L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

Lorn takes a sip of the wine-Alafraan-and glances at Ryalth, murmuring, “You had this sent here.”

She smiles. “It was the least I could do, after all your parents have done.”

“It was most thoughtful,” Nyryah adds.

Lorn’s lips curl into a rueful smile.

“You are not here long, are you, Lorn?” asks Ciesrt.

“No. I’m between duty assignments, and I’ll be leaving on oneday.”

“Where will you be going?” Ciesrt follows up.

“To head the port detachment in Biehl.”

“You’ll be the one in charge?” asks Mycela. “The head officer?”

“That’s what my transfer orders say.” Lorn smiles and passes the nut bread to his mother, after taking a slice for himself. “The port detachments protect trade and ensure that the tariffs are collected fairly.”

“I imagine it will provide a respite after fighting the barbarians and the Accursed Forest,” suggests Kien. “And it is somewhat closer to Cyad.”

“What of the Accursed Forest?” asks Vernt. His brow furrows. “What exactly do lancer patrols do there?”

“We ride along the walls to see that no wild creatures escape. We also maintain order and guard the Mirror Engineers while they repair any walls that the Accursed Forest has damaged.”

“The Forest damages walls?” asks the wide-eyed Mycela.

“Some of the trees that fall across the ward-walls are more than twenty cubits thick and nearly as hard as stone. They occasionally damage the wall and the wards that contain the Forest creatures.” Lorn glances at Ciesrt. “I understand that the Forest project is coming along.”

“I believe so, but that is not something that I do.” Ciesrt shrugs. “There are rumors, but your father would know far better than I.”

Vernt and Lorn glance at the oldest magus.

Kien smiles wryly. “I, too, must plead silence, except to say that there is a project, and if it works as it may, Cyad will need far fewer lancers to patrol the Accursed Forest.”

After a moment of silence, Ciesrt looks across the table at Ryalth. “Myryan has said that you are head of a trading house.”

“Ryalor House,” Ryalth confirms.

“And you are truly the head of it?” Ciesrt asks. “Did you come to that because your parents had no sons?”

“Actually, Ciesrt,” Lorn says smoothly, “she created it and built it from a clanless trading room into one that rivals many full houses. She is most skilled, and I was quite fortunate to prevail upon her to be my consort.”

“Oh.” Ciesrt frowns.

“There are not many lady merchanters who head houses, are there?” asks Myryan, her eyes twinkling.

“I know of only one other,” Ryalth admits. “She is much older.”

“Did she not inherit her position?” asks Jerial.

“I believe such, but I do not know for certain.” Ryalth’s words are cautious.

“So…Lorn is right,” Jerial says. “You’re the first woman in generations to head a trading house by your own ability, and perhaps the first to build one.”

“I have had assistance. Those who work for me are good.” Ryalth smiles. “And Lorn has been a great inspiration.”

“He usually is,” adds Kien, with a dry laugh, “even for those who have not wished such inspiration.”

“Father!” Myryan mock-protests.

Kien finishes his fowl breast before looking at his younger daughter and raising his white eyebrows. “Your brother makes an impact wherever he goes. He always has. Talk to his friends, like Tyrsal and Dettaur.”

“Where is Dettaur these days?” asks Ciesrt.

“The last we heard he was second-in-command or something at Assyadt,” Jerial answers. “He writes occasionally, but he does not write of what he does.”

“He still writes?” Lorn asks.

“He has hopes,” Jerial says.

“He must be an important officer,” offers Mycela. “If he is in charge of something, that is.”

“He approaches women like a campaign,” Jerial adds, “as if we were to be assaulted and captured. That is difficult.” She smiles at Mycela. “At least for those who are healers.”

Lorn looks across the table at Myryan. “How is the garden coming?”

“This year it’s much better. Ciesrt powdered some limestone, and Ryalth had a cartload of stable manure delivered last fall. We still have jars and crocks of things, and I’m hoping that this year will be even better.”

“She is wonderful with the garden.” Ciesrt beams. “She coaxes the best vegetables and fruits from the land. I doubt any young magus has a consort so marvelous. And she cooks so well, too, and everything in the house is so neat, and clean.”

“I will have to visit you, and learn your secrets,” Mycela says. “I would not wish Vernt to lack for anything.”

Lorn swallows and takes refuge in another sip of wine as the domestic conversation continues. Ryalth smiles at him gently, taking a sip from her own goblet as well.

“This time, we do have a proper dessert,” Nyryah announces, after all have finished what they would eat, “the special creamed pearapple tarts.” She looks at Lorn. “And there are enough for two apiece.”

Lorn feels himself flush slightly in the dim light, hoping the others will not notice, and takes a sip of the Alafraan.

Nyryah gestures, and Kysia and Quyal appear beside the table to remove the dinner platters and to place a small plate before each of the diners. Her plate, and that of Jerial, have but one tart. All the others have two.

Lorn waits for all to be served and for Ryalth and his mother to begin before he takes a bite. He nods as he swallows. “They are good.”

“You’ve always thought so.”

“I think I’d best learn the recipe for this dessert,” says Ryalth, with a laugh. “My cooking is far simpler, but…his favorite dessert…”

“Keep the cooking simple,” suggests Jerial. “You haven’t spoiled him yet. Don’t start now.”

“My own sister,” Lorn laments, offering a sad face.

“Brush the crumbs from your chin, if you wish to look truly sad,” Jerial counters.

Lorn laughs. So does Ryalth.

In time, the tarts vanish, and the conversation dies away.

Lorn nods to his mother, then his father. “I thank you both, and everyone else here for coming. I would that I could stay longer, but I have been traveling for days, and a few nights’ sleep, I fear, has not made up for the travels and a long season with the Accursed Forest.”

“It has been so good to have you and Ryalth here with everyone,” Nyryah beams. “But we will see you more, won’t we?”

“You will,” Lorn promises. “As we can.” He smiles and extends his hand to Ryalth.

The redhead stands, then bows to Nyryah, then to Kien. “Thank you both so much.”

“I’ll come down with you.” Jerial slips away from the table and follows Lorn and Ryalth down from the table.

As the three walk down the steps to the front door, Jerial says, “I’m glad you got to meet Mycela.”

“What do you think of her?” Ryalth asks quietly.

“She’s perfect for Vernt,” Jerial replies sweetly.

Lorn winces.

“I thought so, too,” agrees Ryalth.

Both women smile.

After they are well clear of Lorn’s parents’ dwelling and Jerial has closed the door, Ryalth turns to Lorn. “I like Jerial.”

“She likes you. That is most clear.”

“You noticed that all the outside consorts were placed at first on one side of the table?” Ryalth says as they walk slowly eastward through the still-warm evening.

“I did what I could,” Lorn says.

“I know.” She reaches out and squeezes his hand. “Mycela didn’t understand.”

“Neither did Ciesrt. I’m not sure Vernt did. Jerial did. She smiled when we switched places.”