Imagers intrigue, p.17
Imager's Intrigue, page 17
I never realized she’d been married.
“…but when I look at Poincaryt, Dichartyn, or you, all having to carry full shields all the time, and you worrying about your family every moment of every day…I’ve come to realize that there are worse things than being unknown—or underknown, as you once suggested to Dichartyn.”
“Why did you pick the three of us as examples? You didn’t mention Rholyn or Jhulian.”
“You three are the most visible, much as Dichartyn tries to keep a low profile. You’re the designated targets, if you will.”
“Were we picked because we have the strongest shields?”
She laughed again. “All of you picked yourselves, you more than the others. I don’t think you could keep a low profile in pitch darkness in an abandoned gold mine. That’s not without benefit for the rest of the Collegium, because people tend not to look past the others, especially you.”
I had to pick Diestrya up and set her down away from the pile of thorny branches. “What do you think will happen next?”
“War. The question is when. Ferrum won’t give up, because Jariola gets weaker every year. You can’t maintain strong commerce and industry under a hereditary oligarchy. Stakanar is still eyeing the mines in southern Tiempre, and the Abierto Isles want to annex Meritas. The Council really doesn’t want to continue building up armaments, although they keep talking about modernizing the fleet. That won’t happen anytime soon, and the Ferrans know it.”
I picked up Diestrya, because that was easier than continually moving her away from danger. “So who’s behind the stronger elveweed?”
“The seeds or cuttings were doubtless supplied by Stakanar, and the funds to grow it—you were right about it having to be in the south—from Ferrum.”
“Do you know where?”
“Know? Yes. Be able to prove it, no.” She picked up her shears. “I need to get back to trimming these before we get a truly hard freeze. Enjoy your dinner with Iryela and Kandryl.”
“I hope to.” I’d never mentioned that dinner to anyone at all, except Seliora, not even Maitre Poincaryt.
Diestrya and I continued our walk, all the way up to the park area, and the hedge maze that she was still too young to appreciate, and then all the way back home. The whole way I wondered what I needed to find out from Iryela…or Kandryl.
I also wondered why I hadn’t picked up on what Maitre Dyana really was before, other than that she’d come from a High Holder family. But when I’d studied with her, she’d revealed nothing and always kept me on the defensive. Ever since then, I’d been with the Civic Patrol and hadn’t seen her all that much. When I had, she’d always avoided talking anything but pleasantries. Her recent words hadn’t been casual, and that raised yet another set of questions, all of which suggested that even more was at stake than I’d already thought.
At the same time, when it came right down to it, I was only one Civic Patrol captain among a number, and one of a handful of talented imagers, and all of the others with such abilities were far more experienced. Besides, even if war broke out, few events of major impact could occur in L’Excelsis that we hadn’t already seen—conscription riots, spies and assassinations, and explosions, to name but a few. Certainly, the Place D’Opera explosion, though startling, was nothing to compare to the explosion that the Tiemprans had set off years before in the Temple of Puryon.
Still, I couldn’t help but worry as I fed Diestrya and put her down for her nap. With all the exercise, she slept well.
Seliora walked into the house just after fifth glass, as Diestrya and I were struggling with the usual three-year-old’s post-nap crankiness. Somehow we got through the next glass and were ready to depart when the Dichartyn girls arrived to watch Diestrya, since Klysia had Samedis off. I would have been very surprised if Aelys didn’t look in once or twice as well. I’d also made arrangements earlier to borrow my parent’s coach—and Charlsyn—since Iryela’s L’Excelsis estate was a good half-glass north of the Plaza D’Nord, and I didn’t feel right about using a duty coach. There wasn’t any way to catch a hack back to L’Excelsis, and I didn’t want to impose on Iryela, although she certainly could have afforded the imposition.
