L. Modesitt - Imager

“What about the Ferran?” I asked.

Betara shrugged. “He’s local, but he’s not. That is, he’s been in L’Excelsis for years and years, but he wasn’t born here, and he has no relatives here. He’s an assassin, but no one has ever seen him when he’s killed someone, and no one knows who hires him. But it’s not someone that anyone in L’Excelsis seems to know.”

All that seemed to say that three different people had wanted me dead-or worse, in the case of High Holder Ryel-for differing reasons. The good news was that one was dead, and the manner of his death meant that his friends were likely to forget coming after me. The bad news was that two others, who were clearly more dangerous, were still after me.

“That would say that the Ferran works for spies . . . or is he one?”

“Even spies need tools,” Betara said. “The Ferran is a tool.”

Whose tool? The other question was equally concerning. Just what was I getting into with Seliora? Anyone who had a family with contacts like theirs . . . I wanted to shake my head, but I just nodded.

“That’s what we’ve been able to find out,” Betara said.

“The best measure of a man is his enemies,” offered Grandmama Diestra. “You’re looking fairly tall for a young man.”

I offered a laugh. “So long as I’m vertical and tall.”

The three older family members laughed. Seliora only smiled, and I was glad for that.

“You’re an imager who works at the Council Chateau,” said Shelim. “Do you know what the Council is going to do about this coming war between Ferrum and Jariola?”

“No, sir.”

“If you have to call me anything, Rhenn, just call me Shelim.”

“I’ll try . . .” I paused. “There’s nothing that we’ve been told, but I thought that the Oligarch was the one who was pressing Ferrum.”

Shelim shook his head. “The Ferrans need Jariolan coal for their ironworks, and they want it more cheaply than the Oligarchs want to sell it. They’ve got a modern standing army, and they’re trying to get Khasis III and his council angry enough to declare war. That way, Ferrum can invade and claim self-defense and take the coal mines. They’re close enough to the border that Ferrum could just annex that part of Jariola. . . .”

From there the discussion progressed on to the sorry state of the world.

“Is everyone ready for dinner?” That was Shomyr, who now stood in the space behind and between his mother and father. He grinned. “Cook is threatening to turn the tenderloins into jerky”

“You’re just hungry” replied Shelim, “but we can continue the discussion at table.” He rose.

We all moved to the long table set in the middle of the terrace. The sun was close to setting, low enough in the west that some of its light was already dimmed, and the breeze was a trace stronger. I was seated across from Seliora, if one place toward the doors. I could still look at her and easily hear what she said.

The first course was a cool duck and leek broth, something I’d never had before, but with the spices, it was refreshing and not too heavy. After that came fresh thin gourd strips, steamed, in pasta with a cream sauce, but, again, a light one. Then there were the venison tenderloins, marinated in some liquor diluted with what I thought might be Sanietra, and braised, served with boiled and fried dark rice with an naranje sauce.

Dessert was a Naclianan flan, with thin slices of fresh peaches on the side.

The whole time, everyone at the table discussed what was happening in the world-not trade, not furniture making.

Sometime after eighth glass had rung and Artiema had dropped behind the buildings flanking the river, while I had enjoyed the conversation and learned more than a few things, it was also more than clear that Seliora and I were not going to get any real time alone, and I was getting tired. It had been a long day. “I should be going before long,” I murmured to Seliora.

“Before you go, Grandmama would like to see us alone-just over there at the small table on the east side, where we sat earlier.”

I hadn’t even noticed that her grandmother had left the main table.

We walked over.

“Just sit there, young man. You, too, Seliora.” Her voice was firm, without the slightest trace of the age in her face and frame. Even if she hadn’t been Seliora’s grandmother, I would have obeyed.

She looked at me, except that it was more as though she looked into me, through me, and beyond me-all and the same time. So, if with less intensity, did Seliora. Abruptly, the older woman shuddered, then took a long deep breath.

I looked to Seliora. She was pale.

Diestra looked to her granddaughter.

Seliora nodded.

“What is it?” I finally asked.

“It is better that we do not say much,” Diestra spoke quietly, but firmly “Has Seliora explained why?”

“Yes. If I understand correctly, I face danger, or dangers, and if you try to explain, the odds are much higher that I will face even greater dangers.”

“That is so. The Collegium is not your enemy, but neither is it your friend.”

“I think I already understand that. The Collegium acts on behalf of Solidar and of all imagers, not necessarily on my behalf.”

The two nodded again.

“Make no enemies that you do not have to make, but make enemies rather than show weakness.” Diestra smiled sadly. “That is the finest of lines to draw and the narrowest of paths to walk.”

I understood that as well.

“Most important, always take care for your safety, no matter who or what presses you toward haste.”

What that meant, I thought, was to hold shields anywhere outside a familiar dwelling or the Collegium.

There wasn’t much to say after that, since neither Seliora nor her grandmama would have said more. So, after I offered my thanks to her parents, Seliora and I walked down the side staircase alone.

At the bottom, before stepping out into the main level foyer, she turned and threw her arms around me, holding me firmly and murmuring, “I do love you. Don’t ever forget it. No matter what the temptations.” Then, before I could question or protest, her lips found mine.

How long we clung to each other I wasn’t certain, but I finally asked, “Next Samedi . . . for dinner? Without family?”

That brought a sad smile. “It might be best if we asked Odelia and Kolasyn to come with us. We could come back here later and talk on the east terrace.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Not ideal, but better than not seeing her.

“Odelia would like it, and Grandmama would approve.”

After another long kiss, we left the landing and crossed the foyer to the front door.

“Good night.” I paused. “Fifth glass on Samedi.”

“Fifth glass.” She walked down to the street level door with me, then unbolted it.

“You stay here.”

She smiled and brushed my lips with hers, then stepped back and opened the door.

Of course, there was no hack nearby, and it took me almost a quarter glass, with Seliora watching, for me to hail one.

Just as he pulled up, almost at the same moment as I heard a single crack, a blow struck my shields, spinning me around and almost knocking me off my feet. As I straightened a second struck my shields, but braced as I was, I barely flinched.

I turned quickly, regaining my balance and glancing around. I thought I heard distant hurried steps fading away. In the darkness beyond the circles of light cast by the oil lamps of NordEste Design, I could see no sign of anyone. Neither moon was out, since Artiema had set earlier, and Erion had not risen. In that dimness, I didn’t expect to discover the shooter, but felt I should look. I glanced back up the steps to where Seliora still held the door ajar.