Scion of Cyador

CXII

The spare and slender Toziel walks slowly into the robing room that adjoins his and the Empress’s bedchamber. There he slips off his outer robe of silver, carefully hanging it on the carved golden-oak frame that has served such a purpose for generations of Emperors. Then he removes his boots and walks toward the high bed. He uses the bed step to climb up.

He stretches out slowly, then murmurs. “Chaos-light, I’m tired.”

Leaning back on the pillows that are arranged to support him in a half-sitting, half-reclining position, he closes his eyes.

Ryenyel pulls a chair around to his side of the bed, and seats herself. “The audience was long. You should have stopped it sooner.”

“I know. I heard your cough.”

“I coughed but once,” she says. “That was a risk itself. I cannot help you, my dearest, if you will not heed my signals.”

“I dared not leave then, not when Chyenfel had just suggested that I might consider candidates for a new Hand,” Toziel ventures.

“Nor when Rynst asked for more Mirror Lancers? Nor when Vyanat questioned once more the source of the golds for those lancers…?” The Empress sighs. “There will always be such questions. They will last long after we are gone.”

“Long after I am, certainly.” Toziel’s voice reveals a self-deprecating dryness. “Yet still I must act as though I will be on the Malachite Throne longer than my advisors will be there to advise me.”

“You may have to be.”

“Why do you say such?” Toziel is the one to cough, almost doubling up in agony before he slowly leans back on the pillows once more.

Ryenyel waits until his breathing returns to a steady rhythm before she speaks. “Rustyl grows impatient. So does Luss, and Tasjan is gathering and paying armsmen, and his chief guard is developing his own contacts. Tasjan will soon have more trained armsmen near Cyad than there are lancers within two days’ travel.”

“And I should do nothing?”

“Dearest, you can but tell others. You have no Hand.”

“If I tell the Majer-Commander, then…” Toziel’s words fade.

“He will order in two companies of Mirror Lancers and put them under Majer Lorn, and the piers will run red with blood.”

“So…how can we get word to the lady trader who is the head of Ryalor House, and how do we make sure that the lancers are on their way?”

“Majer Lorn does not like to kill, but he will not hesitate if he thinks it necessary,” Ryenyel states.

“You have proof?” Toziel smiles wanly.

“My dear…what I know and what I can prove are not the same. It is most difficult to prove someone died with no body. The only killing he admits to is that of Majer Dettaur, and most would admit that was justified. The dead majer left too much in writing, and too many orders designed to kill young lancers in order to discredit Lorn. It has taken years to amass what I know, and there is nothing of substance to that, only rumors and words. There is no proof that Lorn killed a trader named Halthor when he was but a student, or Shevelt, or Majer Maran, or Sub-Majer Uflet, yet in all cases, except that of Shevelt, he was among the last to see each alive.”

“And Shevelt-I thought he was killed because he knew that Bluoyal was behind the sale of sabres to the Jeranyi…the plated sabre?”

Ryenyel shrugs. “It could be. It could also be that Shevelt had talked openly of forcing himself on Lady Ryalth to humble her, and that Shevelt died while young Lorn was in Cyad.”

“Or it could be that Kernys, or one of the smaller clan heads, made certain that young Lorn knew such…” Toziel coughs, then winces.

“Kernys…or others…”

“Can Lorn be persuaded that Tasjan offers a similar threat to her?” asks Toziel. “Can that persuasion not come from the Palace, even indirectly?”

“Little persuasion will be needed. Tasjan dislikes women in any position of power. We will think on how to encourage him to make his dislike of Ryalor House somewhat more well-known. I do not think it will be difficult to avoid any trails.” Ryenyel shrugs.

“What if I suggested that the Majer-Commander bring two companies of lancers to Cyad as a demonstration of might for the outland traders-perhaps conduct maneuvers near the piers somewhere, using firelances?”

“And have Majer Lorn set up the demonstrations?” Ryenyel arches her eyebrows.

“It is most transparent, yet who could fault it with the failure of the fireships?”

“Would Rynst balk at Majer Lorn?” asks the Empress.

“I would merely ask him who he would place in charge of the forces.”

“And ask questions?”

“Again…it could be transparent, but we might not have to. Would he want a senior commander or the Captain-Commander in direct command? Or someone who owes their position to him?”

“Perhaps you should bring that up…tomorrow. I will find a way to get word about Tasjan to the majer.”

Toziel nods. After a moment, he closes his eyes.

Only then does the Empress frown, but she stands, and moves toward the bed, her fingers touching the Emperor’s temples lightly. In time, she seats herself, nearly as pale as the Emperor had been, but his breathing is stronger, and the worst of the pallor has left his face.