Imager's challenge

50

I did sleep on Vendrei night. The gray drizzle that greeted me when I woke on Samedi morning and looked out my window wasn’t cheering. On the other hand, when I stopped outside the dining hall and picked up the newsheets, I was gratified to see that while there were stories about the Temple explosion, the stories blamed the Tiempran priests and only noted that patrollers from the Third District had captured the priests and others involved in the explosion. That would change when I appeared at the hearing, as I suspected I would, but for now, few knew, and that was for the best.

Even more cheering was that no one was at the masters’ table at breakfast except Isola when I arrived. I sat down beside her gratefully.

“Thank you for your words last night.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled warmly, and genuinely, not that she wasn’t always genuine. “You were upset. I could tell.”

“I was.” I filled my mug with tea, then took a sip before saying more. “I knew that it would be wrong to attack the taudis-dwellers. I mean, that something terrible would happen, but I couldn’t persuade the colonel. Even Harraf could see I knew. That’s one of the few times he’s listened, but the colonel wouldn’t listen to either of us.”

“That’s one of the problems with being a military officer,” she replied. “In combat, you can’t hesitate. Many of them can’t break that habit when they’re not dealing with out-and-out warfare, not unless you can lay out absolute proof. Dealing with people, even mobs, takes a different set of skills.” She shook her head. “I don’t think anyone could have changed the colonel’s mind.”

“I can tell myself that, but . . . I still keep trying to come up with what I might have said.”

“That’s why there is a covert branch of the Collegium. That’s also why it must be small.”

I understood the first; I wasn’t sure I understood the second.

“There’s always the temptation to think we know better, that our way is better, that everyone else doesn’t see what is obvious to us. Our way usually is better, but that doesn’t matter if people fear and distrust us to the point where they would do anything to destroy us. With a small covert branch, things do happen, but they don’t happen to many people, and the people to whom they happen usually deserve them. Even when people aren’t sure about that, there’s enough distrust of those who are well off and powerful that people are likely to think there must have been a reason. That works only so long as people don’t think it could happen to them, and it can’t with a few handfuls of covert imagers.” She paused. “If they’re careful.”

That made sense.

“You pose another problem, though. Covert imagers have great individual powers. You have to have them to survive. We have to let you have them so that we can survive.”

“I feel like everyone wants me to resolve things, but they don’t like the way I do things, but can’t suggest a better way, at least not until after I’ve acted.”

“It’s always that way when people have great abilities. You’ll learn to live with that. You have a greater problem than that, Rhenn.” Her voice turned sad, yet sympathetic. “What happens when an imager’s powers are too great to conceal? Does he refuse to act, because it will make him and the Collegium a target? Does he limit his power, when that limit will assure that others die? Or does he act and endanger all that generations of imagers have striven to build?”

“You make it sound like I have that kind of power.”

“I think you do, but if you don’t, you will.”

I wanted to ask how she knew, but decided against it. Instead, I said, “Do you have any suggestions for how to deal with that?”

“No matter what you do, when great power is applied, people get hurt. Even when you’re right, people will get hurt. Sometimes, when you’re wrong, fewer get hurt in the short run, but more over time. But”-she drew out the word-“most of the time, failing to use power at all ends up hurting people worse. That’s something that some fail to understand. And that’s all I want to say about it.”

“Thank you, anyway.” I laughed softly. “How are the fried cakes?”

“Quite good. They’re not even soggy this morning.”

Later, as I left the dining hall, hurrying through the drizzle, I considered what Isola had said. I thought I’d already known it, but it helped to have someone else say it. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had known I knew, but had said what she had to help me sort things out. It was also clear that she did not see quite eye-to-eye on the issues of power with either Master Dichartyn or Maitre Poincaryt.

I reached the studio a good two quints before eighth glass and immediately set to work on those sections of Rholyn’s portrait that I could complete without him being present. He arrived promptly as the bells were chiming the glass.

“Good morning, Rhenn.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“How are you coming on the portrait?”

“I’ll try to finish what I need from you today. If you wouldn’t mind standing again?”

Master Rholyn put one foot on the crate and turned his head.

“A touch back to the left, if you would.”

“Like this?”

“Good. Thank you.”

I needed to sharpen his jawline, and his right ear, and that’s where I started. I didn’t say anything for a good quint, just painted.

“You can relax for a moment, sir.” I had to change the tint of the skin next to his eye, and I didn’t have the right umber.

