Scion of Cyador (44 page)

“You weren’t trained that way… but you’re certainly as perceptive as my sisters, and you can sense things. That’s one reason why you’re a good trader.”

“I don’t know.” Ryalth shakes her head. “The whole bit about the chaos-glasses-you told me that most Magi’i can’t feel anyone using a glass. That’s why they have to act as though everything they do could be watched or heard. It’s still hard to deal with. You were that way to begin with. Your brother still is.”

“I suppose that’s why manners and customs are important.” Lorn frowns. “Everyone expects them, and their sameness makes meeting and greeting someone safer.”

“That’s the impression, but I can tell when they’re genuine and when they are just a formality. Most people can.”

“You’re saying that the more adept of the Magi’i can use that to their advantage?”

“Don’t you?”

Lorn laughs. “You know me too well.”

“You’d better keep using it, now that you’re back in Cyad.”

“You’re right. I’m still worried.”

“Why?” Ryalth’s blue eyes are warm as they study him.

“The Majer-Commander has something in mind for me, and the Captain-Commander isn’t exactly that fond of me.”

“Neither is Bluyet Clan,” Ryalth says dryly. “You’re lucky that Vyanat’mer is the Merchanter Advisor to the Emperor. The Hyshrah Clan have never been fond of those of Bluyet. And Denys-he’s Bluoyal’s successor-was close to Bluoyal.”

“What’s Vyanat’mer like?”

“He seems very direct. He speaks but the truth, and his words are blunt.” Ryalth shakes her head. “Behind the bluntness and the use of truth, there is great subtlety. Like Bluoyal, and like Tasjan, he believes that the days of the Mirror Lancers, and especially of the Magi’i, are passing.”

“They won’t pass entirely,” Lorn replies. “The better Magi’i can draw chaos from the world around them. It’s not spoken of widely, but they can.”

“How many? One out of ten?” asks Ryalth. “If the towers fail…”

“When the towers fail,” Lorn says.

“Then, most of the Magi’i will be powerless, or have but a fraction of their former power,” Ryalth notes. “Vyanat knows that. Golds won’t lose their power, but the Mirror Lancers will be less powerful without firelances…”

“Not necessarily. We could raise more lancers.”

“And how will you pay them and arm them?”

“I bow to you, my lady,” Lorn says. “Both will take more golds, and that will lead to greater power for the merchanters.”

“You can think about that later.” Ryalth disengages Kerial’s mouth and lifts him to her shoulder. “What would you like to do today?”

Lorn offers a wide smile.

“Besides that. That will have to wait until later.”

“I need to see Jerial and Myryan and Vernt.”

“I had thought they could come here for dinner in a few days,” suggests Ryalth.

“We still need to see Jerial and Myryan before that.”

“Today would be better. We can hire a carriage for the day,” suggests Ryalth.

“You could afford one all the time,” Lorn says, “from what I’ve seen, you prosperous trader.” He grins.

“There’s no point in that. Most of the time, I don’t need it. Besides, that would draw attention.” Ryalth moistens her lips. “When we get up, I’ll have Kysia find a messenger to let them know we’ll be dropping by. Jerial might be gone, otherwise. Myryan gets home in the late afternoon to prepare dinner for Ciesrt.”

Lorn nods. “Would you like me to hold Kerial while you get washed and dressed?”

She smiles. “That would be nice. He usually has to stay in his bed and fuss.”

The sub-majer slowly takes his son, who is beginning to squirm, and lifts the infant boy to his shoulder.

“Keep your hand behind his neck. He’s not that strong there yet,” Ryalth cautions.

Lorn eases his fingers up Kerial’s back. “How are you this morning, young man?”

A slight burp is followed by, “Aaaaa…”

Lorn smiles crookedly as he feels the dampness on his shoulder. There is much he will have to get used to in Cyad-both in the Mirror Lancers and at home.

LXXXVII

It is nearly late midmorning when Kysia comes to the top of the stairs and announces, “Lady, ser… the carriage is here.”

“Thank you,” Lorn calls, clipping the Brystan sabre in place.

“I’ll carry Kerial. You don’t have that many uniforms left,” Ryalth says.

“Again,” notes Lorn. “I’ll need to have some more tailored.”

“Very stylishly.”

“No… not too stylishly.”

After a moment, Ryalth nods. “Well-fitted, but not dandyish.” She slips Kerial, who wears a cream-colored tunic above green trousers that look baggy, into the crook of her left arm.

