The Lord-Protector's Daughter (23 page)

Areyst looked directly at her. “You could unsettle any man, Mistress Mykella.”

“I don't usually speak so, especially to men, Undercommander, but you did ask, and you were interested, and since you were most kind to my brother, I thought you deserved an explanation of sorts.”

“Your golds will tell what
has
occurred. Can they tell what
will
happen?”

“Can you?” she countered. “What do you think of what lies ahead for Tempre and Lanachrona?”

Areyst forced a soft laugh, and Mykella could sense his unease.

“You are uneasy with my question,” she prompted.

“I said that you could unsettle any man, Mistress Mykella.” He paused. “I am concerned, although I cannot say why. I fear that we face harder times than most would wish.” He shrugged.

“And what do you think of my father?” she asked.

“That is most…” He shook his head. “He is a kind and just man who has always done what he believed to be right. I would hope that his rule will be long.”

Because she had expected his answer, Mykella managed not to be startled by what she sensed—that Areyst truly hoped for Feranyt's long rule, yet feared that it would not be.

“As do I,” she replied lightly. “As it should be.”

“You never answered my question, Mistress, about whether golds will tell the future,” he prompted gently, swinging her around another couple.

“No more than good judgment and observation,” she replied. “Some things are obvious. If tariff collections are lower than in the past, that will mean that expenses must be reduced, or tariffs must be raised. If times are hard, raising tariffs will create unrest and discontent. Yet, if one reduces expenditures, say, for the Southern Guards, that can create another kind of discontent.” She smiled. “Would you not agree?”

“That is true if the Guard is required to do as much as before, or more,” Areyst acknowledged.

“But when times are hard, there are always more challenges to the Lord-Protector and the Guard.”

At the end of that dance, when Areyst escorted her back to her sisters, Mykella could tell that her comments had not so much upset Areyst as put him in a far more thoughtful mood than when he had asked her to dance. Strangely, she found that thoughtfulness far more attractive and appealing than a smile or pleasant and meaningless banter would have been.

“You left the undercommander with a most serious expression on his face,” observed Salyna. “That's not what you wish to do with a man who has no wife. You want to put him at ease.”

“He asked some most serious questions,” replied Mykella, “and I made the mistake of replying seriously.” She doubted that it had been a mistake, but it was wisest to say so. Her eyes went to the dancers and to where Rachylana danced with Berenyt.

They both looked to be enjoying the dance.

“Mistress Salyna, might I have a dance?”

Mykella turned to see Envoy Malaryk bowing to her younger sister. She had no doubts that the remainder of the evening would be long for both her and Salyna, but especially for Salyna, for whom the attentions of Malaryk confirmed the possibility of a match that would take her to Southgate, a match Salyna feared more than any other.

In thinking over the ball
as she lay awake on Novdi night, several things struck Mykella as odd. For all his candor, the Deforyan majer had only asked for a single dance, yet it had been clear that he would press Aldakyr to ask for her as a match. She had not seen Undercommander Areyst except for the single dance he had requested. On the other hand, as she had expected, Arms-Commander Nephryt had carefully avoided Joramyl, and Salyna had been asked to dance several times by Malaryk. Those dances—and the probable match they represented—had left her younger sister close to tears, as much fueled by anger as despair, by the end of the ball. And, of course, Rachylana had danced often and happily with Berenyt, who had been most attentive.

When Mykella woke on Decdi, it was early and gray, and she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep any longer, although brunch would not be served until a glass before midday. So she dressed in her nightsilks and riding gear and went to the serving pantry off the breakfast room. There was little enough there except bread and cheese, and some cold sausage. There was some ale in a covered pitcher, and while she didn't care much for it, it was better than water. The crumbs on the cutting board suggested someone else had been there as well, and her suspicions were confirmed when she carried her cold meal into the breakfast room.

Salyna was sitting at the table eating bread and slices of sausage. She'd never liked cheese all that much.

“Good morning,” offered Mykella.

Salyna did not reply, and Mykella did not press her sister, but seated herself and began to eat. The ale was flat, but wet enough to get down the bread, cheese, and sausage.

Salyna continued to eat. She also did not look in Mykella's direction.

Finally, Mykella said, “If I had a choice, it wouldn't be to go to either Dereka or Southgate.”

After a pause, her younger sister said, “What would your choice be, then?”

“I don't know,” Mykella admitted. “Those don't feel right.”

“Nothing feels right,” Salyna said.

“You're worried that you'll have to go to Southgate, aren't you?” Mykella was stating the obvious, she knew, and she wished that she could promise Salyna that such would not happen, but how could she?

