L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“We were at Kharl’s several nights ago, and Ciesrt suggested that perhaps some of the Magi’i should put on a display.” Myryan laughs, if with a note of sadness. “Kharl was not amused. He said that the use of chaos was for what needed to be done to preserve Cyad, not to provide entertainment for outland traders and ignorant…folk.”

“He said ‘ignorant merchanters,’ I would wager,” Ryalth responds.

“He did. I sometimes forget how sharp you two are…until I come here. I think that’s another reason why Ciesrt feels uncomfortable with our family. Everyone sees things he doesn’t, and he has trouble accepting that.” She shrugs. “Then, Kharl sees what Ciesrt doesn’t, and I suppose Ciesrt doesn’t wish to be someplace else that reminds him of that.”

“I’m sorry for him,” Ryalth says. “I felt that way at first, I think, but your father and mother helped so much.”

“I miss them,” Myryan says simply.

“We all do.”

For a time, the three eat, near-silently.

Lorn takes the last sip of the Alafraan in his goblet. “I think this is even better than usual. What do you think?” He inclines his head to Myryan.

“Brother dear, how would I know? Your wine is the only one I drink, and I can take little enough of that.”

“It is good,” Ryalth says. “Is there anything left in your garden?”

“After last eightday’s frost?” Myryan shakes her head. “Just some of the root vegetables, the late carrots, potatoes…I did get all the rest of the pearapples pickled or stewed.”

“Stewed pearapples…waste of a good fruit,” Lorn grumbles.

“Letting them rot on the tree or the ground is the waste.”

Ayleha appears, silently as always, and begins to clear away the dishes.

“How much did you put up?” Ryalth asks.

“I don’t know. It seemed like scores and scores of jars. But they’ll all be gone before midwinter, I’d guess.”

As the serving woman places a dish of egg custard before her, Ryalth smiles. “I might actually finish a dinner by myself.” She frowns. “That’s really not fair to Kerial. He deserves a more regular schedule, but I never know when I can leave Ryalor House or when I’ll be late.”

“Or when I will be,” Lorn adds.

“Part of that is because you both want to spent time with him and each other,” Myryan suggests.

“Until this year, we haven’t spent that much time together,” Lorn agrees.

“It has been good to see him every night.” Ryalth smiles.

“Sometimes, it amazes me,” the healer says. “You two belong together, and I’ve heard the story so many times, yet it doesn’t quite seem real.”

Lorn and Ryalth share a glance.

“That’s what I mean. Neither of you are Magi’i, yet you know so much about each other.”

“Names are not everything,” Lorn observes, taking a last mouthful of the egg custard and adding, “That was good.”

“Almost as good as pearapple tarts?” asks Myryan, with an innocent-looking smile.

“It was very good,” Lorn grins back, “better than anything except the best of pearapple tarts.”

Myryan tries to cover a yawn.

“Are you getting enough rest?” asks Lorn.

“Always the big brother. It’s been a long day. I spent the morning in the garden and then went to the infirmary.”

“I have a carriage waiting to take you home. Pheryk will go with you,” Lorn says.

“I can make my own way,” Myryan insists.

“I am sure you can,” Ryalth says, “but Lorn and I would feel better if you accepted the offer.”

“Besides,” Lorn adds with a laugh, “you’d waste my coins. I’ve already paid for the carriage.”

“I would not do that. Not to either of you.” Myryan smiles the extra-bright smile once more. “It has been a long day, and I will not insist.”

The three rise and make their way out of the dining area and then to the foyer off the veranda.

“You have to come more often,” Ryalth says, opening the door.

“With or without Ciesrt,” Lorn adds. “We like to see you.”

“I like to see you two,” Myryan replies.

The three walk out to the iron gate, the area lit by a single lamp Pheryk had obviously hung and lit sometime during dinner.

Myryan smiles a last time before entering the carriage.

Pheryk nods to Lorn and Ryalth. “Be back shortly, ser, Lady.”

Once the sound of the carriage dies away, Lorn closes the iron gate and locks it, then looks at the redhead beside him.

She looks back at him. “There’s something wrong.”

“There’s a lot wrong,” Lorn says. “But there’s no flux chaos around her, and no excessive order.”

They walk slowly through the cold darkness, past the still fountain.

“You think she and Ciesrt are having problems?” asks Ryalth.

“I don’t know. I was truth-reading her. There are things she doesn’t want me to know. That, I could sense, but they center on Kharl, I feel. There’s just…a sadness…around her when she mentions Ciesrt. I don’t feel I could use the glass…” Lorn shakes his head.

“Even for her safety?”

“Dearest…you see how often I use the glass to follow Tasjan, and how little I discover from each attempt. Myryan would know my screeing, and how would she feel seeing me watch over her every other moment?”

“She is your sister, but I worry.”

“So do I.” Lorn opens the door from the veranda to the foyer. “So do I.”

Toziel leans forward in the smaller version of the malachite-and-silver throne that dominates the Lesser Audience Hall. “For the past two eightdays, the Mirror Lancers have held their maneuvers on the new parade grounds above the harbor. I would have each of you provide his thoughts on the effectiveness of such.” With a faint smile, the Emperor straightens. “Perhaps you should begin, honored Majer-Commander, since the lancers are under your command.”

Rynst bows, then looks directly at the slender figure with the dark-rimmed eyes within the silver robes. “Your Mightiness…as you suggested, the Mirror Lancers have transferred two companies from the Grass Hills to provide…as it were…a portrait of their abilities where those abilities could be viewed by outlanders. During the first days, nearly tenscore watched each day, but, as we suspected, the numbers of those who watched have declined. Yesterday, there were but twoscore. Most of those were outlanders. If but twoscore outlanders each day watch the lancers and are dissuaded from thinking to take advantage of Cyador, the golds spent to provide such…edifying…entertainment may be well spent.”

Toziel nods to the First Magus. “Honored Chyenfel?”

“I must confess, Your Mightiness, that I was among the tenscore, for I did wish to see for myself the effect of such a demonstration. And I would agree with the most honorable Majer-Commander that the display of firelances and the skill of those who employed them created a most desirable effect. I do have concerns about the wisdom of maintaining such for long periods of time here in Cyad. I would ask that I be given leave to advance those concerns after hearing what the honored Merchanter Advisor may have to add.”

“All will heed your concerns, First Magus.” Toziel looks to Vyanat. “Your thoughts, honored Merchanter Advisor?”

“I am more than somewhat puzzled,” says the Merchanter Advisor. “I cannot recall when one of the Magi’i expressed concern over the Mirror Lancers being more effective. Certainly, most of us who are merchanters are pleased, for the obvious power of the firelances has left many outlanders shaking their heads. They are indeed chastened. They are so taken aback that one would wish that this stratagem had been adopted earlier.” Vyanat looks to his right at the First Magus. “Or is the First Magus concerned about the additional authority that such lancers invest in the Majer-Commander?”