Imager's Challenge (67 page)

Seliora stopped on the landing between floors and turned to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her words were gentle.

“I thought you knew. I’d said that it wouldn’t be over until there were no male heirs. You acted as though you knew. I didn’t want to say more than I had to. I didn’t want you any more involved than absolutely necessary. All that I ever asked for—in words—was to borrow the mare. I wanted to protect you as much as I could.”

“Please . . . don’t protect me out of your life. It is, and will be, my life, too.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

Then we were in each other’s arms, just holding tight.

While we would have liked to stay there for longer than we did, we needed to see Grandmama Diestra. We made our way up the last steps and across the far smaller upper hall.

Diestra was the only one in the plaques room, sitting at the single table. She set down the deck of plaques, leaving a pattern of placques on the dark blue felt. “Join me, children.”

I took the chair to her right, and Seliora sat down across from me.

Diestra’s eyes took in Seliora.

“You were right,” she said. “He was trying to protect me.”

Diestra looked to me.

“It was my fault. I didn’t tell her enough so that she understood.”

“Life is always a balance, and the stronger two who are a couple each are, the more they must seek that balance, or they will destroy each other.”

That was clearly an evenhanded reprimand. Accurate as it was, it didn’t bother me nearly so much as had some of those delivered by Master Dichartyn.

“There is one other thing.” She paused. “It matters as much
why
something is done as what is done. Mercy or forbearance in return for true evil is not virtue; it is disaster. Condemning the killing of those who have murdered and created great suffering and who would continue to do so is an exercise in empty righteousness. Yet there are always those who would judge without
sullying their hands, and for that reason, much that is done must remain unspoken and unacknowledged.”

From what I’d seen, Grandmama Diestra was all too right, and too often the Collegium was too forbearing.

Diestra swept up the plaques from the table, then shuffled the deck, her short fingers still nimble. “Life is akin to many things. Sometimes, it is a melody, sometimes a year with seasons, but when people are involved, it is most like a game of plaques. Some are able to play, while others are merely played. Always be the player.” She smiled. “Except with each other. Never play the other, and never suffer yourself to be played.”

I didn’t think I’d ever heard how a couple should treat each other put more succinctly.

Diestra looked at me once more. “Seliora is the only one you will ever be able to trust fully. Do not forget that.” Then she turned to her granddaughter. “Rhenn is trustworthy, more so than anyone. Do not assume the worst because he has not told you something. Just ask, gently. He will tell you.”

The last words, although addressed to Seliora, were really meant for me, and the quick sidelong look Diestra gave me emphasized that.

After a moment, Grandmama Diestra shuffled the plaques and laid out a pattern on the dark blue felt. “You two have better things to do than to keep me company. Or you should have. I’ve said what I will.”

I inclined my head. “Thank you.”

Seliora reached out and took her grandmother’s hands. She didn’t say anything, just squeezed them, but her eyes were bright.

Shortly, we rose and left Diestra pondering over a form of solitaire I’d never seen before.

Once we stood in the upper hallway, I turned to Seliora. “What would you like to do with the rest of the afternoon?”

“Could we . . . just talk? Aunt Aegina has a special dinner planned.”

“Planned in advance as either condolence or celebration?”

“Grandmama said it would be fine . . . she said everyone should celebrate and that they all worried too much.”

“Not everyone else was that certain,” I said teasingly.

“Bhenyt was. He said that no one who’d been shot at as many times as you had in coming to see me would ever hurt me. He also said that no one else ever looked at me the way you did.”

Bhenyt? “I would never have guessed.”

“He sees more than he lets on.”

“Another Pharsi trait.”

Seliora tilted her head, and a hint of that mischievous smile appeared. “By that token, you are more Pharsi than anyone here.”

I shrugged helplessly, then laughed, knowing that I would enjoy the rest of the afternoon and evening. The worries and concerns would return, as they always would, but for the next few glasses, I would enjoy the moments.

Dinner with Seliora’s family on Samedi was good, but what happened before, and especially afterward, was better. But all that did bring up another point—I needed to be more careful with my coins because, if I survived the weeks ahead, I’d need to arrange for a wedding ring for Seliora. I almost regretted my promise to Horazt, because that would take close to half of my meager savings—yet how else could I have persuaded him that I was serious? As a Maitre D’Aspect, I did make a gold a week, but I’d been putting away only three or four silvers a week, if that, since I’d been with the Civic Patrol.

I did manage to get some untroubled sleep, until shortly before dawn when I had a nightmare where my parents and Remaya were all looking at me as if I’d killed Rousel. I didn’t sleep after that because, in a way, I had, although I’d had no idea at the time that my actions would have led to that. So I got up and washed and shaved and dressed and headed over to the dining hall.

Maitre Dyana was alone at the masters’ table, and I joined her.

“I heard from Master Dichartyn about your brother. I am sorry to hear of it.”

“Thank you.” I poured my tea and helped myself to the ham strips and rubbery eggs.

“Do you think it was Ryel’s doing?”

“I have absolutely no proof of High Holder Ryel being involved.”

“No proof. That’s often the case with High Holders. There is little proof on either side, not even after the matter is resolved.”

“I’ve come to realize that, maitre.”

