The Lord-Protector's Daughter (26 page)

Early on Quinti morning, immediately
after breakfast, Mykella donned black, from nightsilk all the way outward to boots, tunic, and trousers, as well as a black scarf that could double as a head-covering, if necessary. The events of the past week, especially Berenyt's words and her last encounter with the Ifrit, had convinced her that anything she could do as a woman—anything that would be seen as acceptable for a woman, she corrected herself—would not save her or her father, or her sisters, from Joramyl and his schemes.

She'd finally had a little time to think over her encounter with the Ifrit. He'd attempted to misdirect her initially, but his attack on her had been aimed at the node of her life-thread. Three things had come together in her thoughts. First was the fact that everyone had a node. Second was the Ifrit's attack. Third was her recollection of what Kiedryn had said before he'd been murdered—that Mykel the Great had been able to kill men without touching them. That suggested something she could master—and use, if she had to.

She had a sickening feeling that it would be necessary.

Under cover of her sight-shield, she made her way from the upper level of the palace, down the steps and across the western courtyard, past the low extension that held the kitchens, to the small building behind the kitchens that served as the slaughterhouse. She waited until no one was looking, then opened the door and closed it behind her, walking as quietly as she could toward the open-roofed but walled slaughtering area in the back.

Three lambs, close to being yearlings and mutton, were confined in a pen—an overlarge wooden crate. Several fowl were in the next crate. Mykella could sense the grayish life-threads of the lambs, thinner than that of her gelding, but definite life-threads. From where she stood, she could not sense those of the fowl, though she had no doubt that they also had life-threads.

Two men—or an older bearded man and a youth—stood beside the pen.

Nelmak, the head butcher, looked to the rangy youth. “We need to get on with it. The first one.”

As the young man folded down the front of the crate and lifted a blunt stunning hammer, Mykella reached out with what she could only call her Talent and grasped the node of the lamb's life-thread, a thread that felt both thinner and yet coarser, or stronger, than her own seemed to be. But no matter how she tried, she could not break the node or the thread.

The hammer came down, and the life-thread remained. Then the youth dragged the stunned animal out of the pen and over to the iron hook and chain. Only after he slit the animal's throat did the life-thread break—spraying apart at the node, as if all the tiny threads unraveled at once.

Mykella thought she had sensed a point, a tiny knot within the node, that might be where she could strike. She readied herself as the assistant stunned the second lamb, but it took more time than she thought, trying to work a sharp Talent probe into that tiny knot. Just before her probe reached the knot, the assistant completed the kill.

She struggled to work more quickly on the last animal, using her Talent almost like a knife-edged crochet hook—and she succeeded in stabbing the key knot, and then twisting, unraveling, and cutting the threads. The lamb died before the assistant even raised his bloody knife.

“It's dead.”

“Never seen the like of that before,” wondered the butcher.

“Nelmak, sir, you just scared it to death.”

“It was you. You hit too hard with the hammer. You don't pound them to death. You stun them. Otherwise it's a bitch to get all the blood out.”

Mykella just stood there, shuddering behind her concealment shield. A cold chill ran through her. She'd never killed anything before—except spiders and flies and the like. And it had been terrifyingly easy once she had discovered how.

She swallowed, telling herself that the lamb would have died one way or the other. And Jeraxylt and Kiedryn had both been killed by Joramyl's plots…and most likely so had an innocent Southern Guard, not to mention Shenyl.

She had to remember that. She had to.

After several moments, she stiffened and then eased her way back through the slaughterhouse. Once outside, still holding the concealment shield, she took a deep breath before walking back across the rear courtyard toward the palace. She'd discovered that her Talent was more than just a tool for observation—much more.

She shivered again, this time at the thought that she could no longer claim she was powerless. She kept walking.

True early spring had finally
arrived in Tempre—or at least several days and afternoons warm enough to enjoy the private gardens to the northwest of the palace, and on Decdi afternoon Mykella slipped away from the palace to the gardens and their budding foliage to be alone. She was edgy and still had trouble sleeping, even though the ledgers showed no more diversions, and the actual receipts continued to match the ledger entries. There were no more tack entries assigned to “Berjor” for the Southern Guards, either. For all the brighter and warmer weather, her father remained withdrawn, spending even more time with his brother, and drinking more wine than he should have.

One of Mykella's favorite places was the small fountain in the northwest corner of the extensive walled garden. There, water trickled down what resembled a section of an ancient wall, and tiny ferns circled the shallow pool below. In summer and fall, miniature red-bells bloomed.

She was halfway across the garden on the side path when she heard a feminine laugh from behind one of the boxwood hedges forming the central maze. The laugh was Rachylana's, and Mykella could sense that her sister was not alone. She moved closer, drawing her sight-shield around her.

“You're much more beautiful than Mykella.” That voice was Berenyt's.

“Mykella has her points.”

“But so many of them are sharp…”

Mykella snorted. Time to put a stop to this particular scene. “Rachylana! Where are you?” As if she didn't know.

There was absolute silence from the hidden bower, but Mykella dropped the sight-shield and moved toward it, making sure her boots echoed on the stones of the curving pathway. When she came around the last corner of the boxwood hedge before the bower, Berenyt stood.

“Mykella.” His tone was pleasant.

Mykella could sense the unvoiced condescension and the irritation. “Good day, Berenyt,” Mykella said politely. “I didn't realize you were here.”

“It was a most pleasant end-day, and I happened to encounter your sister, and she suggested we enjoy the garden. It has been such a long and gray winter.”

“It has indeed,” Mykella agreed, “some days being even grayer than others.”

Berenyt bowed. “I will not intrude further. Good afternoon, ladies.” His smile was clearly for Rachylana. He stepped gracefully past the sisters and made his way down the hedge-lined path that would lead him out of the maze.