Seliora wore a red ankle-length dress with a black jacket and a black sash belt, with a black opera cloak, not that we’d been to the opera in years. As always, I was in grays, and we met Charlsyn on the west side of Imagisle, where we usually took the duty coach, at sixth glass. I’d thought that on a Samedi evening, the Boulevard D’Ouest would be thronged, but it wasn’t, and less than a quarter-glass later, we were riding through the Plaza D’Nord.
“It’s good to be going somewhere by ourselves,” said Seliora, “and not with family.”
I agreed. “We’ll probably get a note from Mother…”
“It came yesterday. I forgot to tell you. She’s asked us for next Samedi, or the following one, if that’s not convenient.”
“Which would you prefer?”
“This coming Samedi, the thirty-fifth. Mother was thinking about a dinner for Shomyr’s birthday on the seventh.”
“Are you up to two nights in a row?” I paused. “We could leave early, saying we were tired because of the Autumn Ball the night before.”
“Rhenn…they are your family,” she said gently.
“I know, but I’ll have to work on Samedi.”
She just looked at me, and I laughed. “Next Samedi it is.”
“They’ll be happy.” She raised her eyebrows. “After all, would you want to eat dinner with Culthyn every night?”
She had a point there.
Iryela’s chateau—technically it was now Kandryl’s, even though she’d inherited it and had to marry him to keep it, if only after a fashion—was set on the east side of the main road, a structure a good three hundred yards from end to end laid out in a “Y” shape. The southern section ended at what looked to be a cliff, but which was really a wall down from the terrace. At the end of the terrace there had once been a square stone tower, but Iryela had not had it rebuilt after I’d destroyed it. A gray stone wall a little more than two yards high extended around the grounds, and a single set of iron-grilled gates, without even a crest on them, afforded access to the paved drive beyond that led to the chateau.
The gates opened at our approach. Charlsyn then guided the coach through the walls and up the spotlessly clean stones of the driveway and under the portico. There, a footman in black and silver stepped forward to open the coach door and to extend a hand to Seliora. As I stepped out after her, I saw another coach stationed on the far side of the circle, beyond the fountain and circular garden. The crimson and silver body work, far grander than the brown and brass of our coach, confirmed that Frydryk D’Suyrien and Alynkya D’Ramsael had already arrived.
We hadn’t even reached the outer doorway when an older man, in a black velvet jacket with silver piping over a silver shirt and black trousers, stepped forward, inclining his head deeply. “Master Rhennthyl, Madame, welcome.”
“Thank you, Fahyl,” I replied. “You are looking well, as always.”
“Thank you, sir. Madame awaits you in the family salon.”
We followed Fahyl inside and down the right-hand hallway off the main foyer. The family salon, although twice the size of our dining room, was the smallest and most intimate gathering chamber in the chateau.
Iryela immediately rose from the settee where she’d been seated. “Seliora! Rhenn!” While she’d filled out slightly after the birth of her twins the year before, she was still slender and very white-blonde.
Kandryl also rose, immediately, as did Alynkya. Frydryk was slower, languid in standing, as if he were the Chief Councilor instead of his father, although I’d observed that Councilor Suyrien always exhibited great courtesy on the occasions when I’d seen him.
“Do sit down,” Iryela went on. “Our white Grisio for you, Seliora?”
“Please.”
“Your red,” I said.
I took the chair beside Iryela, since she had gestured toward it, while Seliora eased onto the other settee beside Alynkya.
“You travel enough that you ought to have your own carriage,” said Frydryk.
“For work, I can use the duty coaches, and otherwise,” I said with a shrug, “we make do. Besides, where would we keep the coach and coachman?” I turned to Iryela. “How are the twins?”
“Sleeping, thankfully,” replied Kandryl dryly from beside her.
“I imagine you’re happy they’re past the colicky stage,” said Seliora.
“Exceedingly,” said Iryela.
Frydryk didn’t quite sneer, as if to intimate that talking about children and colic was scarcely suitable High Holder conversation.
So I smiled and asked him, “How is your father these days? I’ve heard that he’s rather occupied.”
“Ah, yes…with all the troubles caused by the freeholders.” Frydryk nodded sagely. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were being counseled and paid by Ferran agents.”
