The two younger sisters exchanged glances.
“How much arms training do you think Cheleyza has had?” Mykella asked quickly, coming up with the first question she could find to defuse the simmering antagonism.
“What?” Salyna looked puzzled.
“She rides well. She’s been directing cavalry. She wears an officer’s uniform.”
“Oh…” Salyna frowned. “She’s from Northcoast. Most women there get weapons training of some sort. As the sister of the prince, though…”
“She’d either get more or less,” interjected Rachylana. “Not the same as other women. Since she seems so at home in uniform, I’d say more.”
“I’d never have guessed it from her wardrobe,” mused Mykella.
“But she rode a lot, and she was always thin,” added Salyna.
“There’s always something you don’t know about people,” offered Rachylana. “Even when you’ve grown up with them.”
Salyna glanced across the table, then decided against saying anything. So did Mykella as she passed the teapot to Salyna.
After eating quickly, Salyna rose.
“You’re not leaving so soon?” asked Rachylana.
“This is late for the auxiliaries. We’re trying to get as much training in as possible before season-turn.”
“Should I—” began Rachylana.
“Tomorrow morning would be better. It’s a regular day. I’m improvising today.” With that, Salyna hurried off.
Rachylana looked to Mykella. “She didn’t seem that angry at the end.”
“She wasn’t. She was just rushed. You could sense that, couldn’t you?”
“I thought so … but sometimes…” Rachylana shook her head.
“Why did you—”
“Unless I do, she’ll never understand. Right now, there’s no way to prove that what I do is also of worth.”
For all her Talent, Mykella wasn’t sure she understood all that went on between her sisters … or why Rachylana suddenly was concerned about proving something to Salyna.
“Oh … as soon as you finish, you need to check the Table with me. I think … well … it would be better…”
“What?” Mykella managed not to snap.
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Then … let’s go down, and you can show me.” Mykella stood. If it’s not one thing … it’s another. “Do you have your key?”
“Yes.” Rachylana took a long swallow of tea, making a face. “I’ll be glad when we can get fresh cider again.” Then she stood.
The two walked silently from the breakfast room and down the main staircase, back along the silent west corridor, then past the corridor guard and down the narrow staircase to the lowest level of the palace, then back along the north corridor to the Table chamber.
Rachylana used her key on the heavy lock on the iron shutters, then opened the door.
Mykella sensed nothing amiss and stepped into the chamber, with her sister following, then gestured toward the Table. “If you’d show me … whatever it is…”
The redhead stepped up to the Table, looked down, and concentrated.
The scene that came into view when the mists cleared showed Cheleyza standing before what looked to be a large stable.
“I think they have to be in Hieron,” Rachylana explained. “They were riding across one of the bridges built by the Alectors this morning. It had to be across the Vedra. I couldn’t believe they were riding so early. I checked the maps you gave me. That’s the only bridge across a big river anywhere near where they could be. But I wanted you to see for yourself.”
“They’re farther south than we thought, then.”
Rachylana gestured toward the Table, now showing Cheleyza striding across the packed earth of a stableyard. “She looks angry. She does often, I’ve noticed.”
“It could be that she always was.” Except she hadn’t felt that way the few times you met with her before. She gave off a feeling of being superior. “Or at least since she left here.”
“I think it’s because she’s thinking more and more of what she lost. She wanted to be the wife of the Lord-Protector.” Rachylana paused. “No … she wanted to be the one controlling the Lord-Protector. Behind that charm, she was always a bitch.”
Except you didn’t see it then. “She’s always wanted her own way, I think.” Mykella paused. “You were right, but I’m glad you wanted to show me. I’ll need to send a message to Areyst. I’d like you to look more frequently today. I’ll look several times tomorrow so that you don’t have to leave the auxiliaries on the first day you’re working with them.”
“Salyna would be happy if I left.”
“Not happy. Self-justified.”
“That’s why I won’t.”
“You both have good qualities, but they’re different. You can’t be each other, you know?”
“I know that, but Salyna looks down on anyone who doesn’t have ‘practical’ skills. She could accept your Finance clerking because that involved saving golds. Arranging balls and running the palace—those are things any woman can do.”
“They’re not, but you won’t convince her of that,” Mykella added quickly and smoothly, “We can’t do much more here at the moment”—she knew there was little more she could do right then to smooth the friction between the two—“and I do need to get word to Areyst.”
The two turned from the Table, and the image faded into mists that quickly dispersed, leaving behind a blank and shining mirrored surface.
46
The first days of nineweek of spring passed quickly—and without incident, even as the Table showed Cheleyza’s forces riding steadily toward Lanachrona. Mykella began working out a new tariff schedule with Haelyt. She’d have to be most careful in how she approached the factors and Seltyrs, and she wasn’t about to do so until after she dealt with the attackers. If she weren’t successful, the tariff changes wouldn’t matter, and there was no sense in upsetting the factors and Seltyrs unless she proved Lanachrona could stand on its own under a Lady-Protector.
