A third of a glass later, Lerial, accompanied by Second Squad from Eleventh Company, rides out from Afritan Guard headquarters toward the palace, through streets that look much as they have almost every day since he has arrived in Swartheld—with little sign that a war is ongoing.
Once at the palace, Lerial reins up opposite the small gatehouse just inside the outer gates to the palace. “I’d like to talk to the duty officer or squad leader.”
In moments, an older burly squad leader appears.
“If you don’t mind, Squad Leader, I’d like to see the book that shows the arrival and departures of couriers over the past three days.”
“Ah … ser…”
“I’m not asking what was in the dispatches, if there were any. I’m asking where they came from.” Lerial looks hard at the squad leader.
“Yes, ser. One moment, ser.” Several moments pass before the burly squad leader returns. “Ser, we’ve had eight couriers in the last three days. One came from Lake Reomer. Six came from the Harbor Post, and one from the South Post.”
“None from farther south?” Lerial decides against demanding the book, given how promptly the squad leader has responded.
“No, ser.”
“Thank you very much, Squad Leader. I appreciate such good recordkeeping. So will Commander Sammyl.”
While the squad leader looks slightly puzzled, he replies, “My pleasure, ser.”
After he rides to the stables and dismounts, two rankers accompany him into the palace and to the chambers still occupied by Rhamuel. The arms-commander is alone in the outer chamber, although two Afritan Guards are posted in the corridor outside, where Lerial’s rankers stop.
When Lerial enters, Rhamuel looks up from where he sits behind his table desk perusing a stack of papers. “You look considerably better than you did last night. I also received a note from Haesychya, informing me that her father is much improved this morning. She is more hopeful than she has been in several days.”
“I just hope there won’t be a recurrence.”
“Don’t we all. Oh … there’s also something for you, although I don’t think it’s from her.” Rhamuel holds up an envelope.
Lerial crosses the room, takes it, looking at the outside, with the near-perfect calligraphy:
Kyedra? While he has not expected anything from her, he hopes that whatever is within the envelope is favorable.
“You look like that envelope might contain poison,” says Rhamuel dryly. “What did you say to her?”
“To who?”
“It has to be Kyedra. It’s not Haesychya’s hand.”
“Not too much. I was more concerned about Aenslem. Then … well … I told you what happened.”
“Apparently not everything. Not if you’re getting a note.”
Lerial opens the envelope. Inside is a card, on the front cover of which is a stylized “K” within an oval, clearly hand-drawn most precisely. He looks at the section of the card beneath and begins to read.
Dear Lerial—
I would like to ask your forgiveness for my failure to appreciate your risking your life in order to save Grandpapa. He is much, much better this morning, and we have no doubts that would not be so had it not been for your efforts. I cannot express what that means, especially to me, and I would hope that you will indeed forgive my lack of grace and understanding.
His eyes widen as he reads the line above her signature—“With great appreciation.” What exactly does “great appreciation” mean? Does it mean anything at all, especially given that Haesychya had to have read every word? But … is that a form of manipulation? Or another way of pleading for you to keep supporting Afrit? He shakes his head. The more you learn in Afrit, the less you know. At least, that’s the way it feels.
“You look rather pensive,” observes Rhamuel.
“Kyedra offers…” Lerial breaks off his words and hands the card to Rhamuel. “I’m hard-pressed as to what it means. Is it just what it says, or more … or less?”
“You may be trying to read too much into it.”
“In Afrit? Where nothing is quite what it seems, and few indeed are to be trusted except to find ways to make more golds?”
“You judge Afrit harshly,” Rhamuel says mildly.
“I think not. Not in a land where an attempt has been made to assassinate every senior officer with any degree of competence, where at least one merchanter has betrayed both the duke and his arms-commander, and where a trusted advisor was likely involved in the plot to kill the duke and his family.” Lerial pauses. “And that is only what I know.” And not all of that, even.
“You have a point … but Kyedra is not that devious.”
Lerial sees no reason to say more on the subject of Afritan deviousness. “Have you heard from Ascaar?”
“Not directly,” replies Rhamuel dryly. “I did get a dispatch from Fhastal, and a shorter one from Mesphaes, congratulating me on my decision to leave Ascaar in Shaelt, given his handling and destruction of more than three Heldyan battalions. Even if they were largely Tourlegyn warriors.”
“Then one of his officers mislaid the dispatches,” suggests Lerial, “since it would be unlikely that could happen here.”