She forced herself to consider her situation. When she had arrived, there hadn’t been a Table, and that suggested that she didn’t need a Table, that she could reach places just through the greenish black below the Table, or below where the Table had been. The fainter points of light—were they where Tables had been? She wished she knew what locations the colors represented.
She concentrated on the greenish blackness in the stone beneath her. Time passed more slowly, and the effort clearly took more energy, but she began to drift down through the sand and stone and into the chill beneath, although the greenish black did not seem quite so cold as the purple of the Table in Tempre. Locating the blue point that was Tempre was far easier, and before long she stood on the Table from which she had departed.
Mist billowed off her nightsilk jacket—ice-mist.
She did not sense the purple of the Ifrit, and she vaulted down from the Table, then turned to see if she could determine what Joramyl might be doing. The mists swirled and then vanished, showing her uncle still riding. This time, he was in a more lighted place, and coming down the main avenue past the public gardens and toward the palace. He was accompanied by the same men in black and another figure, hooded, but in brown, so that she could not make out either his hair or face.
Her entire body began to shiver, and her legs to tremble.
Why did using the Table leave her so exhausted? It didn’t seem to take that much effort, and the effort was all in her head, wasn’t it?
She released the image shown by the Table and stepped back, then turned. Slow step by slow step she made her way from the chamber, along the corridor and up the narrow lower staircase. Only just before she unlocked the staircase door did she create a concealment shield. Immediately, she began to shiver. Yet she dared not be discovered.
How she made it along the west main level corridor and then up the main staircase undetected, she wasn’t certain, but once she stepped into her own chamber, she released the shield…and swallowed.
“Where have you been?” asked Salyna crossly, looking up from the old armchair by the window, blinking, as if she’d dozed off. “Rachylana’s upset and furious, and I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
Mykella sank onto the bed. “I was out…on the narrows…” That was the only explanation that came to mind.
“In an ice-storm? You were outside on those slippery stones? You could have fallen right into the courtyard.” Salyna shook her head, half-sleepily. “It’s stupid to risk getting yourself killed when you don’t even know whether the Deforyan envoy might ask for your hand for the Landarch’s heir.”
“I had to think,” Mykella evaded.
“That wasn’t very thoughtful.”
“I won’t do it again.” Not that she’d actually done it, but she certainly didn’t want to reveal what she had been doing. “Rachylana’s really upset?”
“Wouldn’t you be? Father looked right at her when he said it.”
“She’s interested in Berenyt, but Father wouldn’t allow that,” said Mykella.
“Do we know that? He’s never really said so.”
“That would cause problems for Jeraxylt in the future, especially if he marries and only has daughters. Father wouldn’t do that.”
Salyna nodded, then stood. “I’m going to bed. Stay off the balconies in this weather.” She walked toward the chamber door.
“I’m tired, too,” replied Mykella. “And I won’t climb out the window to any balconies. Not until we have better weather, anyway.”
“Good night.”
After Salyna finally left, Mykella undressed and climbed under the quilts on her bed. The shivering did not subside for close to half a glass, she thought. For all her exhaustion, she found she was not sleepy. She couldn’t help but wonder what Joramyl had been doing, but what worried her most was her recollection of the almost puzzled and unbelieving air behind her father’s acceptance of her findings about the missing tariffs.
Still…eventually sleep did claim her.
22
After all her worries, which had not only been increased by her father’s words and certainly not helped by her efforts with the Table, Mykella slept poorly and restlessly, but found herself struggling to get out of bed long after Uleana had rapped on her door. She finally managed to struggle up and get to the washroom, then back to her chambers, where she quickly dressed. She paused and glanced out the window. The sun had risen, and white light shimmered everywhere. The ice-storm and its dark clouds had passed, although her windows were frozen shut, and lines of ice ran across the sills. She was more than glad to be wearing nightsilk when she finally left her chambers and headed for what would be a late and quick breakfast.