On Quattri morning, since she had heard nothing from Zylander, she sent a message requesting a meeting with him on Sexdi or Septi morning, then settled down to consider how long before Cheleyza and her forces reached Salcer.
At that moment, Chalmyr announced Lord Gharyk, who entered the study and bowed. “Lady-Protector.”
Mykella gestured to the chairs. “Do you bring me news about matters at the gaol?”
“No, Lady. This is another matter. As I indicated I would do some weeks ago, I have been working to untangle the legalities of your succession, as it applies to your properties and interests, and while they look to be close to being resolved, there are certain problems.”
“What are those problems?”
“Were you aware that your father gifted the villa on Eastern Avenue to your late uncle?”
Mykella stiffened. “What? That’s always belonged to the Protector. Father never said anything about that.”
“There was a deed registered last summer.”
“It had to be forged.”
“I had thought so, myself, because he never brought the matter before me or my clerks, but the document was registered by your uncle, and the signatures and seals appear legitimate—”
“I can’t believe that. Father never would have—”
Gharyk lifted a hand. “The property is not a problem. In all senses, both legal and political, you are the sole heir. I have filed the proper documentation to return it to your ambit.”
“Then … what is the problem?”
“… several factors have lodged claims against you—through the property, of course—for damages, Lady-Protector…”
“Why? Has the Treasury failed to pay them for goods?”
“It appears as though your late uncle failed to pay them, and as his direct blood heir…”
“The debt is mine?”
“It is.” Gharyk cleared his throat. “In many cases, the obligations of a
debtor are discharged through repudiation, either through repudiation of all inheritance, which is a mere formality for most people, because they inherit little or nothing, or through repudiation on the grounds that the debts were incurred through fraud, deception, or other means outside the law. You could do that, in view of your uncle’s acts, and no one would contest that repudiation.”
“You don’t think that’s a good idea, I can see.”
“In these times—”
Mykella sighed. “I agree. It’s a very bad idea.” Practically and politically. “What are these debts?”
Gharyk removed a sheet from the folder he carried and extended it across the desk to her.
Mykella read through the listing, her eyes widening. “Ninety-seven golds for seamstresses, a hundred golds for various victuals, sixty-seven golds for horses…” The total was close to a thousand golds. She lowered the list and sat there. Somehow, the golds for seamstresses, for all those gowns and dresses, bothered her more than the other expenditures, not that she liked the idea of paying any of them in the slightest.
“Lady … if it is a problem…”
“No … I’ll pay. These people have a right to be paid. It’s just … on top of everything else…” She paused. “If I give you the golds, you’ll take care of the payments and whatever documents are necessary to show all the debts have been paid?”
“Yes, Lady. It will take a day or two to draw up the documents.”
Mykella rose. “Thank you. Let me know when you are ready for the golds.”
Gharyk stood and bowed. “I will. My apologies for having to bring this before you.”
“You weren’t the cause. I do appreciate your resolving it. Thank you again.”
Once Gharyk had left, and she was sure he was nowhere near, Mykella left her study and walked to her apartments, still smoldering inside. Not only did they kill Father and Jeraxylt and gut the Treasury, but they left debts that you have to pay …
Because she wanted to be alone, Mykella made her way, through the darkness, down to the Table chamber. There she checked the Table, but it was neither brighter nor duller. Then she slipped into the depths and studied the other Table markers, but she could detect no changes there, although there was … something … about the orange and yellow of Lysia, and that meant she’d have to watch that even more carefully in the tenday ahead.
Next she called up an image of Cheleyza and found her aunt again still riding southward, although on a different mount, it appeared. Khanasyl was inventorying goods in a warehouse, and Klevytr appeared to be unpacking goods, which did relieve Mykella to some degree. Zylander was explaining something in a ledger to the younger man who was likely his son.
At that moment, Mykella heard a click behind her. She turned and saw the chamber door open.
Rachylana stood there, her mouth opening. “Mykella … how…?”
“There’s a back way of sorts, with Talent.”
“The way you travel places?”
Mykella nodded. The less said, the better.
“I came back to check the Table. Salyna is giving the auxiliaries a break of sorts. They’re working on learning their letters.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I can’t tell you how angry I am!”
“At me? Or Salyna?”
“No.” Mykella shook her head. “I’m going to have to pay nearly a hundred golds to seamstresses for dresses that Cheleyza had made. That doesn’t count hundreds more in the expenses for mounts, victuals, and other supplies that weren’t paid by Joramyl.”
“Why? He was the one who bought it all.”
“I’m his heir, and I never repudiated … well … I can’t. I could repudiate those debts, Gharyk tells me, without prejudice … if I didn’t accept the inheritance, or if I insisted that the debts were incurred through fraud.”
“What inheritance?”
“The villa and its lands.”
“I don’t understand. What is there to inherit from Joramyl? That was Father’s, not Joramyl’s.”
“Father gifted it to him last summer. Gharyk discovered that and the debts filed against the property.”
“That bitch! That scheming, murderous … it had to be her.”
