“I don’t have your Talent,” replied Rachylana, not quite belligerently.
“I wouldn’t do as well with arms as do either you or Salyna,” temporized Mykella.
“You don’t have to.”
“No.” Mykella offered a laugh. “I don’t. I have to deal with finding ministers who will be honest and capable in a city where most are looking to fill their strong rooms as quickly as possible. I have to pay for the gowns of the scheming wife of an uncle who poisoned our father. Sooner or later, I’ll have to have children, whether I want to or not—that is, if I can deal with Cheleyza, Chalcaer, and Skrelyn … and another group of invading Ifrits…”
“You won’t even let me indulge in a little self-pity,” snapped Rachylana. “You and Salyna.”
I just did … but not for long. Stifling a sigh, Mykella pressed a feeling of concern toward her sister … lightly. “We all have worries. I’m sorry Salyna seems to enjoy being hard on you.”
“That’s easy enough for you to say.”
“It doesn’t make it any less true. Besides, don’t you think she’s trying to force you to get better quickly? You should be able to sense that.”
Rachylana opened her mouth, then closed it. After a long moment, she finally said, “That makes it worse in some ways. She’s right, and she can justify it.”
Mykella nodded.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“What can I say? She’s trying to train you in arms, quickly, and she likes being superior. There are three ways to deal with it. Ignore her. Get better as fast as you can, or choose not to train with the auxiliaries. I can’t make those choices for you.”
Rachylana drained the wine in her goblet. “I don’t want you to. I just want her to care a little more.”
“Why don’t you tell her that? Tell her you know she’s better. Tell her that you know you need to learn, and then ask her if she really has to enjoy it quite so much, because it’s not the bruises that hurt, but that it seems like she enjoys hurting you, as if she has to prove a point.”
“She’ll get mad.”
“She might.”
“Still … I just might tell her.” Rachylana pulled the casserole in front of her platter.
Mykella repressed a sigh, hoping for a quiet remainder of the meal.
48
Late on Novdi morning, Chalmyr entered the study and handed Mykella an envelope with a blank seal. “This arrived a few moments ago, Lady.”
“From whom?”
“A public courier delivered it to the palace.”
“Thank you.” Mykella took the envelope and studied it with her Talent, but it held none of the shades that indicated poison. She finally opened it and began to read.
Lady-Protector—
I have received the long-overdue payment for two fine mounts purchased by the previous Lord-Protector. The golds I received do total the amount owed. I did not receive any compensation for the time when I had not the horses or the payment. That amounted to one full season. I understand that you are not responsible for paying interest on debts incurred by another in the matter of inheritances. These are difficult times. Some recompense would be most welcome …
The signature was that of Dustayk, Factor in Livestock.
Mykella shook her head. She’d honored the debts incurred by Joramyl, even after he’d plundered her father’s Treasury and the kingdom, in a spirit of goodwill … and the good factor Dustayk wanted interest on a debt she probably wasn’t even obligated to pay—except as a gesture of good faith?
What is it with people? You do your best to be honorable, and they want more.
She shook her head, then blotted the dampness from the back of her neck. For all that the windows were open, not a hint of a breeze moved the warm damp air. She set the petition or plea or whatever it might be called on the corner of the desk, then stood and walked to the windows. Even standing before them, she could not feel the slightest breath of air.
She hadn’t ridden through Tempre in days. A ride would be cooler, and she could also see—or smell—the results of the sewer repairs. After sending word to the duty-squad leader, she drafted a reply to Dustayk, noting that, while she had not been obligated to pay the debt, she had done so in good faith, and for Dustayk to expect her to pay interest on a debt which was not hers was stretching the limits of good faith. She handed the draft to Chalmyr, then stopped by her apartments to get her riding jacket and gloves before making her way down to the main level.
Maeltor was mounted with the escort squad that awaited her when she stepped out into the rear courtyard of the palace.
“Captain … I’m honored, but this is merely a ride through Tempre.” Mykella jump-vaulted into the saddle of the gray, then squared herself in the saddle.
“I hope you do not mind, Lady, but I have not ridden as much as I should recently.”
“I do not mind in the slightest, although your nose may protest. I need to ride up the west side of the South River from the Great Piers, then through the metalworking quarter.”
“We are at your command, Lady.” The captain smiled.
Mykella returned the smile and urged the gray forward.
Even though it was Novdi, when Mykella rode up the boulevard just to the west of the South River, she could see the telltale grayish smoke rising from the low buildings within the walls of the rendering yards. Despite the smell, she led the squad down an alley to the river wall so that she could see whether the large fired-clay pipes were still in use. The same brownish gray fluid oozed from them into the river, but she said nothing as she turned her mount back toward the boulevard.
A half vingt farther south, past the low hill, she rode across a narrow stone bridge to the east side of the river and headed south through the smoke and haze of the metalworking quarter. There, too, an oily residue continued to bubble up from where the covered pipes from several buildings entered the water, creating the same bluish sheen on the water she had noted earlier although she thought the shimmer held a hint of purple as well.
