The Lord-Protector's Daughter (9 page)

On Decdi morning, the true
end-day of the week, the Lord-Protector's family had a late morning brunch, rather than breakfast. When Mykella reached the table, just behind Salyna, it was not because she had risen later, but because she had been thinking, not only about the question of envoys for matching, but also about the irregularities in the Lord-Protector's accounts. The problem with the accounts remained that she was likely to be the only one to claim that there were discrepancies, and she still had nothing her father would accept as proof.

As Mykella seated herself, she noted that both her father and Jeraxylt wore the leather vests they used for hunting. Salyna wore a similar vest, except hers was more scuffed and well-worn.

“I hear you all had a long ride yesterday,” Feranyt said cheerfully.

“I didn't,” said Jeraxylt.

“Your sisters did. So did your cousin Berenyt.” Feranyt turned to Mykella. “How was it?”

“I always enjoy the river trail the most, especially on an end-day. Sometimes, you can feel as though the trees had been there forever. The Preserve is special.”

“It is,” agreed Feranyt. “Some of the Seltyrs are claiming it shouldn't belong to the Lord-Protector.”

“That's stupid,” snorted Jeraxylt. “Who else's would it be?”

Mykella took a sip of the tea that Akilsa had poured. It was tolerably warm and strong enough. She immediately took two slices of the sweet cheese bread from the platter in the middle of the table.

“That's not the question,” Feranyt replied. “First, those who want something try to get everyone to believe that it's not yours…or shouldn't be. Then they start suggesting that it would be better handled by someone else, usually themselves, on behalf of someone else who does indeed appear truly deserving. Of course, if they persuade everyone to let them administer it, somehow, in time, it ends up as theirs…or they make a healthy amount of gold in transferring it to yet another party.”

“For the Preserve?” asked Rachylana. “It's just woodland.”

“It's very lovely woodland on high ground where a great number of High Factors or Seltyrs would love to place an estate, and it's close to Tempre.”

“They wouldn't do that, would they? Really?” pressed Rachylana.

“I'm not about to let them, but they would if they could. Most people would take what they could if they could get away with it,” said Feranyt.

Mykella nodded, but she wondered why her father did not see that his words might well apply to his own brother.

After several moments of silence, Salyna spoke. “You're going hunting today, aren't you?”

Jeraxylt ignored her words and instead cut a section of egg toast and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Why, yes,” answered Feranyt. “At least, we'd thought to.”

“Might I also go with you?”

Feranyt frowned slightly, tilting his head to the left, as if considering the matter.

“You've never been hunting,” mumbled Jeraxylt.

Mykella concealed a smile. Her father was not quite so circumspect, and the corners of his mouth quirked upward.

“I'm almost as tall as you are and just as good as you are with a blade,” Salyna said.

“You're better than some,” Jeraxylt conceded.

“If I'm better than some, and you're that good, and I'm with you, then you don't have to worry about me, do you?” Salyna said.

Feranyt laughed. “You can come.”

Jeraxylt smiled, reluctantly. “You can see how it's done.”

“That would be good,” Salyna agreed.

Mykella had to admire Salyna for her adroitness and timing. A year earlier, she would have pressed the issue directly.

Once everyone had eaten and the hunters had departed, Mykella made her way to the library adjoining her father's official study—as opposed to the small private study off his quarters. She wasn't in the mood to read, but she knew that Rachylana wouldn't follow her there. She did spend a little time looking through the shelves, until she found an old leather-bound volume entitled
History of Lanachrona
.

Although she had not seen the book before and leafed through it eagerly, she found very little on Mykel the Great, just a short chapter at the beginning. The opening words clearly foreshadowed what followed:

Mykella read the oath three times before she realized what was different. The oath she had heard her father take was the same, word for word—except two words had been missing. They were “Talent and.”

Why had the original oath been changed to eliminate those words? Because Mykel had in fact possessed Talent and expected subsequent Lords-Protector to have it? But if she had such Talent, how much value lay in the ability to move undetected and to sense at times what others felt? Or was there more to her Talent? How much more?

She closed the book and slipped it back into its place on the shelf, then moved to the library door that opened out onto the main corridor. She concentrated on creating the impression of a closed door, even while she opened it and stepped out into the corridor. The guard near the top of the main staircase did not even look in her direction.

While she dreaded descending to the Table chamber, it was more than clear that she needed to learn more. It was already nearly three days after her last and nearly deadly encounter with the Alector—or Ifrit—and she dared not postpone that learning any longer. Continuing her critical review of the ledgers holding the Lord-Protector's accounts had been slow, and less than encouraging, because she saw the same patterns everywhere. There were revenues missing from almost all the accounts, she thought, but any given amount was comparatively small, although the totals were probably not. Again, she had no real proof, only calculations and estimates and comparisons. That lack of real evidence was yet another reason why she had to revisit the Table, although she was dreading doing so. But the Ancient had been quite definite, and Mykella had the feeling that matters were not about to improve by themselves. Greater control of the Table seemed to be the only possible way she could help her father against what appeared to be her uncle's machinations.

Because it was light, the only guards on the main level were posted in the rotunda of the main entrance, although, since it was an end-day, they took turns walking the halls. With her sight-shield, that arrangement was much easier to avoid, and she managed to reach and unlock the door to the lower staircase undetected, as well as lock it behind her. The staircase and the lower corridor were empty, but as quiet as she tried to be, her boots still echoed faintly in the silence as she walked toward the Table chamber.

