Magi'i of Cyador

XLVII

LORN STUDIES THE city from the fourth-level portico of his parents’ dwelling, watching the morning winter sun create shimmers that dance across the harbor and the Great Western Ocean farther to the south. Yet to Lorn’s eyes, the white city does not seem so vibrant as usual. Is it because of the winter-gray leaves … or the absence of the green and white awnings, furled for the winter … or because he sees it differently?

The air is still, cool but warming as the sun climbs.

Sensing someone approaching, he turns to see the round-faced servant-Sylirya-carrying a small basket. She inclines her head to him.

“Good day, Sylirya.”

“Good day, ser.”

Lorn peers at the basket.

“Brushes and caustic, ser. To clean the tiles on the rear portico.”

“That’s a hard job. Mother used to give it to us when we were children.” Lorn half-smiles at the memory, then adds, “Well … I won’t keep you.”

He steps back to let Sylirya pass and get to her duties, then turns and begins to walk back toward the stairs down to his chamber. The door to his father’s study is open, and Kien stands there, a polished white oak walking stick in his hand.

“Oh … I thought you would have been in the Quarter,” Lorn says.

“I was about to leave.” The older man gives a self-deprecating smile. “At my age, I have some small leeway. Vernt left much earlier.”

“Are you all right?” Lorn studies his father, but can sense nothing overtly wrong-except that the core of order-chaosthat sustains each individual does not seem so strong as he has recalled.

“I’m fine except that I’m not as young I once was.”

Lorn senses the shading of the truth, but lets the words pass.

“You’re still seeing that merchanter woman, aren’t you.” Kien’elth’s words are not a question.

“You know the answer to that, father. Why do you ask?”

“I worry. All parents do, even when their children are grown.”

“She has been most helpful and supportive.” Lorn’s lips twist. “As a lancer, I’m not exactly sought after by those families with whose daughters I grew up.”

“There are many honorable lancer families,” Kien points out. “More than a few women have talked to your mother.”

Lorn shrugs. “I think it best that any such talk wait for a successful completion of my next duty assignment.”

“Perhaps … a successful consorting might prove useful.”

Lorn’s stomach twists, but he offers a smile. “That might well be, but that would present merely another set of dangers in years to come.”

“Your … friend … has done well, Lorn, but she’s not from an established house, and all she has gathered could be scattered in an instant. There is no house to back her.”

“That is true.”

Kien’s eyes narrow before he speaks. “You will break off the relation. After you return to duty, of course.”

“I can only do as I sense best, father.”

Kien’elth winces visibly. His arms move, as if to raise the walking stick, but instead he but taps it on the floor tiles. After a moment, he says, “Vernt is seeing a lovely young woman.”

“I wish him well.” Lorn smiles. “He deserves a lovely young woman.”

“You are treading a dangerous path, Lorn.”

The lancer captain offers a lazy smile. “How dangerous is doing my duty as a lancer? Or seeing a woman who is a talented merchanter?”

Kien clears his throat, once, twice. Then he shakes his head. “Your mother and I have tried to follow the path of prosperous chaos, following the Light, and setting an example.”

Lorn holds a sigh. How can he explain without giving away what he dares not put in words? “I appreciate that, and all you have done for me, and all that you have done that you do not think I know or understand. You gave me an extra year at the Academy for Magi’i, one others would not have gotten. You allowed me to grow in ways that were necessary and that you doubted. You respected my opinion about Myryan.” He pauses. “Please do not think that I do not understand, nor that I do not appreciate all that.”

Kien looks at Lorn for a long time before speaking, as if he, too, must consider his words most carefully. “I can sense your appreciation, and for that I also am grateful. Yet, as a senior Lector who has been privileged in my life to see and to hear much, and to serve Cyador to the best of my poor abilities, I cannot but worry about your not being able to use your talents where they will be most accepted and appreciated in the years ahead.”

Lorn nods. “I, too, would like that, and in my own way, I will be striving for such. Perhaps I should be even more judicious in my conduct over the seasons to come.” He smiles. “But I would hope, with the strain of the duties that face me, none would gainsay my poor efforts to take some comfort while on my home leave.”

A wry smile crosses Kien’s face. “I will suggest to any who inquire that after three years fighting barbarians, you do indeed merit some comfort. You are young for a lancer captain, and many will appreciate your words when that is pointed out. On your next leave, then, we will look forward to seeing a consort in keeping with your achievements and honor.”

Lorn returns the smile. “That would be most acceptable, father, most acceptable.”

Kien frowns, then shakes his head. Finally, he laughs.“Your lack of reservation is so honest that it takes me by surprise.”

Lorn spreads his hands helplessly. “I do listen.”

“When you wish.” Another headshake follows. “I must go, but I am relieved that we have talked.”

“So am I.”

Lorn walks down the steps with his father. Then standing on the steps outside the privacy screen, he watches as the older magus walks briskly westward toward the Quarter. A faint smile plays across Lorn’s lips as he thinks about the consort who he knows is appropriate to his needs and accomplishments.