From where he sat across the table, the Deforyan assistant’s mouth opened, and he gaped at Mykella, while she struggled with the pain and tried to regain control of her concealment shield. Her eyes still watered, but she managed to raise the shield and take two unsteady steps past the server and Justice Minister Gharyk.
“Sir,” stammered the server, trying to hold the heavy cask and stepping back, “I don’t know…”
“Someone there,” murmured the Deforyan.
“Where?” snapped Nephryt, who was already out of his chair with a deadly grace, a short blade in his right hand, one that had appeared seemingly from nowhere. The blade swung through where Mykella had been an instant before, yet she could sense that Nephryt had no idea that she had been there. He’d just reacted to the eye motions and expressions of the Deforyan.
The Deforyan shook his head. “Nothing. I must have been mistaken.” Under his breath, he murmured something. “…Ancients…here?”
At least, those were the words Mykella thought she heard, but she had kept moving, painful as it was, sliding around two more servitors and out into the archway, and then into the courtyard. She kept walking, or, more accurately, limping, until she reached a shadowed and empty niche near where the secondary kitchen and stable connected.
Then she released the concealment shield and immediately sought the darkness beneath.
She didn’t even try to go to the Table chamber but followed the stone and granite walls until she was back in her own chambers, where she gratefully dropped into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. The cold of using the darkness seemed to help, but her thigh still throbbed with pain.
She glanced toward the night table beside her bed, and the pitcher of boiled and cooled water and the accompanying glass, then shook her head. The boiled water was safer than water from the wells, but it was flat. Even to her senses, it somehow felt that way.
She’d learned more than a few things on her little night excursion, most of which were things not to do and circumstances to avoid. As usual, she hadn’t discovered anything that she could have explained to her father—or to anyone else—even though she was more worried than ever.
And the outside of her thigh was so sore that she was going to have a massive bruise.
29
Just after noon on Decdi morning, a glass or so after finishing a skimpy brunch with her sisters, Mykella walked to her chamber door, answering the knock she had expected.
Wyandra stood there. “Good day, Mistress.”
“Good day, Wyandra. We might as well get on with this.”
“Yes, Mistress,” replied the assistant dresser.
“See if you can find a plain green dress with a black jacket or vest, and the longer the skirt the better.” Mykella knew full well that shorter skirts only made her short legs appear stumpy. Slender-cut trousers or long skirts were better for her, unlike Salyna or Rachylana, who looked good in any length, and for whom color was a greater challenge.
Wyandra inclined her head and hurried off.
As Mykella waited for the dresser to return, she couldn’t help but think about all the small matters that she had observed, from the positions where the important advisors to her father had been seated the evening before to the strange grayness she had seen in her father’s countenance the morning before. When she added in Kiedryn’s death, she had no doubts that Joramyl was behind it all. Yet her father would not believe her, and she had no proof that he would not dismiss instantly.
Before long, Wyandra returned with three dresses and two jackets. “I brought these, Mistress. There are others, but these looked to be the closest to what you requested.”
“Thank you.”
Mykella already had donned the form-fitting nightsilk undergarments, and she couldn’t help but wish she’d worn the undertrousers the night before. The looser-fitting outer trousers didn’t help much against wine casks. The outside of her thigh had not only bruised, but was tender to the touch, and the soreness that accompanied every step reminded her of her carelessness the night before.
When Wyandra straightened the second dress, even with the protection of the nightsilk, Mykella twitched.
“You’re bruised, Mistress?”
“I ran into the writing desk in the dark last night. I bruise easily.” So had her mother, Mykella recalled. Why did she have to be so physically fragile? Salyna could spar with blunt sabers and not show a sign of a bruise—even when she’d been struck hard—and Mykella could bump into a table or get thrown into a wall without that much force and immediately bruise.
“Do you like this one, or do you want to try the third one?” asked the dresser.
