Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (66 page)

“Cyphret?” Lerial frowns, trying to recall where he has heard the name.

“Cyphret is minister for merchanting, and senior minister. He controls the duke’s wallet, so to speak. I have no doubt that we are woefully short of golds.”

“Can’t you seize Alaphyn’s villa and assets?”

“That won’t likely be enough.”

“Aenslem said that you need to raise tariffs.”

“I’ll have to, but they aren’t paid until midfall, and that means I’ll have to borrow golds from Fhastal.”

“Suggest that he forgo usury as a public duty.”

“I might at that.” After a pause, Rhamuel says, “There is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t seen Kyedra lately.” The new duke’s words are blandly uttered.

“Not since last eightday. Haesychya has quietly kept her out of sight.”

“Perhaps you should pay her a call. She may think you don’t think much of her because you only talk to her when you go to see Aenslem as a healer.”

“Will her mother let me?”

“Whether Haesychya approves of your seeing Kyedra or not, she can’t afford to refuse you so long as your behavior isn’t untoward, and I doubt that yours ever would be.”

“I’ve been reluctant to impose … given…” Lerial shakes his head.

“Matters have changed greatly over the past season. More than you’ve considered.” Rhamuel smiles. “Let’s just say that I don’t want my niece to think badly of you.”

“Neither do I,” admits Lerial.

Since there is nothing else pressing, at least not until Ascaar arrives, once Lerial leaves the palace, he and his squad head for Aenslem’s villa, where the guards admit them without question.

Lerial is just about to enter the villa when Haesychya steps out.

“Why might you be here today?”

“I came to see Kyedra.”

“What if she does not wish to see you?”

“Then she can tell me that herself. Or whatever else she may wish.”

Haesychya smiles at his last words. “When you say that to a woman, you risk much, Lerial.”

Her tone is so humorously ironic that he cannot help but laugh, if softly. “Thank you for the observation, but I’d rather know what a lady I appreciate thinks than have to guess.”

“Appreciate … an interesting choice of words.”

“Not really. Accurate. Appreciation of anyone or anything is the first step to understanding.” He smiles. “Then, perhaps understanding should come first. Either way, I think they go hand in hand.”

“In that, I would quite agree.” Haesychya gestures. “This way. She is in the lady’s study she seems to have appropriated.” She leads the way into the entry hall.

Lerial follows, then moves beside her.

“I had thought we might not see you again, except at official functions, and that would mean not at all, since there are likely to be none at all for the foreseeable future.”

“Proper mourning, you mean?” As he asks the question, Lerial realizes that he has not seen mourning head scarves on either Haesychya or Kyedra.
But then, they don’t wear head scarves in the home … or family homes.

“Proper hypocrisy. Only a few care.”

“You, Kyedra, and Rhamuel … perhaps a very few others,” Lerial says.

“You don’t.”

“How could I care that deeply—honestly? Mourning would only convey respect on my part. I met your consort once, as a child, and twice more here. You cannot mourn, not deeply, someone you do not know. I am far more deeply concerned about what his death has cost you and Kyedra.”

Haesychya almost stops short of the north archway, looking at Lerial. “You actually mean that. Why?”

“I’ve seen enough of you both to have more feelings and understanding about you two.”

“I should have asked why you were willing to say that.” She keeps walking along the north corridor.

“Because it’s true.”

She shakes her head ruefully. “‘Truth’ is a word whose meaning is unique to each person.”

“Usually … but not always.”

Haesychya does not reply but eases open a door on the west side of the corridor. “Dear, you have a caller.”

Lerial stands in the doorway with Haesychya, unwilling to enter unless welcomed in some fashion.

For just an instant, Kyedra’s eyes widen, in pleasure, Lerial hopes. He inclines his head. “It came to me that with all the aiding of your grandfather and uncle I had not paid you the attention I wished.”

“You truly are here to see me, and not Grandpapa?”

“I had no thoughts at all of seeing him. He seemed perfectly healthy yesterday, and I have no doubt I would hear were he not.” Lerial takes several steps into the room, hoping her expression is at least a conditional welcome.

“I will leave you two,” Haesychya steps out of the study and closes the door behind herself.

For a moment, neither Kyedra nor Lerial speaks.