She was relieved to find, south of the metalworking buildings, the odor of human wastes so pronounced on her earlier rides had vanished. She also saw no piles of night soil.
At least there’s some improvement.
She turned to Maeltor, riding beside her. “How does it smell now, compared to the last time you rode with me?”
“I did not smell much change to the north, by the rendering yards and the metalworkers, but here it is much more pleasant.”
Mykella nodded. “I thought so, but I wanted your opinion.” The discharge pipes from the metalworking shops, the rendering yards, and the tanneries still concerned her.
Mykella ended the part of her “inspection ride” at the square where the boulevard and avenue crossed, slowing as she turned the gray past the Traveler’s Rest Inn on the southwest corner. She did note that the shutters sported a new coat of varnish, in addition to the porch railings she had observed earlier. While she could not be certain, it seemed to Mykella that the number of people on the streets was less than usual.
When she finally rode in through the open gates to the palace, she studied the building, struck by two aspects of its construction that she had never fully considered before. First, the stones were sharp and crisp, as if they had been laid in place less than a year before—except for the addition on the west side that held the kitchens. Second, every single window was of the same size and shape, and the spacing between windows was precisely the same. So far as she could recall, there were only two structures in all of Tempre with those attributes: the palace and the Southern Guard complex.
Why had the Alectors built them that way? For what purpose? She might guess, but she doubted she would ever know for certain, and that bothered her.
Once she was back at the palace, she checked her formal study. Although Chalmyr had left, there were no petitions or other documents on her desk. From there, she dropped into the darkness and made a quick transit to the Table chamber in L
ysia, but the minute variation in the Table pulsations did not seem to have changed. The rest of the day she spent following Cheleyza and others in the Table before returning to wrestle with the ledgers and projected expenses for the remainder of the spring season.
When she finally entered the family dining room that evening and looked at the platter of cold sliced fowl and pickled cucumbers and beets, with the faint odor of vinegar in the heavy air, Mykella glanced from Salyna to Rachylana and back to Salyna. The two stood at one side of the room, and Salyna stopped talking and turned toward Mykella.
Mykella didn’t sense any overt anger between the two, but she felt something. Her eyes went back to Rachylana and caught the faint bruise on the left side of her sister’s face, above the jaw and forward of her ear. “Dare I ask how matters are with the auxiliaries?”
“Well enough,” replied Salyna dryly. “I think the auxiliaries should ride in the season-turn parade. Their undress uniforms are ready—or they will be by Sexdi—and you’re only bringing a company back from Viencet. If the auxiliaries ride, along with the headquarters group, that will make the column longer. It won’t be as long as in the past, but it won’t be that much shorter. I think that’s important.”
“Is that what’s important, or showing Tempre that there will be women in the Guards?”
“Both are, don’t you think?”
“What does Captain Maeltor think?”
At that, Rachylana leaned forward slightly but said nothing.
“He said that the matter was between you and the commander,” replied Salyna.
Mykella laughed softly. “He’s being diplomatic.”
“He’s being smart,” added Rachylana.
“That, too,” said Mykella. “I will agree, but only if the commander agrees as well, and you can only tell everyone that the commander and I will decide when he returns.”
Salyna nodded. “That’s fair enough, but I still think it’s a good idea.”
Mykella saw no reason to say more. Her eyes strayed back to Rachylana’s face.
“One of the auxiliaries got somewhat familiar with Rachylana,” Salyna said quickly, as if glad not to be discussing the parade.
“And?”
“We ended up settling it,” replied Rachylana.
“How, might I ask?”
“It happened during blade practice.” Salyna looked to the redhead. “You can explain better since I only saw the last part.”
“I was practicing with one of the women. We were using wooden blanks, and she said something about not wanting to take orders from a woman who’d been raised in privilege. One thing led to another…” Rachylana shrugged, an attempt at innocence.
“They don’t know who you are?” asked Mykella.
“They think I’m some factor’s daughter who might end up a squad leader. I asked Salyna not to say more. Saying I was a factor’s daughter was necessary because I have to do things at the palace and because I have the privilege of getting bruised by Salyna more than the others.”
“That’s because you have a feel for blades,” interjected Salyna. “It’s like you can sense where they’re going to strike.”
“No one even guessed—” Mykella stopped. “Of course not. They wouldn’t expect two of you there, and very few people see any of us closely—except for some of the Southern Guards. What about them?”
“Most of them haven’t looked that closely, either,” Salyna said wryly.
“So what happened?”
“I knocked the blank out of her hand, and she started to yell at me,” replied Rachylana. “I told her to be quiet, and she grabbed a hay rake. I dodged most of it. I had to knock her down with the blank.”
“Actually, she knocked her out,” said Salyna. “That stopped all the muttering.”
“Out loud, anyway,” said Rachylana, with a sideways look at Mykella.
“Will that be a problem?” asked Mykella.
Salyna shook her head. “The Guards is about discipline, and sometimes that discipline has to be administered by force. After she woke up, I put her to mucking stables every night for the next two weeks—if she wanted to stay in the auxiliaries. She didn’t complain.”
