L. Modesitt: Scholar

“To stop Rescalyn from turning a fanatically loyal regiment that he’d built into the size of three regiments with your tariffs and all the silvers from Zorlyn’s mine into a weapon for overthrowing you and visiting chaos, death, and destruction on Telaryn at exactly the time you face challenges in the west.”

Bhayar nodded. “I made a few inquiries of my own, and it appears that you have always been more than you represented, even while you were in Solis. Here in Tilbor, you did happen to be correct. You also resolved the problem, somehow, by setting up the would-be usurper as a hero who died in serving me. You also appear to have reorganized the local scholars and gained the respect of the officers and men of the regiment, as well as that of the new governor. What, might I ask in the shadow of the Nameless, makes you any different from Rescalyn?”

“I did what I did to enhance your rule, not to undermine it.”

“Yet … you have proven to be one of those men who can use the smallest levers of power to great effectiveness. Such men are as dangerous as they are useful. What can I do with you to maintain that usefulness without endangering myself?”

Quaeryt thought, but couldn’t come up with a quick answer. Still … he had to try. “You could-”

Bhayar held up his hand. “Spare me. There are some matters where I still have better ways of dealing with the problem at hand. I have looked into all aspects of your acts and your life, and I have found a solution.”

Quaeryt had a very uneasy feeling, although the almost mischievous smile on Bhayar’s face was at odds with Bhayar’s usual means of dealing with those who displeased him. Still … if he had to, he could image a distraction and raise concealment.

Bhayar pointed at Quaeryt. “Stay where you are.” He walked past Quaeryt and stood by the study door, then half-turned. “You may not like it at first, but I assure you that you both will come to enjoy it … or you should.”

Both? What exactly does he have in mind?

Bhayar opened the study door. He gestured.

The woman who stepped through the door had light brown wavy hair, brown eyes, and light honey-clear skin. She still wore riding trousers and a winter jacket, if now open. She smiled.

Vaelora? What … Quaeryt could only look at her, somehow older, perhaps partly because of the circles under her eyes as well, and … knowing …

Bhayar shut the study door behind her. “You do look appropriately stunned,” he said dryly to Quaeryt. “I believe you two have met. I even believe you have exchanged some considerable correspondence. Considerable, at least, given her position and yours, scholar.”

Before either Vaelora or Quaeryt could speak, Bhayar held up his hand again. “I have given this some thought. My sister has insisted that she will not marry some High Holder for reasons of state. Nor will she marry someone she does not respect. Yet there are few indeed she respects, and none presently of position. Moreover, I will be badgered and pestered by every High Holder and would-be power-seeker so long as she remains unwed. Likewise, scholar, you are powerful in ways I do not claim to understand. So I have decided on several things. First, scholar, I am appointing you princeps of Tilbor.” He looked to his sister, whose smile had faded to an expression between surprise and exasperation. “That is partly so that my sister cannot claim that she gained a marriage that did not have a purpose of state. It is also so that you can continue to build ties between Tilbor and the rest of Telaryn. Of necessity, she will reinforce your loyalty. Of necessity, you will have to maintain her respect because I will not have my sister ever disrespected. This marriage and your appointment will also reinforce in the minds of the High Holders and others of power in Tilbor that I do in fact have a personal interest in the welfare and future of the people of Tilbor. It will also tell the officers and soldiers of the regiment that deeds of selflessness are sometimes rewarded. And … because I have been too long already from Solis, the wedding will take place here in the palace on Solayi.” The Lord of Telaryn grinned, one of the few times Quaeryt had ever seen that expression. “That way, I can return to Solis in peace, and you two can spend all of the very long winter here keeping each other warm.”

Quaeryt remained speechless.

“We will find a way to tailor a jacket over that splint, dearest,” said Vaelora warmly.