Scion of Cyador

CXI

Ryalth pats her hair into place as the hired carriage rolls eastward along the Road of Perpetual Light, past the Sixth Harbor Way East. “I still wonder why the invitation was sent to Ryalor House.”

“First, because it is a social occasion, and second,” Lorn continues, “because a lady trader who heads a house is more important than a mere junior majer in the Mirror Lancers.”

“You will turn my head with such words.” She puts out a hand to steady herself as the carriage turns uphill.

“I do hope so.”

“You don’t think Jerial minds taking care-”

“If Jerial minded,” Lorn says dryly, “we’d both know it.”

“Yes. We would.” Ryalth laughs. She shakes her head. “I still can’t believe that Rustyl had the nerve to ask her if she would be his consort when he had already asked Ceyla.”

“He didn’t ask that seriously. He did it to try to upset her, and me.”

“He picked the wrong healer for that,” Ryalth says. “If it had been Myryan…”

Lorn nods. “I’m glad it wasn’t.”

“I can see why you don’t care for him.”

“He still could be dangerous with Chyenfel supporting him.”

“Only because his mistakes will hurt innocent people.” Ryalth snorts.

Lorn isn’t sure. Rustyl is far from stupid, and what appears to be a stupid maneuver must have a deeper purpose. Lorn just can’t figure out what it might be, unless it’s a blunt attempt to force Lorn to act against Rustyl. Or one designed to show utter contempt…which may be the most likely explanation of all, Lorn reflects.

The hired carriage rolls to a stop opposite the gate of sunstone sculpted into the semblance of a bower wreath. Behind and to the west of the stone flowers of the gate-wreath rises a three-story dwelling. Gate and house are just west of the corner where the Ninth Way East meets the Road of Prosperity. Liataphi’s three-story house is but two blocks from the one Lorn had grown up in-now inhabited by Vernt and Mycela.

As she steps from the carriage, Ryalth looks down at the wide blue shimmercloth trousers, the white shirt, and the green-trimmed blue vest and blue boots she wears. Then she glances at Lorn. “How do I look?”

“Wonderful.”

“You say that because you love me.”

“I love you, but you still look wonderful.” Lorn looks to the coachman. “It will doubtless be well after dark.”

“You’ve paid handsomely, ser,” replies the balding driver. “I’ll be here. Be much easier on me than driving all over Cyad.”

The two step through the gate and up the halfscore of steps to the outside privacy screen, where Lorn rings the bell.

Almost immediately, Lorn hears the door open, and the broad-shouldered Liataphi steps around the screen and bows. “Welcome. Do come in. Tyrsal and Aleyar are already up in the sitting room.” He bows again to Ryalth. “Lady trader, all have remarked upon your abilities, but none have mentioned your beauty.”

“Thank you.” Ryalth flushes slightly.

Lorn smiles.

“You are most fortunate, Lorn, to have a consort of talent and beauty.”

“I am, and even more fortunate that she was kind enough to accept me as a consort when I asked.”

“As I recall, your father was surprised. Pleasantly so, but surprised.” Liataphi nods. “We should not be talking down here. Do come along.”

As they follow the Third Magus up the circular stone staircase, Lorn murmurs, “I said that you looked wonderful.”

“You were right, but it’s pleasant to hear it from someone else.”

The redheaded Tyrsal rises from the settee as Lorn and Ryalth step through the archway. “Greetings.”

Aleyar rises and bows to Ryalth, then to Lorn. The older and white-haired woman, wearing a white-and-green shimmercloth tunic and trousers and sitting in the armchair to the right of the healer, nods pleasantly.

“This is my consort Lleya,” Liataphi says. “You know Tyrsal and Aleyar, of course.”

“We’re pleased to meet you, Lady Lleya,” offers Ryalth.

“I would appreciate it greatly if you would do away with honorifics,” Lleya says warmly. “We must deal with them all too much away from home.”

Lorn and Ryalth seat themselves on the second settee, upholstered in white and green.

“You are a healer?” Lorn asks Lleya.

“I no longer go to the infirmary, for there are others, like Aleyar and your sisters, who are far better than I.”

“She’s still good,” Aleyar affirms.

“My most loyal daughter.”