Then the two descend to the main floor of the dwelling that still amazes Lorn in its deceptive size and luxury. Outside, the sun shines brightly, although there is a slight haze that lightens the green-blue sky.

The carriage that waits outside the iron gate is older, although the polished golden-oak and spruce of the closed body have been kept oiled and clean.

As Lorn and Ryalth step outside the iron gate, Lorn looks at the gray-haired coachman. “The Road of Perpetual Light, at the crossing of the Tenth Way.” He opens the carriage door and extends an arm to help Ryalth inside.

“Yes, ser.” The coachman smiles. “Handsome young-‘un, there.”

“Thank you,” Ryalth says as she steps up and inside the carriage.

“You be needing me all day?” asks the coachman.

“Most of it, I’d think,” Lorn replies. “You’ll be paid for the whole day.”

“Thank you, ser.”

With a nod, Lorn follows Ryalth into the coach and closes the door.

As the carriage passes the Fourth Harbor Way East, Lorn can sense the chill of a chaos-glass, and he looks at Ryalth. Her lips quirk.

“Did Kysia find a messenger to send to Jerial?”

“Of course. Otherwise Jerial might have been at the infirmary, but she’s not. She’s packing up her things.”

Lorn winces. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“She’ll be fine, dear,” Ryalth says. “Unlike some.”

He forces himself not to take a deep breath when the unseen chill of the chaos-glass passes.

Ryalth raises her eyebrows.

“I don’t know.” He answers the unspoken question. “A magus, but…” He shrugs. “It could be any first-level adept.”

“There will be more,” Ryalth says, patting Kerial on the back.

“I fear so-now that I am back in Cyad.”

When the coach pulls up outside the dwelling that had been Lorn’s parents‘, he steps out quickly, holding the door and offering a hand to Ryalth.

“You can wait in the shade here,” Lorn tells the coachman. “And there’s water in the lower garden there.”

The driver nods.

“I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“We’ll be here, ser.”

Lorn and Ryalth walk toward the door, but before they have even started up the steps, Jerial opens the door and steps beyond the privacy screen. Lorn’s older sister is clad in a deep black, and there are circles around her eyes.

Lorn steps forward and hugs her.

“I’d hoped it would be you.” She steps back and gestures. “Come on in. Things are messy… I’m packing.”

Lorn holds back a frown and waits for Ryalth to carry Kerial past the tiled privacy screen, then nods to Jerial, and follows the women into the house.

“Kerial just keeps getting bigger,” Jerial notes as she closes the door.

As they walk up to the second level, Lorn looks at Jerial. “I’m sorry. I was never told. I didn’t get any scrolls from you or Ryalth.”

Jerial nods. “I feared that when I didn’t hear, and when I realized that Dettaur was at Assyadt. I could feel it when you looked for Ryalth when we were together.”

The three take seats in the sitting room.

“Gaaaa…” Kerial announces, waving a chubby fist. “Gaaaa!” He lurches in Ryalth’s arms toward the dark-haired healer.

“He’s being social,” Jerial says with a smile.

“He knows his aunt,” Ryalth counters.

“He’s like his father.” Jerial grins at her brother. “Or like you were before you met Ryalth.”

“Thank you for the last phrase,” Lorn says.

Kerial lurches once more, and Ryalth stands and carries her son to Jerial, who takes him easily.

“You’re getting to be such a big boy,” Jerial coos at the infant.

“About Father… Mother?” Lorn asks. “How long has it been?”

“Father died on twoday of the third eightday of winter. Mother did not last three eightdays beyond. I don’t think she wanted to… and she had spent so much energy keeping him alive.”

“I’m sorry… you know I didn’t know.”

“What could you have done?” Jerial shakes her head. “I think I’m angriest that Dettaur took your scrolls to Father. At the end… Father would reread the older ones, and he would talk to me about when we were young.”

“How was he… at the end?” Lorn ventures.

“The same as always, except weaker. He was still sometimes saying the usual platitudes, except that they weren’t for him-and sometimes the unexpected. He told Vernt that there would come a time when Vernt would need your help, and that Vernt had better not tilt his nose too far back to see it.”

“He said that?”

