“The assassins, if they ask.”
Master Dichartyn nodded. “You realize that it must always be that way? In other events as well?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the less anyone knows, the more protection offered to imagers and the Collegium. There’s no reason to hide the explosion. That was too open, and that’s why it should be my fault.”
“Your fault?” The question was bland, and that concealed and revealed at the same time.
“Yes, sir. If I’d been more observant and more careful, I wouldn’t have had to use fire to blow up the wagon, and that wouldn’t have injured me and killed the driver.”
“That’s not true, you know?”
“Yes, sir, but it’s better said that way, because it implies that senior imagers could have handled it better. It also sends a message that junior imagers, when attacked, can overreact.”
Master Dichartyn laughed. “I hadn’t thought of the last point. Except for you, and perhaps Martyl, it’s probably not very accurate, but it will help in these times.” He paused. “I heard something about a wedding?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What time will you be leaving?”
“Half before noon, I’d thought.”
“I’ll have one of the spare coaches stand by to take you.”
“Won’t the drivers be upset . . . because of what I did?”
“I’ve already spread the word that you put yourself in front of everything when you didn’t have to. I also told them that you’d survived five assassination attempts, and that you were the one who killed four of the five assassins here in L’Excelsis. The drivers understand that an imager can only do so much.”
I hoped so.
“That’s all for now. I’ll see you in my study at seventh glass on Lundi.”
“What about the Chateau? They’ll be shorthanded . . .”
“They’ll manage. They did for a year before you arrived.” He offered a parting smile.
After Master Dichartyn left, Master Draffyd came in and examined me, then said I could go. I carried the soiled white and gray formal coat back to my quarters, then dressed for breakfast. I’d wash up, as I could, later.
The summer gray waistcoat was a tight fit over my shirt and the rib corset, but I managed it, even if it took me a while to button it.
Then I went-or walked very slowly and stiffly-to breakfast.
I barely got into the dining hall when Martyl hurried over to me. “We were all worried. Are you all right?”
“Mostly. I just got out of the infirmary, and I’ll have to wear a brace for a while to protect my ribs.”
“Come over and sit with us. The word is that you won’t be at the seconds and thirds table for long. Is it true?”
“I’d really like to sit down with you all.” And I did. I was hungry, and the flatcakes and syrup and sausage looked and smelled wonderful.
As I ate, there were more than a few questions.
“Did Johanyr’s sister really ask you to dance?”
“Was that Madame D’Shendael you danced with?”
“Who was the other High Holder’s daughter?”
“What happened out there with the wagon?”
I answered as many as I could truthfully, and the others along the lines Master Dichartyn and I had discussed.
“You won’t be coming back to the Chateau?” asked Dartazn.
I shook my head gingerly. “Master Dichartyn thinks I need to do something different. I’m going to be the Collegium liaison to the civic patrollers.”
“You’re going up to Master D’Aspect, aren’t you? I knew it!” said Martyl. “You’re going to be one of the youngest masters ever.”
“That’s because they don’t know what else to do with me.” My voice came out wry.
“It’s also because they can’t make anyone a liaison,” Dartazn said, “who doesn’t have shields that will take bullets. Otherwise, they’d be dead in a month.”
Master Dichartyn hadn’t mentioned that, but it didn’t surprise me, although it did send a chill down my back.
After breakfast, I made my way back to my quarters. It took me a good glass to wash up and shave, because lifting my arms even to shoulder level was painful, and then I had to dress again. What with one thing and another, I did make it to the duty-coach stop before half past nine. There were two coaches waiting.
The driver of the first raised an arm and beckoned. “Master Rhennthyl?”
“For better or worse, that’s me.”
“Thank you for trying the other night, sir.” He smiled. “Where to?”
“NordEste Design.” Getting into the coach was more than a little painful. My face probably showed it, because when we got to NordEste, the driver vaulted down to tie the horses to the bronze hitching post, then came back to give me a hand.
