L. Modesitt - Imager's challenge

From beside Ferlyn, Maitre Dyana offered a slight nod and a smile.

After breakfast, given all that had happened, I did use a duty coach to take me out to NordEste Design for one last important action, something that I felt had been assumed, but never formalized, and in some matters, formality was absolutely necessary. So I stood outside the private door at just past seventh glass. I clearly wasn’t expected, because I had to bang the brass knocker several times.

Finally, the door eased open, and Seliora stood there. She looked less than pleased, although some of the irritation faded as she recognized me. “Rhenn! What are you doing here? Aren’t you working?”

“You might say that my duties have been temporarily suspended. A few more things have happened, and we do need to talk.” I tried to keep my face formal.

“How bad . . .” She stopped. “It can’t be that bad if you’re here.”

“That depends on how one defines ‘bad.’ Might I come in?”

“Oh . . . yes.” She paused, then stepped back. “This is a working day, you know?”

“I know. That’s why I’m here early.” I stepped into the foyer, closing the door and turning to her.

“What is it?”

I thought I caught a trace of humor behind the question, but I wasn’t quite certain. “To begin with, Madame D’Rhennthyl-to-be, assuming you agree, you see before you a Civic Patrol captain and Maitre D’Structure.”

For a moment, Seliora looked absolutely stunned. “A Patrol captain and a Maitre D’Structure?”

“Apparently, I’ve made it impossible for anyone else to be Patrol captain in Third District, and my imager abilities merit an advancement, and that advancement entitles me-if I am married-to one of the larger quarters for families on Imagisle.”

She still kept looking at me.

“So I would like to ask you, and your parents, formally, for your hand. I haven’t actually done that.” I paused. “We can’t announce it to anyone else until Ryel’s successor is confirmed, but I’ve been told that will occur within the next month or two. That will allow quiet planning for a suitable and proper Pharsi wedding.”

At that, her arms did go around me.

This time, we held on to each other for a very long time.

In the fading twilight, I glanced out the coach window at the snow and ice alongside the road. It was cold enough and the paving stones clear enough that the hoofs of the two chestnuts were throwing little or no mud against the polished body of the coach. Mother had insisted that Charlsyn drive us, and that the coach be spotless, winter or no winter.

My eyes went to the hand-calligraphed invitation I held again. Seliora looked over at it from where she sat beside me, attired in another formal outfit of shimmering black and red, and I turned it for her to see, not that we both hadn’t perused it more than a few times.

YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED

AT THE WEDDING OF

IRYELA D’ALTE

AND RYEL [KANDRYL D’SUYRIEN-ALTE] D’ALTE

RYEL ESTATE, L’EXCELSIS,

THE TWENTY-FIRST OF IANUS

AT HALF PAST SIXTH GLASS.

“I still say that’s a rather odd way of describing her husband-to-be,” said Seliora.

“It’s the only possible way. She cannot keep the holding without marrying another High Holder, and whoever she weds must take the holding name.”

“So he can’t be Suyrien’s heir?”

“He could be, if he were the oldest, but he’s the younger son. But it does resolve any inheritance problems for the High Councilor. In fact, his younger son may end up with more than his own heir-and sooner.”

“Rhenn . . . was this all Ryel’s doing?”

I shook my head. “No. Much of it was Iryela’s. She played her father, her brothers, and me in order to gain the freedom and power she felt she should have had through her abilities. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t looking for a possible tool when she asked me to dance with her back at the Harvest Ball.”

For a long moment, there was silence. Finally, she looked into my eyes. “How long have you known?”

“I had wondered, but when the invitation arrived, I knew.”

Seliora waited for me to explain.

“At the Autumn Ball, she had just danced with Kandryl when I asked her to dance. She revealed more than she should have about Ryel’s, Dulyk’s, and Alynat’s activities, but that could have been resentment and knowing that I was someone who could never really tell anyone in a way that could hurt her-except what she said about Kandryl. She said that he was very sweet and had a very redeeming quality. I asked her if that quality was being willing to accede to her wishes and desires, and she replied by saying that he was sweet.”

“She plotted it all out, then, possibly even pushing her father to seek revenge on you for blinding Johanyr and knowing that you would destroy Alynat, Ryel, and Dulyk.”

“I doubt she had to push her father too much.” Not with the arrogance I’d seen in Ryel.

“And you . . . how can you? After everything?” Seliora shook her head, even her whole body. “I cannot imagine . . .”

“I disagree. You can imagine. She is smarter, more beautiful, more talented, and, despite her horrible plotting, more evenhanded than any of the men in the family. I met them all, if in passing in some instances, and not a one of them had a single redeeming quality. She did not wish to be married off and minimalized . . . or suffer a fatal accident if she could not be married off. Exactly what were her options, given her position?”

“And we’re going to her wedding? You ’re going to her wedding?”

“What are our options if we wish to end the game?” And it had been a game, a deadly game. I could have claimed I’d been a player, but I’d been played, as had Master Dichartyn and the Collegium. The only two real players had been Grandmama Diestra and Iryela, and in a sense, both had won, although Iryela had lost far, far more than she realized. I had the feeling that Maitre Poincaryt might have understood some of it, at the end. He had certainly taken the opportunity to play me against the High Holders.

Seliora nodded, as I knew she would. “I can’t say that I like it.”

“Nor do I, but we don’t deal the plaques. At best, we can but play what we have.”

Charlsyn slowed the coach, then guided it through the massive ironwork gates, calling out, “Master Imager Rennthyl and Mistress Seliora D’Shelim.”

He eased the coach up the well-swept stones of the driveway and under the portico. There, a footman in black and silver stepped forward to open the coach door and to extend a hand to Seliora.

When I stepped out in my black formal wear with poison testing strips inside my jacket and joined Seliora, I saw a black and silver coach stationed on the far side of the circle. At that moment, I recalled where I had seen that coach before-when I had first come to Imagisle and had watched an imager met coolly by a blond beauty. That had been Iryela meeting Johanyr, and now I understood the coolness I had seen.

We had taken but three or four steps into the entry when an older man, wearing a black velvet jacket with silver piping over a silver shirt and black trousers, stepped forward, inclining his head deeply. “Master Rhennthyl, Mistress Seliora, if you please, Mistress Iryela would like a word with you both before the ceremony.”

We nodded, and followed him down a side corridor. I did continue to maintain full shields over both of us. Nothing was settled until it was settled.

He stopped at the door at the end of the side corridor. “Master Rhennthyl and Mistress Seliora.”

“Have them enter.”

The functionary opened the door and gestured for us to go in.