“Most accurate,” Liataphi says. “Were you a poor healer, she would have said nothing.”

“Healing takes more energy as one ages.” Lleya touches her snow-white hair. “So I work with the herbs in my garden. I do have a special kind of brinn. I’ve managed twenty generations of it, and each more powerful than the last.”

“Your astra is also good,” Aleyar adds.

“Before we have dinner, Lorn, Ryalth…there is one thing.” Tyrsal turns slightly red. “Outside of the families, you should be the first to know. Aleyar has consented to be my consort.”

“That’s wonderful,” Lorn says, feeling fully the warm smile that spreads across his face.

“I’m so glad for you two,” Ryalth adds.

Tyrsal glances at Lorn, but Lorn just smiles.

Tyrsal still flushes.

“You two!” Ryalth chides the younger men.

Lorn flushes and manages to swallow a laugh. “My apologies, my dear. And to you, Aleyar.”

“Whatever it is, you two rascals should bury it,” Lleya mock-scolds.

“If we don’t,” Lorn replies, “my lady trader is likely to bury me.”

Tyrsal laughs. “She’s the only one ever to get the better of you.”

“And I hope I’m wise enough to remember that,” Lorn counters.

“On those words, perhaps we should move to the dining area,” suggests Lleya, rising from her chair.

“Excellent idea,” seconds Liataphi.

Lorn and Ryalth sit together on one side of the table, with Aleyar and Tyrsal on the other side, and Liataphi and Lleya on each end.

“This is a mild and traditional lamb loaf in lemon citron sauce,” Lleya says, “with grass-rice and chopped quilla.”

Lorn has never been that fond of quilla, but he helps himself to the rice and quilla, as well as the lamb, and is surprised to find that however the normally oily root has been prepared, has left it merely tangy and mild and a complement to the slight bitterness of the dark grass-rice. “This is excellent.”

“Very good,” Tyrsal adds.

“If the recipe is not a family secret…?” Ryalth ventures.

“Oh…I’d be happy to share it with you,” Lleya says. “Or Aleyar can show you. She prepares it as well as I do-perhaps better.”

“As well…if I am fortunate,” says the blonde healer.

Lorn takes another chunk of the sun-nut bread, ignoring Ryalth’s knowing smile. “I cannot say how much we appreciate the invitation. After so many years of being away from Cyad, it is so good to be able to dine with friends and their family. I was always here such a short time, that we scarcely saw more than my family.”

“I was so sorry to hear about your parents,” Lleya says. “They were such good people, and both will be missed far more than most will ever know.”

“Thank you,” Lorn says. “I miss them. I was lucky to have them.” He inclines his head to Ryalth. “My lady was not so fortunate. Her parents perished in a shipwreck when she was a child.”

Lleya nods. “That is hard.”

“I wondered…” Tyrsal says, “but I didn’t wish to intrude.”

“My father was a merchanter in Fyrad,” Ryalth says. “Then I came here to live with my aunt. She died the year before I met Lorn.”

“You two have known each other for a long time, have you not?” asks Lleya. “You act that way. Or are you so well-known to each other by closeness of spirit?”

“Both,” Lorn says quickly. “I met Ryalth when I was still a student magus. It took me a time to appreciate her as fully as I now do.”

Lleya glances at Ryalth, as if asking for the redhead’s view.

Ryalth laughs, gently. “I fear it also took me much time to appreciate him. I also did not think it appropriate to encourage a magus. Or even a Mirror Lancer.”

“But he obviously persisted,” replies Lleya.

“There was no one else to compare to her. For me, there still is not,” Lorn says.

“That’s true,” Tyrsal says. “I didn’t know who she was when we were students, and later, but he never looked at anyone else.”

After a moment of silence, Lleya glances at Lorn. “Isn’t it rather strange for you to be on the personal staff of the Majer-Commander…” The older woman shakes her head. “I am afraid that did not come out the way I intended. What I meant is that you have accomplished a great deal very young, and most of those with whom you work in Mirror Lancer Court are far older. Does that not seem strange?”

