The Lord-Protector's Daughter (30 page)

Mykella was the first in
the breakfast room—for what was to be her last meal there, at least according to her uncle. Salyna and Rachylana entered just behind her.

“Did you hear?” asked Salyna. “They found an assassin on the main staircase early this morning.”

“How did they know he was an assassin?” asked Rachylana. “No one would claim that.”

“He was dead,” Salyna said. “That's what Pattyn said—he was the head of the guards on morning duty. The man was wearing assassin's black, and he had a dagger and a garrote.”

“The guards killed him?” asked Mykella, sitting down at her place, all too conscious of the empty seat where her father had always seated himself. Her eyes burned, and she looked down for a moment, then swallowed before she raised her head.

“No one knows,” Salyna replied. “Pattyn said he was dead, and there wasn't a mark on him.” She poured herself cider.

The serving girl brought Mykella tea, but Mykella studied it for a moment, deciding it was safe, before taking a sip. The fact that the night guards had not found the body suggested in whose pay they were. It was going to be a very long day, and it had barely begun.

Rachylana glanced at Mykella. “There have been too many strange things happening, like the light that fell on you yesterday.”

“It fell on Father's coffin,” Mykella pointed out.

“And on you.”

“She is the eldest, Rachylana,” Salyna said. “What other heir does Father have?”

Mykella hoped her younger sister hadn't guessed too much.

“Daughters can't inherit.”

“Can't…or haven't?” asked Mykella. “There's nothing in the charter or the archives that forbids it. In fact, Mykel made a proclamation that declared Rachyla his heir if he died first. She died before him, though.”

“You've looked? I would have thought as much,” sniffed Rachylana. “Even if Joramyl and Berenyt didn't exist, just how many of the Southern Guards would accept a woman? Old proclamation or no old proclamation?”

“Rachylana…that's…” Salyna shook her head.

“Who would know?” asked Mykella. “There's always been a male heir.”

“I still say that too many strange things are happening,” Rachylana finally said, after swallowing some cider.

“Like the doors that opened in the palace with no one around,” added Salyna quickly, clearly thankful not to have to discuss the possibility of a woman as Lord-or Lady-Protector. “One of the guards even found a silver in the middle of the lower corridor. But that was weeks ago.”

“Some factor probably dropped it. He wouldn't have missed it,” Mykella pointed out. “Some people can't see what's before their faces.”

Salyna gave the slightest of headshakes, and Mykella wished she could have taken the words back.

“What are you wearing today, Rachylana?” Mykella asked quickly.

“A new gown of light blue, I think…”

Mykella knew she would have to work not to reveal more than she already had until the time was right for her to act, and patience had never been her greatest virtue.

At just before a half
glass before noon, Salyna and Mykella walked down to the rotunda inside the main entrance to the palace. Rachylana was already there, talking with Berenyt, who wore the full dress uniform of a Southern Guard.

Rachylana looked at Mykella. “That long black cloak makes it look like you're still at the funeral.”

“I can wear mourning garb if I wish,” Mykella replied. “It is appropriate. Father's memorial was only yesterday, and Joramyl said we were in mourning.” Actually, under the cloak, Mykella had chosen what she wore with care—everything was black, except for the vest of brilliant blue she had retailored to fit her, if not as carefully as Wyandra would have. While she appeared to be wearing a full skirt, it was actually a formal split skirt for riding, not that the difference was noticeable under the cloak.

“Uncle Joramyl said mourning began after the investiture,” replied Rachylana.

“I don't recall anything like that,” Mykella replied politely.

Salyna glanced to Berenyt, as if to ask for an intercession.

“I heard about the assassin,” said Berenyt. “You'll all be safer in the hill villa. I've asked Father to send two squads with you as guards.”

More like gaolers
, Mykella thought.

“You will visit, won't you?” asked Rachylana.

“I wouldn't think otherwise.” Berenyt bowed. “I have to leave you now and meet up with Father. He wouldn't wish his heir apparent to be late.”

“No…you should be with him,” Mykella said politely, “especially today.”

Salyna frowned for a moment, but said nothing.

Berenyt smiled and turned, then walked briskly along the corridor, the sound of his boots echoing in the near-empty hallway, a space that normally would have held at least a score of people doing business with the Lanachronan functionaries housed on the main level of the palace.

“He's most elegant,” observed Rachylana.

“He does look very handsome,” Salyna replied.

“There's an old saying about handsome is as handsome does,” Mykella said blandly. She still couldn't forget that Berenyt had been with the plotters at all too many meetings. That made him as guilty as his father, whether or not Rachylana thought she loved him.

Rachylana sniffed, and Mykella could sense her thoughts—
You're just jealous
.

