mykella. Finally, she asked, “What's happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Mykella replied.

“Don't tell me that. You haven't been the same for the last week. You look at Jeraxylt—when he's not looking—as if he were roasting baby hares alive. You aren't pleased with Rachylana, and you've asked Father more questions this week than in the last year. Now, you're practicing hiding, and hiding from me.”

“I'm worried,” Mykella confessed. “I feel that something's not right, that there might be some danger out there, but I can't even say what that might be.” That was certainly true, if not quite in the way Salyna would take it. “I'm worried about the way Rachylana carries on about and with Berenyt. It's not proper, and it's not a good idea.”

“She'll get over it.”

Mykella had strong doubts about that, and even stronger doubts about how well Berenyt would treat Rachylana.

“Are they talking about marrying you off to that autarch-heir in Dereka?” asked Salyna.

“Landarch-heir,” Mykella replied. “Not in my hearing, and you've heard Father. He says that there aren't any envoys coming to talk of marriage.”

“There will be. We can't stay here, Mykella.” Salyna straightened herself on the settee. “What would we do? Who would dare marry us? Father wouldn't let anyone of any status do so, because any sons would have a claim on being Lord-Protector, and he wouldn't accept anyone who didn't have position. None of us have any choice. Not even Rachylana.” Salyna shook her head. “I feel sorry for her. She doesn't want to see what must be.”

Mykella almost said, “That's her problem, if she wants to be so stupid.” Instead, she went on, “We'll have to see what happens. Has Father said anything to you?”

“He's said that one of the Seltyrs in Southgate has a son close to my age.”

Mykella couldn't help but wince. Southgate was far worse than Tempre for women. It was said to be even worse than Fola or being a Squawt bride.

“They say he's nice.” Salyna's voice was level.

Mykella could sense fear, not just concern, from her sister. “I do hope so.”

Salyna rolled up her needlework. “I can only do this so long before my eyes cross. Handling a saber is easier.” She yawned, then stood. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” Mykella closed the history and set the volume on the side table, watching as Salyna left the parlor. Her sister was disturbed and frightened of going to Southgate. Because their aunt had died there?

Mykella needed to discover more, but, except for functions like the upcoming season-turn celebration and parade and ball, or the High Factors' ball, or riding with escorts, she was expected to remain within the palace, and wherever she went, someone was watching. When she was out, she was never alone.

She had to find a way to get to the Table unseen. Could she test her “disappearing” skill when she took the inside main corridor back to her chambers? Getting past the guards at night should be easier because their post was in the main corridor, well back from the corner of the palace that held the family quarters, and they walked a post between the main staircase and the quarters rather than standing in one place in front of a single door or archway.

Mykella stood and walked to the doorway. How could she do what she had in mind? Sitting in a chair was one thing, but she needed to move. She couldn't keep creating a new image of the hallway without her in it with every step. Could she just create the feel of everything flowing around her as if she were not there?

She moistened her lips and eased the parlor door to the main corridor open. Then, she tried to visualize the light from the parlor flowing around her, as if the door had swung open without anyone there. Her vision seemed to dim, but she could sense the door frame and the open door when she stepped out into the main corridor. One of the guards turned.

She had no idea if he saw her or if the light from the open door had attracted him. She closed the door, and it creaked as she shut it. After a moment, the guard turned away. She moved as quietly as she could, putting down one boot carefully, and then the next, walking not toward her chambers, but toward the guards.

“The door opened…thought I saw someone there…woman…”

The other guard turned in Mykella's direction, but did not seem to be looking at her. “It's closed now. There's no one out here. Who would be up except for his regal heirness, strutting around in a tailored uniform that would never do in combat, panting after another pretty ass?”

Mykella stopped, hoping the guard would say more.

“He looks good in uniform…have to say that.”

“…jealous?”

“Wouldn't you be?”

The other guard snorted. “Just walk the post.”

