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46

The next week and a half gradually got harder and harder, both in terms of my lessons with Master Dichartyn and the interrogations that resulted from those studies; the exercises required by Clovyl, which were designed to increase my strength and stamina without straining unduly my recovering injuries; and the sessions with Maitre Dyana.

I thought about Seliora, more than a little, but generally during the day, because I was so tired at night that I fell asleep quickly.

Maitre Dyana had me read and memorize a set of handwritten notes and observations on High Holders, and then she would quiz me. On the first Jeudi in Juyn, she took the notes back. “By now, you should understand that conversation is more than mere words. It is a combination of inflections, innuendos, gestures, and dry wit. Few not born into that culture ever master the intricacy of conversing well in that style, but someone such as you could certainly learn enough to interpret what lies beyond the words.”

“Especially as a merchant-born young man never expected to be more than an aide?”

She ignored my question, clearly deeming it rhetorical and unworthy of a reply. “The difficulty faced by the High Holders is that many of them equate intricacy and complexity with intelligence. The difficulty faced by those who do not understand intricacy and nonverbal complexity is that they often cannot distinguish between mere complexity for the sake of complexity and complexity that masks motives and intelligence often far greater than is usually encountered.”

I thought for a moment. “The more powerful High Holders would not remain so without both wealth and intelligence, but the web of complexity that veils all High Holders can shield the actions of the more intelligent and deadly, often until it is too late to discern the pattern and results.”

“Dichartyn believes you can see beyond the complexity.” Maitre Dyana raised her right eyebrow, a gesture far more effective than words could have been.

“You have great doubts, but you’re willing to make the attempt.” I smiled politely. “I can’t do a gesture like that, but even if I could, wouldn’t it be out of character for a man?”

“For any man thought to be interested in women.”

I had doubts that I’d be terribly convincing as any other type of man.

“Maintain that pleasant, close-to-but-not-quite-supercilious smile through everything, young Rhennthyl, and it will save you many words and much difficulty. Do not ever forget that on their actual holding, High Holders retain the rights of low justice, and that can be quite painful.” Her face changed slightly, in a manner I could not have described, but could certainly have painted, and there was pleasant interest, behind which was a hint of cold predation.

“Is that the expression one receives just after swallowing poison or getting a knife in the back?”

“No.” Her voice was sweetly pleasant. “That is the expression used when someone has just received word that they have ruined you. It’s an expression of triumph over someone who used to be an equal. The High Holders seldom kill each other . . . or those who have done them great wrong. That is far too kind.”

What was left unsaid was that a High Holder who did not dispose of an underling who needed it was considered weak, as was one who actually had to attempt to kill an equal, rather than ruining him and his family. But it also suggested that High Holder Ryel might well have worse in mind for me than assassination . . . and over a long time.

Her face changed again. Now, behind the smile lay contemptuous pity.

“That’s disposal of inferiors?”

“Good.”

That was my introduction to the conversational patterns of the High Holders, but Maitre Dyana was just beginning. At the end of our session, she handed me a book. “This is a novel. Read it. Part of it is accurate. Part is not. We will discuss it on Mardi.”

That was on top of Master Dichartyn’s latest assignment-to describe with a supporting proof the easiest ways to enter the Council Chateau and reach the private studies of the councilors without being detected. I had the feeling that the weekend would be long, both because of the work I had to do . . . and because I would not be seeing Seliora.

Messenger/Guard