Even from down the corridor, she could see her father waiting outside the breakfast room. He turned, as if waiting for her. His face was stern, and she could sense concern…and sadness. He motioned to her.
“What is it?” Mykella asked as she stopped before him.
“I said that I would look into what you found out,” Feranyt began.
Mykella waited.
“There was a great deal of validity to your findings. So much so that…well…Kiedryn is dead. He took poison last night, right here in the palace. Can you believe that? Joramyl found him this morning. He left a note, saying that he’d stolen far too many golds. He said he was sorry, but he didn’t want to disgrace his family. The note pleaded not to make matters public…”
Mykella managed not to gape. Kiedryn? He had likely been the only honest one there, besides Mykella herself. And Joramyl had found him?
“His family will have to accept exile, of course, but there’s no reason to make it public.”
“Kiedryn couldn’t have…” Mykella protested.
Feranyt shrugged sadly. “I know you thought he was honest, but at times appearances are deceiving. I saw the note. Joramyl showed it to me, and we even compared the writing to his. He wrote it, without a doubt.”
Under what sort of duress? Mykella swallowed. She’d even seen Joramyl in the Table mirror, doubtless bringing Kiedryn back to the palace, but…how could she explain that? Even if she could get her father to see objects in the Table, it would still be her word against Joramyl’s, and there was no way her father would take her word over his brother’s. That, she knew, and speaking against Joramyl would only result in her being unable to do anything…not that what she had done had gone as planned.
“I know this is hard for you, daughter, but that sort of hard truth comes with ruling. Those you trust most are often those who betray that trust.”
“But…Joramyl?”
“He’s been as solid as a rock.”
“He’s never been in the Finance study before midmorning.” Mykella managed to keep her voice level. “It seems a little strange that he was the one to find Kiedryn.”
“I asked him to look into it. He wanted to be there early to confront Kiedryn before anyone else was around.”
Mykella managed to nod.
“There’s just no help for it. Joramyl’s assistant steward will take over until we determine a permanent replacement for Kiedryn. I’m counting on you to help him.”
“Yes, sir.” Mykella felt that her voice was coming from someone else. Why couldn’t her father see what was happening? Yet she could sense that trying to convince him that his own brother was behind it all was futile.
Feranyt patted her on the shoulder. “I’m counting on you. I already ate. I need to get ready to meet with that envoy now.”
Envoy? What envoy? Mykella just stood there as her father turned.
After Feranyt continued toward his official study, Mykella began to walk toward the breakfast room, only to find Jeraxylt standing outside the service pantry, also waiting for her.
“Father was pleased, you know,” offered Jeraxylt. “He said you handled things the way a smart woman should…finding out what was happening, you know, and letting him know.”
A smart woman? How smart had she been? Poor honest Kiedryn had b
een poisoned and set up as the guilty party, when Joramyl was the one who’d been diverting the golds—and now matters were even worse, because both her brother and her father believed Joramyl, and she had no proof at all who had diverted the golds…and no way to obtain it now that Kiedryn, who might have been able to help, was dead, and now that everyone was convinced of Kiedryn’s guilt.
Mykella walked into the breakfast room and sat down. Now what could she do?
“Mykella, that Deforyan envoy is already here.” Rachylana’s eyes were red. “Father said…” She stopped, as if she could say no more.
“He said that the Landarch’s heir is partial to redheads,” added Salyna, “especially beautiful ones like Rachylana.”
“You have to do something,” Rachylana said. “You have to.”
Mykella could feel the despair and desperation behind her sister’s words. For a moment she said nothing. Finally, she said, “These days…these days, Father isn’t listening to me, either.”
“He just said something about your saving thousands of golds. He’ll listen to you. He will.”
“He’ll listen about golds, but not about matching us. I’ll try, but…” Mykella paused. “He and Uncle Joramyl just talk about what good consorts we’ll make.”