Rholyn shook himself, loosening his shoulders. “I understand that the Temple explosion happened where you were patrolling.”

“Not exactly. It was near the round I was helping with.” I added a touch of umber to the palette.

“You know, Rhenn, too many strange things happen around you. That’s not good for the Collegium. The Collegium has survived by being unobtrusive, by not flaunting power or suggesting mystery.”

“I understand that, sir. What happened yesterday would have happened whether I had been there or not. Without my cautions, more would have died, and without my searching the taudis, no one would have any proof of what happened and how.”

“All that is true. Is it all for the good? Doubtless the hearing will reveal the Tiempran presence in the taudis. That will require that we exact some penance or cost from the Tiemprans. To do so will result in the Caenenans feeling vindicated, and that will create greater friction and conflict in Otelyrn.” He shrugged. “The Council may feel that matters would have been better had the Tiemprans not been implicated.”

“If they were not, sir, the marines would have attacked the taudis, and even more taudis-dwellers would have been killed and injured.”

“That is doubtless so. But how many more in Solidar will die because we must do something to demonstrate to the Tiemprans that they cannot foment disruption in L’Excelsis? And how many councilors will wish that you had not brought that aspect of matters to their attention? How will that affect the Collegium?”

All of what he said made sense, unhappily. It also suggested that there was no end to anything, because no matter what anyone did, someone somewhere would react adversely, leading to more violence and death somewhere else. “Less than positively, sir, I am certain. Yet I would have difficulty in not trying to protect those who would have been hurt or killed through no fault of their own, save that of being poor and with fewer abilities.”

“There are powerless innocents who always die. That is not the question.”

“What is, sir?”

“The real question is what is necessary to preserve the government that offers all citizens the greatest protections and opportunities. Unless one preserves the structure, all protections and opportunities will vanish, except for the powerful.”

“I can see that, sir.” I could also see that we did not agree totally on what constituted that structure, because, limited as they were, the taudis-dwellers were still part of L’Excelsis and Solidar, but I pushed away those thoughts for the moment and concentrated on the portrait. “If you wouldn’t mind resuming that position . . .”

Rholyn did so silently.

I actually worked until a quint past ninth glass before I finally looked up. “Thank you.”

“Is it finished?”

“It’s not quite finished, but I won’t need you to sit anymore. I would like you to come by next Samedi and see it before it’s framed.”

“Might I look?” For the first time, he sounded deferential.

“Of course.” I stepped away from the easel.

Rholyn walked around and stood about two yards back from the canvas. He didn’t say anything for a time, then turned. “It’s accurate, if not so flattering as it might be, but far less severe than it could have been.” He nodded. “I thank you.”

Once Master Rholyn left, I went back to work on his waistcoat, touching up some details that had bothered me, and then on his trousers. All in all, it was less than a quint before noon when I finished cleaning up. I never liked to mix the pigments for one portrait for those used for another. It was too easy to slip into similar colorations.

Then I hurried to the dining hall, where I ate alone at the masters’ table. I could see Shault, sitting with Lieryns and some other primes, and he didn’t seem withdrawn. For that, I was grateful.

After eating, since the drizzle had stopped even if the clouds remained, I wandered toward the Bridge of Hopes, where I needed to meet Seliora, but I reached there well before first glass. I almost took a seat on one of the stone benches before realizing that it was so wet that my trousers would have been soaked through.

I couldn’t help but think about what Master Rholyn had said. He and Master Dichartyn were saying the same thing, if in different ways. Master Dichartyn was basically saying that anything I did had to be invisible because visibility would hurt the Collegium. Master Rholyn was saying that innocents should be sacrificed for the good of Solidar. In both arguments, the implication was the same-the individual mattered far less than either Solidar or the Collegium. While that was certainly true, the corollary was that the individual mattered not at all, except in service to the larger group . . . and that I could not accept.

Just before first glass, a hack pulled up on the east side of the river, and three figures emerged-Seliora, Odelia, and Kolasyn. I stood and walked to the west end of the bridge.

After seeing me, Seliora hurried across the Bridge of Hopes, even though the drizzle had died away. Just before she reached me, she turned and waved to Odelia and Kolasyn. They reentered the coach, and the driver flicked the reins. She did not step toward me.

I moved to her and hugged her, but her response was almost perfunctory.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Is it your family? Or me?”

“How can I say? I feel . . .” She shook her head again.

“Do you know what’s happened this week?” I asked.

