“To a good harvest,” came the uneven reply.
Then the staff began to serve a chilled strawberry cream soup, more cool than chilled, Charyn knew as he looked first to Marenna. “What might you be doing for the first part of Agostos?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll be returning to the summer villa on the west side of the Aluse, just a little north of Talyon. It’s one of my favorite places.”
Charyn turned to Alyncya. “And you?”
“Father and I will be visiting friends in Vaestora.”
“High Holder Calkoran?”
“His daughter has been a friend for years. We don’t see each other as much now.”
“You should ask her to accompany her father when he comes to L’Excelsis.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s kind of you to suggest it, now that he will be traveling here more often.”
Charyn caught the puzzled looks on the faces of both Marenna and Sherrona, seated on Ferrand’s left, while Ferron, on Alyncya’s left, nodded just slightly. “What are your harvest plans, Ferron?”
“Accompanying the landwardens to learn better how to manage harvests.”
Charyn nodded. “And then what?”
Ferron grinned. “Explaining it well enough to my sire that he’ll find something even more exacting for me to learn.”
Conversation over the next four courses was in much the same tenor, much as Charyn would have liked to have spent the time conversing only with Alyncya.
Except for Ferrand and Elacia, High Holder Shendael and Alyncya were the last to say their farewells, beginning with the High Holder.
“You do play the clavecin admirably, Your Grace. Not many High Holders do, and no Rexes that I’ve known. You also keep your temper well. I imagine we’ll see each other more often, at least occasionally. Good evening and thank you.” Shendael stepped back, leaving Alyncya with Charyn.
“Those words are the closest you’ll ever hear to approval,” she murmured.
Charyn took her hand, bent slightly and kissed it, if gently, lowering her hand, but not releasing it. “I did enjoy conversing with you and listening to you play.”
“I enjoyed the same, Your Grace.” She squeezed his fingers gently, then eased her hand away.
“Until later,” he said, just standing there and watching as she crossed the last yard or so of the grand foyer and headed out into the night.
Then he turned, to find Ferrand almost at his elbow.
“Do I detect a certain interest, Charyn?”
“Do you have to ask?” A moment passed. “Did she say anything interesting to you?”
“She’s quite witty, but gently barbed when someone says something foolish.”
“Such as?”
“Sherrona D’Plessan said that it was surprising that you played so well, and Alyncya said it would have been more surprising if you had played badly.”
“She’s very bright, and very cautious, I think.”
“With your interest in her, Charyn, she’d be an idiot not to be cautious, and she’s not that at all.”
No … she’s not. Charyn laughed. “You and your mother need to head home, unless you want to stay here tonight.”
“We’ll go home. If we don’t, I’ll spend all day tomorrow answering questions from my sisters. They’ll be waiting anyway, and worrying if we don’t come home.”
“Give them my best.”
Once Ferrand had left, Charyn walked back to the empty music room, where he took out the music for “Pavane in a Minor Key.”
10
The air was colder than Charyn thought it should be for summer when he walked down the grand staircase on the way to the breakfast room. He usually took the circular staircase, but for some reason he found himself walking down the center of the polished marble risers, his boots echoing with each step, an echo that seemed to reverberate through the entire Chateau, as if foreshadowing something ominous. Why that would be he had no idea. Nor did he have any idea why his breath steamed so much in the chill air. Had there been another unseasonable storm, one with hail that had chilled the air?
As he neared the polished marble tiles of the main foyer, he saw that neither of the two guards posted there moved, but stood motionless, like the painted statues of the ancient Naedarans. He could see his breath in the cold air, but not theirs. He tried to stop, to understand why he kept walking toward the statue-like guards, but his legs failed to obey, carrying him downward until he was on the last riser, and then on the polished white marble tiles of the foyer, even with the pair of guards.
The guard on the right turned, unbelievably swiftly.
