“You didn’t act that way before.”
“No, I didn’t, but I didn’t go out of my way to upset him, and I felt refusing to see him first would be seen that way.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. It does. Very much. I hope you know why. And I told the truth. I told him nothing but what he said I did.”
“I believe you … but…”
“Why am I so deferential to him, after all this? Because he’s your grandsire.” And he’ll have a great say in whom you consort. He may be hoping against hope, but he cannot help hoping. You couldn’t help that after the first time you saw her smile.
Suddenly, she smiles. “You could have said that a long time ago.”
“I didn’t dare.”
Her smile vanishes, so abruptly its disappearance is painful to Lerial. “Mother likes you. She won’t say it. She won’t tell me, either. But she does. I can tell.” After another silence, she says, “You can’t ask, can you?”
“Not now. You know why.”
“Because your father is duke, and your brother will succeed him, and you cannot afford to risk the future of both lands.”
“After all that has happened … no.”
She reaches out and takes his hands. “I can be more forward than you. A little more forward.” Then she smiles.
That alone warms him, and he just looks at her.
“Even if … even if … things … don’t … aren’t … I’ll remember the way you’re looking at me. Always.”
“I’ve remembered your smile from the first…”
At that moment, there is a rap on the door.
Kyedra lets go of Lerial’s hands. “Yes?”
The door opens, and Haesychya stands there. “I don’t think we should delay Lerial any longer.”
“I suppose not.” Kyedra’s voice is slightly flat.
“We can both accompany him to the entry hall,” says Haesychya, not unkindly.
The three leave the study and walk several steps before Haesychya asks, “Do you know how much longer you will be in Swartheld?”
“Until after Lord Mykel’s memorial, at least several more days. The duke has asked me to remain for now.”
“Have you heard from Duke Kiedron?”
“Not in more than an eightday. I sent off a dispatch this morning, but it will likely be an eightday before he receives it, possibly longer.”
“Might I ask…?” ventures Haesychya.
“I only told him what happened so far as the Heldyans were concerned, and that a noted merchanter had been involved in the murder of Lord Mykel, and that such matters were likely to be resolved in the next eightday or so … and that I would not feel free to return until they were to the satisfaction of the duke … in the interests of renewed harmony between Afrit and Cigoerne.” Lerial had not quite written the last, but had implied it.
“You’re very cautious.”
“I would prefer to think I’m careful, Lady. Any commitment I make is likely to have to last for a very long time.”
“You are that sort,” says Haesychya, “and that is good.” She stops at the doors from the villa. “We trust it will not be that long before we see you again.”
At those words, Kyedra smiles again. So does Lerial, if more cautiously. Then he inclines his head. “I look forward to that.”
His smile is broader as he rides away from the villa beside Kusyl at the head of the Mirror Lancer squad.
LVI
Just before midday on an already hot and steamy eightday morning, Lerial is going over details of organizing the return ride to Cigoerne with Strauxyn, Kusyl, and Dhoraat, details that are necessary, but that feel unwelcome to him, when Norstaan rides into the courtyard of Afritan Guards headquarters with half a squad from Rhamuel’s personal company.
Lerial hurries over to the undercaptain, wondering why he has come, since there would be no need for him to ride from the palace if Rhamuel wishes to meet with him. “It must be important if you’re here.”
Norstaan smiles. “I’ve just received word that the healer you requested is arriving at the river piers just east of South Post. I thought you might wish to join us in welcoming the healer.”
Emerya? In Swartheld? Lerial finds it hard to believe. Could she have sent someone else? That would be even harder to believe. “I would. Very much.” He turns and hurries back to the other three. “I need ten rankers from the duty squad to accompany me to escort a healer from Cigoerne to the palace. Oh … and a spare mount.”
“Duty squad is my second,” declares Kusyl. “Do you want Polidaar as well?”
“That would be good.” Lerial realizes he will need the squad leader.
Less than a tenth of a glass later, Norstaan and Lerial are riding south on the shore road at the head of the two half squads.
“The duke doesn’t know, does he?” asks Lerial, blotting his face with the back of his sleeve, wondering just how much hotter Swartheld will get, considering that it is barely past midspring.
“You requested that he not be told, and I’ve made as certain as I can that he does not.”