“Except for that awful red hair.” Natroyor’s scorn is withering
“… quiet. He’ll hear you … unruly … sometimes, yours is, too…”
Lerial gathers that he is obviously meant to hear some of what he does, although it is also clear that Kyedra and Natroyor have differing motives … or at least differing approaches. He steps into the alcove and then drops the concealment before stepping out, holding the last volume he has inspected—Natural Remedies of Afrit. “You were looking for me? I’m sorry. I was reading this.”
“What is it?” asks Kyedra, stepping toward him.
“A book on natural remedies. I wondered if there might be anything that would help with field healing.” Lerial smiles. “What can I do for you?”
“Actually,” replies Kyedra, “Father realized that he had not provided the details for this evening. He asked us to convey to you that the reception before the dinner will be in the west public hall beginning at sixth glass, and he would hope you would meet him at his study a tenth of a glass before that…”
“That is most kind of you. Your uncle had told me about the time of the reception, but not that I was to meet your father before then.”
“He wouldn’t have known that,” says Natroyor blandly.
Lerial can sense Kyedra stiffen, but she manages a pleasant expression and says, “They’re so busy that they don’t always tell each other everything.”
“Especially now, I imagine,” returns Lerial.
“Is it true that you’ve really killed hundreds of men?” asks Natroyor.
“I might have killed a score or more with my sabre,” replies Lerial, “but the forces under my command have killed thousands, not hundreds.”
“Your sire has let you be in the thick of battle? He really has?”
“It’s better that I am than he is.”
“Your brother hasn’t been in battles as dangerous as those you’ve been in, has he?” asks Kyedra.
Lerial understands what she wants him to say, but the plain truth she wishes for her brother’s sake will undermine Lephi … and possibly Cigoerne. “You put me in a delicate position, Lady. I have no idea what dangers he’s faced. He’s certainly led his companies against Heldyan raiders for years, and men under his command have died in front of and beside him. He’s been fortunate not to have been one of them, as I have been. My father, my brother, and I have all led Mirror Lancers in skirmishes and battles.” Lerial doubts Lephi has ever been in a battle, but the rest in certainly absolutely true, although, thankfully, it has been years since his father has done so.
“But there are three of you.”
“That’s true, but we’ve never fought at the same time or in the same place.” That … he can acknowledge.
“You see,” Kyedra says to her brother. “That’s why Uncle Rham can be arms-commander, and you cannot.”
“I don’t have to like it,” replies Natroyor.
“No, you don’t,” says Lerial, “but you do have to do the best you can do at the tasks your father needs done. Some of those tasks, now, may just be to learn all you can about what he does, how he does it, and why.”
“It’s so tedious…”
“Learning the basics is tedious,” replies Lerial, “even in the Mirror Lancers, but without mastering the basics, excellence isn’t possible. Most people don’t have the will to keep at it, and that’s why so few are truly good at anything.”
“I suppose you’re the exception.” Natroyor’s reply is just short of a sneer.
“I was black and blue almost all the time for almost two years when I was learning blade skills. That was after more than four years of even more basic training with wooden wands. I suppose there must be exceptions, but I don’t know of any.” Lerial smiles. “Thank you for conveying your father’s message. If I’m to meet him, I should be getting ready.” He inclines his head. “I look forward to seeing you soon.”
“You’re kind,” replies Kyedra, but Natroyor barely nods.
“Not kind. Truthful.” Lerial looks directly at Kyedra, if but for an instant. “Until then.”
Lerial turns and leaves the library, moving quickly away from the guard, but looking back occasionally until the guard turns his head. Then at the moment when he can see no one else around, he raises a concealment and waits.
Because the two do not appear immediately, he wonders what they might be discussing, but when they appear, walking past the guard without nodding, both are silent. Lerial remains motionless until they pass him, hidden in his concealment, then moves to follow them, walking as quietly as he can.
“… almost rude … the way he took his leave…” Natroyor snorts.
“You were insolent, and you know it. He was quite restrained. From what Uncle Rham says, he might be the best commander in all Hamor.”
“It doesn’t excuse his behavior. I am the heir.”
“He’s an heir also. Have you thought about that?”
“He’s second in line. He’ll never be duke.”
“You never know. You were second once.”