“That’s rather unlikely. I suspect that Rhamuel thinks my presence will cause them to reveal something.”
“Of course. You’re a healer. Healers sense things. Most merchanters here in Swartheld know you have some abilities that way. If they have anything to hide, they won’t want you on their grounds. They won’t dare to deny you. So, if they do have something to hide, they’ll either conceal it in some place you won’t or can’t look … or they’ll try something to kill you … poison, rocks or trees falling on you.”
“You’re cheerful.”
“You don’t believe they’d do things like that?”
“I believe you. From what I’ve seen, I definitely do. It saddens me, though.”
“Golds are everything to them. Cigoerne’s a new duchy. In time, it will be the same there.” Kyedra’s voice carries a bleak tone.
“There are already some merchanters there like that,” Lerial admits. And some who have already tried to subvert the Mirror Lancers. He’d just been fortunate enough to discover that plot and foil it. “I’d like to change that, but…”
“You don’t think Father didn’t know…” Kyedra’s eyes are suddenly bright.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up memories.”
“He just couldn’t do anything.”
Lerial nods. “I’ve seen that.”
“That’s why Uncle Rham is using you.”
“I know that, too.”
Kyedra frowns. “Then why are you letting him?”
“Because the stronger he is, the stronger Afrit is. The stronger Afrit is … the less danger we both face from Heldya and Merowey” Lerial almost had said, The stronger Cigoerne is, but that had not felt right.
“That’s not all, is it?”
“No.”
“You aren’t saying, are you?”
“Right now … it’s better I don’t.”
Kyedra looks at him more intently, then offers an enigmatic smile, one much like her mother’s, if a touch warmer. “That might be for the best … right now.”
Lerial has no doubt that she understands his reluctance.
“The early redberries might be ripe by the time you reach the lakes.”
“Is that a recommendation for them or a warning against them?” Lerial asks cheerfully.
“Very much for them … as long as you don’t eat the ones that still have traces of green…”
Lerial knows that the remainder of their conversation will be most conventional … but he is in no hurry to depart … and from what he can sense, Kyedra is also in no hurry for that, either.
XLIX
While Lerial, Strauxyn, and Eleventh Company leave the headquarters gates well before seventh glass, it is closer to eighth glass by the time they have met Norstaan and his squad outside the palace and ride westward on a paved avenue that is barely half the width of the merchanters’ avenue. The shops and dwellings close to the palace are neat and well kept, but they exude a feel of age that Lerial can sense as well as see. Farther west, but still within Swartheld, the dwellings are less ancient, but not recently constructed, somewhat larger, and exhibit a differing range of style and size, as if some older buildings had been removed and replaced or rebuilt. In places, it appears that odd additions have been built onto older structures.
“Who lives here?” Lerial asks Norstaan, riding on his left.
“Tradespeople, crafters, some of the more successful artisans, those who do not need a patron or those who have chosen not to rely on one.”
“Isn’t that chancy?” asks Strauxyn from where he rides on Lerial’s left. “An artisan not having a patron when they could?”
“Swartheld is large enough to support quite a number of artisans. There are always some well-off tradesmen who would like to boast of having a painting or a bronze or a small sculpture. The smaller merchanters can easily afford art, but may not wish to limit themselves to a particular artisan. Maintaining a well-known artisan is not cheap.”
Another glass passes as they ride through more shops and dwellings, and the farther they are from the river, the poorer both houses and shops become. The amount of poor and modest houses they pass again reminds Lerial, perhaps because of his visit to the cloth factorage, just how little he has come in contact with most of the people his father or Rhamuel rule. And you’ve likely seen far more than Rhamuel or Lephi. But that, he reminds himself, has largely been because of his father’s and his aunt’s requirements in teaching him healing … and working with rankers for years.
The street gradually narrows but remains stone paved. After a time, Lerial can see that the ground is rising and that, several hundred yards ahead, the houses thin abruptly and only extend partway up the dry and sandy hills.
“This is where Swartheld ends, then?” he asks Norstaan.
“Yes, ser.”
“What about the road? What is it like beyond the hills?”
“It gets narrower. It is paved all the way to the lakes.”