Imager's Challenge (54 page)

“For the golds, I imagine?”

“He didn’t turn them down, but I had the feeling that the man was actually trying to do what was best for the boy. His mother has visited, and I’m fairly sure that Shault is giving much of his earnings to her.”

“Dichartyn says that he looks up to you.”

“I don’t know why, but I’ve tried to be supportive.”

“You settle him down, Ghaend said. After the hearing yesterday morning, he was very upset, but he was calm that afternoon. Ghaend asked him, and young Shault would only say that you explained things to him.”

“I tried. I wasn’t sure I was successful, but I’m glad to hear that he settled down.” I looked at him closely. “If you’d turn your head just a touch away from me . . . there. That’s good.”

After that, I just painted, and Rholyn didn’t say much more, or ask any questions. As he gathered his cloak and prepared to leave, he did ask, “How many more sittings, do you think?”

“Not more than two. If things go well next week, it could be the last.”

“Good. No offense, but . . .”

“Yes, sir. I know. It takes time.”

He smiled politely, nodded, and departed.

I continued to work on his portrait until close to noon, when I hurried over to the dining hall. Maitres Dyana, Chassendri, and Ferlyn were all there, beckoning to me.

“How was the Ball?” asked Ferlyn, even before I slipped into the seat beside Maitre Dyana. “I saw you leaving the Collegium last night. Rather splendid, you looked.”

I smiled and glanced at Maitre Dyana, who was wearing, as usual, a brilliant scarf, this one of purple, edged in pink. “The red or the white?”

“White. It is midday.” A faint smile lingered on her lips.

I poured us each a half goblet from the carafe, then let her hand the carafe to Chassendri. “Do you think we’ll see an early snow?”

Ferlyn snorted. “Now you sound like Maitre Poincaryt. That’s what he does when he doesn’t want to answer a question.”

“Does he?” I kept my voice innocent.

Ferlyn shook his head, then said to Chassendri in a lower voice, “All of the security types are the same. They just tell you what they want you to know.”

He was right, but I’d come to see why. I grinned. “It was a quiet evening as such events go. There were scores of people dressed far more impressively than I was. There were no accidents and no explosions, and only a few young ladies needing dance partners when they’d been inadvertently left standing alone.”

“See what I mean.”

I laughed. “I can’t tell you what didn’t happen.”

Ferlyn snorted, but poured red wine for himself and white for Chassendri. “We will have an early snow, but not this weekend.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” replied Maitre Dyana sweetly.

At that point, the cutlets arrived, with a light brown sauce, followed by roasted potatoes and a steamed cabbage. The cabbage was sweet, as it only was in autumn, and the dessert wasn’t bad, a rather plain cake drizzled with congealed heavy blueberry syrup.

For the rest of lunch, conversation centered on the latest events from Cloisera. In one way or another, they all expressed the idea that the Ferran attack on Jariola so late in the year had been unwise. There was such unanimity that I wondered if I might have been mistaken, because unanimous opinions, I’d begun to believe, were usually in error.

After lunch I made my way to the Bridge of Hopes. This Samedi, Shomyr did escort Seliora, but he stayed only long enough to see that I met her before he departed.

I found myself embracing Seliora tightly in the middle of the bridge, my arms almost pinning her inside the heavy black wool cloak.

“Are you all right, Rhenn?”

“I’m glad to see you.” I slowly released her, then kissed her gently on the cheek.

“What’s happened?”

“I’ll tell you, but not in the middle of the bridge.”

We walked off the bridge and to one of the stone benches where I’d waited so often the previous spring. I stopped by the bench, gesturing, then stopping. “It’s wet.”

“I can stand. Tell me what happened.” She took my hands in hers, and it
was as though warmth flowed from her and released a chill I had not even known had encased me.

I turned to face her. “The patrol rounds on Lundi were all right, but that night I went to deal with Mardoyt—”

“The Patrol lieutenant Grandmama warned you about?”

“The same one . . .” I explained all that had happened before and what I had done. “Then, on Mardi night, Master Dichartyn called me in. He told me that he’d been asked to talk to the Patrol subcommander. He wanted to know why I’d tried to kill Mardoyt. I denied trying to kill him, because that wasn’t what I’d had in mind. . . .”

Seliora’s mouth opened. “How did any of them know unless . . .”

“Exactly. The subcommander, Mardoyt, and Harraf—and Youdh—all had to know—”

“Youdh? The taudischef?”

“He’s an imager. Or he was.” I had to explain how that had developed. I ended with what kept coming up. “Except for Youdh being an imager, there’s no real proof of anything.”

“That’s why Grandmama has held on to her contacts. By the time there’s proof, too often it’s too late. The innocent are destroyed, and the lower-level evil ones are caught, but the people who are responsible walk away untouched.”

“Speaking of those who are responsible . . . that was just the beginning. That same night, I walked over to the dining hall after dealing with Master Dichartyn. There was an urgent message from Khethila in my letter box. Rousel was badly injured in a wagon accident in Kherseilles. My parents had already left with Culthyn by the time I got the note. I went to see Khethila immediately, but she hadn’t heard more.”

“That’s not a coincidence.”

“No. I’ll explain that in a moment. On Meredi . . . I’ve told you about Youdh’s attack and the hearing. Vendrei was the Autumn Ball . . .” I didn’t go into full details about what Iryela had said—or what she had implied—but I did mention Ryel’s words about Rousel’s accident.

“He wants you to know that he’ll destroy your entire family.” Her eyes did not so much flash as smolder with solidified rage. “He wants to grind it into you.”