“You see why I’m angry?”
“Oh, Mykella.…”
Rachylana stepped forward and hugged her sister.
Much as she appreciated the hug, Mykella couldn’t help but wonder why the debt for the dresses had upset her as much as the gifting of the villa. Was it just because so many dresses seemed so frivolous? Or because Cheleyza was so contemptuous in leaving them behind after spending so much on them?
47
Mykella stood by the study window at midmorning on Septi, looking out at a hazy spring day that might well turn into the warmest day of the year. The day before, reluctantly, she had signed thirty-one documents and transferred nine hundred eighty-four golds from her personal accounts to those of the Ministry of Justice to cover the debts Gharyk had uncovered. The Justice Minister had promised that all the claimants would be paid by the end of the day on Sexdi. Paying golds for Joramyl’s debts, especially for Cheleyza’s gowns, grated on her. But then, the amount of stolen golds and greed and selfishness she’d uncovered over the past two seasons grated on her. After a last look at the park, where the bushes were in bloom, and a few flowers had begun to show colors, she turned and walked back to her desk—and the master ledger.
At the second glass of the afternoon, Zylander appeared.
“Lady-Protector, you requested my presence?”
“I did. I wished to discuss with you a number of matters so that you can consider certain decisions before you take the position of Minister of Highways and Rivers.” She nodded toward the chairs and waited until he had seated himself. “As you may know, when the indiscretions of the former minister became known, the assistant minister fled and has not been seen or heard from since. It is most likely that he will never appear again in Lanachrona.” Or anywhere else. “You will need to seek an assistant minister, someone you can rely upon and trust. Before you appoint him, he must meet me and obtain my approval.”
“I would not have it any other way, Lady.”
“I do not wish you to choose someone because you think I will find him or her pleasant or agreeable but rather capable and honest. There are also other matters that you should address, beginning with changes in the priority of repairs to the sewers and towpaths…” Mykella gave a brief summary of the past difficulties. “You will also need to work with the Minister of Justice to develop better ways of making sure that all who manufacture or craft within Tempre—and other cities—comply with the rules for sewers and for the handling of wastes. This has been neglected in the recent past…”
All in all, Mykella spent almost two glasses with Zylander who, thankfully, began to ask detailed questions and showed more than a passing understanding of the problems.
Once the minister-to-be had left, Mykella repaired to her quarters and donned the nightsilk riding jacket and gloves, then slipped into darkness and through the stone of the palace to the depths of deep green … and then, with concern, to the Table chamber in Lysia.
When she emerged, she immediately threw up full shields, but the chamber was empty, and she advanced the several steps to where she could look down at the Table. The mirrored surface showed nothing. Then she studied the Table with her senses and Talent, finally noticing the slightest variation in the basic purple that infused the Table.
Is that the way it begins when the Ifrits are getting ready to appear? Or do the Tables vary ever so slightly all the time, and you haven’t noticed?
Not for the first time, or even close to it, she wished she had more understanding and experience in dealing with the Ifrits and the Tables.
Finally, she dropped back into the darkness and returned to the Tempre Table. There she called up images of Cheleyza, Demyl, Khanasyl, Lhanyr, and others, including Areyst, who was leading a squad through the rolling rises where he planned to en
counter the coastal forces.
After that, what with one thing and other—including petitions, another discrepancy in the ledgers for the Ministry of Highways and Rivers, a request for another hundred golds from Chief Engineer Nusgeyl, supported by three detailed pages of explanation—it was well after sunset before Mykella returned to the family dining room and a cooling fowl pie … and a scowling Rachylana, who was drinking, rather than merely sipping, a red wine. She had been drinking for a time, if the empty carafe happened to be any indication.
“How has the week gone?” Mykella seated herself. “With the auxiliaries, I meant?”
Before Rachylana could reply, Muergya appeared with another carafe of red wine and a basket of warm bread. Mykella filled her goblet, then, after Muergya slipped away, looked to the redhead. “You were saying?”
“The exercises aren’t bad, the ones to strengthen arms and shoulders. I don’t really need those. Arms practice is hard.”
There was more behind those words. “Salyna expects more out of you?”
“It’s worse that that. I have to spar and practice with her.”
“Because she says that no one else will press you?”
“How did you guess?”
Mykella could have heard the irony in Rachylana’s tone from three chambers away. “She had the same problem when she was learning weapons years ago. She also wants you to be good because you reflect on her.”
“I have bruises everywhere.”
Mykella raised her eyebrows. She didn’t feel that sympathetic. It seemed that not a week had passed since she’d met the soarer that she hadn’t ended up with more bruises and injuries.
“It’s not the same. You’re fighting Ifrits and raiders…”
“And ferrohawks.” Mykella lifted the carafe to fill her goblet, then set it down as she realized the goblet was still mostly full.
“It’s different when your own sister enjoys catching you making mistakes and can use that to punish you.”
“You don’t have to train with the auxiliaries,” Mykella pointed out, spooning out a healthy helping of crust-and-fowl pie onto her platter.
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