“Wouldn't you worry? You know how they treat their women. Dramur is even worse.” Salyna shuddered. “Why do you think Mother consented to marry Father so easily?”

“It wasn't just that—”

“It was in the beginning. She told me so.”

Why had her mother told Salyna that and not her? “She never said anything to me.”

“She didn't have to. You were different. That's what she said.”

“Different?”

“She said she couldn't explain, just that you were.”

Mykella didn't understand that, but what could she say? She took another swallow of ale before she spoke again. “What are you going to do today?”

“Try to avoid everyone.” Salyna's words were tart.

“Let's take a ride. If we leave now, no one can say anything.”

“That's true.” The hint of a smile appeared on Salyna's lips, although it vanished immediately.

After finishing the last crumbs of her breakfast, Mykella stood. “I'll see you in the stable. I'll tell the guard detail.” She strode from the breakfast room, retrieved her riding jacket and gloves from her chamber, and hurried down to the courtyard, stopping at the duty box of the Southern Guards.

“Salyna and I will be taking a ride through the Preserve as soon as we finish saddling up our mounts.”

The duty guard's eyes widened. Then he swallowed.

“I thought you'd like to know,” Mykella added, before turning and heading from the duty box to the northwest door to the courtyard less than five yards away.

“Ah…yes…Mistress…” The Southern Guard's words drifted after Mykella.

Mykella crossed the courtyard to the stables, where she began to saddle her gray gelding, not hurrying, but not dawdling. A few moments later, Salyna entered the stable and began to saddle the big bay she always rode.

When they finished and led their mounts into the courtyard, eleven Southern Guards rode across the stone payment to join them—half a squad and a squad leader.

Mykella mounted, then eased the gray toward the squad leader, reining up short of him. “Usually we only need four or six Guards to accompany us,” Mykella observed. “Why do we need half a squad today?”

“Undercommander Areyst's orders, Mistress,” replied Sancaryt, the graying squad leader. “He didn't say why.”

What did Areyst know that Mykella should…and clearly didn't? Was it just that she and Salyna were even more valuable now that the envoys were interested in them as matches? Or did the undercommander's worries about her father extend to her and her sisters?

Mykella nodded politely. “We'll be riding for a while.” She turned the gray toward the northeast courtyard gate—the one that opened onto the trail through the Lord-Protector's Preserve. Immediately five of the Guards urged their mounts into a fast trot and rode past Mykella and Salyna before the sisters reached the gate. One opened the iron gate, and the others continued into the Preserve, but at a walk.

Sancaryt and the remaining Southern Guards formed a rear guard.

Once she had ridden through the gate and into the Preserve, Mykella extended her Talent toward and below the ground, checking to see if she could make and maintain a link with the greenish blackness that lay below the palace and the courtyard. Touching the greenish black was certainly no more difficult than from the Table chamber and easier than from her own room, and she let the link subside to a thin line. That was how she sensed it, at least.

The wind was light, broken by the trees, leafless though they were, but chill. Mykella had no doubt that it was far colder on any exposed hill crest, since the tops of the taller oaks and firs were swaying in the wind. “It's brisk out here.”

“I'd still rather be here,” replied Salyna.

Mykella noted that her sister not only wore her saber, but that she'd added a rifle in a Southern Guard holder. “Where did you get the rifle?”

“From Majer Choalt, before he left. He said he'd let me have a spare if I could score better at the range than half of the squad there. He didn't think I could.”

“How did you do?”

“I only shot better than twelve of them. That was enough to get the rifle. He didn't want to keep his word, but the undercommander said he had to.”

“You never told me.”

“You didn't ask.” Salyna turned in the saddle and grinned at her older sister.

Mykella grinned back.

After they had ridden almost a vingt, to where the trail split in three directions, Mykella took the left fork, the one that led almost due north. Before long, patches of fog and mist began to appear in spots along the trail, drifting south from the River Vedra, up over the ridge that ran north from behind the palace and then eastward through the middle of the Preserve. The fog drifted unevenly through the trees, filling the lower sections of the trail, but seldom coming to more than shoulder height on their mounts. Even the heaviest fog was light enough that Mykella could discern outlines with her eyes, but her Talent sense was more reliable.

For another vingt or so, they rode without saying much. All the time, Mykella couldn't help but wonder about the undercommander's decision to make sure Salyna got the rifle. Finally, she turned in the saddle. “Give us some space, if you would.” She tried to project pure authority along with her words.