“Anything is possible in these times,” I said, taking a goblet of the Ryel red—a varietal Grisio, really—from a serving girl, and looking to Iryela. “This is one of my favorite wines, and not just because it’s from your vineyards.”
“We’re glad you enjoy it.”
Seliora accepted her goblet and took a sip.
“I can tell Seliora and I think the same of the white,” said Kandryl. “As does Father.”
That offered the opportunity I wanted. “I don’t think I’ve seen your father more than a handful of times since the wedding…although he did invite us to the Council’s Autumn Ball next Vendrei.”
“None of us see him very often,” said Frydryk with a laugh. “If he’s not dealing with Council business, he’s dealing with other High Holders. At the moment, he’s in Ruile…something to do with Ruelyr. He’s got all the lands between Ruile and the Sud Swamp. Ruelyr and Father have been friends for years, but…”
“But?” asked Alynkya.
“Ruelyr…let’s just say that he’d have been more successful as a High Holder several centuries back. Father has had to caution him more than once about the distinction between low justice and Council justice.” Frydryk glanced to me. “Or Civic Patrol justice.”
Neither Iryela nor Kandryl spoke, and I could sense the tension. Why would Frydryk offer such a pointed remark? To test me? Or to needle Iryela by reminding her that she was subject to Kandryl’s enforcement of low justice?
“The Civic Patrol is an arm of the Council,” I said with a smile, “and I’m charged with enforcing the laws of the Council. Most High Holders are like your father, very honorable men, who understand quite clearly that distinction. There are always those men, who can be anything from High Holders to taudis-toughs, who think the law is something for others to obey. They’re few, but they cause most of the problems in any land, even in Solidar.”
“You’ve handled them well,” said Iryela casually, looking to Frydryk, who ignored her glance while not seeming to do so.
“I’ve had the value of good counsel…and luck, but still…it’s always better when you can deal with those of good manners, whether crafters, factors, or High Holders. Seliora’s found that as well.” I inclined my head toward the loveliest woman in the room.
“I suppose you do deal with all sorts,” said Frydryk, not quite pointedly.
“Who was it,” I interjected quickly, “that was so easy for you to deal with, but whose fiance…the bride…” I knew very well who it was, but I wanted Seliora to bring up her name.
“Oh…Dhelora D’Zaerlyn-Alte…she’s very bright and quite pleasant.” Seliora smiled.
“I’ve never heard of High Holder Zaerlyn,” I said, not that such was surprising, given that there were more than a thousand spread across Solidar.
“The family’s been very reclusive,” replied Iryela. “Their lands aren’t far from ours, and I don’t think we’ve met, even socially, on more than five or six occasions. They have a number of gold and silver properties, and one of the largest porcelain works in Solidar.”
“That’s a polite way of putting it,” suggested Frydryk. “They’ve produced…shall we say…bathing and other facilities for generations.”
“His name never comes up for the Council or anything else,” I said.
“His influence is very subtle,” said Kandryl. “He has contacts in surprising places, and Father has often consulted with him.”
For several long moments, there was silence, before Frydryk spoke up again. “I’ve often wondered why there are no imager High Holders. Oh, I know, the law is very strict about that, but I’d think that someone like you, Rhenn, would do as well as the average High Holder.” After the slightest pause, he added, “If not better.”
Seliora offered a pleasant smile, but I could sense the cold iron behind it.
Even Iryela stiffened just the tiniest bit, for all of her upbringing as a High Holder.
I laughed. “I suppose I could, Frydryk, I suppose I could; but if we allowed that, why, all too many imagers would think they could do it, and then what would happen to all the old High Holders?”
Frydryk actually looked puzzled.
I smiled again, then imaged a bullet into his crystal goblet. It appeared in the middle of the white Grisio and then dropped against the crystal with a dull ring. “I can do that. I could image that anywhere…perhaps into a heart…an artery…a return vein to the heart. Some imagers can do that. Some can’t. It’s a bit like High Holders. Some understand. Some don’t. Just like your father has to remind High Holders of their duties and responsibilities, so there are imagers who remind other imagers of theirs. Even so, the combination of a High Holder and an imager wouldn’t be good for Solidar.”