“I’ll still have to watch her,” said Rachylana.
Both Mykella and Salyna nodded.
49
On Duadi, the minister’s meeting was longer than Mykella liked, largely because she had made the mistake of asking Loryalt for an explanation of the future impact of the excessive number of water oaks in private timber stands. That had led into revenue projections and questions about her concerns, leading to her “admission” that there was a strong likelihood the coastal principalities were considering military action against Lanachrona, but that so far, no forces had entered Lanachrona. Nor had either prince made demands or declarations. She had eased out of that discussion by promising a fuller talk on the Southern Guards the following Duadi, when Commander Areyst would have a chance to be present.
Then, after dealing with petitions, requests for appointments, and other matters, Mykella had eaten a quick noon meal before making her way down to the Finance Minister’s study.
“Good afternoon, Lady,” offered Haelyt, as Mykella closed the door behind her.
“Good afternoon. I do hope it’s good, or promising. What do we have in the way of tariff payments for spring. They’re due on Octdi, are they not?”
“That they are, Lady.”
“And?”
“Only Seltyr Almardyn, Seltyr Klevytr, and High Factor Zylander have paid their spring tariffs, Lady,” replied the chief clerk.
“Is this normal?”
“No, Lady. Tariffs are due on the Octdi before season-turn. Most factors and Seltyrs pay late on Octdi or early on Novdi. Almost all the crafters wait until Novdi morning. A few crafters, Seltyrs, and factors pay on the following Londi morning. In past years, perhaps as many as ten have paid early in the week, by now. No Lord-Protector has ever assessed penalties for Londi payments, but all have extracted penalties for those paid on Duadi of oneweek … and later.”
“So we’re not doing well on receipts?”
“The three who have paid did so handsomely, but…”
“The others are waiting as long as they can.”
“It would appear so, Lady.”
That didn’t surprise Mykella. “I’ll check later—”
A series of quick and hard raps on the Finance study doors were followed by the figure of a Southern Guard bursting into the chamber. “Lady-Protector!”
Mykella recognized the man—belatedly—as Casaryk, the duty-squad leader. “Yes, Squad Leader?”
“Four men dressed as factors entered the Justice chambers and tried to kill Lord Gharyk.”
Mykella stiffened. “How is he? How badly hurt is he?”
“He’s wounded, Lady, but he’s awake and having the wound tended. It does not appear mortal. He asked for you immediately.”
Mykella turned to Haelyt. “We’ll finish later.”
The chief clerk inclined his head, but Mykella was already out the door, trailed by Casaryk. As she hurried toward the main staircase, she checked and strengthened her personal shields. “Do you know how it happened?”
“No, Lady. Fiendyk was on corridor duty. He heard someone yell for a guard, and he ran to the Finance study. He called for backup. When he reached the study, one man tried to escape, and tried to use a dagger. Fiendyk put a blade through him. The fellow died on the spot.”
Let there be some witnesses so that I have a chance of getting to the bottom of this. If I even can.
Mykella did not voice the thought, not when the Southern Guard was there for protection, rather than trying to find out who was behind attempted killings.
One of the stair guards joined Casaryk, and the two escorted Mykella through the score of scattered crafters and factors and others with business on the main floor of the palace. Another pair of guards flanked the main-floor entry to the Justice Ministry chambers, but one stepped back, a
nd the other, on the left, opened the door for her.
A Southern Guard, presumably one with healing training, was looking at Gharyk’s bare shoulder and holding a dressing there. A man dressed in a linen jacket and matching gray trousers and well-polished black boots was tied to a chair and gagged. A bruise and scrapes across his forehead suggested that he’d encountered a blunt object with considerable force. Two other well-attired figures lay sprawled on the stone-tiled floor of the outer chamber, both faceup, and both with considerable blood across their shirts and jackets.
“Lord Gharyk!” Mykella called.
“Lady-Protector.” Gharyk nodded slightly.
“How deep is the wound?” she asked, sending a Talent probe toward the minister.
“Not deep enough to cause heavy bleeding,” replied the Guard healer. “It looks clean, and the weapon was good steel. I’ve flooded it with tincture…”
Mykella’s own probe showed—she thought—much the same. “What happened?”
“The four of them appeared here,” replied Gharyk. “Two presented themselves as advocates from Vyan with concerns about the handling of justicing there. I have had some concerns about that very matter, which whoever sent them obviously knew.” Gharyk winced as the healer’s needle went into his shoulder. “But their choice of words concerned me, and their garments were not so dusty and worn as those of travelers. I managed to distract them enough to get to my blade and call for assistance.” Gharyk smiled. “Wystan was quite effective with a chair, and Zekael managed to trip one of them and summon the corridor guard.”
The Southern Guard standing to the side—presumably Fiendyk—cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Lady-Protector, Lord, the minister killed the one in the blue there after taking that thrust in the shoulder.”
Mykella turned to the captive in the chair and gathered light to her, a cold and menacing green light, and projected terror and power. “Remove his gag.”
Fiendyk did so.
“What is your name?”
Lady-Protector Page 39