“I also heard that you’re the one responsible for capturing the Tiempran priests who exploded their Temple in the South Middle taudis. Maitre Rholyn felt that the capture and hearing . . . might complicate matters before the Council.”

“He mentioned that yesterday.” I paused and took a sip of tea. “I can understand his concerns, and his points are logically made.”

“He is always logical,” agreed Dyana.

“There are times when I feel logic misses the point.”

“Such as?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Well . . . if one values not having to fight a war or a conflict with the Tiemprans to the point of allowing part of one of our cities to be razed or to permitting the conscription teams to vent their anger on our own people, that implies that at least some of our own people have less value than the merchants and sailors who might suffer from conflict. If the people come to believe that, then that will create more unrest and less support for the Council.”

Maitre Dyana laughed. “You have made a very logical counterpoint, but you haven’t said why or where Master Rholyn’s logic misses the point. Are you sure you aren’t just saying that Master Rholyn offers logical-sounding arguments that aren’t really that logical when analyzed?”

I shrugged. “That could be. I still feel that you can’t reduce every situation to logic.”

“Of course you can’t. People aren’t logical. They just use logic as needed to justify what they already believe. In governing, you have to appeal to their beliefs . . . or minimize the impact of those beliefs when what you are or what you’re doing stands against those beliefs.”

“That’s why you and Master Dichartyn emphasize that the Collegium must be as invisible as possible.”

She nodded. “People in every society in every time in every land want to believe that small groups of powerful people rule them secretly, even that such groups play people as though they were plaques in some arcane and complex game. While such games are played, they usually involve a very few people at high levels, most all of whom know the rules of such games. The majority of the populace thinks such games are widespread because they cannot accept that bad things usually happen because of greed and stupidity, usually involving many people, if not the entire population of a land. So . . . if the Collegium is seen as powerful and influential, according to people’s beliefs, we must be evil and out to rule them, or play them as if they were plaques.”

Unhappily, I could see that.

After breakfast, I walked northward along the west side of the quadrangle through the intermittent fog that rose off the river and drifted in patches through the Collegium. I’d decided to try to finish what I had to do on Maitre Rholyn’s portrait. That was something I could get done before I had to leave for my parents’ house. Seliora and I had talked it over the night before after dinner and decided that it would be better if she did not join me while I waited with Khethila for my parents and Remaya and Rheityr. I had promised
either to stop by or drop Seliora a note to let her know what day and time Khethila had arranged for the memorial service at the Anomen D’Este.

Once I was in my studio I set to work and kept at it for close to six glasses, with perhaps half a glass off for a quick lunch. Then I cleaned up the studio, and myself, and set out across the Bridge of Hopes. The fog had lifted, except for patches drifting across the river, but a thin overcast kept the day from being comfortable, and I was glad to be wearing my heavy gray wool imager’s cloak.

The hack dropped me in front of the house at about two quints before three, and Khethila opened the door. She gave me a sad smile and then an embrace. I held her for a moment, then followed her into the family parlor, and we sat down. The hearth stove warmed the parlor, for which I was grateful after the chill ride in the hack.

“Charlsyn left just after two. That should be enough time, shouldn’t it?” she asked.

“On a Solayi, I would think so. How are you feeling?”

“Running the factorage helps. I know I have to keep things going.” She laughed nervously. “Everything is in perfect order, even the sample racks, and I went through all the past invoices and found several that hadn’t been paid in full. So I sent out reminders. Some won’t ever be paid, but some might.”

“How are the finances here?”

“The fire damage didn’t help, but it will still be a good year for the factorage here. Father is supposed to bring back the ledgers from Kherseilles.” She shook her head. “I hope the losses there aren’t too bad.”

So did I.

“When is the service?” I finally asked.

“Oh . . . I should have told you. It’s on Jeudi, the second glass of the afternoon.” She went on to provide the details, including the fact that I would offer the family remembrance.

By a quint before fourth glass, every few moments Khethila would glance out the window that overlooked the drive leading to the side portico.

“The train could have been late, and we don’t know how much luggage Remaya may have brought for her and Rheityr.” I paused. “Will she be staying here?”

“I don’t know. Mother will want her to, but . . . her parents may have their ideas.”

At just after a quint past four the familiar brass-trimmed brown coach pulled up under the portico. Khethila hurried out, and I followed.

Father was the first out of the coach, then Culthyn and Mother. Remaya
handed Rheityr, bundled and squirming, to Mother before stepping down herself. All of them looked tired.

I gave Mother a hug. She needed it.

“I’m glad you’re here, dear.”

“Good to be home,” Father said, to no one in particular.

“I’m hungry,” said Culthyn.

“Dinner will be ready at fifth glass. You can wait,” replied Khethila.

Remaya held Rheityr tightly, then looked at me. “Thank you for coming. Rousel . . .” Her voice trembled. “He said you would always be here.”

“How could I not?” I replied gently. “He was my brother, and I did introduce you.” I offered a smile, trying somehow to inject some warmth into the chill that seemed to permeate everything. That was hard, because my acts had led to Rousel’s death, and yet, how could I have known? I smiled at the squirming Rheityr. “He’s beautiful. I’d heard he was.”