Charyn gaped, because above the guard’s formal greens, there was no face, just a blank expanse of skin. Before Charyn could speak or move, the faceless guard raised a pistol that Charyn had not seen and aimed it right at Charyn’s forehead.
With a soundless yell that froze in his throat, Charyn tried to throw himself to the side, to twist out of the way, but his entire body felt as though it had turned to stone, his legs rooted to the marble tiles, his mouth frozen open. His eyes fixed on the grayish-black bullet that oozed through the silent air toward him as he fought to move his stone-like arms, legs, and body. The bullet moved inexorably closer …
“No!”
His own voice echoed in his ears, and suddenly, he was thrashing against the single sheet, which felt like a shroud around him.
“NO, no, noooooo…”
Then, he could move, although his legs were tangled in the sheet, and sweat poured from him, and he was shivering, despite the warmth of the harvest air.
The same frigging dream …
It had been months since he’d last had that dream.
“Why now?”
Abruptly, he realized he’d spoken aloud, although there was certainly no one else in the bedchamber. As he thought that, he looked around, but even the dim light before dawn was enough for him to see that he was alone.
He couldn’t help shuddering.
11
After the awakening nightmare on Solayi, the remainder of the day was thankfully uneventful, although Charyn endured Chorister Iskhar’s less than scintillating homily that evening. But he definitely enjoyed the time spent with Aloryana, Alastar, and the others after services. Lundi and Mardi were also less than distinguished, filled with routine activities, and Charyn did finish reading through several petitions and working out replies with Sanafryt.
On Meredi morning, the first thing Charyn did after entering his study was to pick up the newssheets that lay on the desk and begin to read them.
The first article of more than passing interest was in Veritum and referred to the break-in on Lundi night at a small factorage dealing with porcelainware. Nothing had been taken, but much of the porcelain had been broken and left strewn across the floor. Yet no one reported hearing anything.
“Why would anyone break in and just smash porcelain … unless they had a grudge against the factor?” Charyn didn’t have an answer to his own question.
Then there was another story, this time in Tableta, about Charyn, saying that he had been rumored to have visited Imagisle several times, including on Solayi, and ended by asking the question, “Is our beloved Rex more comfortable attending services among imagers, or might it be brotherly devotion to his sister Aloryana, who is an imager?”
Both newssheets had stories on the rumored Jariolan blockade of the Abierto Isles, and both newssheets declared that the Rex needed to take stronger actions against the Jariolans.
That’s all well and good for you to say, but you’ll all scream if I raise tariffs enough to do immediately what you want. Not that he could anyway without more shipbuilding.
Charyn set aside the newssheets and looked glumly toward the window, open to the still and warm outside air that blanketed L’Excelsis. He couldn’t ever recall the Chateau being so quiet or empty.
That’s because it never has been, not in your memory.
“Minister Sanafryt, sir,” announ
ced Moencriff, opening the door and ushering the older man into the study.
Sanafryt carried a folder and conveyed an attitude of concern as he neared Charyn and the table desk.
“You look worried,” observed Charyn.
“I’ve just received these documents from the regional justicer in Solis. He’s sent them to you for your review, requesting that the case be heard by the High Justicer.”
“Why didn’t he just refer it?”
“Because, without your approval, he’d have to hear the case, and I doubt that he wants to. I’d rather not say more until you read through the referral documents.” Sanafryt extended the folder.
“Then I should read them.” As he took the folder, Charyn didn’t bother to conceal his resignation to what seemed inevitable … and was likely something that could turn nasty. Otherwise, Sanafryt would have drafted something for his approval, modification, or rejection.
Once the Minister of Justice had left the study, Charyn opened the folder. He read the précis once, then read it again, shaking his head, before he went on to the rest of the supporting documents. When he finished, he wanted to shake his head even more.
