“Did your grandmere talk about it?”
For an instant, Lerial is disconcerted, before he makes the connection. “Not to me. I don’t know if she talked to my parents or my aunt.”
“Your aunt. Uncle Rham once said she was special. I think he still might be in love with her. What … I shouldn’t ask.”
“She never consorted. I think I might have mentioned that she’s the head of healing in Cigoerne.”
“That’s sad.”
Lerial nods, wishing he could say more, but knowing it is not his place to do so, especially if that knowledge could jeopardize Rhamuel’s position as duke. But it is interesting that Kyedra thinks Rhamuel might still love Emerya.
When they enter the study, Lerial can tell even before he nears Aenslem that there is still some residual wound/poison chaos within the merchanter, but that it has diminished.
“So … am I better, Overcaptain and healer of sorts?” demands Aenslem in a gruffly cheerful voice from where he sits at the desk at the end of the study, surrounded by papers.
“You can answer that more accurately than I.”
“Better, but there’s still a touch of discomfort.”
“You’d recover without my doing more, but a little additional order will speed that up.” Lerial walks to the side of Aenslem’s chair. “Pardon me.” He touches Aenslem’s neck gently, directing a slight bit of order to the remaining chaos, immediately feeling it dissipate.
“It’s gone. That feels better.”
“You might still feel uncomfortable from time to time for a few days.” Lerial clears his throat. “Now … about that tonic…”
“Did Rhamuel put you up to asking?”
“As a matter of fact, he did. I also have my own reasons for asking.”
“Which are?”
“I’d like to know whom to watch out for.”
“It’s my own fault,” says Aenslem. “The tonic was recommended by Alaphyn. I take everything he says with a cask of salt. First I fed it to a sickly hound. The hound recovered. Then, I offered it to others—retainers—in small doses. Everyone prospered. I took it for a good half season, and when I ran out, I asked Alaphyn where he got it. He said it came from Cigoerne, and I could order it through Myrapol House…”
Myrapol House? Majer Jhalet had mentioned a connection … Could Veraan …
“… I did, and tested it again. The third jug … I did not…” Aenslem shakes his head.
“Could someone here … in the villa?”
“No. I kept it in a locked cabinet for that reason … and took certain … other precautions. No one has touched it beside me. The jugs were all sealed…”
How can they live like this, where no one can trust anyone? Yet the way in which Aenslem has answered Lerial’s questions is worrisome, perhaps because the words are likely truthful, but not complete.
Aenslem laughs gruffly. “Do you have any more questions from Rhamuel … or should I say the duke?”
“No. I do have one of my own. You had a man serving you who wore black gloves—”
“One moment.” Aenslem clears his throat loudly and holds up his hand to stop Lerial from continuing. “Lord Lerial and I need to talk. Alone.”
“As you wish.” Haesychya gestures to Kyedra. “Let us know when you want more lager … or anything else.”
“Daughters…” Aenslem shakes his head, but says nothing else, watching as the study door closes. Then he looks at Lerial. “Are you the one?”
“The one what?”
“The one who killed Willem.”
“If Willem is the black-gloved, chaos-using assassin who killed Subcommander Valatyr, yes. He tried to kill me and two of my men rather than be taken captive.”
Aenslem nods. “I’m not surprised. You seem to be at the heart of everything. He didn’t know who you were, then?”
“He knew I was a Mirror Lancer overcaptain. Nothing more. He didn’t give me a chance to say much more before he attacked me. I tried just to wound him, but there was too much chaos in his system.”
“That really wasn’t your question, was it?”
“No. Why Valatyr? He seemed to be quite competent, and I can’t believe you’re part of all the other assassinations of senior officers.”
“I’m not. I wasn’t. Valatyr was in Maesoryk’s wallet. I didn’t know why. I did know that he accepted hundreds of golds. It could have been more. When that many golds change hands, it’s not good. I’d heard rumors, hints, that Valatyr would be a far better chief of staff than Sammyl. I’ve never cared much for Sammyl, but he was loyal to a fault, especially to Atroyan. Wrong, at times, but loyal.”
Possibly for preferring Dhresyl over Drusyn as well … although … “Why didn’t you just send Willem after Maesoryk?”
“It wouldn’t have worked. Maesoryk has two chaos-mages near him all the time, and when they’re not, he’s heavily guarded or someplace where success would be unlikely … and too obvious.”
“Like the palace?”
Aenslem nods.