L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

Isola was right there, too, I realized. The reason we had been forced to act as we had was because we had neglected to build our strength constructively. Had we had more than one engine works, better and more modern warships, and more modern manufactories, Ferrum would never have dared to invade Jariola. Our failure to achieve, as Isola put it, “quiet and constructive building,” had led to war, and in that sense the “glory” that had come from it was ill-deserved.

I glanced across the anomen, where Dartazn stood with a tall dark-haired woman, a thoughtful expression upon his face as he watched the chorister.

“…and in the end the only glory of worth belongs to the Nameless, for all earthly glories are based on the exaltation of naming, the wish to have one’s name greater than one’s achievements. There are great achievements and those that are less great, but those achievements of worth are those whose legacies outlive the names of those who accomplished them…”

After the final words of dismissal, Isola and I left the anomen and headed back home, moving bit more quickly than we had come, because the wind had picked up and the air had gotten far colder.

“That homily was intended for you and Dartazn,” observed Seliora.

“You think so?” I laughed softly. “How could you tell?”

“Because she didn’t look at you, and you nodded and were very thoughtful-looking as she spoke. So was Dartazn, and she looked at him.”

“She was right in what she said.”

“You already knew that.”

I did indeed, but that wasn’t the question. The real question was whether I’d remember it and live by it.

As I had suspected, invitations to the Council’s Winter Ball did arrive…or rather a note from Ramsael did, stating that as the second highest ranking imager I was considered a member of the Council for purposes of Council Balls. Interestingly enough, although the Maitre of the Collegium was also considered as such an “honorary” member, in accord with tradition, the Maitre never attended unless the Chief Councilor was unable to do so.

With the note were five invitations for me to use or not, as I chose. Since Suyrien’s death meant neither Frydryk nor Kandryl would necessarily receive invitations, I offered invitations to both, but Frydryk had already been invited as a courtesy by Fhernon. Iryela and Kandryl accepted, as did Dartazn. My parents declined, but since there wasn’t time to get an invitation to Khethila, I did write and tell her that I expected her to be in L’Excelsis for the Spring Ball so that she could meet Madame D’Shendael. I also offered an invitation to Commander Artois, and he and his wife also accepted. Had my parents accepted, I would have invited the Veblynts as well. Instead, I invited no one else.

Vendrei evening was freezing, and felt colder because of a bitter wind, but without snow, and after feeding our daughter and giving her a story, if earlier than usual, we dressed and then made our way to the duty coach station. I was in the formal blacks of a Maitre, with a formal black cloak. Seliora was in black and shimmering green, a gown she’d worn before but not to a Council Ball, also with her formal cloak.

Dartazn and the tall young lady were waiting for us. He wore the same imager formal blacks as did I. Under a dark blue cloak, she was in deep blue.

“Good evening,” I offered.

Dartazn bowed. “Might I present my fiance, Veroniqua D’Semaelyn. Veroniqua, Maitre Rhennthyl and Madame D’Rhennthyl.”

“Seliora, please,” interjected my wife.

“I couldn’t…”

“She means it,” I said with a smile, “and I never cross her when she means it.”

Dartazn barely managed to avoid smiling.

I opened the coach door and offered a hand to Seliora. Once we were on our way, I looked to Dartazn.

“I have told her,” he admitted. “Can you tell me how long before I’m expected to be in Westisle?”

I smiled. “How long do you need? You could easily stay here three weeks to a month. Longer than that might require that you travel to Westisle.”

He looked to Veroniqua.

She smiled shyly, then leaned toward him and whispered.

“She says a month would be lovely. We’d already planned tentatively for the twenty-seventh of Fevier.”

“Is your family from here?” asked Seliora.

“Yes…Seliora.” Veroniqua blushed. “I feel so strange using your first name. I always loved the name, but to know…”

“You’re acquainted with its meaning?” I asked.

Veroniqua nodded. “My father’s side is all Pharsi.” She looked to Seliora. “My aunt…she saw you once, with a pistol in your hand, and she said that you were truly the Daughter of the Moon.” Her eyes went to me, but she said nothing.

“Yes,” said Seliora, “he is.”

I knew what she meant. More than once we’d been compared to the ancient Pharsi legends-the Daughter of the Moon and Erion, the hunter and the lesser red moon. Whether the comparison was apt or even accurate was another question, but there were some things about which I wasn’t going to contradict Seliora. Besides, I’d seen her with the pistol, too.

Because it was so chill, when we arrived at the Council Chateau, there were close to fifteen coaches lined up before us. Once we disembarked, while we didn’t rush up the open stone steps, neither did we tarry. Dartazn and Veroniqua led the way, in deference to my seniority, in through the Grand Foyer and past the ceremonial guards and the winged angelica statues I recalled all too well, before ascending the Grand Staircase and then leaving our cloaks with the functionary off to the side of the top of the steps. At the doorway to the Great Receiving Hall, Dartazn and Veroniqua stepped up to the same balding man who announced all arrivals at every Ball.

His deep bass voice boomed out, “Dartazn D’Imagisle, Maitre D’Structure, and Veroniqua D’Semaelyn.”

The murmurs died away, and most of those in the crowd turned toward the entrance of the Great Receiving Hall.

As we waited to be announced, Seliora leaned toward me and whispered, “You wanted him to stand out like that, didn’t you?”

“I’d hoped for it. They all need to focus on a hero, the one who ended the war.”

“You’re the one who ended the war.”

I shook my head. “I made it possible. He did it. He deserves the credit.”

When we stepped up, the announcement was simpler: “Maitre Rhennthyl and Madame Rhennthyl.”

“I still don’t feel like I should be announced as Madame,” murmured Seliora as we stepped away and toward the three Councilors on the Executive Council.

“You said that at the last Ball.”

“It’s still true,” she whispered back.

“That’s because you’re young and beautiful.”

“ You said that before.”

“It’s still true,” I murmured in the same tone as she’d used.

“Rhennthyl,” she said in a low voice, “you’re more impossible than ever.”

Beyond the Councilors stood Baratyn, just out from the east wall of the Hall, while Martyl stood along the west wall.

Behind us came the announcement of “Councilor Reyner D’Factorius and Madame D’Reyner.”

The first of the Executive Councilors was Sebatyon, who inclined his head politely and stiffly. His voice was cool. “Good evening, Master Rhennthyl, Madame.”

I smiled broadly. “A very good evening.”

Another stiff nod was his only response.

Next was the hawk-nosed, black-haired Caartyl. “Greetings, Master Rhennthyl. Greetings, Madame Seliora. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

“As always, you’re most kind,” replied Seliora

Ramsael bowed slightly even before we could speak. “You honor us, Maitre, Madame.”