“This one is fine.” Mykella could tell that the third dress was too full in the mid-section and would just make her look dumpy. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Mistress.” Wyandra inclined her head, then turned and departed.
Mykella could sense that the “pleasure” was perfunctory, but that Wyandra wasn’t unhappy or displeased, only relieved that it had taken so little time to find a dress that Mykella would accept.
Shortly before half-past the first glass of the afternoon, Mykella made her way to the parlor, where her sisters were already waiting. Both Salyna and Rachylana were more festively attired than their older sister, with Salyna in a deep purple dress, with a white-trimmed matching jacket and Rachylana in a rich green with a gray jacket.
“That green is becoming,” offered Salyna.
“You do wear the darker greens well,” said Rachylana.
“You both put me to shame,” replied Mykella.
“I just threw this on,” Salyna said. “I was going over the menus for the season-turn dinners with Auralya. She’s been working to make sure that everything for the celebrations will be perfect. She says that no matter how hard you try, something always goes wrong.”
“She just says that.” Rachylana’s tone was dismissive.
“She doesn’t. There was a problem last night with the hunting dinner. Father was furious. One of the servers hit the wall or something with a cask of a good vintage, and stumbled over Lord Gharyk. Arms-Commander Nephryt thought someone was attacking Father, and he almost cut the man down. The Deforyan was muttering something about the Ancients…and Lord Gharyk got a gash from the cask across his neck.”
“That sounds awful. What happened then?” asked Mykella.
“Oh…the server got whipped and dismissed. He shouldn’t have been so clumsy,” said Salyna. “He should have known that he had to be especially careful when they’re drinking like that.”
Rachylana nodded.
Mykella managed to maintain an even expression. “That does sound terrible.”
“It sounds like he got off too easily,” added Rachylana.
“No matter what, things like that happen, Auralya says.”
“They shouldn’t,” replied Rachylana. “Not in a well-run house or palace.”
“We should go down to the carriage portico,” suggested Mykella, hoping to change the subject.
“We should,” agreed Salyna.
Mykella and Salyna led the way out of the family parlor and down the main staircase, then along the front corridor and around to the east side entrance. The Lord-Protector’s coach was waiting, as were the six mounted Southern Guards who would escort them.
Mykella entered the coach last and ended up on the forward seat, facing her sisters. She’d rather have seen where they were going than where they’d been, but she also liked having the seat to herself.
The coach pulled away from the portico and out into the white light of the midday sun. Once clear of the gates, the driver turned east onto the avenue.
“It’s good weather for a hunt. There’s almost no wind, and it’s clear,” Rachylana observed, peering to her left in the direction of the Preserve.
“I hope they get everything they kill properly dressed out,” Salyna said. “Several of the carcasses from yesterday’s hunt went to the dogs and some of the retainer
s for their animals.”
“That’s what the retainers are for,” Rachylana replied. “That’s their job.”
Salyna glanced out the carriage window.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Rachylana said quietly to Salyna.
“I don’t think it was you,” lied Mykella. “I imagine that Salyna would rather be hunting than going to an afternoon gathering at Lady Cheleyza’s.” Mykella knew she would have rather been on the hunt herself, not for the kill, but for the ride.
“Women don’t hunt in Deforya or Southgate,” Rachylana pointed out. “That’s what Berenyt says.”
“What else does he say?” Salyna did not quite snap.
“He says that they have the most elegant balls and dinners in Southgate, but that the musicians in Deforya—in Dereka, anyway—are quite good.”
“I wonder if things have changed since the time of Mykel the Great,” mused Mykella.
“Why?” asked Rachylana.
“What do you mean?” added Salyna.
“There isn’t much about it, but the history I’ve been reading—”
“Histories again?” Rachylana shook her head.
“—said something about how Rachyla came to Tempre in order to escape the confines of Southgate,” Mykella concluded firmly.