“Thank you.”
“Should you be here, sir?”
“I promised I would be.”
He nodded knowingly.
I managed to get up the steps without wincing too much. Shomyr was the one who opened the door. “Rhenn . . . we’re glad you could be here.” He paused. “Are you all right?”
“I’d have to say that I’m walking wounded, but I’ll recover.” The inside steps were worse than those outside, or it could have been that climbing another set was harder.
When I stepped into the second-level entry foyer, I could see Seliora arranging what looked to be gifts on a side table. Should I have brought one? I hadn’t even thought about it, and I didn’t know the bride or the groom.
Suddenly, as if she had sensed me, Seliora turned, then hurried toward me. “Rhenn! I’m so glad to see you.” As she neared, her face filled with concern. “What happened to you?”
“Do you want to hear what’s good or not so good?”
“Since you’re here, I’d rather you started with the bad. But first . . .” She leaned forward and kissed me gently.
I did enjoy that for an all-too-brief moment before she stepped back.
“I’m bruised all over, and I might have a cracked rib.”
“You’d better sit down. Then you can tell me what happened.”
I took one of the straight-backed chairs next to a settee farther back along the west side of that overlarge entry hall. “What about the wedding?”
“It’s here, up on the north terrace. We have time. Now tell me what happened.” Seliora sat at the edge of the settee, looking at me, waiting.
“I told you about the Council’s Harvest Ball last night, remember?”
“You didn’t get bruises and a cracked rib from a lady holder.”
“No. I got them from an explosion that I set off to keep all of us more junior imagers from getting killed. The Ferran had set up a wagon . . .” I went through the “official” explanation quickly, mentioning only my concerns about Vhillar and that he’d had a fatal accident just before I dealt with the explosion. “. . . and I woke up in the infirmary. Three assassins are dead, and one was the Ferran.”
She looked into my eyes. “There’s more.”
“There is,” I said, “but I have to leave it at that. It’s better that way, especially for you and me. And you can tell everyone that I did get the Ferran.”
She reached out and squeezed my right hand, gently but firmly “I’m glad you trust me enough not to lie.” She held up a hand. “I know you can’t tell me everything, and, most times, you shouldn’t, but please don’t lie to me. Just tell me that there’s more, the way you just did, but we’ll have to let it go.”
“I can do that.” As I said it, I realized something else. Unlike my parents, or Master Dichartyn, or anyone else, except maybe Khethila, Seliora trusted me, trusted me implicitly. For a moment, my eyes burned. I had to swallow before I could say more. “Thank you.”
Her smile warmed me all the way down.
We sat there, with Seliora leaning forward slightly, holding hands, just holding hands.
After a time, sh
e said, “Grandmama said that you would get the Ferran. I was afraid you’d be hurt even worse. I saw an explosion sweeping over you.”
“That’s a good way of describing it.”
“You said that you had some good news?”
“I’m being advanced to master imager-the most junior master. Maitre D’Aspect-and I’ll have a new position.”
“With the civic patrollers?”
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t, but I did have a vision of you in the middle of a group of patrollers, and I couldn’t figure out why that would be.” She paused. “That’s not a normal position, is it?”
“No. It’s used to season talented and difficult junior master imagers. Master Dichartyn hopes it will give me enough experience so that I can make better decisions based on that experience.”
Seliora nodded. “Grandmama will be so pleased-a master imager.”
“And your parents?”
“They were pleased from the moment they met you, but Odelia helped with that. She really would like to marry Kolasyn.”
I understood that as well.
“What about the wedding? The one with your cousin, I mean.” I flushed as I realized the double implication of my last words.
Seliora laughed, warmly and kindly. “We have time.”
And so we did.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-bae775-1c54-f446-76a5-d661-5bb4-a3844c
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 25.11.2011
Created using: calibre 0.8.27, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
L. E. Modesitt
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