Jerial laughs. “And he told me that there was life beyond Cyad, and not to forget it when the time came. He didn’t say much to Myryan that way, except to enjoy her garden, ‘for gardens are worlds.’ ”

Lorn swallows, fearing his father’s foresight. “You said you were pack-ing ”

“The house is actually Vernt’s, you know, but he suffers me to live here for the moment, although his consort will probably change that.” Jerial laughs. “They’ve already moved into the master bedchamber, and brought in one of the servants from her family, now that she’s expecting.”

Lorn raises his eyebrows.

“You met her. Vernt’s consort.”

“I know. Mycela-she’s the daughter of Lector Abram’elth. One of the last scrolls I got from Father said she was expecting this summer.”

“She is. She does dote on Vernt, but the cream and simpering can get heavy at times, especially now that she’s already planning the child’s entire life.”

Lorn glances at Ryalth.

“I already told Jerial she was welcome to stay with us,” Ryalth says.

“A merchanter I know has consented to let me live in his dwelling,” Jerial says, with a faint smile.

“Someone who once was a dissolute gambler?” Lorn asks, almost idly.

“Exactly. It’s an arrangement of convenience.”

Ryalth nods.

Lorn turns to his consort. “I don’t suppose that Ryalor House made those arrangements?”

Ryalth smiles brightly. “How could I have done otherwise?”

Lorn shakes his head, then looks at his sister. “You’ll be close to us?”

“Only about three blocks to the northwest. It’s a small place. It used to be a carriage house.” Jerial smiles. “That way, at times, I can take care of Kerial.”

“You two…” Lorn shakes his head, then glances toward his consort.

Kerial has begun to windmill his arms, and Jerial glances at Ryalth.

“He’s hungry, I think,” Ryalth says.

Jerial stands and carries the boy to his mother, and Ryalth takes him, then unfastens several buttons on her tunic and eases her son to her breast. “He is hungry-again.”

“Father left some things for you,” Jerial looks at her brother. “Vernt got most everything to do with the Magi’i, but there are several stacks of books for you… and some papers he gave to me that he asked that you read as soon as you returned to Cyad.”

“We can send some of the warehouse workers from Ryalor House with Lorn to get the books later in the eightday,” Ryalth suggests, shifting Kerial slightly as he feeds.

“Don’t make it too long… and I need to get that box for you, while I’m thinking about it.” Jerial rises. “I’ll be right back.”

After Jerial takes the stairs, lightly and quickly, Lorn glances at Ryalth. “She seems to be all right.”

“She is.” The lady trader studies her son fondly. “You are a little piglet.” She looks up. “I’ll wager you were, too.”

Lorn shrugs helplessly. “I don’t recall.”

“I’ve heard about you and the pearapple tarts.”

“I was older then.”

“And probably more restrained,” the red-haired woman counters.

Lorn is still laughing as Jerial comes back down the stairs from the fourth level. The carved wooden box that Jerial carries had rested on one of the lower shelves in his father’s study, Lorn recalls, although he has never seen the box open. It is perhaps a third the size of a lancer footchest, and made of a dark and shimmering wood, inlaid with spirals of intertwined shimmering white cupridium and green lacquered cupridium.

“The box was Grandfather’s, Father said.” Jerial extends the box. “It’s filled with papers, and there’s a folded and sealed letter to you there.”

Lorn swallows and takes the box.

“Oh… and Vernt has made the arrangements with the registry to have the shares of the bond transferred to you and to me and Myryan.”

Lorn frowns.

“Father and Mother had set aside enough in golds,” Jerial explains, “and some in a trading account, so that the house wouldn’t have to be sold. Vernt will even have some golds, as well as the house.” The dark-haired healer looks at her brother. “You were kind to relinquish the elder-claim.”

“I’m not even the oldest, and I couldn’t see you and Myryan suffering.”

“You think I’d suffer?” Jerial arches her eyebrows.

“Well…”

“I’m doing fine, but I thank you.”

“Whhaaaaa!” Kerial interjects as Ryalth shifts her son to her shoulder to burp him.

“Now… in a moment, you can have some more, you little piglet.”

Kerial’s burp is loud, and Lorn winces. Ryalth smiles as she lowers Kerial to her other breast.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jerial predicts.

“I’m sure I will.” Lorn looks down at the heavy box in his lap once more. “Did Father say… anything?”

Jerial shakes her head. “Just that you would understand.”

“For a while, I think he despaired of my ever understanding anything.”

“He just wanted you to think that,” suggests the dark-haired healer.

“Ryalth has said as much,” Lorn admits. “You two think alike… too much, at times, I fear.” He grins.