“Please. I don’t want to go to Dereka,” pleaded Rachylana.
“You’re the only one Father will listen to,” added Salyna.
Me? He doesn’t listen to any of us, not really. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not sure any of us have a choice about to whom we’re matched or where we’ll be sent.” More like shipped like prized breeding cows.
“We should have some choice,” Salyna declared.
“We should, but we don’t,” Mykella said, picking up the mug of tea and taking a sip. Why can’t you see that?
She barely ate any breakfast, but she did manage to finish the mug of tea, and that helped settle her stomach…mostly.
Then, girding herself up, she made her way to the Finance chambers.
The man who rose when Mykella entered the outer chamber was barely a span taller than she was, and squat, like a human toad, she thought. Although his hair was sandy brown and curly, Mykella felt that greasy black would have suited him far better. He smiled, and from behind the white teeth and sincere expression flooded insincerity. Even his life-thread seemed snakelike, holding a sickly yellow-brown. “Maxymt, at the service of the Lord-Protector.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Maxymt. The Lord-Protector has asked me to make sure you’re familiar with the ledgers and accounts.”
“Once I’ve had a chance to become familiar with these, you really won’t have to check the ledgers, Mistress. The Lord-Protector’s daughter shouldn’t be doing a clerk’s work.” Oiliness coated the insincerity of every word.
“How well do you know the accounts?” she asked. “Could you tell me which ledger holds the receipts from the smallholders? Or the one from the vintners? Or the distinctions between common factors and crafters?”
Maxymt smiled, again showing brilliant white teeth. “I’m certain that won’t be hard to determine…assuming that Kiedryn was not too…creative.”
“I’m sure that you will be able to learn,” Mykella replied, “but while you are, I’m certain my father would wish me to continue as I have.”
“As you wish, Mistress Mykella.”
She could sense a most palpable dislike behind the honeyed words. Now what could she do, except try to strengthen those abilities awakened by the Ancient and her growing, but growing all too slowly, Talent? “We might as well get started. First, I’ll show you the summary ledgers, and then the individual account ledgers, and you can go through each one to gain some familiarity.”
“Yes, Mistress Mykella.”
Almost a glass later, Joramyl hurried into his Finance study, smiling at Maxymt, who was still studying the master ledger, and at Mykella for a moment. Berenyt followed his father, and he did not look at Mykella.
Mykella had to know what they were saying. The moment Maxymt turned his head, she gathered her sight-shield around her and tiptoed to the study door, where she stood, her ear against the crack between door and jamb, trying to make out what the two said.
“…don’t talk about it here…”
“…just wanted you to know…Mykella’s sharper than she looks…don’t think she’ll accept…knew Kiedryn too well…”
“…and what could she do, Berenyt? The Lord-Protector saw the confession…she’s just a woman, barely more than a girl. If my brother weren’t so sentimental, he’d have long since sent her to Dereka or Southgate and gotten a pile of golds for her as well…what women are for…golds and heirs…At least, he doesn’t listen to her the way he did to her mother. Good thing Aelya died when she did.”
Mykella stiffened. There had been something more there, behind the words, and she missed the next phrases.
“…besides, Feranyt’s offspring’s meddling served us well…not have to worry about Kiedryn any longer…now…don’t come see me here more than once a week…Off with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mykella slipped back to her table and, once the acting head clerk was looking in the other direction, released the sight-shield.
Maxymt turned with a start. Then he stared at Mykella. “Where did you come from?”
“Come from? I’ve been here all along.”
“You weren’t there a moment ago.”
Mykella shook her head. “I haven’t left the chamber. You would have heard my boots. Everyone’s always said that I walk heavier than some of the guards. I did drop my figuring paper and had to bend down to get it.”
“That must be it.” Maxymt shook his head.
Mykella could tell that he wasn’t totally convinced, but she hadn’t dared to hold the sight-shield any longer, in case someone else had walked in, or Berenyt walked out.