“That was more than three hundred years ago,” Rachylana said. “Times have changed. Berenyt would know. Besides, Southgate’s not ruled from Dramuria anymore.”
Salyna rolled her eyes, and Mykella managed to keep her expression pleasant.
Before all that long, the coach came to a stop under the main portico of Lord Joramyl’s mansion—that still belonged her father, Mykella pointed out to herself. She let her sisters step from the coach first.
“Lady Cheleyza awaits you in the upstairs withdrawing room,” announced the graying footman in his blue uniform.
Inside, a young maid, also in blue, bowed. “Ladies, if you would follow me…”
The three followed the dark-haired girl up the grand staircase and then to the left of the upper landing and through an open set of double doors.
Close to ten other women, all at least Mykella’s age and most a good decade or more older, except for Cheleyza, were seated in chairs or upon settees around the withdrawing room, a chamber with white oak wainscoting, above which were walls covered in pale blue damask. All eyes turned toward the three sisters, and Mykella could feel a seething mixture of emotions that ranged from jealousy and anger to admiration and pity.
Cheleyza immediately stood and stepped forward. “The Lord-Protector’s daughters, all charming and beautiful. We’re all so glad that you could join us.”
“We’re glad that you offered the invitation, Aunt Cheleyza,” replied Rachylana, smiling warmly.
Salyna smiled and inclined her head.
Buffeted as she felt by the cascade of emotions that filled the withdrawing room, Mykella managed a smile and a slight inclination of her head.
A slightly plump woman in fuchsia and gray, with iron-gray hair, had followed Cheleyza and stepped up beside her.
“Lady Gharyk,” offered Rachylana.
“Jylara, please. I’m so glad to see you all.”
Mykella had always thought that titles were a public necessity, but, like overcoats in winter, to be discarded inside with warm company. She wasn’t so certain that she wanted to part with formality around Cheleyza.
Jylara looked toward Salyna. “You look much like your mother, except you’re a bit taller.” Then she looked at Mykella, slowly nodding.
Mykella wanted to ask why she nodded, but refrained, hoping the woman would explain.
“You’re the one with the skills in numbers and accounts, the one who actually understands what ledgers say. You don’t look so much like your parents,” Jylara went on, her eyes on Mykella, “but like one of the old paintings of Rachyla, except you’re not quite so tall, but your face and hair and eyes are so alike you could have been sisters, were you living in the same time, of course.”
Mykella could sense Jylara believed totally what she had said, and that was somehow chilling. “I didn’t know that. I don’t believe I’ve seen a painting of Rachyla.”
“There’s one in Gharyk’s study in the palace. I’m certain he wouldn’t mind your coming to see it.” Jylara turned back to Rachylana. “You’re the only redhead in the Lord-Protector’s family in a long time, and you carry it well. Once I was a redhead, but, unhappily, it didn’t last.”
Another woman appeared from Mykella’s left. “You’re Mykella, the eldest, aren’t you? I’m Elyasa, and my older sister knew your mother…”
After that, Mykella felt that all she did was smile and nod and murmur pleasantries. She couldn’t help but notice that not a single word was about anything except who knew or had known whom, how someone looked or didn’t, or who was related to whom.
Close to a glass later, Mykella slipped back toward Cheleyza. “If you will excuse me…”
“To the right, across the landing,” said Cheleyza with an understanding smile.
Mykella smiled in return, then walked across the landing. The door was ajar, and Mykella stepped inside, into a wash chamber with rose marble walls and an adjoining smaller chamber for other functions. Standing alone there, she took a deep breath, then raised her concealment shield.
She turned and eased the door open slowly, trying to give the impression that it had not been closed and had swung open. Then she walked out, trying to keep her steps quiet on the stone floor and steps as she made her way down the grand staircase to the entry hall. She definitely wanted to investigate the nearly hidden study there.
