He snorts softly as he thinks about how the majer and Maeroja had discouraged any entanglement between him and Rojana. Yet … Maeroja had talked more than once about the absolute certainty of the majer’s feelings. And how had the majer known Lerial would need the iron-cored cupridium sabre? And then there had been Altyrn’s emphasis not so much on the need to re-create Cyador but to carry on the best of its heritage and tradition.
Before he leaves the sitting room for breakfast, he goes to the windows on the south side and looks eastward, toward the bay. While he cannot see the harbor, there are no rivercraft headed north toward the harbor piers. For that matter, on the small section of the bay he can view, he can see no vessels at all.
Lerial wonders if anyone will even be at the family dining room, but Rhamuel is already there and eating. He waves Lerial to the place across from him.
“You’re up early,” Lerial observes.
“So are you.”
“Did you talk to the duke last night? About the merchanters?” Lerial slides into the chair, and a server sets a pitcher of lager and a beaker before him, then immediately withdraws.
“I did. He wasn’t pleased.” Rhamuel takes a swallow of his greenberry-and-lager breakfast beverage, then adds, “He thinks we should know more.”
“Have you heard any more this morning?”
“I’ve sent a river patrol galley to see.”
Lerial frowns.
“It’s misty or foggy on the east side of the bay,” Rhamuel explains.
“The sky is clear. So is the bay. Well … the south part is.”
Rhamuel smiles indulgently. “We often have fog over the bay and around the harbor with clear skies above. This morning, the west side of the bay is clear, but there’s a misty fog around Estheld. It’s rare when the fog doesn’t cover the entire southern end of the bay, but it does happen every once in a while.”
“And the harbor here is clear.”
“I said it was.”
Lerial manages a shrug. He hates even an implied correction. “I’m not that familiar with fog. It just seems strange to me.”
Rhamuel says nothing as the server returns with a platter for Lerial. On it are two slices of egg toast, some thin mutton strips, an orange cut into quarters, and a small loaf of dark bread. The server also sets down a small pitcher of what looks to be a berry syrup. Again, he leaves the private dining room quickly.
“You danced quite a few times with Kyedra.”
“Four. I danced twice with Haesychya. She turned me down when I asked her a third time.”
“She never dances more than twice with anyone besides Atroyan, and only twice with those of position or great wealth.”
“I should feel flattered, since I have little enough of either. Haesychya made it quite clear that I was the wrong brother. So did the duke.”
“What did you expect? You’re not the heir.” Rhamuel’s dark eyes fix on Lerial. “What do you think of Kyedra?”
“I like her. She’s intelligent and capable.”
“Compared to who?”
“She appears to take after her mother in many ways, but I’d say that she has some of the same family traits that you do.”
Rhamuel smiles. “I don’t think you answered the question.”
“I didn’t answer the one you didn’t ask.” Lerial pours the berry syrup over the egg toast and takes a large bite. “I would say that it’s a pity she can’t be Atroyan’s heir. Or yours.”
“That sort of talk would incense the Merchanting Council, you know?”
“I have no doubt that it would, but, from what I’ve heard, Cyad might well be standing if my grandmere had ruled, rather than my grandsire.”
Rhamuel smiles. “And matters would be little different if your aunt ruled instead of your father?”
“They’d be different, but I think Cigoerne would still be strong.”
“Neither you nor I can change what is.” Rhamuel’s smile is slightly sad, and he starts to push back his chair, only to stop as he sees Dafaal enter the private dining chamber.
“Oh … I didn’t expect to see you here, Lord Lerial.”
“Nor I you.” Lerial smiles politely. “Since you have found me, however, I won’t have to go looking for you.”
“How might I help you?”
“I suspect that it is time I made preparations to leave Swartheld and return to Cigoerne,” Lerial says pleasantly.
“When it is appropriate, I would think so, Lord Lerial.”
“Last night, the duke suggested that I should consider it.”
The white-haired functionary frowns. “He has not mentioned that to me, and I am certain that he would.”
“Then perhaps I should talk to him.”
“You … Ah, yes, in time, you should.” Dafaal looks to Rhamuel. “It is really a matter for both the duke and the arms-commander. I just facilitate what the duke wishes to be done.”
Rhamuel raises his eyebrows. “He was fine last night.”
“He’s likely fine today,” replies Dafaal. “But he says he’s not seeing anyone this morning. That is why I sought you out. There are certain matters…”