Lerial returns the gesture, then follows Kyedra from the study. He waits until they are several yards from the study door before speaking. “I got your note this morning. You were kind to write, and you have an elegant hand.”
“Mother would not have it any other way.” Kyedra does not look at Lerial. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Might I ask what you mean by that?”
“You may.” There is a long pause, although she still does not look at him. “First, I thought you were just like … my brother, in a way, except older, more polished. Stronger, of course. Then … I heard about everything you’ve done … how many have died because of that … and I couldn’t understand … you seemed to care … but all the deaths…”
Lerial waits, not quite holding his breath.
“You risked your life to protect your men, didn’t you? You could have protected yourself without almost dying. Isn’t that so?”
“How can I answer that, Lady? If I say yes to either, it sounds boastful.”
“You could say no.”
Lerial thinks he detects a hint of mischievousness in her voice. “I’d rather not lie, especially to you.”
“Most men do.”
“I’d prefer not to be most men.”
“That’s what I mean. Mother says you’re older than your years in some ways, and younger in others.”
“Definitely younger in understanding women.” Lerial offers a wry smile.
“That’s also what she said.”
She also said I was the wrong brother. “I think your mother knows a great deal, a very great deal.”
“She doesn’t know everything.”
“None of us do.” Lerial cannot help but recall how little he understood what his parents—or Majer Altyrn—knew … until after Verdheln.
“Will you come tomorrow?”
“If I can. I promised … and I don’t think your grandpapa is as well as either of us would like.”
“You’re sounding like a healer, now.”
Lerial laughs softly. “I suppose I am.”
“I like that, too.”
When they reach the double doors, Kyedra stops. After a moment, she says, “You will take care.”
“As I can, Lady … Kyedra … and thank you.” Lerial realizes he may have stepped toward too much familiarity in using her name, yet “Lady” is too formal. He offers a smile and inclines his head. “Until tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow.”
He turns and walks to where a ranker holds the reins to the gelding. He mounts and looks back to the doors where Kyedra still stands. He has the feeling that Kyedra’s eyes are on him until he rides past the hedgerow flanking the lane near the gates. Or is that just wistful thinking?
But you’re still the wrong brother.
XLI
By the time Lerial finishes breakfast at the mess on threeday, he is feeling physically close to full strength. Even the burn on his hip has subsided to a healing, but intermittently annoying, itch. He can also order-sense more than a hundred yards, perhaps farther, although it is difficult to tell within the walls of the Afritan Guard headquarters. He had not returned to the palace on threeday after leaving Kyedra, but had spent the remainder of the day with his officers and men, going over equipment and weapons, and seeing to repairs, while also making arrangements for reshoeing a number of mounts, including some of the twenty they had received as replacements from those abandoned by the Heldyans. He eats quickly, meets for a short time with Strauxyn, Kusyl, and Dhoraat, then leaves for the palace with Third Squad from Twenty-third Company as his escort.
As on threeday, the streets are busy with wagons, coaches, peddlers, and various pedestrians, all of them seemingly going about their day, as if unaware of the carnage that had occurred little more than ten kays away. At the palace, by comparison, the gates remain heavily guarded, although the Afritan officers no longer insist on an escort for Lerial, and only a single Lancer ranker accompanies him as he walks to the west wing to meet with Rhamuel—and Sammyl, if the commander happens to be there.
Both Sammyl and Rhamuel are in the sitting room, with Sammyl standing by the open window and Rhamuel at the table desk.
“Good morning,” offers Lerial.
“The same to you,” replies the arms-commander. “You didn’t come back here yesterday. Why not?”
“I had some matters to go over with my officers and men. I thought you’d know where I was.”
“How is Aenslem? I’m assuming he’s better, since I heard nothing from Haesychya.”
“He appeared much better yesterday afternoon. There was still some wound or poison chaos in his system.”
“Poison? You didn’t mention that he’d been poisoned,” declares Sammyl.
“Oh … I thought I had. Someone put something in his tonic. I don’t think it was accidental, but I haven’t pressed him on who might have done something or how.”
“You might … if you see him again.” Rhamuel frowns. “Perhaps you should visit him after we finish here.”
“If there’s nothing pressing.”
“How is my niece?”
“She is in much better spirits.”
“I imagine. A handsome heir and officer visiting might cheer her up.”