Finally, Kyedra motions to the armchairs flanking a low table. “We could sit.”

Lerial smiles. “We could indeed, Lady.”

“That…”

“… sounds too formal? Perhaps, but I would not wish to be presumptuous.”
Not after all you have been through.

“You’ve been anything but.” Kyedra offers a mischievous smile. “Except with your eyes.”

“I like it when you smile.”

“I believe you’ve mentioned that before.”

“It bears repeating, because you have a most enchanting and radiant smile.” Before Kyedra can reply, Lerial adds, “And that is neither presumptuous nor excessively flattering because you do.”

“Are you going to insist on putting words in my mouth?”

“My apologies, Kyedra.”

“That is much better … Lerial. I do like your name. It fits you.”

“As does yours you.”

“‘Kyedra’ sounds harsh.”

“I don’t think so.”

She smiles, fleetingly, before speaking again. “Enough of names. Why are you here?”

“I told you. I wanted to see you. You, not your grandfather or your mother. I’ve been reluctant to press, given that my presence seemed … to your mother … less than welcome, except as necessary to heal your grandfather.”

“Then why did you press … today?”

“Because I wanted to see you, because…” He smiles, almost saying,
I think you know
, before realizing just how presumptuous and condescending those words might sound. He swallows. “Because, I wanted you to know just that—that I wanted to see you.”

“You know that we do not decide our fates … or consorts.”

“That is possible, but it cannot hurt to know what we feel.”

“It could hurt very much. Look at Uncle Rham. He still loves your aunt.”

“You know that?”

“You didn’t?”

“Not until I met him.” Lerial pauses. “Will you keep something between us? Because if it doesn’t turn out, it could hurt him even more.”

“You will have to trust my judgment on that. I cannot pledge to something I don’t know.”

Lerial doesn’t hesitate. “I sent a dispatch to my father more than an eightday ago, asking for a healer for your uncle, the same healer that had healed him once before. I suggested that it would be for the best for both Cigoerne and Afrit. I also suggested that she arrive by rivercraft, since that would be faster.”

Kyedra’s mouth opens.

“Was I wrong?”

She shakes her head, then says, “I would suggest that you have Norstaan pass the word to all pier guards that a healer from Cigoerne may be coming and that he will supply a squad to convey her to the palace if such a healer arrives. Norstaan will keep that confidence, as will I.”

“I should have thought of that. He did make the arrangements for sending the dispatch, and I know it got as far as Subcommander Ascaar and that he sent it on.”

“Then it is in your father’s hands … and hers.” She looks directly at Lerial. “Thank you. Even if it is not to be, thank you.”

Lerial decides not to bring up the possible complications if Emerya does choose to come to Swartheld, although her presence would not likely cause as much of a concern as once it might have—
you hope
—given what the Mirror Lancers have done for Afrit.

Kyedra offers a full smile, the one that transfigures her. “I’m glad you came.”

“So am I.”

“I want to hear more about you, your sister … not about the fighting…”

“Only if you’ll offer the same…”

“But nothing about what may or may not be. Do you understand?” Her voice is firm as she asks the question.

“I do. Too many others can determine the future.” Lerial phrases his words that way because he is not willing to accept that others have full control of their fate.

“Start with your sister.”

While Lerial wonders about why Kyedra would wish that, he begins, “She was only two when we first met, and she’s changed quite a bit since then. Like you, she knows her own mind, and there have been times…”

Lerial and Kyedra are still talking nearly a glass later, when there is a knock on the study door.

“You can come in, Mother,” says Kyedra with a smile, saying in a lower voice to Lerial, “It can’t be anyone else.”

The study door opens and Haesychya follows the serving girl bearing a tray into the study. On the tray are two platters, one of butter biscuits and one of small cakes, along with three beakers and a pitcher of pale lager.

Lerial understands fully, but lets Haesychya make the obvious statement.

“I can’t let you have all of Lerial’s time, Kyedra.”

“I’m glad you let me have some of it.” Kyedra smiles cheerfully.

So am I,
thinks Lerial, knowing that after the refreshments, and casual and polite conversation, it will be time for him to take his leave.

XLVII

After leaving Aenslem’s villa late on sevenday afternoon, Lerial rides back to the palace and meets briefly with Norstaan, conveying exactly what Kyedra has suggested.

