Cerryl stepped out of the heat, past the silent houseman Soaris, who nodded, and into the comparative cool, following the older man to the front sitting room-the one graced by the portrait of Leyladin’s mother. After laying the flowers on the side table, Cerryl took the settee.
“How long have you been back?” asked Layel, settling into an upholstered armchair.
“A little less than an eight-day.”
“I imagine you’re finding that Fairhaven is not quite the city you left, though it has changed but little.” A slight smile creased the factor’s lips.
“More that some folk I left are not quite as I recalled,” Cerryl admitted guardedly. “I don’t find that Fairhaven itself has changed, and it compares most favorably with what I have seen elsewhere.”
“People often make the city-or a person.”
“You mean Leyladin? I was looking for her before I even knew who she was.”
“She told me. Can’t say as I understand, but she has always been the one who followed the shaded path. Wertel-he would have been a factor had he been born a cobbler-and Aliaria and Nierlia…well, they’ve enjoyed having their own households.”
Cerryl tried to place the names. Wertel had to be Leyladin’s older brother. She had mentioned her two sisters, but he hadn’t recalled either’s name until Layel had mentioned them.
“You two are in a difficult position,” Layel said.
“A Black and a White in love, you mean?” Cerryl frowned. “I suppose it’s also created problems for you.”
The factor leaned forward in the big chair, eyes more firmly on Cerryl. “More here than elsewhere. Wertel trades on the impression of connections, and you are not unknown-or unrespected-but he runs things in Lydiar and not in Fairhaven. Duke Estalin depends on mages, and Sedelos favors trade.” Layel glanced toward the door. “Did you hear a coach?”
“No. I don’t think so.” Cerryl paused, considering the other’s words. “You seem to be saying that the Guild is not so favorable to traders as it should be.”
“We pay higher tariffs than those who trade from other lands, yet they use the same roads and are free to enter the city on payment of a mere pittance. We can enter any city, but our costs are higher, as our tariffs are.” Layel blotted his forehead with a blue cotton cloth. “Then, there are those factors who appear more favored than others, if you take my meaning.”
“I’d heard such,” Cerryl said carefully, “but never seen it.” He paused, thinking of how Sterol had used Kesrik’s purported attack on Cerryl as an excuse to exile Kesrik’s trader father. “Or perhaps I saw such and did not recognize it.”
“It is there, if observed carefully.”
Cerryl could suddenly sense a gathering presence, a bright darkness, and he stood, gathering the roses to him. “She’s almost here.”
The slightest of frowns appeared on the trader’s face. “I’d not heard the coach.”
Cerryl picked up the flowers, eased toward the door, and was at the foyer when the sound of hoofs on stone came through the window.
“Not even a glass.” Layel stood more slowly.
Cerryl hurried down the walk and then to the side courtyard where the coach had pulled to a stop. The door flew open, even before he had quite reached the mounting block.
Standing on the whitened granite block, Leyladin looked down at Cerryl, then at the roses. “Flowers…you never brought flowers before.”
“I missed you.” He felt himself flushing, looking into the dark green eyes, seeing the reddish blonde hair, the fair skin, and, most of all, the order and the understanding behind the fine features.
“You’re sweet.” The healer looked at her father, who stood a pace or so behind the mage. “He is, you know.”
“He’s also got some wit. We were talking while we waited for you.” Layel looked at Cerryl. “Go ahead. Embrace her. Kiss her. You’re as much consorted as you can be.”
This time, Leyladin flushed. “Father, I can’t believe you.”
“Too old to deceive myself, or let you do it.” The trader grinned.
Cerryl stepped toward the mounting block, and she stepped down into his arms, and they did embrace, ignoring the late-afternoon heat.
How long Cerryl wasn’t sure, except he heard Layel clearing his throat.
“Now that you two have greeted each other, I’m for eating. Meridis has doubtless scraped something together.”
“Give me a moment to wash off the worst of the road dust,” Leyladin offered as she and Cerryl separated. “I’m hungry, too. I won’t be long.”
“Not with your mage waiting, I’d wager.”
“Father…” Still blushing, she took the roses as Cerryl handed them to her again. She and Cerryl held hands and walked toward the front door.
Both Meridis and Soaris stood in the entry hall beyond the foyer.
“Meridis…he brought roses.” Leyladin smiled. “Could you…while I wash up?” She extended the roses to the older woman.
“I’ll put them in the good crystal vase, where you always like them,” said Meridis. “Now, don’t be dallying. The supper’s ready.”
“I won’t.” The healer reached out and squeezed Cerryl’s hand. “Cerryl, Father, I’ll meet you in the dining hall. I won’t be long.”
“I believe I have heard words like that before.” Layel’s words were gentle, teasing.
“You have, but I won’t be.” With the last word, she slipped down the hall and out of sight.
Cerryl followed Layel through the sitting room.
“You felt her, didn’t you?” asked the trader. “She said you two could do that. So close, and yet you dare not have children.”
Cerryl winced. “It might kill her.”
“She told me such, and she will have none but you.”
“I’ll have none but her.”
They had barely reached the table when Leyladin appeared, still wearing her green trousers and silk shirt, with the black vest that seemed even darker than black itself in the fading light of day and the glow cast by the oil lamps in their wall sconces.
“I said I would not be long.”
“And so you did.” Layel seated himself at the head, and Cerryl and Leyladin sat on each side, across from each other.
As Layel poured the cool white wine into the three goblets, Cerryl looked across the table into Leyladin’s dark green eyes. “How was your trip back?”
“The highway was almost empty.”
“More and more like that these days.” Layel nodded morosely.
“Trade is bad?”
“So little I’d not be calling it trade. Enough of that.” He raised his goblet. “To both of you being home.”
“To being home,” echoed Leyladin.
Cerryl raised his goblet with a smile, without words, and they drank.
Meridis set three platters on the table. “The cold spiced fowl and the chilled pearapples and the riced beans. Nothing to be making you hot on a warm evening.”
“What will you be doing now, Cerryl?” Layel eased the fowl platter toward his daughter.
“The High Wizard gave me some duties to carry out for Overmage Kinowin, probably until he can find somewhere distant to send me.” Cerryl went on to explain in very general terms his assignments. “…and that means reporting every day on what the Blacks are doing with that ship.”
“It truly moves against the wind?” Layel frowned.
“It does, and sometimes faster than a normal ship.”
“A ship such as that, well, many be the traders who’d find a use for such.”
“I cannot see how Recluce would allow a chaos engine, even one bound in black iron,” ventured Leyladin before taking a bite of the fowl.
“In time, in time, a better ship will turn any trader’s mind,” mumbled Layel, “and your White brethren forget that the Black ones are traders first and order mages second.”
Traders first and mages second. “And you think the Guild puts magery first and trade second?”
“Power first, magery second, and trade a poor third,” suggested Layel. “Yet trade builds power. That the Black ones have discovered. All power is built on coins, and coins come from goods, and goods can but be sold through trade.”
Cerryl ate a mouthful of the sweetened and chilled pearapples, thinking about Layel’s words, about all the golds he had seen in Gallos and even in Spidlaria.