Cyador’s Heirs

VII

Lerial wakes early on eightday, but does not rise immediately. Instead, he lies on top of the covers, trying to cool off, because even before dawn on the third level of the palace the air is so still and hot that it might well be an oven, but the sheet gets damper with each moment, and he sits up. He does not cool down, not when there is no breeze coming through the windows, but at least when he sits up, he gets no hotter and his sweat doesn’t soak the sheet.

As he sits there looking toward the window, and the heat-silvered green-blue sky beyond, he cannot help but worry. Since his father had stopped Emerya’s comments about healers, Kiedron had not said a single word to Lerial, either in the courtyard or at dinner … or after. Lerial cannot remember that ever happening. Ever.

Finally, he stands, then walks slowly to his dressing chamber, where he washes and dresses, wearing the lightest cotton undertunic and tunic that he has. Then he slips from his rooms and makes his way to the back stairs, moving as quietly as he can down to the family breakfast room. He hears nothing, suggesting that no one else is up yet, but when he steps into it, he stops short, for his father is sitting alone at the end of the table.

Kiedron gestures, pointing to the chair beside him.

Lerial swallows, then walks to the chair and seats himself.

“It’s time we had a talk, Lerial.”

“Yes, ser.”

Kiedron turns in his chair to face his son directly. “Your mother and I think that you need to spend some time away from Cigoerne.”

“Ser? To Afrit?”

Kiedron shakes his head. “I wouldn’t send you that far now. I mean outside the city.”

Lerial understands the reasons why his father has never called the lands he holds anything other than Cigoerne, particularly given the uneasy relations between Cigoerne and Afrit, although, properly speaking, only the small city on the Swarth River is Cigoerne. That ambiguity can be confusing at times, but his father has declared that it is something they will have to live with for a time yet.

“You need to see how life is away from here.”

Lerial is still thinking about what his father has said-that he wouldn’t send Lerial that far now. That suggests he might in the future.

“Lerial…”

“I’m sorry, ser. I was thinking about what you said.” Before his father can say more, he adds, “I’ve seen much of the duchy, ser.”

“There’s seeing, and there’s understanding. Tomorrow, we’ll be riding to Teilyn. You need to experience another side of life. I’ve made arrangements for you to stay with Majer Altyrn.”

“Majer Altyrn? I thought…”

“That he was dead? Far from it. He is older than your grandmother would be, but in good health, and he has lands and a nice dwelling, a villa, really. He has no sons, only daughters, and they’re between your age and Ryalah’s. He’s agreed to have you-they call it fostering in Afrit and Heldya-and to teach you more about arms and tactics … and about managing lands and other things.”

Leaving the Palace … and Aunt Emerya?

“But…” Lerial bites off what he might have said, instead just asking, “Why?”

Kiedron takes a deep breath, one of the few times Lerial has ever seen him do so, a sign that his father is anything but pleased.

Is that because you question him … or because you’ve really displeased him?

“I’ll excuse that question. The fact that you asked it is reason enough, although your question is another indication of why we feel this is necessary. This is not my decision alone. I’ve talked it over with your mother and even with your aunt. All three of us agree that this will be good for you.”

Even Emerya? Lerial can sense the truth of his father’s words. The fact that his aunt agrees with his father to send him away feels like a betrayal. Why would she agree to that? Why?

“Lerial … it is never good to act out of anger. Nor to learn out of anger. What one does and what one learns are colored by anger. You are of the elthage, and you would be Magi’i even if you were not my son. Using chaos with a clear mind is difficult enough. Trying to master even a modest ability with anger and rage will lead to trouble and more trouble … and most likely an early death.”

But I’m not angry at everyone, just at Lephi … and that you don’t see how he manipulates everyone … just because he’s older and handsomer and charming when he wants to be.

“You’re angry now. I can see that. Anger isn’t good for a magus. It isn’t good for a Mirror Lancer, and it’s even worse for a man who will give commands or orders to either. Unless you come to understand that, you won’t be very good at anything. That’s another reason why you need to be away from the palace.”

Lerial does not reply.

“Lerial … have you nothing to say?”

“No, ser.” Not anything you want to hear.

“Young man … with every moment your actions show why you need to leave. I won’t say more, except that I hope you think over why this is so.”

“Yes, ser. I promise to think it over.” Except that I’ve thought it over more than you can imagine, and it still comes out the same way.

“Good.” Kiedron nods toward the sideboard, where melon slices have been set out on a platter, as well as fresh bread, and some cheese. “Get yourself some breakfast. After that, pack up some of your garments. You’ll need riding gear, and work clothes and your heavy boots. Two sets of good green tunics and trousers should be more than enough. In addition to learning from Majer Altyrn, you’ll be doing the duties a son would be doing. The experience will be good for you.”

“Yes, ser.” And you and Lephi will be happy that troublesome Lerial is out of sight and out of mind. Lerial stands, inclines his head politely, and then makes his way to the sideboard. The melon slices are pomats, juicy but small and not quite bitter, and definitely not his favorites, and the fresh bread is rye, rather than the dark sweet loaves he prefers, but the molasses has to be saved for other uses. That, he knows. There are a few slices of ham, though, and he takes one. He isn’t all that hungry anymore.

When he turns back to the table, his father is standing by his chair.

“I have to leave, Lerial. We need to inspect the irrigation works on the West Branch, and that will take all day. I want to get back in time for dinner, though.”

“Lephi’s going with you?”

“He is. Assuming you learn something in the next year or so, you’ll be doing the same when you’re his age.”

Next year or so? Lerial tries not to swallow. Exiled for a year because you don’t like Lephi’s arrogance?

“Believe me, son. This is for the best.”

Best for whom? Lerial manages a nod. “I hope all goes well with the irrigation works.”

After his father leaves the breakfast room, Lerial seats himself and looks at his platter. Belatedly, he realizes something else. It wasn’t what he’d done the evening before. His father has said he’d talked matters over with his mother, Emerya, and that he’d made arrangements with the majer. All that couldn’t have been done since yesterday. Teilyn is a two-day ride.

They’ve been planning this for days … weeks. He looks toward the empty doorway. Could Lephi have maneuvered it all? From what Lerial had seen, that wasn’t impossible. Far from it.

Finally, he takes one of the melon slices. It tastes bitter, but he doubts that is just the melon.