Mykella neared the two, but neither even looked at her, and they turned away. So did she, but by the time she stepped into her chambers, Mykella was breathing heavily. She was so light-headed that she felt as though she had raced up and down the main staircase of the palace a score of times.

But…the guards had not seen her. She smiled broadly as she sat on the edge of her bed and caught her breath.

Her smile faded as she thought about Salyna's words.

The gray light of
a winter Septi morning seeped around the edges of the heavy dark blue window hangings. Mykella sat up in her bed, the comforter around her shoulders. Her chamber, while not excessively chill, was far from comfortable, which was not unexpected, since it had neither stove nor hearth.

Thrap.

“Yes?”

“It's Zestela, Mistress.”

Mykella wanted to tell the head dresser to go away, but that would only postpone matters. Besides, she'd told Zestela to come before breakfast so that she didn't have to interrupt her day in the Finance study.

She smiled. Perhaps she could test her skills and give the dresser a bit of a shock as well. She slipped from under the covers and took three steps so that she stood against the wall beside the large armoire that held her everyday garments. She shivered at the feel of the cold stone tiles on her bare feet. Even the flannel nightdress didn't help. Still, when Zestela stepped into the chamber, she would not be able to see Mykella at first.

Mykella then
twisted
the light—that was the only way she could explain it—and called, “You can come in.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The door opened, and Zestela bustled in, cradling a long formal gown in her arms and glancing around, seeking Mykella. She frowned as she stepped toward the foot of the bed, then looked back toward the armoire. “Mistress?”

Mykella waited until the dresser looked back toward the door before releasing the light-shield…if that happened to be what it was. “I'm here.”

Zestela jumped. “Oh! I didn't see you.”

“Sometimes I feel like no one does,” replied Mykella dryly.

Rachylana entered the chamber. “No one overlooks you, Mykella.”

Mykella ignored her sister's words and turned to the dresser. “What do you have there?” The gown didn't look like anything she'd have worn or asked for.

“Lady Cheleyza sent this gown. She thought you might find it suitable for the reviewing stand during the season-turn celebration.”

Mykella glanced at the drab beige fabric with the pale green lace. She shook her head. “I'd look like a flour sack in that. A very faded one. I'll wear the blue one I wore at the last turn parade.”

“But…” stuttered the dresser.

Rachylana frowned. “Cheleyza is only being kind, and you
have
worn the blue before…several times.”

“People will have seen me in it before. Is that so bad?”

Rachylana and Zestela exchanged glances.

“You can't keep wearing the same blue dress,” Rachylana finally said. “Not as a daughter of the Lord-Protector.”

“Then,” Mykella said, “have the dressmakers make me one just like the blue, except in green, brilliant green—and make it with a high neck. The next time, I'll have something else to wear that looks good on me.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Zestela bowed and turned to leave.

“
Brilliant
green,” Mykella emphasized.

Rachylana stared down at her older sister. “You're being difficult. Salyna said you were in a terrible mood last night. I can see that hasn't changed.”

“Because I don't want to look drab in public? Perhaps you'd do anything for dear Berenyt and his stepmother, but I do draw the line in some places. I'd rather represent Father, in wearing something that looks good and doesn't cost more golds.”

“You'll cost him more than that, dear sister, with your willfulness.” Rachylana's words were cold, but behind them was pure fury. “You'd think you were the eldest son. You're not. You're a daughter, just like the rest of us, and it might be a good idea if you occasionally remembered that.” Then she turned and left.

With Rachylana's anger still filling her chamber, or so it seemed, Mykella knew she should have managed something far less rude, and only indirectly cutting, but she'd never been that good at fighting with innuendoes, subtle edges to her words, and expressions that conveyed emotion in a way that could not be faulted, no matter how deadly.