Mykella wouldn't have wanted Berenyt on a silver platter, even if he hadn't been her cousin. Nor did she want Rachylana to have him, because sooner or later, that would be the death of her sister. In any case, Berenyt wasn't anywhere close to the man her father had been, nor a fraction of the man Undercommander Areyst was. She pushed away that thought for the moment.

“Ladies?” An undercaptain of the Southern Guards appeared, with Lady Cheleyza behind him. “It's time for you to take your places.”

Mykella followed the undercaptain and Cheleyza, with her sisters behind her, for the short distance beyond the rotunda to the main entrance. There, they took their positions on the fourth of the five low and wide stone steps that led up the main palace entry. The topmost step was empty, by tradition, because the Lord-Protector-select had to ascend that last step alone. Cheleyza stood on the left side of the open space that formed an aisle down the center of the steps, alone, and Mykella and her sisters stood on the right. The lower three steps held the various ministers and senior functionaries, and their families. Mykella caught sight of Lord Gharyk and Jylara. Both looked worried, as well they should be, thought Mykella, at least once Joramyl became Lord-Protector.

The public crowds on the avenue beyond the front wall to the palace grounds were modest, with possibly fewer spectators than had shown for Feranyt's funeral, but since the courtyard was not that large, and since two of the three Southern Guard companies assigned to the palace were drawn up in mounted formation, the area before the palace and along the avenue to the south appeared full enough. The green sky was slightly hazed over, giving it a silver cast, and a light and warm breeze blew out of the southeast. Asterta stood full just below its zenith, its greenish tinge barely visible in the bright daylight. Was that a favorable omen? Mykella hoped so.

She shifted her weight from one boot to the other, then strengthened her link to the greenish-black darkness below the palace, building up her shields, almost against her body. The last thing she needed was someone shooting her from the cover of the crowd, and she wouldn't have put that, or anything, past Joramyl.

The investiture was a simple ceremony. Joramyl would ride in from the east side, accompanied by Berenyt, dismount, and present himself to the three senior officers of the Southern Guards, waiting on the east side below the steps, and then to the Seltyrs and High Factors on the west. After offering the traditional question and bowing to each group, he would slowly ascend the steps. Once he reached the top step he would turn and offer the ritual statement. Then he would walk down, alone, mount, and ride off—if only to the rear courtyard.

Very simple, and very traditional. Too traditional.
Mykella turned her attention to the courtyard before her.

A single trumpet heralded Joramyl's approach. Wearing the brilliant blue dress tunic of the Lord-Protector, he rode slowly down the open space between the arrayed Southern Guard companies and the palace. Behind him rode Berenyt in his formal dress uniform.

The two reined up short of the senior Southern Guard officers and the Seltyrs and High Factors, then dismounted and handed the reins of their mounts to two waiting guards. Joramyl stepped forward and nodded to Arms-Commander Nephryt before turning and walking several paces toward the Seltyrs and High Factors, to whom he offered the ritual question, “Will you accept me as Lord-Protector?”

Mykella sensed that the murmured approval was somewhere between perfunctory and grudging.

After inclining his head to the Seltyrs and High Factors, Joramyl slowly started up the stone steps toward the outer columns of the rotunda, columns clearly added later, because they had already become rounded and pitted in places, while the stone of the original structure looked as though it had been built within the past few years. The Lord-Protector-select was followed by Berenyt, as Joramyl's heir apparent.

Although Mykella had begun to draw even more upon the darkness deep beneath the palace as soon as Joramyl had ridden toward the steps, she waited until Joramyl reached the third step before dropping her cloak and stepping sideways and onto the topmost step, where she looked down upon Joramyl.

“What…don't be a fool, Mykella,” said Joramyl, his tone dismissive and contemptuous.

Blazing light flared around the Lord-Protector's daughter as Mykella focused those energies with which she had practiced and practiced.

“You killed my brother, and you poisoned my father.”

Joramyl's mouth opened as Mykella's voice carried across the steps toward the Southern Guards and the crowd beyond the low front wall of the palace courtyard, her words amplified by her Talent—amplified and carrying the utter conviction of truth. “All this was done in shadows and silence. You cannot bear to have the truth come out, and that truth will kill you here where you stand!”

Without touching Joramyl—except with her Talent—she severed his life-thread node, and he pitched backward down the stone steps.

Behind him, Berenyt's eyes widened.

“You, Berenyt, plotted with your father so that you might become Lord-Protector in turn. The truth will kill you as well.”

Berenyt's mouth opened, his face ashen, before Mykella cut his life-thread node. Like his father, he toppled silently.

“No…” murmured Rachylana. “No…” She swayed, and Salyna grasped her to keep her from falling.