“I can’t say that I’ve had the time to think of that,” Lorn says. “I knew I would probably be the youngest officer there, and the most junior, and what I do is basically make matters easier for the Majer-Commander. I take notes at meetings and follow up with the other officers to make sure that the material the Majer-Commander wants is supplied.” He shrugs. “It’s a job for a junior majer. You have to know enough to understand what he needs and wants, and be young enough not to worry about running errands.”

Liataphi chuckles. “Would that some first- and second-level adepts-not you, Tyrsal-understood such.”

Lleya turns to Ryalth. “I am sure everyone asks you what it is like to be a lady trader, when there are and have been so few. I would rather ask, if I might, what advantages being a woman provides.”

“No one has asked that.” Ryalth tilts her head, as if pondering. “I would judge several. Caution is one, for a woman can make fewer errors, and so, I learned caution early. That I am a woman allows me greater caution, when often, were I a man, others might question my resolve.” Ryalth smiles. “Thus, I can plead caution where a trade is unwise, and still be bold where boldness is necessary.”

“Do you think more caution is needed in these days?” asks Liataphi.

“Greater care, I would judge,” Ryalth says.

“In trade or in dealing with other traders?” The eyes of the Third Magus betray a slight twinkle.

“Both.” Ryalth takes a sip of the wine. “The fortunes of trade are changing, and that means some houses will benefit, and others will not.”

“How is trade changing?” asks Tyrsal. “Cyador produces the same goods it always has, and is not that true of other lands?”

“Hydlen has had a most dry year, but last year they had a surplus of crops when there was a blight in Hamor. So coins are plentiful in Hydlen. Many factors are scurrying to purchase contracts on the exchange, knowing that grains and dried fruits will bring more. The larger growers know this as well, and they will not sell at last year’s prices. But the Emperor raised the tariffs on goods and grains leaving Cyador.” Ryalth shakes her head. “Many will lose on such wagers.”

“What would you do?”

“I already purchased some few contracts on foods that will not ship well, such as pearapples and the softer white corn-wheat.”

Tyrsal laughs. “Because everyone will be shipping the other to Hydlen, and the prices of what remains will rise?”

“One wagers so.” Ryalth shrugs. “I doubt I will lose, but there could be storms, or floods, or eightdays of hot dry winds from tomorrow until harvest. That is why I have been more cautious than some.”

“Is Tasjan one of those who would trade in Hydlen?” inquires Liataphi.

“He might. The Dyjani trade everywhere, and he has many ships, both for the coastal trade and the long-haul ocean vessels.”

“He is said to plan for years into the future,” says Liataphi. “Or so I have heard. Unlike those of Bluyet House, who apparently rely upon the use of golds where golds should not be used.”

“That trait has served them ill in the past several years,” Ryalth says.

“Will Vyanat’mer take clan status from them?”

“I doubt he will do such,” Ryalth replies. “He has not spoken to me or any I know about such. The Dyjani continue to strengthen their ships and coffers, as do the Yuryan Clan, as you must know. Because Vyanat’mer is of the Hyshrah, all that his house does is watched most closely. So he would not wish to strengthen his rivals by casting down Bluyet House.” Ryalth shrugs. “That could happen, but I would not wager my golds on that.”

Liataphi nods. “Nor I. A wise observation.”

Ryalth looks to Aleyar. “Have you two set a date for the consorting ceremony?”

“The fourth eightday after the turn of fall, we think. We will know in a day or two. Mother wanted to see if her sisters will be able to travel from Summerdock then.”

“Aleyar was always their favorite, and this will be the first formal consorting we’ve seen.”

Lorn nods, understanding all too well the events hidden behind those words.

“You will be coming, will you not?” asks Aleyar, looking at Ryalth.

“We will be there,” Ryalth says.

“If…if the Majer-Commander does not send me somewhere,” Lorn adds. “He hasn’t said anything, but I am a Mirror Lancer.”

“Ryalth will be there,” Aleyar says. “And Jerial and Myryan will be at the dinner.”

Lorn smiles. “I will do my best.”

“You had better,” Tyrsal says with a laugh.

Ryalth smiles.

“Now…for dessert,” Lleya announces, as two serving girls begin to remove the platters and dishes from the table, “we are having peach cake with a special glaze.”

Ryalth glances at Lorn and smiles.

He smiles back sheepishly.