With a deep breath, Mykella turned to the armoire and pulled out another black outfit. That was one of the good things about nightsilk. Besides providing protection against knives or bullets, it scarcely ever wore out, and it washed up nicely without fading. The downside was that tailoring it took special cutting tools and three times as long. She left the clothes on the bed and went to wash up.

Once she returned and dressed, she hurried to breakfast. Although conversation at breakfast was more than a little cool because her sisters avoided speaking to her, neither Feranyt nor Jeraxylt seemed to notice.

After eating, Mykella hurried to the Finance chambers and continued her quiet efforts to recheck all the receipts that had been recorded in the past few seasons. This time, she tried to determine whether the tariffs paid by just certain factors and traders were lower, but from what she could tell, almost everyone's reported tariffs were slightly lower, and none of them were greatly out of line with their own past payments.

That took until midafternoon. By then, she had decided that she had to visit the Table chamber again, if only to see if she could learn more about how it worked, but that would have to wait until evening, well after dinner, when she could plead tiredness and retreat to her chambers.

The day dragged, but she finally reached her chambers after leaving dinner early, claiming she felt unwell. After the morning's incident with Rachylana, her sisters might well believe that. Even so, it felt like torture to sit and wait, but she knew that Salyna or Rachylana would come by and ask how she was, if only to see if she happened to be in her room.

Salyna did, announcing her presence with the lightest of knocks. “Mykella?”

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“I'll be fine. I just need to be alone…and get some sleep.”

“You don't want company? Sometimes that helps.”

“Thank you, Salyna. I appreciate it, but I need to think some things out.”

“You're sure you're all right?”

“I'm sure.” Mykella couldn't help smiling fondly at her sister's good-hearted concern. “I know where to find you if I need to talk.”

“I'll hold you to it. Good night.”

Mykella waited longer, a good glass, or so she thought, before she snuffed the wall lamp, not that she needed it much anymore at night, except to read, and moved to the door. She could not sense anyone nearby, and she drew her sight-shield around her and eased the door open and then closed behind her. The guards didn't even look as she slipped along the side of the corridor and down the main staircase, and along the west corridor toward the rear of the palace.

The staircase guard at the rear of the main level posed another problem because he was stationed almost directly before the door she needed to unlock. That had to be her father's doing, and that meant he'd questioned the guards closely. She shook her head. She'd been right about suspecting that he wouldn't want her roaming the palace at night.

She thought for a moment, then moved to one of the study doors along the inside wall of the corridor—a door directly in the guard's line of sight. Using one of her master keys, she unlocked the door, then depressed the lever and gave it a gentle push, moving away and hugging the side of the wide hallway. She stopped a good two yards short of the guard and flattened herself against the wall, waiting.

Several moments passed before the guard saw the open door.

“Who goes there?” He took several steps forward, peering through the dimness only faintly illuminated by the light-torches in their bronze wall brackets, not that all of them worked.

The corridor remained silent. Unseen behind her sight-shield, Mykella eased toward the stairwell door. Behind her, the guard advanced on the open door. Mykella slipped the key into the lock, then opened the staircase door, slipped through it and closed it, quietly locking it behind her.

She took a long and slow breath before she started down the stone steps. At the bottom, she looked around, but the long corridor that led past the Table chamber was empty, as it should have been. She moved quietly forward.

When she entered the Table chamber, she had the feeling that something had changed, although at first glance, everything seemed as it had. There was the faint purple glow of the Table, as well as the blackish green that lay beneath the stone floor.

As she stepped toward the square stone that rose out of the stone floor, a purplish mist seemed to rise from the mirrored surface of the Table. Slowly, the air began to feel heavy and slimy. She wanted to turn and run. She didn't, but instead kept moving toward the Table.

Before she could even think about what she might wish to see, the swirling mists appeared, followed by the visage of the same Alector she had seen before.

You have returned. Excellent.
The violet eyes fixed on her.

“Where are you? In Alustre?” She avoided looking directly at the Alector, sensing that was what he wanted.

