Princeps

37

Quaeryt had thought he might sleep late on Solayi morning, but he woke up with the first light. Because Vaelora was still sleeping, he lay there and thought about what else he needed to add to his report to Bhayar. He couldn’t help but wonder and worry about whether Kharst had attacked Ferravyl … and how soon Bhayar would need Third Regiment, especially since the Civic Patrol wasn’t ready to take over full patrolling duties in all parts of Extela.

He was still thinking about all the additions to his report when she woke.

“It would be so nice to wake up in a real bedchamber,” she said with a yawn.

“Before long…” he said quietly.

“Longer than I wish to think about, dearest. There is so much to do.”

“There’s been so much to do for both of us,” he pointed out.

“I should have gone to the market squares yesterday. Until life is better, the people should see me.”

“You can’t do everything.”

“No, but some of them have so little. At times, it bothers me that I’m concerned about furnishing and setting up a villa when even these quarters are so much better than what they have.”

The sadness and wistfulness in her voice moved Quaeryt, and he said, “You can’t stay here forever, and someone has to rebuild a place for us and for the governors to come.” After a moment he added, “It’s better to purchase an existing villa, because I’ll still need to build a place to house a justicing hall and studies and chambers for those who serve Lord Bhayar and the governor.” His eyes were drawn to her … again.

She sat up in the bed and yawned once more, before looking at him. “Stop staring,” she added, not quite sharply.

“Can’t I appreciate how my wife looks?”

“You appreciated enough last night.”

Quaeryt offered a mock wince.

“That’s almost disrespect.”

They both laughed.

Later, they dressed and ate at the mess, another meal that had Quaeryt wishing for either their own kitchen or even the meals fixed by the officers’ mess in Tilbora. He supposed he could have gotten involved with the kitchens at the post, but that was just another problem … and one that was far from urgent, especially when he felt he didn’t have enough time to do everything that needed to be done. Then he escorted Vaelora back to their quarters before heading to his study to write out the final version of his report to Bhayar. Close to two glasses later he scurried across the courtyard through the drizzling rain to their quarters.

While Vaelora continued to go through her lists of what the villa needed, Quaeryt tried to think of something that he could offer as a homily. Finally, he eased away from the small writing desk and went out onto the balcony, where he stood looking out into the chill rain and the mist sweeping eastward into the post from the river, trying to think of something that would inspire and not sound worn with time and repetition.

How long he stood there, he wasn’t certain, but Vaelora seemed to appear beside him from nowhere.

“What are you doing out here? You’re just staring into the rain.”

“I don’t know what to say for the homily for services this evening,” he admitted. “I’ve been so busy trying to resolve this and that problem that when I finally have time to think … I can’t.”

“Talk about what you told me this morning,” she suggested.

“What was that?”

“You said I couldn’t do everything. Neither can you. Neither can most people. Life’s not about what we can’t do, but what we actually do.”

“I might be able to do something with that.”

She smiled. “I’m sure you can.”

Quaeryt finally did manage to find a way to tie what Vaelora had suggested into a passable homily, enough so that when he finally stood on the dais in the anomen facing the officers and men of the Third Tilboran Regiment, he could begin the homily without feeling that he was repeating something they had heard from others too many times.

“Under the Nameless all evenings are good, even those filled with rain and mist…” The slight pause he offered allowed for a few smiles before he continued. “All of us have been very busy the past weeks. We’ve been trying to make things work here in Extela, to keep order at a time of disorder. For all of our efforts, there are as many problems arising as we have resolved … so many tasks uncompleted, and even more that we have yet to begin …

“As I thought of all those undone tasks, it came to me that dwelling on what one has not done, or what one plans to do, but has not done … well … that it’s a form of Naming. Why might that be? Because we’re spending words in worrying about something that has no value. A deed not done is not a deed. It’s one thing to acknowledge what needs to be done. It’s another to fret and worry and talk endlessly about what has to be done. Spending time and words on nothing … if that isn’t Naming, then what is?

“We think of Naming in terms of vanity, of using words to lift ourselves above others or to gain an advantage over them by word-painting them as less than we are or ourselves as more than others. And those uses of words are indeed Naming. But what of those uses of words and thoughts that distract us from what we must do? We all know people who worry and fret and worry so much that the worries keep them from even trying to do what is necessary. In such instances, the words erect a barrier between a man and productive accomplishment … and they make that man less than he could be. Naming is not just an offense against others. It can also be an offense against ourselves and how much better we could be…”

It wasn’t one of Quaeryt’s better homilies, but what he’d said was indeed true enough.

He just hoped that his next homily was more inspiring, for both himself and the men of the post and the regiment.