From the material before him, the facts were clear enough. High Holder Cayloren had offered his older daughter Hylenia in marriage to a local factor of Lucayl. Hylenia was barely eighteen. Factor Lubarun was fifty-two and recently widowed. Hylenia had attempted to leave her father’s holding to avoid the marriage, but had been caught and confined to quarters in a chateau tower. She had escaped by creating a long makeshift rope out of hangings and bed linens, taken a horse, and ridden fifteen milles to Karkas, the High Holding of Karkastyr, where she hurriedly wed Taartyl, the youngest son of High Holder Karkastyr. Being eighteen, she didn’t legally require her father’s approval.
But it’s very unusual for one High Holder to flout the wishes of another in a purely family matter. And it’s even more unusual for a High Holder to prefer that his daughter marry a factor, rather than the son of a High Holder, even a junior son.
High Holder Cayloren arrived just after the wedding and through some subterfuge not outlined in the documents reached his daughter and shot her and the groom. Hylenia died, but Taartyl lived. Cayloren was immediately imprisoned by High Holder Karkastyr. Factor Lubarun laid claim to Cayloren’s holding and assets, asserting that Hylenia had been promised to him in return for Lubarun’s forgiving of thirty thousand golds Cayloran owed to Lubarun.
And you thought Ferrand’s father’s debts of some nine thousand golds were excessive? And what was Lubarun factoring that he could come up with thirty thousand golds?
Charyn swallowed at the next section—that Cayloren’s son shot and killed Lubarun, and had been shot and killed in turn by the factor’s bodyguard. On a separate sheet, the regional justicer noted that Lubarun’s late wife had died in her sleep a year earlier, after an illness, while Lubarun had been in Solis, but that the healer who had tended her had been paid by Cayloren and had later disappeared. All the assets and property of the High Holding were being claimed as damages by Lubarun’s daughter. Cayloren’s only surviving heir was a fifteen-year-old daughter, Hypenya.
Charyn shook his head. No wonder the regional justicer hadn’t wanted to touch the matter, but there was no sense in forcing him to do so. The High Justicer would have to hear the case, and hopefully sentence Cayloren to death. Then there would be a squabble over the High Holding, and no matter how that turned out, neither factors nor High Holders would be happy.
And, if the High Justicer didn’t find Cayloren guilty of assault and murder, there would be an even greater outcry, and that would require Charyn to remove the High Justicer.
Charyn could see the wisdom in granting the request and drafted a letter to the regional justicer agreeing to the request, then had Moencriff take the draft to Sanafryt for his review. He was pondering the case when Sturdyn brought in the latest letter from Rivages, several other letters, and a report from Marshal Vaelln.
Deciding that Vaelln’s likely less than encouraging news could wait a quint longer, Charyn immediately opened his mother’s letter and began to read.
Dear Charyn—
You’re kind to keep me informed on all that is happening in L’Excelsis. I look forward to hearing how your small dinner turned out. I thought Bhayrn might be able to tell me something when he arrived late last evening. He said he was too tired to talk, but that he’d left before the dinner, and he’d tell me what he knew today. That will be a while, since he’s still sleeping.
Listen to Elacia, but make your own decisions in terms of entertaining, and, no matter how galling it may be, stick to strict propriety in dealing with women from this point on. I cannot tell you how much failure to maintain such propriety has cost our families over the years …
That was clearly an allusion to Charyn’s grandmother’s dalliance and affair with Chelia’s grandfather, which had resulted in the birth of Ryentar, whose actual parentage had not been revealed until the end of the first High Holders’ revolt … and which had secretly precipitated it.
… Your father, unlike every other man in the families before you, was most proper, perhaps somewhat too proper with me, but that is why matters were the way they were last year. Be proper until you find the right woman and then be proper with all others, and, only after wedding, enjoy each other as you can, for life is more uncertain than any of us can predict.
That message wasn’t even between the lines. Charyn smiled briefly.
