“… it has grown a great deal. There are more piers on the river, and the dwellings now extend as far north as the Hall of Healing all the way as far west as the palace…”
For the remainder of the meal, after Lerial finishes providing Rhamuel with a description of how Cigoerne has changed, he replies politely and tries to listen to what others are saying. One set of comments, which he can barely make out, even with his order-senses, comes from the bottom of the table between Majer Waell and Majer Sethwyn, whom Lerial knows only by sight and name.
“… understand that Natroyor was ailing…”
“He’s all right now. That’s what I heard.”
“Good … don’t need something like that now … still wonder … not coincidence … not after what happened to the duke’s eldest…”
Lerial refrains from frowning. Did something happen to Kyedra? He tries to pick up more, but the conversation turns to speculations on what types of troopers Khesyn might bring to an attack on Lubana … or anywhere in Afrit.
“How did your ride through Luba go,” inquires Sammyl politely.
“It was very instructive. We spent a bit more time in the north. I wanted to look over the rises and swales north of the third canal. We came back through the town and then used the ironworks road to return to the west gate.”
“How does Luba compare to Cigoerne?”
“It’s smaller, but it has more smiths and metalworkers than Cigoerne does. I’d judge that Cigoerne has more factors and traders, but that makes sense. Swartheld would seem to be the trading center for Afrit, not Luba…” As he talks, Lerial tries not to reveal anything most likely not already known to Rhamuel.
After the last goblets of wine and the last beakers of lager are finished, Rhamuel rises, then nods to Lerial, who stands and walks with the arms-commander from the private dining room through the main hall to Rhamuel’s study … and then to the small conference table, on which is a silver tray holding a goblet and a beaker and two pitchers, one likely of white wine and the other of lager.
Rhamuel seats himself, as does Lerial. “I presume you know why I’ve not invited you here before.”
“To make it appear as though my presence is strictly a necessity and not to show favoritism … or to cause excessive prying that might reveal certain things.”
“There is that. I also wanted you to see matters as any officer might … although we both know that you are anything but any officer. Your father knows that great rewards do not come without great risks.” The older man pours himself a goblet of the white wine.
For a moment, Lerial wonders what Rhamuel means. Then he smiles pleasantly. “He did not place all those risks before me.” Altyrn did.
“Then you are a greater gambler than I thought.”
Lerial reaches for the pitcher of lager, scanning it with his order-senses as he lifts it, but he can feel none of the chaos that might suggest poison; not that he suspects such, but he is trying to make that a habit, especially when he is the only one drinking from a pitcher or other vessel. As he half fills the beaker, he replies, “I don’t seek risks. I try to do only what is necessary.”
“That can be the greatest risk of all.”
Lerial smiles again, more broadly. “You are more familiar with that than I am.”
Rhamuel returns the smile. “What questions would you ask of me?”
“Before we talk about what you might have in mind,” or not, “ser, I did have one question that has little to do with Duke Khesyn and my presence here. I overheard someone talking about something that had happened to the duke’s eldest child, and I hadn’t heard anything about Kyedra.” Lerial smiles apologetically. “I suppose I’m interested because she’s the only one of the duke’s children I ever met, and that was over ten years ago.”
Rhamuel frowns. “Kyedra? There’s nothing…” Then he shakes his head. “They must have been talking about his elder son. That was Traeyen. He had a rare blood flux. There was some sort of chaos in his body. Not even the best healers in Afrit could do anything. He died. That was last fall, though.”
“I hadn’t heard anything about that. I don’t think anyone in Cigoerne knows … and there was something about Natroyor…”
“Contrary to your words, Lerial, those matters may have a great deal to do with you, me, and Duke Atroyan. “
“You’re suggesting that his younger son is also ill … or frail?”
“At times, there is little difference.”
“He has no other sons?”
Rhamuel shakes his head.
From that gesture, Lerial gains the impression that other children are unlikely. “Yet neither you nor your brother…”
“You know I can have no sons, not under the laws of Afrit. Nor can Mykel, not that his interests lie there.”
Not only does what Rhamuel has disclosed suggest even more reasons for Duke Khesyn’s interests in Afrit, but there are definite implications. Should you press? “What can I do to help you?”
Rhamuel laughs, softly, but with a bitter edge. “You are more of a gambler than you realize … or better at disguising it.”