L. Modesitt - Heritage of Cyador

Norstaan bows. “Lady Healer.”

“Undercaptain, I’ve heard nothing but good of you.”

“Then, Lady, I fear you have not heard everything.” Norstaan smiles. “I do believe we should not tarry.”

“Then we will not,” declares Emerya.

Once the kit bags are tied in place, and they have set off northward on the shore road, Lerial draws his mount closer to his aunt’s.

“I do have one confession. I didn’t tell the duke I’d asked for you to come.”

“I had that feeling. Do you mind telling me why?”

“I didn’t know if you would … or could, and I didn’t want to give him false hopes.”

“In more ways than one?”

“That, too.”

“We’ll just have to see how it goes, then.”

Lerial can sense the worry … and something more. Yet what else could he have done?

After a time, Emerya says, “I’d forgotten just how large Swartheld is.”

“From what I’ve figured, it stretches more than fifteen kays north and south, and almost five kays, east to west, more in some places. It turned out to be a very good idea to come to Swartheld.”

“Besides your successes with the Heldyans?”

“Fhastal told you?”

“I already knew what happened at Luba. He told me that you broke the back of the attackers and the Afritan Guard finished them off … and that you did something to destroy the next invasion force.”

“I turned Estheld into an inferno when they were loading out for the attack.”

“You don’t show that much chaos.”

“I’m glad.”

Emerya nods and says in a low voice, “Later.”

It takes two-thirds of a glass to reach the ring road around the palace. As they ride past the gates and the east side of the palace, Lerial can see a number of Afritan Guards working on the wooden framework on the stone platform that will be the base of Mykel’s pyre.

“Who died?” murmurs Emerya.

“Lord Mykel,” replies Lerial. “He was killed as part of an attempt to replace the duke. He wasn’t part of it, but captured by those behind the plot and killed when they realized they had failed.”

Emerya adjusts her head scarf and glances up at the southeast corner of the palace, where the masons continue to work at rebuilding the outer wall.

“The plotters also used cammabark to create the explosion that killed Duke Atroyan and his son and injured Duke Rhamuel.”

“You do end up in difficult situations, Lerial.” Emerya’s voice contains sardonic humor. “Or you create them. Your father says it’s hard to tell which.”

“Majer Altyrn seemed to know.” Lerial regrets those words as soon as he speaks them.

“That’s why your father sent you to Teilyn. He does understand his own limits, Lerial.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. For all the great things you’ve done, there is still always something to be learned.”

Lerial chuckles almost silently. Emerya has always been good at reminding him of such.

Although the Afritan Guards at the stable are clearly puzzled, they say nothing when Lerial and the others rein up, and he tells Polidaar to leave Emerya’s kit bags in place for the time being. Then Norstaan and Lerial accompany Emerya across the courtyard and into the palace. While Emerya could let her head scarf drop to her shoulders once she enters the palace, she leaves it in place, even adjusting it to reveal less of her face.

They are still on the main level when a serving woman or maid rushes out of a side corridor and toward them, then bows so deeply to Emerya that Lerial fears she will prostrate herself, before the woman backs away. An older man, a servitor of some sort, behaves the same way after they reach the top of the main staircase and turn toward the duke’s receiving study.

“Perhaps I should come to Swartheld more often,” murmurs Emerya to Lerial just before they reach the door to the anteroom.

“Perhaps you should.” Lerial nods to the guard and opens the door, gesturing for Emerya to enter.

In turn, Norstaan nods for Lerial to follow his aunt, then joins them and closes the door.

Sammyl, alone in the anteroom, looks up from the papers he has on the desk in front of him, then quickly stands. “Ah … the duke wasn’t expecting you, Lord Lerial.”

Lerial can sense that Rhamuel is alone in his study, but he still asks, “Is he in?” His question is not an inquiry.

“I’ll tell him…”

“No … this time, we’ll just go in.”

Lerial raps and then opens the door without waiting for a response.

Rhamuel, who has been looking out the window into the hazy summerlike sky, jerks his head back toward the door in annoyance. “I said-” His mouth opens as Emerya lets the head scarf slip off her hair and away from her face.

“I heard you might need a healer,” Emerya says as softly as Lerial has ever heard her speak.

“I … never … how…” Rhamuel looks at Lerial.

“I asked for the best,” Lerial manages to reply almost blandly, although he feels anything but bland, after hearing Emerya’s voice and seeing the expression on the duke’s face.

“Lerial … you are a devious bastard.” Rhamuel tries not to smile, although he cannot control the dampness from his eyes. “Why didn’t you-”

“I could only ask, and she came faster than a reply would have.” Lerial wants to smile in relief-and joy-because he has seen the looks between the two. “Now that I have delivered the best healer in Hamor, I’m going to leave the two of you and wait outside while she determines the state of your health and injuries.” He manages not to grin as he steps back, opens the study door, and then leaves, making certain that the door is closed firmly behind him.

Sammyl’s face remains almost frozen in puzzlement, while Norstaan is doing his best to hide a wide grin.

“The healer I escorted in to see the duke is the best in Hamor, most likely one of the best in the world. She is also my aunt, and the one who healed him after his ill-advised attack on Cigoerne a number of years ago. I did not know if she would travel to Swartheld when I sent the message asking if Duke Kiedron would allow her to come … or if she would choose to. That is why I said nothing, and why I did not even tell the duke.”

“She’s … the one…?” stammers the commander.

The only one, from what you just saw. “Yes.”

After a long moment, Lerial says, “While we’re waiting, why don’t you fill me in on the arrangements for Lord Mykel’s memorial?”

More than a glass passes before Emerya opens the study door. “He’d like to see all of you.” Then she looks at Lerial, who lets the other officers enter the study while he waits beside her.

“I’ll wait out here. It’s better that way.”

Lerial understands … and nods. He enters the study and closes the door, letting his order-senses range over the duke. While he can sense traces of order here and there that had not been present before, he cannot discern any major changes in Rhamuel.

The duke waits until the three senior officers are seated before clearing his throat. “The Lady Healer Emerya has consented to remain here in Swartheld for at least a time as my personal healer. She will also be working to establish a hall of healing somewhere not too far but not too close to the palace. That’s something we’ve lacked for too long. For now, she will have quarters in the palace suitable to her station.”

Sammyl frowns, if slightly.

“She is, or was, the high healer in Cigoerne, and she is Duke Kiedron’s sister.”

Sammyl cannot conceal the surprise on his face. “No one … said…”

“That’s absolutely correct, Commander,” Lerial says smoothly. “It was an unfortunate oversight on my part not to inform you and Commander Ascaar, but I was glad to see my aunt, and the duke did not realize I had not informed you.”