Scion of Cyador

L

The Emperor and his Consort-Empress sit upon the white divan in the Empress’s salon. A cool fall wind sifts into the salon through a window open but a finger-width. Toziel massages his forehead with his left hand, then drops it and turns to Ryenyel. “The days are long…yet you have something upon your mind.”

“Do you recall Ryalor House, my dear?” asks Ryenyel.

“Is not that the one headed by the mistress of Kien’elth’s eldest son?”

“Not precisely. That is, she is not his mistress. You sent an inquiry through your Merchanter Advisor.”

“Vyanat’mer? Why would…?” Toziel smiles. “I did not. You did. Perhaps I should hear before I speak. What did Vyanat’s merchanter find-and where?”

“In the small town of Jakaafra…in the recording book of consortships.”

“The lancer took her as his consort, you’re telling me?”

“Quietly…but he did, and not even his family knew in advance, from what we can tell.”

“Good for him.”

“Wise, as well.”

Toziel blots his forehead. “Angels…I’m tired…I just talk to people, and I’m tired.”

“I know.”

He smiles sadly. “Of course you do. How much longer?”

She shrugs.

“A year? Two? Three? Not more than that, I would wager. Is that why you mentioned Ryalor House? They’re young.”

“Not any younger than we were, those long years back. They have just had a child, a son.”

“Is he…?”

“Who would know? But both parents are most intelligent, as are the grandparents, and seldom does such a union produce a dullard. And it may be that there is magus blood on both sides.”

“How would you know that?” Toziel raises his eyebrows.

“Her mother’s mother’s mother…let us just say that she was not unfamiliar with the Palace of Light…and consorted in haste.”

Toziel laughs, then shakes his head. “That will matter little unless…What of the sub-majer?” He pauses. “You have more to say. That I can see. I should listen.”

“He had been on port detail in Biehl-watching ships, and talking to their captains and officers, I would gather. Then he conscripted the District Guards…” She smiles.

“He is that overcaptain?” Toziel shakes his head. “I think not so well as I should these days. Did not Rynst send him to Assyadt?”

“He did, after the Majer-Commander discovered that every lancer commander was apprised of the details of what happened at Biehl. He was directed, even as a sub-majer, to command company patrols.”

“I imagine the barbarians will attack in force there.” Toziel’s voice is simultaneously hoarse and wry.

Ryenyel smiles. “We shall see. We have some seasons.” She adds, almost as if it were an afterthought, “Ryalor House has been recognized as a clan house. That was one of Bluoyal’s last acts. It takes all of the uppermost level of the plaza building on the clan side. Do you not find that interesting?”

“Rather. So she is very sharp…and effective, I would judge, somewhat like someone else I know.”

The Empress smiles. “You are kind.”

“No. I know what I know.” Toziel massages his forehead before he speaks. “Do you think he can survive and prosper in-is it Inividra?”

“I would judge so, but he must do so against the opposition of almost all the senior Mirror Lancer officers.”

“If he can manage such over the next year or two, and is not discredited, suggest to Rynst that he would be a good assistant, you think?” Toziel leans back on the white divan and closes his eyes.

“If he can survive, our suggestion may not be necessary,” Ryenyel replies. “As for us, there are no others, save Rustyl and Dettaur, and neither has a consort, although it is likely that Rustyl will take the daughter of the Second Magus for a consort.”

“That will make matters difficult for Chyenfel.” Toziel laughs. “Or perhaps more so for Kharl.”

“I think not. The Second Magus will promise to both his son and to Rustyl, and then do as he pleases with the support of both.”

“They are both of the Magi’i.”

“Chyenfel thinks that times may change.”

“Not that quickly,” the Emperor says.

“One would hope Rustyl will see that, but he is like a shadow cast by a man none can see. As for Ciesrt, he is but a cipher for his sire. Dettaur, on the other hand, is a cipher for no one, but he has courted many ladies, and none will have him. For an esteemed lancer, that is a message one cannot ignore.”

“He seems to be ignoring such a message rather easily,” suggests Toziel.

“For now.” Ryenyel coughs, several times, then finally clears her throat. “Like you, I find the days are getting longer.”

“That is because you support me.”

She waves off the comment, then adds, “Dettaur dislikes this Lorn, and will attempt to place him where he cannot survive.”

“If one of them does not succeed, or Rustyl or Tasjan does, black order will follow us and raze Cyad…within a generation if not sooner. But you cannot give either anything, else he will not be strong enough to hold it.” Toziel sighs. “There have been possible scions…most with magus blood, Dymytri, Eghyr, Volynt…and something happened to each, and now we are not so young as we were or as we appear. And now the Magi’i, and even the merchanters, are seeking to advance their own to force me to acknowledge one.”

“Luss and Kharl arranged for the failure of most of those in the lancers.” Ryenyel shrugs wearily. “Yet how could any hold Cyad if they could not hold themselves against that pair?”

“You did not find this Lorn?”

“No. I would that I could say such, but until Maran disappeared I did not even consider him as a possibility. Nor his consort.”

“Many did not consider you.” Toziel laughs gently, but the laugh dies away. “I wonder if we see such worries as do those who have children.”

“Is there any question, my love? You are the father of Cyador.”

“A father without an heir.” Toziel’s voice is low and tired, and his eyes drift closed.

Ryenyel touches his forehead lightly, gently.