When she tried the door it was locked. So she crossed into the receiving room where she had waited for Cheleyza the last time she had come and stepped into a corner where the footmen could not see her and dropped the concealment shield. Then she began to search for the darkness beneath.
It wasn’t there. Or rather, it was so far away that she could not reach it.
Why had she supposed it was everywhere? She shook her head and raised the concealment shield, then made her way back up the steps and into the marble-walled ladies’ wash chamber, still empty.
She dropped the shield.
After a time, she returned to the withdrawing room.
Cheleyza turned and stepped toward her. “I’m glad you’re all right. I thought you might have used the facilities, but, as we’re about to have refreshments, I grew worried and checked. You weren’t there.”
“I was in the courtyard. I needed some air.”
“Sometimes the cool does help.” Cheleyza’s smile did not conceal the disbelief within, but she said nothing more.
“I’m certain the refreshments will as well,” returned Mykella with a smile she did not feel.
Mykella had no doubts that Joramyl would hear that Mykella had been roaming through the mansion. That wouldn’t help matters, but it was getting so that she wondered if everything she did was wrong. She’d told her father about the stolen golds, and poor innocent Kiedryn had been killed. She’d tried to overhear what the men were discussing, and a poor server had ended up getting whipped and dismissed. She would do something about that, but any help for the man would have to wait.
In the meantime, she would endure the rest of the afternoon.
30
After a small and cold supper, the three sisters had repaired to the family parlor, where Salyna attacked her needlework and Rachylana worked on crocheting something. Mykella had picked up the ancient history and begun to read.
…Mykel never set forth any reason for creating the Lord-Protector’s Preserve, particularly since he never hunted, for all the time that he devoted to the Preserve. After his death, which followed Rachyla’s by but a few days, his eldest son, Olent, re-affirmed the status of the Preserve by proclamation…
Mykella looked up. “Did you know that Mykel the Great never hunted?”
“Not animals, anyway,” replied Salyna.
Rachylana lift
ed her head abruptly, then lowered it quickly, as if she were dizzy.
“Are you feeling ill?” asked Salyna.
“I’ll be all right. I’m just tired. I think I need to go to bed.” The redhead stood and took two unsteady steps before suddenly collapsing into a heap.
Instantly, Mykella set aside the history and rushed to her fallen sister, kneeling on the floor and turning her over. Rachylana’s head lolled back on her older sister’s arm. Mykella’s mouth opened as she sensed both a grayness about Rachylana’s head and a bluish greenness centered under her ribs. “Salyna! Go find Treghyt! She’s very ill.”
Salyna jumped to her feet, looking at Mykella.
“Go!” snapped Mykella.
Salyna ran from the parlor.
Mykella eased open Rachylana’s mouth. Rachylana’s tongue looked normal, and Mykella could feel her sister’s breath…but the breaths were short and shallow. Rachylana was also hot, as if she were burning up inside. For a moment, Mykella just looked down at her sister, helplessly.
What could she do? Could she do something with her Talent?
Gingerly, she reached out to the greenish black below, and then tried to press a tendril of that against the ugly blue-green—almost spiderlike in shape—within Rachylana.
Something flared back, and blue-green and blackness swirled around her.
When she opened her eyes again, she was looking up at the parlor ceiling.
Mykella eased herself into a sitting position. She and Rachylana were still alone in the parlor, but Rachylana felt warm, though not so hot as before, and the bluish green within her had subsided to a faint grayish blue. She moaned, if barely.
The door burst open, and Salyna rushed in, followed by Treghyt, the white-haired healer Mykella had known for years.
“She’s better,” Mykella said. “For a moment, she was hot enough to burn my hands. It seemed that way.”
“Let me see.” Treghyt dropped to his knees on the other side of Rachylana from Mykella. He touched her forehead, then ran his fingers along her jaw and then lower along her neck. “Not swollen there…” His fingers rested on her wrist. “Pulse…not as strong…but steady…”
The Lord-Protector's Daughter Page 19