L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

We hadn’t even reached the outer doorway when an older man, in a black velvet jacket with silver piping over a silver shirt and black trousers, stepped forward, inclining his head deeply. “Master Rhennthyl, Madame, welcome.”

“Thank you, Fahyl,” I replied. “You are looking well, as always.”

“Thank you, sir. Madame awaits you in the family salon.”

We followed Fahyl inside and down the right-hand hallway off the main foyer. The family salon, although twice the size of our dining room, was the smallest and most intimate gathering chamber in the chateau.

Iryela immediately rose from the settee where she’d been seated. “Seliora! Rhenn!” While she’d filled out slightly after the birth of her twins the year before, she was still slender and very white-blonde.

Kandryl also rose, immediately, as did Alynkya. Frydryk was slower, languid in standing, as if he were the Chief Councilor instead of his father, although I’d observed that Councilor Suyrien always exhibited great courtesy on the occasions when I’d seen him.

“Do sit down,” Iryela went on. “Our white Grisio for you, Seliora?”

“Please.”

“Your red,” I said.

I took the chair beside Iryela, since she had gestured toward it, while Seliora eased onto the other settee beside Alynkya.

“You travel enough that you ought to have your own carriage,” said Frydryk.

“For work, I can use the duty coaches, and otherwise,” I said with a shrug, “we make do. Besides, where would we keep the coach and coachman?” I turned to Iryela. “How are the twins?”

“Sleeping, thankfully,” replied Kandryl dryly from beside her.

“I imagine you’re happy they’re past the colicky stage,” said Seliora.

“Exceedingly,” said Iryela.

Frydryk didn’t quite sneer, as if to intimate that talking about children and colic was scarcely suitable High Holder conversation.

So I smiled and asked him, “How is your father these days? I’ve heard that he’s rather occupied.”

“Ah, yes…with all the troubles caused by the freeholders.” Frydryk nodded sagely. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were being counseled and paid by Ferran agents.”

“Anything is possible in these times,” I said, taking a goblet of the Ryel red-a varietal Grisio, really-from a serving girl, and looking to Iryela. “This is one of my favorite wines, and not just because it’s from your vineyards.”

“We’re glad you enjoy it.”

Seliora accepted her goblet and took a sip.

“I can tell Seliora and I think the same of the white,” said Kandryl. “As does Father.”

That offered the opportunity I wanted. “I don’t think I’ve seen your father more than a handful of times since the wedding…although he did invite us to the Council’s Autumn Ball next Vendrei.”

“None of us see him very often,” said Frydryk with a laugh. “If he’s not dealing with Council business, he’s dealing with other High Holders. At the moment, he’s in Ruile…something to do with Ruelyr. He’s got all the lands between Ruile and the Sud Swamp. Ruelyr and Father have been friends for years, but…”

“But?” asked Alynkya.

“Ruelyr…let’s just say that he’d have been more successful as a High Holder several centuries back. Father has had to caution him more than once about the distinction between low justice and Council justice.” Frydryk glanced to me. “Or Civic Patrol justice.”

Neither Iryela nor Kandryl spoke, and I could sense the tension. Why would Frydryk offer such a pointed remark? To test me? Or to needle Iryela by reminding her that she was subject to Kandryl’s enforcement of low justice?

“The Civic Patrol is an arm of the Council,” I said with a smile, “and I’m charged with enforcing the laws of the Council. Most High Holders are like your father, very honorable men, who understand quite clearly that distinction. There are always those men, who can be anything from High Holders to taudis-toughs, who think the law is something for others to obey. They’re few, but they cause most of the problems in any land, even in Solidar.”

“You’ve handled them well,” said Iryela casually, looking to Frydryk, who ignored her glance while not seeming to do so.

“I’ve had the value of good counsel…and luck, but still…it’s always better when you can deal with those of good manners, whether crafters, factors, or High Holders. Seliora’s found that as well.” I inclined my head toward the loveliest woman in the room.

“I suppose you do deal with all sorts,” said Frydryk, not quite pointedly.

“Who was it,” I interjected quickly, “that was so easy for you to deal with, but whose fiance…the bride…” I knew very well who it was, but I wanted Seliora to bring up her name.

“Oh…Dhelora D’Zaerlyn-Alte…she’s very bright and quite pleasant.” Seliora smiled.

“I’ve never heard of High Holder Zaerlyn,” I said, not that such was surprising, given that there were more than a thousand spread across Solidar.

“The family’s been very reclusive,” replied Iryela. “Their lands aren’t far from ours, and I don’t think we’ve met, even socially, on more than five or six occasions. They have a number of gold and silver properties, and one of the largest porcelain works in Solidar.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” suggested Frydryk. “They’ve produced…shall we say…bathing and other facilities for generations.”

“His name never comes up for the Council or anything else,” I said.

“His influence is very subtle,” said Kandryl. “He has contacts in surprising places, and Father has often consulted with him.”

For several long moments, there was silence, before Frydryk spoke up again. “I’ve often wondered why there are no imager High Holders. Oh, I know, the law is very strict about that, but I’d think that someone like you, Rhenn, would do as well as the average High Holder.” After the slightest pause, he added, “If not better.”

Seliora offered a pleasant smile, but I could sense the cold iron behind it.

Even Iryela stiffened just the tiniest bit, for all of her upbringing as a High Holder.

I laughed. “I suppose I could, Frydryk, I suppose I could; but if we allowed that, why, all too many imagers would think they could do it, and then what would happen to all the old High Holders?”

Frydryk actually looked puzzled.

I smiled again, then imaged a bullet into his crystal goblet. It appeared in the middle of the white Grisio and then dropped against the crystal with a dull ring. “I can do that. I could image that anywhere…perhaps into a heart…an artery…a return vein to the heart. Some imagers can do that. Some can’t. It’s a bit like High Holders. Some understand. Some don’t. Just like your father has to remind High Holders of their duties and responsibilities, so there are imagers who remind other imagers of theirs. Even so, the combination of a High Holder and an imager wouldn’t be good for Solidar.”

Frydryk was still looking at the bullet. He swallowed. “I’ve never seen that.”

I imaged it out of the glass and onto the side table. “I can also remove things. As a matter of fact, some years ago, when your father was giving a toast, I imaged an entire glass of poisoned wine out of his goblet, and the liquid only trembled.”

“He never mentioned that.”

“I don’t know if he was even told. That’s part of the security detail that protects Council members while they’re at the Council Chateau. I was only on that detail for a season or so, but I stopped several attempted assassinations. So did others, far more quietly. Much of the time, the Councilors don’t even see that. Occasionally, they do. It’s a very cooperative system. The Collegium protects the Council, and the Council protects the Collegium. It works.”