Alustre? That would be most unlikely at present. But you are in Tempre, are you not?

“Where else would I be?” Mykella tried to feel what was happening with the Table.

You could use the Table to see all of Corus, and with my help, you could rule it all.

Mykella distrusted those words, even as the wonder of the possibility that mastery of the Table could create that kind of power washed over her.

You could rule like no other.

She glanced up, only to see a pair of misty arms rising from out of the Table itself, arms and hands that began to extend themselves toward her, arms that exuded a cold and purple chill. With absolute certainty, she understood that if those arms ever touched her, she would be dead. Her body might live, but what was Mykella would be dead.

She stepped back, but the arms kept moving toward her. She created a sight-shield between her and the arms. The arms pressed against the shield, pushing it back and forcing Mykella to retreat from the Table as more purpleness flowed from it into those icy extensions that threatened her.

What could she do? Frantically, she tried to add another layer of sight-shields, trying to make them stronger, welding them together.

She could feel herself being squeezed, pressed against the stone wall, but she could not give in. She had to hold on. Abruptly, the flailing of the arms against the barrier of her shields lessened. Then the arms themselves began to dissipate, fading and collapsing into the Table.

Were it not for the distance, steer, you would be mine.

Yet the unspoken words contained a note of triumph, as if the distant Alector had discovered something. The purplish mist slowly dissipated, and the purplish glow of the Table subsided, dropping until it almost vanished, as if the struggle between the distant Alector and her had exhausted it.

Mykella uttered a single sigh, almost a sob, shuddering as she stood there in the dimness of the Table chamber. She had to get out. She had to leave. She forced herself to stand there, breathing deeply, waiting until she was no longer shaking or shuddering.

She looked at the Table, then willed her legs to carry her back toward it, until she could see the mirrored surface. She would not be driven from the Table that was her birthright, for it had to be
her
birthright, since no one else in the Lord-Protector's family seemed able to use the Table.

Slowly, she willed the Table to show her Salyna. The swirling mists appeared, then vanished, showing her younger sister sleeping, her comforter thrown back to her waist.

Mykella smiled. Only Salyna would find the chill of the palace too warm.

Mykella shivered, almost uncontrollably, and she found her legs shaking. Much as she would have liked to use the Table or try to learn more about it, she was too exhausted to do more, and that thought generated anger at the distant Alector, who had made her waste the evening.

Reluctantly, she left the chamber, making sure that the door was firmly closed behind her before she made her way to the staircase up to the main level. Once she reached the landing, she paused. She sensed that the guard was back in position, standing less than a yard from the door.

As quietly as she could, she unlocked the door, then, holding the key in her hand, slowly depressed the lever and eased the door ajar, gathering her sight-shield around her. She could squeeze out, but barely, so long as the guard did not turn. Even if he did, he would not see her, but she wanted no attention paid to the lower level and the Table chamber.

She managed to get the door closed, but not locked, before the guard whirled. Mykella froze, standing unseen beside the door.

The guard stared at the closed door. “Not again.”

Mykella eased a coin from her wallet and threw it down the corridor. It clinked loudly.

The guard turned, then stepped forward as he caught the glint of silver.

Mykella locked the door and then eased along the side of the hallway. She was even more exhausted and trembling once again by the time she reached her chamber, where, after sliding the door bolt she seldom used into place, she just sat dumbly on the edge of her bed.

As she sat there, still shaking, a greenish-golden radiance suffused the room, and in its center hovered the Ancient, a winged and perfect version of a feminine figure, if less than the size of a six-year-old girl.

You have done well, child.

Mykella wasn't certain what to say to the Ancient…or if she could. She had so many questions, but she knew she could not delay. “Was that an Alector?”

Rather an Ifrit from the latest world they are bleeding of life. You must watch the Table to see that they do not try again, and you must become stronger. You will not take them by surprise again.

“I hardly know what I'm doing,” Mykella protested.

You must learn to use your Talent.