Mykella pressed the door lever, then entered the Table chamber with trepidation. The Table itself continued to hold a diminished purplish glow, and she released a long sigh as she approached it. Once there, she tried to sense more than the vague impression of what the Ancient had called the darkness beneath. For a time, all she could feel was the slime-like purpleness, faint as it was.

Then, she gained a stronger feeling of the blackness below, deeper and darker and far more extensive than she had sensed before, yet carrying a shade of green much like that of the soarer herself. From somewhere, she recalled that to use some properties of the Table, one had to stand on it. Did she dare?

She laughed softly. How could anything more happen if she stood on the block of solid stone? Still…

After a time, she climbed onto the Table and looked down at the mirrored surface beneath her. It reflected everything, and she was more than glad, absently, that she was wearing her usual nightsilk trousers. From where she stood, she tried once more to feel, to connect to the dark greenish black well beneath the Table itself. She pushed away the thought that there couldn't be anything but more rock beneath the stone of the Table, immersing herself in the feeling of that darkness, a darkness that somehow seemed warmer than the purple, though both were chill.

She began to feel pathways—greenish black—extending into the distance in all directions. Was that how Mykel had traveled? She
reached
for the pathways, feeling herself sinking through the Table, even below it, with chill purpleness and golden-greenish-black all around her.

Surrounded by solid stone! Cold solid stone…

She had to get out. She had to! Mykella forced calm upon herself and concentrated on feeling herself rise upward until she was certain her boots were clear of the Table. Only then did she look down—to discover that her boots were a good third of a yard above the surface of the Table.

That couldn't be!

The sudden drop onto the hard mirrored surface of the Table convinced her that it could be—and had been. She tottered there for a moment, then straightened. Had that been how Mykel had walked on air and water? By reaching out to the darkness beneath the ground?

She almost wanted to scream. She kept learning things, but what she learned—except for being able to conceal herself—didn't seem to provide the sort of skills she needed.

Mykella eased herself off the Table and studied it, just trying to sense everything around it. As she did, she gradually became aware that there were unseen webs or lines everywhere. Ugly pinkish purple lines ran from the Table to the south, to the southwest, and to the northeast, but those lines did not touch the far more prevalent blackish green lines that were deeper and broader—stronger, in a sense. When she looked down, she was surprised to sense a greenish black line running from herself into the depths and connecting to the stronger web.

She shook her head. Somehow she was connected to the world, but everyone was, and she couldn't see how that could help—except that she might be able to travel that web, if that had been how Mykel had traveled, if indeed the old tales about him were right. But she wasn't ready to run away. Besides, what good would that do, except land her someplace else, where she'd be penniless and totally friendless? As a woman of position in Tempre, she was powerless enough, if comfortable, and anywhere else would likely be far worse…and far, far less hospitable. And, if she were honest with herself, she wasn't certain she wanted to feel herself sinking through and surrounded by solid stone as chill as ice.

She straightened and looked directly at the Table. At least, she ought to be able to see what Joramyl was doing.

When the swirling mists cleared, she saw Joramyl with three other men in a paneled study. The four, seated around a conference table, were Joramyl, Berenyt, Arms-Commander Nephryt, and Commander Demyl. Whatever they were discussing was serious enough that there were frowns on most faces. Then Joramyl said something, and both Demyl and Nephryt laughed. After the briefest moment, so did Berenyt.

Try as she might, and as long as she watched, Mykella could not hear their words nor discover more. After a time, as her head began to ache, she stepped back from the Table.

She still felt like screaming in frustration, but she was too tired…and too worried. Instead, she rubbed her forehead and then slipped out of the Table chamber and, using her Talent for concealment, made her way back to her chamber. There, for a time, she sat on the edge of her bed, closed her eyes, and thought.

She was angry with herself. Why had she gotten so upset when all the stone had been around her? She'd seen the Ancient appear and travel through the stone. Why had she panicked? Because she hated being closed in?

She couldn't let her fears keep her from learning. She just couldn't.

Finally, she stood, steeling herself to head back down to the Table and try again.

Thrap
.

Instantly, Mykella knew that it was Salyna. She could sense her sister, and she hurried to the door and opened it.

Salyna stood there with a slightly bemused expression. Beneath the bemusement was irritation, if not anger.

“Come in.” Mykella closed the door behind Salyna before she asked, “What happened?”

“Father said I didn't know enough about hunting etiquette to use a rifle. So I brought my bow. The horn bow I bought last year…you know the one?”

Mykella did. It was the kind of bow that the grassland nomads used. Mykella had had trouble even drawing it, but Salyna had practiced for seasons until she could use it from the saddle. “What happened? You brought down a stag?”

Salyna shook her head. “Just a young boar that charged Jeraxylt. He missed, even with the rifle. I managed two shafts. The second one was lucky, but it brought him down.”

“He and Father insisted I dress out the boar. Jeraxylt tried to tell me what to do.” Salyna laughed. “Chatelaine Auralya already taught me how to butcher and clean—time after time. There's not that much difference between a hog and a boar. None, really. That didn't make him happy, either.”

Mykella shook her head. “They won't take you again.”

Salyna drew herself up. “They can't say I can't take care of myself.”

“They won't say anything,” Mykella replied. “They just won't tell you when they plan to go.”

Salyna looked defiant for a moment before she frowned. “How…how can they do that?”