L. Modesitt - Imager's challenge

I winced. While I knew her family could afford it, the loss of more than I’d make in two years wasn’t something to dismiss lightly. “Are you sure Ryel was involved?”

“Some of their lands adjoin, and Tierchyl had refused to sell certain properties to Ryel. That’s the rumor anyway.”

And Ryel had declared me his enemy. I glanced toward the chair. “It is beautiful.”

“The design is unique. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to use it as a model for someone else in the future.”

“If not, it makes a lovely addition here.”

“An expensive addition.”

Within a few moments and before anyone thumped the big brass knocker on the main door, I heard another set of footsteps, slower but lighter, coming down the steps.

Without thinking I said, “That’s your Grandmama Diestra. She wants a few moments with us before dinner.”

Seliora looked at me, then at the archway, where Grandmama Diestra emerged, glancing at Seliora.

Seliora shook her head. “I don’t care what your mother thinks. There has to be Pharsi in your background. You didn’t even think about it, did you?”

“No,” I admitted, somewhat sheepishly, before standing to welcome Seliora’s grandmother. “Good afternoon.”

Seliora rose and stood beside me.

“The same to you, Rhenn.”

Seliora just said, “He knew you were coming before he saw you, and he knew what you had in mind. I hadn’t said a word.”

“You’re surprised, granddaughter?” Grandmama Diestra chuckled.

I grinned, then gestured to the settee. While they settled themselves, I retrieved the chair I’d admired and set it down on the rich gold-green border of the magnificent maroon carpet that covered much of the parquet floor of the entry hall, then sat down facing them.

“Seliora tells me that you’re working with the patrollers now. Which senior patrollers have you met?” asked Grandmama Diestra.

“Except in passing, just the commander and subcommander-and a first patroller named Gulyart.”

“Do not trust Artois. He is not corrupt, but he would sacrifice his first-born son to preserve the honor of the Patrol.” She laughed softly. “Since it has no honor, there is no point in being sacrificed. Cydarth will do what he must, but there are rumors . . . I have heard nothing bad about Gulyart. Be most careful with Lieutenant Mardoyt or Captain Harraf. Neither is even honestly corrupt.”

“ ‘Honestly corrupt’?”

“They don’t stay bought,” was her dry response. “What are you doing now?”

“I’ve been observing the charging desk. I’m supposed to do that for another week.” Since she offered nothing else, I asked, “Do you know of a taudischef named Horazt?”

“He’s one of the new ones, grandson of Chorazt.” Diestra snorted. “I haven’t heard anything bad about him. Why?”

“He brought a boy to the Collegium. The boy’s named Shault. He’s a beginning imager. I was wondering if there were any way to learn if the mother got the gold she was supposed to. Her name is . . . Chelya.” I’d had to think a moment to call it up. “I think she’s a cousin of Horazt’s.”

“Chelya . . . she’s Mhyala’s daughter, or one of them.” She smiled, and a glint appeared in her eyes. “I’ll find out, and I’ll make sure that Horazt understands that you know. Might scare the little bastard. It won’t hurt you.” Her eyebrows lifted. “You have something else?”

I slipped the envelope I’d received on Jeudi out of the inside pocket of my gray wool imager’s waistcoat and handed it to Seliora. “Open it . . . both of you should see it.”

She deftly extracted the card. Both sets of black eyes-so alike were they-narrowed as they beheld the silver ribbon knot.

“Ryel . . .” murmured Seliora.

“As soon as he discovered I’d been made a master imager,” I said.

“That way he loses no prestige among the other High Holders,” added Grandmama Diestra. “Prestige is another form of power.”

“A master imager of twenty-five is a worthy foe?” My words came out sardonically as I reclaimed the card and envelope and tucked them inside my waistcoat.

“There are far fewer master imagers than High Holders,” Diestra said.

“There are far fewer total imagers.” By that standard, poor scared Shault was a worthy opponent. I didn’t like either of Ryel’s sons, and from what I’d experienced, his daughter was just as cutthroat-all of which confirmed that they took after their father.

The knocker thumped loudly.

Both Seliora and I stood immediately, and she headed for the steps down to the entry. I let her lead the way.

Once on the street level, Seliora glanced out the side window. “It’s Aunt Staelia and Uncle Clyenn.” She opened the heavy polished oak door. “Do come in!” Her voice and posture were warm and welcoming.

“Every time I see you,” replied Clyenn, stepping into the small foyer at the base of the steps, “you’ve gotten more beautiful.” He turned to me. “You must be Rhennthyl. You’re a most fortunate man.”

“I am, indeed,” I replied, keeping a smile on my face. I couldn’t say that I disliked Clyenn on sight, but I would not have trusted him any farther than I had Johanyr. I didn’t wonder that he had a scar that ran from below his left earlobe almost to the corner of his mouth.

Staelia was statuesque, more like Odelia and Aegina, but not so attractive, just tall, plain, and graying, but she had a radiant smile, bestowed primarily on Seliora.

“Aunt Staelia,” Seliora said, “this is Rhenn. I didn’t have a chance to tell you, but he’s been made a master imager.”

Staelia looked me over-our eyes were close to level-and smiled again, not quite so radiantly, but certainly warmly. “You two suit each other, I think.”

Seliora led the way up to the main foyer.

Seliora’s parents must have heard the knocker or the greetings, or been watching the lane from the third floor . . . or Bhenyt had told them. The possibilities were numerous, but Shelim and Betara moved to join us within moments of the time that Seliora and I had escorted Staelia and Clyenn up to the entry hall. In that short time, various servants had appeared, and a sideboard with wines had been opened. Shomyr-Seliora’s older brother-brought out several bottles of wine. He was followed by Methyr, her younger brother.

“I see you’ve met Rhenn,” said Betara, her voice and expressions so much like Seliora’s that mother and daughter looked like sisters.

“We have indeed,” boomed Clyenn. “Yes, indeed.”

“Indeed,” said Staelia. “Clyenn . . . if you wouldn’t mind getting me a white Cambrisio.”

“I can do that.” He turned and started for the sideboard.

“You’re one of the younger master imagers, I’d imagine,” Staelia said.

“Yes, madame.”

“Staelia, please.” An amused smile appeared. “Save the ‘madame’ for Betara or Grandmama. Perhaps one of the youngest master imagers ever?”

“One of the younger ones,” I admitted. “Not the youngest ever.”

“Polite and modest, too. Dangerous, as well. I’ve seen that with the patrollers. The most deadly ones are the most courteous.”

The instant assessments by Seliora’s family-or by the women in the family-were both amusing as well as unsettling. I inclined my head. “And I believe no one is ever disorderly in your establishment.”

Both Staelia and Betara laughed.

“A point to you. With Taelia and Sartan running it tonight, I hope it stays orderly.” The last words combined dryness and worry.

Another series of thumps issued from below.

“That must be Duerl and Aesthya,” offered Betara. “I’ll greet them.”

Shelim, who had said nothing, departed with his wife, leaving Seliora and me with Staelia.