“Yes, Mistress.” Squad leader Sancaryt reined back his mount.

One of the guards flanking Sancaryt swallowed.

Mykella eased her mount closer to Salyna, but she couldn't help but Talent-hear some of the exchange behind them.

“…scary…way she did that…”

“…like a senior captain…”

“…rather have the captain…”

Salyna looked from her mount to Mykella. “What was that all about?”

“I wanted to know if Undercommander Areyst said anything special to you about why he wanted you to have the rifle.”

The blonde brushed back a strand of hair, looking at the trail ahead, before replying. “He just said that it was best for me to be able to defend myself, and that even the most devoted of the Southern Guards couldn't always prevent everything.” She paused. “Oh…he did say that I might point that out to you.”

“To me?”

“He actually said, ‘to your sister,' but I don't think he meant Rachylana.”

“Probably not,” Mykella agreed.

“Why did you want to know? You're worried about something, and you have been for weeks. What is it?”

“I told you about the golds. I don't know anything more, but things still don't feel right. Yet…there's nothing solid that I can tell Father…or anyone.”

“What about the ghost…or the soarer? When Jeraxylt told us about that, you weren't all that surprised. You tried to act that way, but I know you.”

Mykella managed a shrug. “I saw a soarer. I've seen her twice. No one would believe me. That's why I never said anything. I feel she's trying to warn me, but…you know how Father is. If there's no proof…imagine what he'd say if I told him what I just told you.”

“He'd probably have Treghyt examine you for brain fever.” Salyna's voice was dry. “You really saw a soarer?”

“Yes. I suppose you don't believe me, either.”

Salyna shook her head. “If you saw her, you saw her. If Rachylana said that, I wouldn't be so certain, but you see what is.” After a moment, she added, “I don't think that's good.”

“Neither do I, but what can I do? It's all so uncertain and vague.” Absently, Mykella tried to strengthen the dark link to the greenish black below.

“Mykella! What are you doing?”

The combination of edginess and concern in Salyna's voice brought Mykella up short. She turned. “I wasn't doing anything. I was just thinking.”

“You were, too. There was this…this green mist…and it was all around you.”

Mykella could sense a combination of fear and concern. “Maybe the soarer's nearby. There was a green mist around her when I saw her.”

Salyna shivered.

Mykella almost missed that, but managed to ask, “What's the matter?”

“You…everything…Mother was right. You are different.” Salyna gestured around her. “It all seems so unreal, and so dangerous, and everyone acts as if nothing is wrong. Except you, and even you've changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“You always did see things, but it's as though you see everything now, and that you know what everyone is feeling, maybe what they're thinking.”

“I'm just guessing,” Mykella lied.

“You're guessing well enough to scare me.”

“What do you want me to do?” Mykella asked.

“I don't know. I know you can't make it all go away, but I wish you could.”

“So do I,” Mykella replied. “But I can't. So we might as well just try to enjoy the ride.”

“I'll try.”

So far as Mykella could tell, although she dared not try too hard, the greenish blackness remained close enough for her to maintain at least a tenuous link throughout the entire ride. Yet she knew that she had not been able to do that south of the palace. Was the greenish blackness somehow connected to the ridge that passed immediately north of the palace and then extended to the northeast?

After more than a glass, the mist began to turn into a light rain, almost icy in its chill, and the sisters turned their mounts back toward the palace.

Undercommander Areyst was waiting—mounted—at the crossroads where all the trails rejoined.

“Undercommander!” called Mykella. “What are you doing out here?”

“Your father was concerned when he discovered you had gone riding.” Areyst eased his mount around so that he rode beside Mykella on the wider trail leading back southward to the palace.

“I notice that you did not travel all that far, Undercommander,” Mykella said quietly.

“I had few doubts that you would be safe. I picked the guards to accompany you, and your sister is as good as most men with her blade and the rifle.”

“I heard you made certain she had the rifle.”

“I thought it was for the best, Mistress Mykella.” Areyst smiled pleasantly.

Beneath the smile, Mykella felt his concerns, but she could not sense exactly what they were, except that, despite his words, he was clearly relieved to see her and Salyna. Especially her, and that unsettled her just a bit.

Once they reentered the courtyard, Areyst inclined his head, then mustered their escort into a formation outside the stable.

Although Mykella was not slow in grooming and rubbing down the gray, she did not rush. Nor did Salyna, yet, when they left the stable to cross the courtyard to the palace, the Southern Guards who had accompanied them—and the undercommander—still remained mounted and ready.

Areyst inclined his head to them, but did not speak.