L. Modesitt - Imager

“We’d be pleased to accept that offer.” I would have been stupid not to, for many reasons, including the fact that Mother and Father had to have paid Charlsyn extra to stay to take us, and not doing so would have merely wasted their coin and cost me.

Once we were in the family coach on the way back to NordEste, I turned to Seliora. “You were magnificent.”

She smiled ruefully. “I’m glad you think so. With all that food, I won’t be able to fit into anything I own. How did you manage growing up?”

“You saw. I just didn’t eat everything. But I did miss it when I was with Master Caliostrus.” I didn’t say more, thinking of both of them . . . dead, even if it now appeared as though much of it wasn’t totally my fault. Instead, I asked, “What did Khethila want to know?”

“Girl things.” Seliora smiled, mischievously. “She wanted to know if you were good to me. She also said that she’d never seen you so protective of anyone.”

I let it drop at that. Seliora would have said more if I’d needed to know, and I didn’t want to waste my few moments alone with her.

The embraces were in the coach . . . because even I realized that discretion was the better part of valor-at least so long as I was being forced to act as a lure for who knew what. But I did walk her to the door, and I extended my full shields to cover us both. I also obtained her permission to call on her on Solayi.

After that, I had Charlsyn take me to Imagisle the long way, to the Bridge of Desires. I didn’t see anyone strange, and no one shot at me, but when I reached my quarters, I wasn’t sure whether not being shot at or having weathered the family inquisition was the greater relief.

The only thing that mattered much to me on Solayi was seeing Seliora, but I was again most careful with my shields and an eye on who and what might be around. The only thing at all odd was a covered wagon, similar to a tinker’s wagon, drawn up to a hitching post a block off the Bridge of Desires. I didn’t see anyone around it as the hack I’d hailed carried me past, but they couldn’t have been far, because the old gelding hitched to the wagon wasn’t that heavily tied. The wagon didn’t follow me, though, and there was no one nearby when I left the hack in front of Seliora’s.

She answered the door, wearing trousers and a simple cream shirt. She still looked beautiful, and I told her so.

“You just see what you want to see.”

“Not so. Master Poincaryt told me that I was the most accurate and unflatteringly honest portraiturist he’d ever encountered and that I had the nasty habit of deflating egos.”

“They’re not women.”

I wasn’t going to win that argument. “They’re not you.” I put my arms around her.

For a moment, she reciprocated. “I already have some Sanietra and fruit and biscuits set by on the east terrace.”

So we climbed the steps. When we reached the terrace, I was happy to see that the chairs and table had been arranged so that we sat side by side, with smaller side tables flanking us. There were two glasses of Sanietra and thin breads with fruit slices on a small platter.

I also got a far warmer welcome than I had in the main hall.

After that, when we were properly seated, I asked, “The day after, what did you think of last night?”

“Your parents are sweet. They don’t understand you, and they worry about you.”

“They worry about the wrong things,” I pointed out, “and they’d worry themselves to death if they knew half of what’s happened to me.” Not to mention what hadn’t happened and might yet.

She smiled. “I’m glad you don’t protect me that way.”

That brought me up short. Why didn’t I? Because I knew Seliora was stronger? “I trust you to understand. Also . . . your family . . . your background . . . you all do understand the undercurrents. My father knows they’re there, and he does his best to avoid them, without overtly even acknowledging their existence.”

She poured Sanietra for us, then said, “Grandmama found out some of what you asked about Madame D’Shendael.”

I waited.

“She was the only child of High Holder Shendael and his wife Helenia. According to Ailphens, everyone was surprised that there was even one child, given all of Shendael’s young male friends . . .”

I kept my nod to myself.

“. . . the estate was really Helenia’s, but of course she had to marry to keep her status. Right after the daughter-that’s Madame D’Shendael-reached eighteen, Shendael was shot. Helenia was charged with the murder. Ailphens said that sections of the public records are missing, except for those dealing directly with Helenia’s execution.” Seliora looked to me.

“What did Grandmama add?”

She shook her head ruefully. “Shendael’s only male relative died on a hunting trip when his rifle exploded. That was actually right after the trial.”

“How do you think Emanus managed it?” I asked.

“Do you think he had anything to do with the senior Shendael’s murder?”

“No, but I’d wager that he had that male relative killed so that no one could contest his daughter’s holding.” I’d also have wagered that Helenia hadn’t been the one to fire the shot that killed her husband, but that she’d accepted the blame to save her daughter, not that I’d ever find any proof of any of that.

“That doesn’t explain why Emanus was killed,” Seliora pointed out. “If Madame D’Shendael were worried about her father . . .”

“He gave up everything to protect her. It can’t be that.”

“It has to be connected to her in some way.”

We talked a bit more, agreeing on that, but we couldn’t think of how, at least not based on what we knew. Finally, Seliora lifted her glass and sipped, then asked, “What are you doing next week?”

“Did I tell you that I have to stand duty, so to speak, at the Council’s Harvest Ball?”

“When is that?”

“Vendrei night. I’m also supposed to watch closely for trouble and be ready to dance with any woman in distress or who appears to have been deserted on the dance floor, so to speak.”

“What women?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to anything like it. I’ve been told it’s for councilors and their guests, and that a great many who attend are High Holders.”

“You’d better be even more careful about any young High Holder women.”

“Even more?”

“Rhenn . . . isn’t it obvious? What kind of man is the only kind that a woman who wants to escape that gilded prison could marry? Especially a younger daughter of many in an important family, or one from a declining family.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. My face must have showed it.

She offered her soft and warm laugh. “You’re handsome, intelligent, and muscular, and to be at the Ball, even as a sort of guard, means that you’re a more promising imager. Also, you’re one of the few that they can meet.”

“But . . . no one has ever said that we’re imagers, and we’re not allowed to admit it.”

She laughed. “Don’t the councilors know? And you think that some of them wouldn’t tell their families?”

Once more, she had a point. “I don’t even know if there will be any women of that age and inclination.”

“If there’s a fancy ball and men . . . there will be. Not the type you’d prefer, but you may well be the type that they prefer. Don’t let them.” The last words were as warm as those that preceded them, but I could sense claws within them.

“Yes, mistress.”

She mock-slapped me, her hand stopping just short of my cheek, then tapping it lightly.