A muffled scream issued from Cheleyza, who crumpled where she stood.

Mykella ignored her, and, in the stunned silence that followed, took the four steps down the stone stairs, decreasing slightly the intensity of the light that surrounded her. Then she stopped and surveyed the three officers of the Southern Guards.

“Will you have a Lady-Protector of Tempre?” she asked more quietly. “Or will you try to hide treachery as well?”

“You? No woman will rule Tempre while I'm Arms-Commander.” Nephryt's saber slashed toward Mykella's seemingly unprotected shoulder.

His face turned ashen as the blade shattered against her unseen Talent shield.

Mykella reached out with her knife-edged Talent probes and ripped the node of his life-thread apart.

Nephryt's mouth remained open as he fell face-first onto the stone pavement of the plaza, his body landing on one or two fragments of the shattered saber.

Mykella turned to the two remaining guard officers. She smiled. “I believe that takes care of Arms-Commander Nephryt's objections.”

Commander Demyl looked from Nephryt's fallen form to Mykella, then back to the body. He swallowed.

“You may leave Tempre this moment,” Mykella said to Demyl. “If you do not, you will never leave.”

Demyl glanced at the body on the plaza before him once more. “Much good it will do you.”

“Go, traitor!” This time Mykella's voice rang across the plaza. “Be not seen in Tempre again, nor in Lanachrona!”

Demyl turned and walked woodenly toward the Southern Guard who held his mount. The crowd beyond the low stone wall watched as he mounted and then spurred his mount out through the gates.

Mykella turned to the undercommander.

Areyst looked to Mykella. “There has never been a Lady-Protector of Tempre.”

“There's a first time for everything. Before Mykel, there had never been a Lord-Protector,” she replied. “Interestingly enough, Mykel named Rachyla as his heir, and even more interesting, that proclamation was removed from the archive.” She paused momentarily. “If I name you as Arms-Commander, will you serve me and the people of Lanachrona honestly and with all your abilities?”

Areyst inclined his head. “I serve Lanachrona, and I can do no less, Lady-Protector.”

Mykella sensed his feelings—both dismay and respect…and a grudging admiration.

Those would have to do. She doubted that Mykel the Great had gained any more at the beginning, either.

Then she turned and walked to the Seltyrs and High Factors, inclining her head to the group of twenty-odd. She could sense the absolute fear radiating from them. “Honored Seltyrs, High Factors, will you have an honest and true Lady-Protector of Tempre? One who will not divert your tariffs or plot in secret and silence? One who will not stoop to murdering his brother and his nephew? One who will hold your liberties as dear as her own?”

There was a moment of silence. Then Almardyn and Hasenyt exchanged glances. Hasenyt nodded to Almardyn.

Almardyn cleared his throat. “Your father stood for us, and we would be unwise indeed to refuse a Lady-Protector of your power and his honesty.”

Scarcely a ringing endorsement, but an endorsement. “You will have the benefit of all my Talent and all the honesty my father prized so dearly, even at the cost of his own life.”

“We accept you as Lady-Protector,” replied the two.

After a long moment, a chorus followed. “We accept…”

Mykella inclined her head once more, then turned. Grudging as it was, they would honor it, and she would honor her pledge, but she still held her Talent shields tightly.

As she walked back toward the steps, she stopped before Areyst. As Lady-Protector her choices would always be limited, but in this, at least, she could choose the best. “If you would follow me, Arms-Commander.”

“I am no heir, Lady-Protector.”

“For now, I have no other heir, and Tempre and Lanachrona deserve the best.”

Areyst lowered his head. “I did not…”

Mykella smiled. “I know. Follow me.”

Mykella turned and walked up the steps, sensing the approval sweeping the crowd—and the Southern Guards—of her designation of Areyst as heir apparent.

Much as she might have liked to have designated Salyna as her heir, that would have been more than the factors and Seltyrs could have accepted…and she could allow Salyna and Rachylana better choices than her sisters would otherwise have possessed.

When Mykella stood on the topmost step and turned, she surveyed the courtyard and those below and beyond the wall on the avenue for a long moment. Perhaps, as the soarer had said, she had saved her world. That might have been, but there was no doubt that she had saved her land, whether any of those before her would ever fully understand or appreciate that.

Then, she spoke firmly and quietly, though her voice carried to all, as she offered the ancient and original pledge that had not been used in centuries—and now, she knew why.

“I swear and affirm that I will protect and preserve the lives and liberties of all citizens of Tempre and Lanachrona, and that I will employ all Talent and skills necessary to do so, at all times, and in all places, so that peace and prosperity may govern this land and her people.”

Her eyes flicked to the Arms-Commander—heir apparent…who would be more, much more.