That was all too possible.

“Do you think she’s suggesting that marrying her would end this feud by her father?”

“That doesn’t feel quite right,” I admitted. “There’s something else there. She has her own schemes.”

“She could be throwing you up at them so that she can have a say in choosing a husband.”

“That could be. Or it could be something else.”

“I wouldn’t trust a word she says. These High Holders play with people like they were dealing plaques.” Seliora looked at me. “What do you need from me? From us?”

“I’ll need to borrow the mare, possibly several times over the next two weeks. Also, I’d like for both of us to stop by the factorage after I spend a glass or so painting you. . . .”

“You can still paint with all this . . . ?”

“I
need
to do that.” And I did. I wanted to finish her portrait. If things didn’t go right, and well they might not, she deserved that, cold comfort as it might be.

She tightened her fingers around mine, and we just stood in the chill, silently, for a time.

Finally, I took her arm, and we began to walk. “I do want to finish your portrait, and it’s not getting done out here.”

“I don’t want just a portrait.”

I knew what she meant. “I want more than that, too, but I’m not going to let things slide because of corrupt Patrol officers and vengeful High Holders. Besides, I do have plans.”

“I never doubted that. Will you tell me?”

I shook my head. “I can’t. I haven’t worked out everything yet.” I still had trouble with the full implications of Ryel’s feud, and the fact that I might well have to deal with not just Ryel, but Dulyk and Alynat as well. Just because I’d partly blinded Johanyr, I was facing either losing my family or ruining another?

“You will tell me?”

“Yes.” And I would.

We walked more quickly toward the studio. North of the center of the quadrangle, we passed two seconds headed toward their quarters. One was Vanjhant, the blond and chubby imager who’d been a witness at the ill-fated Floryn’s hearing the previous spring.

“Good afternoon, Vanjhant.”

“Good afternoon, sir, mistress.”

After they passed, I caught a few words, carried on the wind.

“. . . does something with the Civic Patrol . . .”

“. . . looks like he’d be the type . . .”

Did I really look that way?

“Yes,” replied Seliora, although I’d not said a word. “Even your father said something about it, Khethila told me. You never looked like a portraiturist, and now you look much more like a very fit and physical naval officer.”

“Not an Army type?”

She shook her head.

Once we got to the studio, I helped Seliora out of her cloak, then held her tightly. The kisses that followed were not short, but not overly long, and she eased away from me.

“There was something about a portrait . . .”

The smile in her eyes warmed me, and I posed her, then went to the easel.

I only worked on Seliora’s portrait for a little more than a glass, but by then I had her face completed, except for a few touches, and some of her jacket. It still took close to a quint before I’d cleaned up everything and closed up the studio.

“I’ll be glad not to have to wear this every Samedi afternoon,” she said as we walked toward the Bridge of Desires—the closest bridge for hailing a hack to go to the factorage.

“You can wear a different blouse next week. That part’s done.” I grinned at her, except it was close to a leer.

She blushed. “You can be impossible.”

“Not impossible. Merely difficult.”

We were both chilled by the time we crossed the bridge and managed to hail a coach. The ride south to Alusine Wool was not much warmer, because the wind was strong enough to whistle around and through the rattling windows. There was a single coach outside Alusine Wool when we emerged from the hack, but when I’d paid the driver and turned, the coach had pulled away. I hoped whoever was inside had expended more than a few golds purchasing wool.

Seliora stood and studied the front of the building for a moment, and at the letters of the sign. I let her. She’d never been to the family factorage before. Then we walked up the low stairs and in through the doors.

Khethila immediately stood as she saw us enter. She didn’t run down from the desk on the rear dais, but she didn’t dawdle, either.

“Rhenn! Seliora.” She gave me a quick hug and Seliora a slightly longer one. “You’re so kind to come.”

“Have you heard anything else?” I doubted that, because it was more than two days to Kherseilles by ironway, even by urgent express.

She shook her head. “I won’t hear anything until Lundi at the earliest, I expect.”

“Do you know how badly Rousel was hurt?” asked Seliora.

“The message from Remaya said that he had broken ribs and crushed legs.”

“Was there anything about how it happened?”

“No. Just that it was an accident.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Seliora’s words were both warm and supportive.

“Not right now. I can’t think of anything.” Khethila glanced around the factorage. “We’re selling a bit more than we did last year at this time, and I’ve been writing up the bid for another Navy order. All I can do is make sure that Father doesn’t have to worry about the business here.”

We talked for almost another glass before Seliora and I took our leave and let Khethila and Eilthyr begin to close up the factorage.

As we stood outside at the edge of West River Road, waiting for a hack, I half turned to Seliora. “Do you have the evening planned, lady?”

“We could join Father and Mother at home and then go with them to Chaelya’s. . . .”

I couldn’t help smiling. “What did you tell them? That you’d ask me, and to expect us?”

Seliora blushed.

“I thought as much.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

We waited for less than a quint before a hack, even bound northward, stopped for us.

Once we were inside, I asked, “Do you think we could take a ride tomorrow, early in the afternoon?”

“How early?”

“Right after brunch?”

“Only if you come to brunch.”

“I can manage that.” That would even let me sleep late and still have a good meal.

“You’d like to head north?”

“How did you guess?”

She smiled knowingly.

I sensed a sadness, and I said, “The more this goes on, the more it seems that I don’t have much choice.”

“I know. Sometimes, we don’t.”

That was always going to be the hard part, I was coming to understand. “How do you know which choice is right?”

“When only one choice will save those you love,” replied Seliora.