L. Modesitt - Heritage of Cyador

“Your summary is missing one very important detail. Just how did you manage all this devastation and destruction? The mages sent against you couldn’t have gathered that much chaos. No one could. Not that I know.”

“I learned something in Verdyn. I was advised by a very wise nature mage not to use it unless all was otherwise lost … and to do so quite sparingly.”

“Yes?”

“Apparently, I have two abilities. The first is to create order patterns that can constrain and direct chaos, even large amounts, if I construct the patterns accurately. The second is to break things apart into order and chaos. Even the tiniest bits of things release…” Lerial stops as he sees the stunned expression on Emerya’s face.

“No one … I don’t know of any mage…”

“Some of the Verdyn mages could. Doing it killed one of them. I liked her.” Lerial shakes his head. “Not that way. She was much older than you. I think that was because they didn’t have the patterning ability. That’s why I have to be very careful. If I get too tired, I can’t control the patterns, and doing any separation…” He frowns. “Klerryt-he was one of the mage-elders of Verdheln and the one who cautioned me about how dangerous it was. The first time, I almost did kill myself.”

“I thought you came back from Verdheln rather subdued, if more within yourself. I wasn’t sure. Amaira was convinced you were different. So was Maeroja.”

Lerial finds it interesting that Emerya does not mention his mother. “Anyway, that was how it happened. Then, after the fighting was all over, Rhamuel asked me to go to the lakes and look into what happened to Mykel…” Lerial finishes his tale with what happened at both lake villas, except he only uses the wasting-illness explanation for Maesoryk.

“It will be interesting to see if Maesoryk survives long.”

“We’ll just have to see.” As with many things. “Are you looking forward to dinner?”

“It’s likely to tell us both much.”

Lerial nods. “If you have no more questions…”

“For now. I am supposed to look at the duke at second glass, with his other healer.”

“That’s Jaermyd. More ordered than most people, but not enough to be an order-healer. He was very good at setting Rhamuel’s leg.”

Another enigmatic smile crosses Emerya’s face. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Lerial wonders about that smile for a time, even as he rides back to Afritan Guard headquarters to check with his officers and senior squad leader.

Lerial returns to the palace just before fifth glass, making his way first to Rhamuel’s receiving study, where he finds Norstaan, but not the duke, not that he has expected to see Rhamuel.

“I neglected to find out where the dinner is…” Lerial explains.

“That’s right.” Norstaan smiles. “I forgot to tell you. The Blue Salon on the third level will be serving as the family dining room for now. There will be refreshments there before dinner is served. Once the repairs and restoration on the east wing are completed that may change. The duke hasn’t said.”

Most likely because he wants to see how well and how much he recovers. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, ser.”

With a smile and a nod, Lerial departs, walking toward the north end of the palace. When he reaches Emerya’s quarters, he knocks, then waits until she admits him.

“You’re early,” she says.

“I finished what I needed to do with the Lancers.” As he waits for her to sit down, he notices that Emerya is wearing a pale green blouse, with a darker green vest and trousers that match the vest. Lerial has to admit that his aunt looks more attractive than ever … or perhaps he has just not looked at her in that way.

“You have a questioning look,” she ventures.

Rather than address exactly what he was thinking, he sits down and says, “When I left here, you had the strangest smile. I kept wondering why.”

“You’ve changed more than you know … and that’s good.”

“Why? Because I admitted Jaermyd was a better bonesetter? He is.”

“That’s what I meant. He also told me that Rhamuel wouldn’t have lived without all you did.”

“How is he? Really.”

Emerya offers a faint, almost sad smile. “It’s early to tell.”

“You don’t think he’ll walk again … or only barely, if that?”

“If I had to guess. And if you hadn’t been there…” She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. I tried…”

“Lerial … he should live for many years, and he’s still the same man he was, except he can’t walk. Not many can say that after having part of a wall fall on them. Now … I’ve told you three times how well you did. Accept it, and don’t give me that look that asks for reassurance ever again.”

Lerial grins at the vinegar in her last words. “I won’t.” He doesn’t need to mention that part of how long Rhamuel will live depends on whether she decides to stay … or feels that she can.

“Do you want to consort his niece?”

“What?”

“Oh … even I could sense the longing in your order-probe.”

“Even you? How about only you?”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I didn’t,” Lerial admits. “I want to. I admit it, but…”

“You worry about Lephi and your father, and especially your mother. Don’t.”

“There’s also the small problem about whether her mother, grandfather, and Rhamuel would agree.”

“They all owe you.”

“They do, but I’ve noticed that there’s not exactly a great sense of obligation here in Afrit.” Nor of honor, honesty … or much of anything but a love of amassing golds. “Except for Rhamuel, the dukes appear to be constrained greatly by the power of the merchanters.”

“You might want to talk to him about what he could do about changing that.”

“I’ve thought about that … a great deal, but until…”

“Until you finished what had to be done, you didn’t want to bring those things up?”

“Not only that, but I knew how they ended up would affect what I could say.”

Emerya nods. “I’d say the time has come.” She stands. “We can go to the salon and have some refreshments. We don’t have to wait until they ring the glass. I have that on good authority.”

Good authority? Rhamuel? What else has been going on that she isn’t saying?

“Leave it at that, for now, Lerial,” she says warmly, if with a touch of humor.

Lerial wonders, but does not question, since it’s clear she’s not about to say more. He rises, and the two leave the study, walking toward the grand staircase up to the third level. As they climb the marble steps, he cannot but help noticing the dust on the top of the balustrade.

When he and Emerya enter the Blue Salon, Lerial is surprised to see a circular table, rather than the usual oblong, placed at one end of the room before the open windows, with a sideboard and servitor immediately to the left, just inside the salon. The only diner already in the salon is Aenslem, and he has a beaker of lager in his hand.

The merchanter walks toward them before stopping, nodding to Lerial, and smiling at Emerya. “Lady … I had no idea healers were so beautiful.”

“When most people need healers, they’re not inclined to notice how we look.” Both her words and her smile are gently warm.

“You’re looking more rested, Lerial,” adds the merchanter. “My daughter and granddaughter will be here shortly, now that they know you two have arrived.”

“More likely Lerial,” suggests Emerya.

“Both of you,” rejoins Aenslem. “Young Lerial has been fulsome in his praise of your healing abilities.”