“With you, Rhenn . . .”

“How would you know? Is that it?” I wanted to laugh, and not happily, either.

She looked intently at me. “Will you tell me?”

“I will. I said I would.”

“Do we have to do the portrait today?”

“No. I wouldn’t want you to sit for it when you don’t feel right about it.” And it was clear she did not feel like sitting.

“Would you come home with me? This very moment?”

“Of course.” I took her arm.

“What about the paints?”

“I didn’t leave anything out that will harden or spoil. I can clean up the rest tomorrow morning.”

“You’re certain?”

I could sense the relief in her voice. “Very certain. Do you want to talk now?”

“No. At home.”

Whatever it was, it had to be serious if the independent Seliora didn’t wish to say anything except within the walls of NordEste Design. I wanted to ask what I’d done, but decided against that. Had she decided that I was not for her? Was it because she’d learned how I’d handled Alynat? Or the fact that I’d struck at Alynat first?

We walked back across the bridge. A long silent quint passed before we could get a hack, and the two quints before we reached Hagahl Lane were even quieter. Seliora refused to look at me. No one greeted us at the door, and Seliora unlocked it with a heavy brass key. After we stepped inside, she relocked it, then started up the steps to the second level. I had to hurry to catch up to her.

Betara met us at the top of the steps, and Seliora slipped away from me and stood beside her mother.

“We’re glad to see you’re all right,” Betara said. Her voice was even, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. “The newsheets said that only one patroller was killed when the Tiempran Temple exploded.”

“That . . . it was fortunate.”

“Was it mere fortune?” asked Betara, her voice still even.

“Not totally,” I admitted. “I had another farsight flash on Solayi night. I couldn’t tell when it would happen, only that it was in daylight. I let it be known the priests might have explosives. The captain wasn’t certain, but he kept the patrollers away. We tried to dissuade the naval marines, but they wouldn’t listen. The captain insisted that he and I observe. I had to use my shields to protect us.” My laugh was rueful. “I didn’t even want to save him.”

Betara nodded. “That might frighten him more than anything.” Her face turned somber. “You might like to know that so far there have been three people who our friends have had to vanish around your parents’ home.” Betara raised her eyebrows. “How did you know that they would attempt to attack your family? Was that farsight?”

I couldn’t not explain, not when Betara was using her contacts to protect my family. “No. Alynat-that’s Ryel’s nephew-died on Meredi when the wheel bearings froze on his racing trap. After I’d done that, I had the feeling that something might happen to my sister. There weren’t any flashes. I’m not in a position to protect her. I don’t know if Seliora told you why I can’t stay there at night . . .”

Betara nodded, reserving judgment.

I gave a ragged smile. “I’ve always wanted to ask for Seliora’s hand. But I couldn’t risk letting anyone know until I finish dealing with Ryel. For that to work out right, I had to start with Alynat, not Ryel or Dulyk.” I knew Betara and Seliora would understand that, given the chain of inheritance for High Holders. “But I’m not done. I can’t be.”

I could see consternation and relief mixing in Seliora’s eyes.

Betara smiled, warmly, actually. Then she nodded. “I thought that might be what you had in mind.” She glanced to her daughter, then laughed softly. “He’s Pharsi inside and out. By finding someone who didn’t seem to have the blood, dear, you found one who was more so than any man in the family.”

That chilled me, even as I had to accept what she was saying.

Betara’s eyes went back to me. “When?”

I understood what she wanted. I shook my head. “The dangerous parts will be over before Year-Turn, one way or another, but no one except us-and Shelim-should know until Ryel’s successor is confirmed.” If what I had planned worked, if nothing else came to pass that might upset those plans . . . and if I survived my own plans.

“His successor?” asked Seliora.

“His holding will have a successor, one way or the other, according to law. I have to make certain that the successor is someone not bound to continue against me and my family.”

“I understand.” Betara nodded. “It might be best if our precautions continue for a time.”

“I cannot thank you enough.” And I couldn’t. But in time, I’d end up repaying all that had been done for me. I knew that, and Betara knew I knew, and so did Seliora.

I also knew one other thing. “How is Grandmama Diestra?”

“She is weak . . . but she will see Seliora wed. She has seen that.” Betara offered an expression somewhere between rue and apology. “She saw-before anyone-that you were to be trusted, that you would do what was necessary.”

“Farsight?”

Betara smiled crookedly. “And intuition. She has always had faith in you.”