Frydryk was still looking at the bullet. He swallowed. “I’ve never seen that.”
I imaged it out of the glass and onto the side table. “I can also remove things. As a matter of fact, some years ago, when your father was giving a toast, I imaged an entire glass of poisoned wine out of his goblet, and the liquid only trembled.”
“He never mentioned that.”
“I don’t know if he was even told. That’s part of the security detail that protects Council members while they’re at the Council Chateau. I was only on that detail for a season or so, but I stopped several attempted assassinations. So did others, far more quietly. Much of the time, the Councilors don’t even see that. Occasionally, they do. It’s a very cooperative system. The Collegium protects the Council, and the Council protects the Collegium. It works.”
“Why did you leave that duty?” asked Iryela.
I laughed again, with more humor. “Both the Collegium and I discovered that, among other things, I lacked the requisite talent for remaining unnoticed. I have trouble not doing things like that.” I gestured to the bullet I’d imaged out of nowhere. “Civic Patrollers don’t have to remain invisible.” I paused. “I don’t mean literally invisible. I mean that a good imager security type always looks like he or she belongs wherever he or she happens to be, so much so that no one ever questions their presence.”
“Was that what you were doing when you requested a dance from me the first time?” asked Alynkya.
“Yes,” I replied. “That was part of it. Even there, I wasn’t very good at being unnoticed. You not only remembered me, but had your father track down who I was. Had I been truly good at it, you only would have vaguely remembered a pleasant young man who was polite and a good but not outstanding dancer.”
“There were some…” Alynkya mused.
“Exactly.”
She smiled, somehow wistfully and warmly, and at that moment, I truly wished that she had found someone else to marry besides Frydryk. Strong as I suspected she was, she was still far too sweet for him, but there was nothing I could do about that.
From there the conversation drifted into talk of wine vintages, about which my knowledge was limited, and into how Iryela and Kandryl had finally finished rebuilding the gardens after the “great freeze,” an indirect reference to my actions that had led to Iryela inheriting Ryel and marrying Kandryl, who only used his holding title—Ryel D’Alte—when absolutely necessary.
A glass later, we repaired to the “small” dining room. The food was exquisite, and even Frydryk stopped sneering once he started eating.
20
We didn’t get back to Imagisle until midnight on Samedi, and I paid Charlsyn two full silvers. Doubtless Mother had already paid him extra, but there was never any point in being cheap when you asked for special service, and he was appreciative. We did sleep late on Solayi morning, as late as Diestrya would let us, which wasn’t quite until half-past sixth glass, but since I was usually up before fifth glass, it was a luxury of sorts.
We had a half-leisurely breakfast—hurried until Diestrya was fed—and then relaxed more afterwards while she played on the kitchen floor. We sat in the adjoining breakfast room, where we could watch her through the archway, and sipped a second cup of tea.
“I like Alynkya.” Seliora smiled sweetly. “Even if you did dance with her when you were courting me.”
“It was my duty. Besides, the first time, her mother was dying, and the second time, her mother had just died.” I quickly added, “You dance far better.”
“You didn’t mention the second time,” Seliora said.
“That was because that was the ball when Iryela was setting me up, and I was much more worried about that…if you recall?”
“I seem to recall something…” She laughed, but a frown followed. “Last night Frydryk was baiting both you and Iryela. She didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t happy. He’s not the High Holder yet, and he isn’t the Chief Councilor. His father is.”
“He was trying to find out something. I don’t think he did, but I did. The question is whether he was meant to reveal what he did or not. If he intended to reveal that, does it mean that he’s not being all that dutiful a son, or that Suyrien wanted him to?”
“Or he’s being stupid?” Seliora raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think so. He meant to let on all that about High Holder Ruelyr.”