Mykella waited for the outburst that was certain to follow once Berenyt was out of earshot.

“You came out here looking for us, didn't you?” accused Rachylana.

“No. I came out here to be alone, but you were giggling and making over him. He's your cousin.”

“He's going to be Lord-Protector some day. Father won't wed again.”

Mykella had tried to avoid thinking about that. “If Lady Cheleyza doesn't have a son, and if nothing happens to Berenyt.” She almost said that Cheleyza was expecting, but realized that she'd have to explain.

“He'll still be first in line.”

So long as Cheleyza doesn't poison him.
Mykella managed not to swallow at the implications of that thought. Had Cheleyza tried to poison Rachylana because a marriage between Berenyt and Rachlyana would have reduced, if not eliminated, the chance for her child to become Lord-Protector?

“Mykella?” pressed Rachylana.

“He's your cousin,” Mykella repeated, almost lamely.

“So?”

“Berenyt's just using you,” Mykella said, regaining her composure and not concealing the exasperation in her voice. “You're behaving like every other silly woman, even like a tavern trollop. You think that he cares for you. All he wants is information and power. He really doesn't even want to bed you, except to make his position as heir apparent to his father more secure.”

“That's not Berenyt.”

“That's very much Berenyt. While you're thinking he's appreciating you, he keeps asking you questions, doesn't he? He flirts, but never says anything.” Mykella's words were edged with honey more bitter than vinegar. “He hints, but never actually says anything.”

Rachylana lunged toward Mykella.

Mykella stepped aside, but also called up the unseen webs of greenish energy.

Rachylana reeled away from the unseen barrier and staggered back, nearly toppling over the stone bench. “You hit me!”

“I never touched you, but I certainly should have.” By using her Talent to avoid a physical confrontation, Mykella realized, she'd only made matters worse. “You were so ready to lash out at me that you tripped over your own feet, and you'll trip over more than that if you're not careful.”

“You and your pride. You and Salyna. The two of you seem to think that you can do anything a man can, and you can't,” snapped Rachylana. “You're the one who'll trip.” She straightened herself and smiled. “You seem to forget, Mykella, that you're a woman, and women need to carry themselves with care if they're to acquire what they wish.”

Mykella had never forgotten that she was a woman. How could she, reminded as she was at every turn about what women couldn't do, shouldn't do, or ought not to do? She said nothing more as Rachylana turned and stalked down the garden path.

Only after Rachylana had left did Mykella walk to the far corner of the garden. How could she make people pay attention to her—truly pay attention to her? She was half a head shorter than her sisters, and she was a woman. Her voice and perhaps her posture were the only commanding aspects she possessed.

Could she use her Talents…? Could she summon the Ancient?

Standing in the shadows of late afternoon, she concentrated on the soarer. Nothing happened. How could she reach the Ancient? Through the blackness below? This time, she reached downward toward the greenish black darkness. Surprisingly, touching that underground web was far easier immediately away from the Table. Did the Table make it harder?

The Table interferes with many things
. The soarer hovered to Mykella's right, in the deeper shadows.
You have called me.
A sense of amusement radiated from the soarer.
What do you wish?

“Some assistance with a few small things,” Mykella said.

Why should I offer such?

“You wanted me to deal with the Ifrit, didn't you? I did. Now, I may need to deal with others.”

Mykella gained the sense of a laugh.

You need little from me. You have repulsed the Ifrit. So long as you guard the Table, your world will be safe from him and those like him. You can already tap the lifeweb of Corus.

“Outside of the shields and the sight-shield, and seeing the lifeweb, I don't know much,” Mykella confessed.

You can kill and travel through stone near the web
, reminded the soarer.

Mykella winced. Did the Ancient know everything?

Only what you have done when you are close to the lifeweb. You can do much. If you link to the web itself, and do not just draw upon it, all that you do will be strengthened.
A sense of somberness radiated from the hovering soarer.
Anything of value and of power gained through the lifeweb bears a cost. Those with great power—and you will be one of them, if you follow your destiny—can often avoid bearing those costs themselves. But there is a price, because those costs will not be denied, and they will fall twofold on others linked to you who have no Talent.

“Twofold?”

The soarer vanished.

“Who are you talking to, Mykella?”

At the sound of Salyna's voice, Mykella whirled. “Salyna?”

“I thought you were talking to someone, but there wasn't…there isn't anyone here.” Salyna frowned.

Hadn't Salyna seen the soarer? Did one have to have some vestige of Talent to see the Ancients? Was that another reason why the soarer had contacted Mykella?

“Mykella?”

“Sometimes…sometimes I just have to talk things out to myself,” Mykella temporized.

“What's a lifeweb?”

“Oh…that's something I learned in the archives. Everything in the world that is living is tied together. That's what the Alectors thought.” Mykella hoped that her hasty explanation would be enough. “I was trying to work out…about why some things happen. Sometimes, it helps to put it in words.”

“I thought I was the only one who did that,” offered her younger sister, pausing, and then adding, “You know…you really made Rachylana mad.”

“I'm certain I did, but she shouldn't be sneaking off and flirting with Berenyt. They're cousins.”

“He can be nice.”

“He can. Of that, I'm most certain, but I'm also certain that he's selfish and that he'll bed any pretty woman he can, and that, if Rachylana and he are matched, she'll be miserable within seasons, if not sooner.” Mykella smiled. “Not that she will listen to either of us. We might as well head back so that we won't be late for supper.”

“She won't…but that makes it sad. She can't see that we worry. All she can see is Berenyt.” Salyna shook her head, clearly unhappy about Rachylana and Berenyt, but knowing the truth of Mykella's words.

After Rachylana's reaction, and her father's withdrawal, Mykella knew she had much to practice—and learn—in the days ahead.