“Even when I didn’t deserve it, I expect.”

Betara almost nodded. Almost.

“Since I met her, I have never looked at anyone but Seliora with love.” I forced a grin. “Or even lust.”

They did both smile.

“We need to see Grandmama,” Seliora said.

“Where is she?”

“In the plaques room upstairs. The stairs are getting hard for her.”

“She is expecting you,” Betara said, adding after a pause, “Both of you.”

I did reach out and take Seliora’s hand. She let me, and we walked to the staircase leading to the upper level. Narrow as the steps were, we walked side by side.

Seliora stopped on the landing between floors and turned to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her words were gentle.

“I thought you knew. I’d said that it wouldn’t be over until there were no male heirs. You acted as though you knew. I didn’t want to say more than I had to. I didn’t want you any more involved than absolutely necessary. All that I ever asked for-in words-was to borrow the mare. I wanted to protect you as much as I could.”

“Please . . . don’t protect me out of your life. It is, and will be, my life, too.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

Then we were in each other’s arms, just holding tight.

While we would have liked to stay there for longer than we did, we needed to see Grandmama Diestra. We made our way up the last steps and across the far smaller upper hall.

Diestra was the only one in the plaques room, sitting at the single table. She set down the deck of plaques, leaving a pattern of placques on the dark blue felt. “Join me, children.”

I took the chair to her right, and Seliora sat down across from me.

Diestra’s eyes took in Seliora.

“You were right,” she said. “He was trying to protect me.”

Diestra looked to me.

“It was my fault. I didn’t tell her enough so that she understood.”

“Life is always a balance, and the stronger two who are a couple each are, the more they must seek that balance, or they will destroy each other.”

That was clearly an evenhanded reprimand. Accurate as it was, it didn’t bother me nearly so much as had some of those delivered by Master Dichartyn.

“There is one other thing.” She paused. “It matters as much why something is done as what is done. Mercy or forbearance in return for true evil is not virtue; it is disaster. Condemning the killing of those who have murdered and created great suffering and who would continue to do so is an exercise in empty righteousness. Yet there are always those who would judge without sullying their hands, and for that reason, much that is done must remain unspoken and unacknowledged.”

From what I’d seen, Grandmama Diestra was all too right, and too often the Collegium was too forbearing.

Diestra swept up the plaques from the table, then shuffled the deck, her short fingers still nimble. “Life is akin to many things. Sometimes, it is a melody, sometimes a year with seasons, but when people are involved, it is most like a game of plaques. Some are able to play, while others are merely played. Always be the player.” She smiled. “Except with each other. Never play the other, and never suffer yourself to be played.”

I didn’t think I’d ever heard how a couple should treat each other put more succinctly.

Diestra looked at me once more. “Seliora is the only one you will ever be able to trust fully. Do not forget that.” Then she turned to her granddaughter. “Rhenn is trustworthy, more so than anyone. Do not assume the worst because he has not told you something. Just ask, gently. He will tell you.”

The last words, although addressed to Seliora, were really meant for me, and the quick sidelong look Diestra gave me emphasized that.

After a moment, Grandmama Diestra shuffled the plaques and laid out a pattern on the dark blue felt. “You two have better things to do than to keep me company. Or you should have. I’ve said what I will.”

I inclined my head. “Thank you.”

Seliora reached out and took her grandmother’s hands. She didn’t say anything, just squeezed them, but her eyes were bright.

Shortly, we rose and left Diestra pondering over a form of solitaire I’d never seen before.

Once we stood in the upper hallway, I turned to Seliora. “What would you like to do with the rest of the afternoon?”

“Could we . . . just talk? Aunt Aegina has a special dinner planned.”

“Planned in advance as either condolence or celebration?”

“Grandmama said it would be fine . . . she said everyone should celebrate and that they all worried too much.”

“Not everyone else was that certain,” I said teasingly.

“Bhenyt was. He said that no one who’d been shot at as many times as you had in coming to see me would ever hurt me. He also said that no one else ever looked at me the way you did.”

Bhenyt? “I would never have guessed.”

“He sees more than he lets on.”

“Another Pharsi trait.”

Seliora tilted her head, and a hint of that mischievous smile appeared. “By that token, you are more Pharsi than anyone here.”

I shrugged helplessly, then laughed, knowing that I would enjoy the rest of the afternoon and evening. The worries and concerns would return, as they always would, but for the next few glasses, I would enjoy the moments.