Karyel does work at learning, but when he finds matters boring, or difficult, he smiles the family smile and attempts to charm his way out of working or studying. That is too like his grandfather. Iryella pouts, but we’re working that through. At times, I feel too old for this, but I remind myself that, for better or worse, I only have a few years before it will be out of my hands and into yours.
The Nameless help me when Karyel becomes High Holder. Charyn continued reading for the next few pages. There were only a few lines on the last page, uncharacteristically, since Chelia tended to fill every sheet.
I’ve been worried about the lack of rain, as I wrote earlier, but there are dark clouds to the north, and, with luck, we’ll get enough rain so that the maize doesn’t suffer too much.
Do write me about the dinner, when you can. I’ll close now so that I can dispatch this before the rain.
Charyn stood and walked to the window. He looked to the north. He thought he saw a line of clouds on the horizon, but he couldn’t be certain. But then, the army couriers usually outpaced the weather, if only by a day or so.
He glanced toward the desk and the dispatch from Vaelln. He slipped his mother’s letter into the cabinet and then went through the other letters, one from each person invited to the dinner on Samedi evening, except for Alyncya, whose missive had arrived late on Mardi.
Those from the other young women were formal, flowery, and properly polite. The one from Zhelan was formal and thoughtfully polite.
Charyn smiled at the lines in Ferron’s letter that went beyond the formal requirements:
… your thoughtfulness at the state of my feelings is greatly appreciated, but I trust you understand that after beholding a jewel of perfection any other seems lacking …
Then he read Ferrand’s letter, picking out certain phrases …
… as always, you have done more than anyone could expect, even from a close relative …
… may be interested to know that I’ve been invited to a soiree by High Holder and Lady D’Almeida … but how you guessed that Marenna might be interested in me …
Charyn couldn’t have explained that, either, but he didn’t have to.
He set aside the thank-you letters and opened the Marshal’s dispatch—less than two pages, which revealed that a Jariolan fleet had been sighted in mid-ocean apparently headed toward the Abierto Isles. In the previous weeks, there had been no naval engagements and no ships lost or damaged. At the end was a note that the commander in charge of the navy shipyard at
Estisle had reported that an anomen in Nacliano had been burned by a mob wearing all-white garments and hoods that concealed their faces and chanting words about “returning to Rholan” and “purifying the faith of the Nameless.” According to Vaelln, the chorister had also perished, but the commander had looked into the matter and discovered that many felt that the deceased chorister had used most of the offerings in ways that increased the splendor of the anomen and the raiment and vestments of the chorister.
Charyn finally placed the letter in the chest that held all of the Marshal’s reports.
There are too many incidents involving the anomens and what must be the True Believers.
But then, Charyn himself had felt that too many choristers of the Nameless had been doing too well for themselves and less for those who needed help. But you can’t tell choristers how to conduct themselves, not as Rex. He frowned. He supposed he could, but was it a good idea? And would they even listen?
He took a deep breath and sat down at the table desk, taking out from the cabinet behind him the other short letter he had received on Mardi, and reread it … again.
Your Grace—
My father and I both thank you for inviting us to the lovely summer dinner you hosted on Harvest-Turn evening. As you suggested, there is a much better chance for meaningful conversation when smaller numbers of diners are present, although other obligations impose limits, as well you understand.
Because you enjoyed Covaelyt’s “Variations on a Khellan Melody” and had never heard of it before, I am enclosing a copy for your use and enjoyment. Although I am not a professional music engraver, I believe the transcription is accurate, and I look forward to the time when I might be able to hear you play it. This is partly selfish on my part, because I haven’t heard anyone else play it in years, not since Heldryk did when I was barely more than a child.
The signature was “Alyncya D’Shendael-Alte.”
Charyn couldn’t quite believe what she had sent—eight pages of music. Eight pages that she had copied. To personally copy that much music would have taken a professional musician like Palenya more than a glass a page. Eight to twelve glasses of perfect copy in two days? That showed more than great talent in musicianship and engraving. Much more.
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