The undercaptain smiles. “Yes, ser. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I can’t say if the healer is coming, but if she does, I don’t think there should be any hindrance to anything she may be able to accomplish in improving the duke’s health.”

“No, ser. We’re agreed on that. Thank you for letting me know … and I won’t tell him until you want me to.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, ser.”

Lerial returns to Afritan Guard headquarters, where he summons his officers and Dhoraat, whom he has promoted to senior squad leader, to the small conference room,

“I had a meeting earlier today with the duke—he’s is now the duke in name as well as in fact. He has requested that we undertake one more task before we leave Afrit—once Subcommander Ascaar arrives in Swartheld.”

All three men facing him across the table look dubious, and Lerial cannot blame them.

“You all know that one of the reasons why the Afritans lost so many men, and why Duke Atroyan was killed, was because there were traitors among the Afritan merchanters. It also appears that one or two of these merchanters may have had some part in the disappearance of Lord Mykel, the duke’s younger brother…” Lerial goes on to explain what Rhamuel has relayed to him and Rhamuel’s “request.” He finishes by saying, “We could refuse this, but after all the years of poor relations with Afrit, I think having the duke owe us would be better than declaring he is on his own on this, especially since, if he were the one to discipline the traitors, many of the merchanters would view him badly … and he cannot afford that much ill will at present.”

“More dirty work, if you ask me, ser,” declares Kusyl.

“Absolutely, but, all things considered, it’s worth doing. It also makes the point that the duke trusts us, and that might just make his merchanters less likely to cheat Duke Kiedron’s merchanters as well … or not so badly.”

Kusyl’s sour expression indicates his feeling about merchanters so expressively that Lerial can barely refrain from laughing.

“When will this happen?” asks Strauxyn.

“Not before oneday at the earliest, because Subcommander Ascaar hasn’t arrived yet.”

“What company are you thinking about?” asks Kusyl.

“Eleventh Company, unless any of you have other suggestions.” Lerial looks from Kusyl to Strauxyn, and then to Dhoraat.

“That makes sense,” Strauxyn finally says.

Kusyl nods, as does Dhoraat.

“Since there’s nothing else … right now, that’s all.”

Lerial notices that Strauxyn and Dhoraat leave quickly, but Kusyl does not, suggesting that the senior undercaptain has something in mind and has arranged the situation with the other two. “What is it, Kusyl?”

“One good thing about this war, ser, for us, anyway. We won’t be having to fight Heldyans all the time, and not the Afritans, either. Not while the arms-commander is duke.”

“That’s true, but it’s been hard on the Afritans.”

“There was one good thing for them … in a way.”

“Oh?”

“It got rid of a lot of poor senior officers … even some stupid captains. That’s what some of the undercaptains who came up from rankers are saying. They had too many officers who never served as rankers.”

“That may be, but it cost them a lot of good rankers.” Lerial can’t help but wonder from what direction the weapons that took out some of the “stupid” captains happened to come. He also realizes what Kusyl is hinting at and smiles. “Yes, you’ll be a captain. Officially, I can only recommend, but it will happen.”

“Strauxyn, too, begging your pardon, ser.”

“Done. What about Dhoraat as an undercaptain?”

“Give him another year as a senior squad leader. He understands.”

“Meaning that you’ve made it clear to him.”

“I’ve been where he is. I know what he needs to know. He knows that, too.” Kusyl simply waits after speaking.

“What else are you thinking about, Kusyl?”

“Begging your pardon, ser, but you ought to be arms-commander and in charge of the Mirror Lancers.”

“That can’t happen now.”
If ever, because you can’t become arms-commander while Lephi serves in the Mirror Lancers.

“Yes, ser. I know.” Kusyl’s voice conveys both understanding and resigned acceptance. “Still be better if it could.”

“That’s not my decision.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial also understands what Kusyl is not saying, and cannot say—that there is likely going to be a problem, in time, given Lerial’s experience, abilities, and accomplishments … and Lephi’s comparative lack of the same, especially since Lephi will not be the duke for some years to come, barring some unforeseen health problem striking their father. “We’ll just have to deal with what the future brings, Kusyl. That’s all we can do.”