L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“They would blame me,” Lorn points out. “Not you.”

Ryalth shakes her head as she walks from the bedchamber and toward the privacy screen and the outer door. “They yet have that black angel-cursed Magi’i sense that all is their responsibility, and yours, as you are of the elthage blood. I can’t even be responsible for delaying you.”

Lorn opens his mouth, then closes it as he sees the sparkle in her eyes. “I’ll hold you responsible…but just when you are.” He opens the door for her.

“I hope so.”

Once they have descended the stairs, they walk uphill along the Thirteenth Way, and then westward on the Road of Perpetual Light, in toward the center of Cyad for the three very long blocks before they reach the dwelling where Lorn was raised.

“We’ll be first,” Lorn says.

“Because your brother will wish to exert his superior position by later arrival, as will Myryan’s consort?”

“I think Ciesrt just will wish he weren’t coming, but he doesn’t wish to offend father.”

“Not Myryan?” Ryalth lifts her eyebrows.

“Ciesrt believes consorts are appurtenances.”

“I am glad you do not believe such.”

“You would scarce let me,” he counters.

They laugh in the mild spring air, ignoring the carriages and wagons that pass along the Road of Perpetual Light. Lorn’s eyes take in the Palace of Eternal Light to the west, and all the other white granite and sunstone structures that rise in the marvel that is Cyad, the shining city, the city beside which all others pale. The words of one of the verses from the silver-covered book come to mind, the book from Ryalth’s heritage she had entrusted to him so many years before.

The city, Cyad, lost light like a star,

The dream, Cyad, guiding near and far.

He smiles to himself. Cyad is indeed a special city. Then he turns his eyes to the dwelling ahead.

Jerial meets Lorn and Ryalth at the door to Lorn’s parents’ dwelling. The healer wears a green tunic so dark it is almost black, and her black hair is cut short. “You always look so good, Ryalth.” She studies her brother. “Did I tell you I like her?”

“I believe you have. Several times.”

“You might as well go on up.” Jerial shuts the door and steps around the inside privacy screen. “Mother and I thought we would eat on the upper portico tonight. It is warm, and the breeze is gentle.”

“We’re the first?” Lorn asks.

“Except for Father and Mother.”

Lorn and Ryalth climb the three flights to the fourth and topmost level of the dwelling in which Lorn was raised.

Lorn’s mother is waiting at the uppermost landing. “You look wonderful, Ryalth. I like the cloak.”

“Thank you.” The redhead inclines her head.

“I did persuade Myryan and Ciesrt to come tonight.” Nyryah raises her eyebrows. “Ciesrt wanted to know if Vernt would be here. He was pleased to know that Vernt is bringing his consort-to-be. That’s Mycela. I do not believe you have met her.”

“I have not had that pleasure. In fact,” Lorn adds dryly, “I had not had the pleasure of knowing he intended to take a consort until the other night when you told me.”

“He has been seeing her since the turn of fall.” Nyryah turns, and the three walk toward the southwest corner of the upper level, toward the roofed but open-air area flanked with columns that adjoins the warm-weather dining area.

They have barely taken their first steps when the door to the study opens behind them, and the white-haired Kien emerges. He walks toward them with the barest hint of a shuffle. “Greetings, Lorn, Ryalth. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you two.”

Lorn smiles.

Ryalth laughs gently.

“You’ll have them here every moment, dear, if you aren’t careful,” cautions Nyryah.

“Not even a old magus like me could manage that,” counters Kien. “Lorn will be gone again to his station in Biehl in less than an eightday.”

The four walk slowly toward the portico dining area.

“The harbor always looks so beautiful from here,” Ryalth observes. “You have such a wonderful view.”

“We are fortunate,” answers Nyryah. “At times, I sit here in the late afternoon and watch the clouds and the ships.”

“Lorn!” Vernt appears behind them, accompanied by a blonde young woman who is laughing at something.

Lorn and Ryalth turn and step toward the two recent arrivals.

“Lorn, Ryalth, this is Mycela.” Vernt smiles at the blonde. “This is my elder brother Lorn and his consort Ryalth. As you can see, Mycela, Lorn is an overcaptain in the Mirror Lancers, one of the youngest, I would venture, and Ryalth is the head of Ryalor House, one of the newly prominent trading houses in Cyad.” Vernt smiles happily.

“How nice to meet you both.” Mycela’s smile is not quite simpering.

Lorn and Ryalth bow ever so slightly to the white-clad younger woman.

“Mycela is the daughter of Lector Abram’elth,” Vernt explains.

Jerial slips by Vernt. “Ciesrt and Myryan are on their way up. She stopped to get something from her old room.”

“You recall my sister Jerial,” Vernt says.

“You wear green,” Mycela says, wide-eyed, as she bows to Jerial.

“I am a senior healer, and without consort,” Jerial says with a shrug. “The green is more appropriate.”

“You do have such an unusual family, Vernt.” Mycela giggles slightly. “They do so many things.”

“Lorn!” calls Myryan as she appears behind Vernt, who steps back for Ciesrt and Myryan.

Ciesrt inclines his head to Vernt. “I am most glad to see you here.” He bows slightly to Vernt’s consort-to-be. “Greetings, Mycela.”

Mycela giggles momentarily. “Greetings, Ciesrt.”

“Perhaps we could sit down, now that Ciesrt and Myryan are here.” Nyryah gestures to the dining table on the covered upper balcony, set as always, and as Lorn can recall from his childhood, so that all but Nyryah can look downhill and south directly at the harbor-and to the west and slightly uphill at the Palace of Eternal Light. Twilight lingers, and the sky remains the purple maroon that is beginning to fade, but the lamps set in brackets on the columns have already been lit. In the harbor, the white stone piers glimmer above the darkness of the water and before the Great Western Ocean farther to the south. The Palace remains an edifice of shimmering white, and light beams from its windows, from the innumerable lamps within its high-ceilinged corridors and halls.

Lorn and Ryalth are to be seated across from each other at the southern end of the table, with Nyryah at the end between them, and Jerial to Lorn’s left and Ciesrt to Ryalth’s right. Vernt and Mycela flank Kien, while Myryan sits between Jerial and Vernt. Lorn nods at Ryalth. “If you don’t mind…could we change places?”

A faint smile crosses Jerial’s face, but vanishes near-instantly, as the two consorts trade seats. A blank expression appears on Mycela’s face.

As soon as Lorn takes the seat that had been Ryalth’s, silence settles on the table, and all look to the north end.

“In the blessing and warmth of chaos, in the prosperity which it engenders, let us give thanks for what we receive.” From the north end of the table, the white-haired Kien speaks clearly, then lifts his head and smiles. “It is so good of all of you to be here tonight.”

The dining table around which the nine sit is covered with a pale green linen cloth, and set with glistening white porcelain plates. Quyal-the cook-appears with a large platter that holds fowl breasts covered in a thick cream sauce, and sets it before Kien. Kysia-the head of his parents’ household, whose wages had been supplemented for years by Ryalth, secretly at first-follows a covered dish from which steam rises, and with a silver tray holding thin slices of dark sun-nut bread.