Lerial debates whether to tell her what Kyedra has told him, but decides against doing so immediately. Matters might not go as he hopes they will, and if they don’t … “I’m glad.”
While they have been speaking, two of the galley crew have carried two completely full and overstuffed Mirror Lancer kit bags onto the pier. They stand beside them, clearly waiting to carry them to the horses.
“I need to introduce you to Undercaptain Norstaan…”
“I heard much about him.” Emerya turns.
“Norstaan, this is the healer Emerya. She is head of the Hall of Healing in Cigoerne. She is also my aunt and the one who taught me what healing I know.”
Norstaan bows. “Lady Healer.”
“Undercaptain, I’ve heard nothing but good of you.”
“Then, Lady, I fear you have not heard everything.” Norstaan smiles. “I do believe we should not tarry.”
“Then we will not,” declares Emerya.
Once the kit bags are tied in place, and they have set off northward on the shore road, Lerial draws his mount closer to his aunt’s.
“I do have one confession. I didn’t tell the duke I’d asked for you to come.”
“I had that feeling. Do you mind telling me why?”
“I didn’t know if you would … or could, and I didn’t want to give him false hopes.”
“In more ways than one?”
“That, too.”
“We’ll just have to see how it goes, then.”
Lerial can sense the worry … and something more. Yet what else could he have done?
After a time, Emerya says, “I’d forgotten just how large Swartheld is.”
“From what I’ve figured, it stretches more than fifteen kays north and south, and almost five kays, east to west, more in some places. It turned out to be a very good idea to come to Swartheld.”
“Besides your successes with the Heldyans?”
“Fhastal told you?”
“I already knew what happened at Luba. He told me that you broke the back of the attackers and the Afritan Guard finished them off … and that you did something to destroy the next invasion force.”
“I turned Estheld into an inferno when they were loading out for the attack.”
“You don’t show that much chaos.”
“I’m glad.”
Emerya nods and says in a low voice, “Later.”
It takes two-thirds of a glass to reach the ring road around the palace. As they ride past the gates and the east side of the palace, Lerial can see a number of Afritan Guards working on the wooden framework on the stone platform that will be the base of Mykel’s pyre.
“Who died?” murmurs Emerya.
“Lord Mykel,” replies Lerial. “He was killed as part of an attempt to replace the duke. He wasn’t part of it, but captured by those behind the plot and killed when they realized they had failed.”
Emerya adjusts her head scarf and glances up at the southeast corner of the palace, where the masons continue to work at rebuilding the outer wall.
“The plotters also used cammabark to create the explosion that killed Duke Atroyan and his son and injured Duke Rhamuel.”
“You do end up in difficult situations, Lerial.” Emerya’s voice contains sardonic humor. “Or you create them. Your father says it’s hard to tell which.”
“Majer Altyrn seemed to know.” Lerial regrets those words as soon as he speaks them.
“That’s why your father sent you to Teilyn. He does understand his own limits, Lerial.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. For all the great things you’ve done, there is still always something to be learned.”
Lerial chuckles almost silently. Emerya has always been good at reminding him of such.
Although the Afritan Guards at the stable are clearly puzzled, they say nothing when Lerial and the others rein up, and he tells Polidaar to leave Emerya’s kit bags in place for the time being. Then Norstaan and Lerial accompany Emerya across the courtyard and into the palace. While Emerya could let her head scarf drop to her shoulders once she enters the palace, she leaves it in place, even adjusting it to reveal less of her face.
They are still on the main level when a serving woman or maid rushes out of a side corridor and toward them, then bows so deeply to Emerya that Lerial fears she will prostrate herself, before the woman backs away. An older man, a servitor of some sort, behaves the same way after they reach the top of the main staircase and turn toward the duke’s receiving study.
“Perhaps I should come to Swartheld more often,” murmurs Emerya to Lerial just before they reach the door to the anteroom.
“Perhaps you should.” Lerial nods to the guard and opens the door, gesturing for Emerya to enter.
In turn, Norstaan nods for Lerial to follow his aunt, then joins them and closes the door.
Sammyl, alone in the anteroom, looks up from the papers he has on the desk in front of him, then quickly stands. “Ah … the duke wasn’t expecting you, Lord Lerial.”
Lerial can sense that Rhamuel is alone in his study, but he still asks, “Is he in?” His question is not an inquiry.
“I’ll tell him…”
“No … this time, we’ll just go in.”