That fear was confirmed, because the door to the inner study opened, but, once again, Berenyt didn’t look in her direction when he hurried out of his father’s study.
23
Even though she had to keep explaining matters to Maxymt intermittently through the afternoon, to Mykella, the remainder of the day felt never-ending, and she accomplished little beyond that instruction and keeping herself outwardly calm and composed. Joramyl left by midafternoon, with only a statement to Maxymt that he would be back by midday on Septi…and without a glance at Mykella. She did feel, all too clearly, his more than palpable dislike of her.
When the time came to close the Finance study for the day, Mykella explained the details to the acting chief clerk and watched.
As he stepped out into the corridor and locked the door, Maxymt smiled politely and said, “I’m certain it will be a relief to you when I can take over all these duties.”
“My father and I will be gratified when everything is as it should be.” Mykella smiled. “Good afternoon, Maxymt.”
“Good afternoon, Mistress Mykella.”
Maxymt was graceful enough in his movements as he walked to the main staircase that Mykella revised her initial assessment of the man. He wasn’t a toad, but a lizard, with the ugliness of a toad, and the sinister aspect of a snake.
She immediately walked to the washroom adjoining her chamber in the family quarters, because she felt she had to wash up after spending most of the day with the man. The wash water was like ice, but she still felt cleaner when she finished and dried her hands and face. Then she slipped into the family parlor. She needed less revolting company.
Salyna was already there, working on her needlepoint, and wearing a heavy sweater. Frost coated the inside of the windows, and Mykella noted that the hearth held but embers. There was no coal in the brass scuttle to the side of the fire screen.
Salyna looked up. “You must have had a difficult day. I heard that you discovered the finance clerk was diverting golds? Is that true?”
How could Mykella answer that without lying and disclosing more than she wanted, but without blam
ing Kiedryn? After a moment, she spoke. “I did discover that someone was diverting golds. Jeraxylt helped me get the information. I showed the figures and the ledgers to Father. He told Lord Joramyl. That was yesterday afternoon. This morning, Lord Joramyl found Kiedryn dead of poison and a note in Kiedryn’s hand confessing that he had taken thousands in golds.”
Salyna looked at Mykella. “You don’t believe Kiedryn did it, do you?”
“What I believe doesn’t matter, Father pointed out. Only what can be proved does. The only proof points to Kiedryn.”
“He couldn’t have done it,” Salyna said quietly. “The chief clerk doesn’t actually handle the golds, does he? It’s more likely the head tariff collector or someone like that. They’d have enough golds to pay for and arrange Kiedryn’s death to cover their tracks.”
“Father believes it was Kiedryn.”
“Father is too trusting. He doesn’t talk to enough people outside the palace.”
Mykella agreed with that, but she only said, “We don’t, either. Well…maybe you do, because you talk to a lot of the guards.” She paused, then added, “What do they say?”
“All of them knew by midday, but they aren’t saying much.”
“That’s not good.”
“I worry about Arms-Commander Nephryt,” said Salyna. “I’ve never liked him.”
“Do you think he might have been in league with whoever did take the golds?”
“I don’t know. He’s capable of it.” Salyna set the needlework frame down beside her on the settee. “But so is Commander Demyl. So are some of the other ministers.”
“Father must know that,” Mykella said. “That’s why he wanted Uncle Joramyl as Finance Minister. He trusts him.” Mykella kept a pleasant expression, but tried to catch whatever reaction Salyna might have.
“They are brothers.” Salyna paused. “Joramyl saw the figures, and he didn’t catch what you did. Is that because he doesn’t spend the time you have?”
From what Mykella could tell, Salyna didn’t show any repugnance or any other feelings besides curiosity. After a moment, Mykella replied, “He only spends a few glasses a day in the Finance study. Still, he’s anything but stupid.”
The Lord-Protector's Daughter Page 14