“The Patrol lieutenant Grandmama warned you about?”
“The same one . . .” I explained all that had happened before and what I had done. “Then, on Mardi night, Master Dichartyn called me in. He told me that he’d been asked to talk to the Patrol subcommander. He wanted to know why I’d tried to kill Mardoyt. I denied trying to kill him, because that wasn’t what I’d had in mind. . . .”
Seliora’s mouth opened. “How did any of them know unless . . .”
“Exactly. The subcommander, Mardoyt, and Harraf-and Youdh-all had to know-”
“Youdh? The taudischef?”
“He’s an imager. Or he was.” I had to explain how that had developed. I ended with what kept coming up. “Except for Youdh being an imager, there’s no real proof of anything.”
“That’s why Grandmama has held on to her contacts. By the time there’s proof, too often it’s too late. The innocent are destroyed, and the lower-level evil ones are caught, but the people who are responsible walk away untouched.”
“Speaking of those who are responsible . . . that was just the beginning. That same night, I walked over to the dining hall after dealing with Master Dichartyn. There was an urgent message from Khethila in my letter box. Rousel was badly injured in a wagon accident in Kherseilles. My parents had already left with Culthyn by the time I got the note. I went to see Khethila immediately, but she hadn’t heard more.”
“That’s not a coincidence.”
“No. I’ll explain that in a moment. On Meredi . . . I’ve told you about Youdh’s attack and the hearing. Vendrei was the Autumn Ball . . .” I didn’t go into full details about what Iryela had said-or what she had implied-but I did mention Ryel’s words about Rousel’s accident.
“He wants you to know that he’ll destroy your entire family.” Her eyes did not so much flash as smolder with solidified rage. “He wants to grind it into you.”
That was all too possible.
“Do you think she’s suggesting that marrying her would end this feud by her father?”
“That doesn’t feel quite right,” I admitted. “There’s something else there. She has her own schemes.”
“She could be throwing you up at them so that she can have a say in choosing a husband.”
“That could be. Or it could be something else.”
“I wouldn’t trust a word she says. These High Holders play with people like they were dealing plaques.” Seliora looked at me. “What do you need from me? From us?”
“I’ll need to borrow the mare, possibly several times over the next two weeks. Also, I’d like for both of us to stop by the factorage after I spend a glass or so painting you. . . .”
“You can still paint with all this . . . ?”
“I need to do that.” And I did. I wanted to finish her portrait. If things didn’t go right, and well they might not, she deserved that, cold comfort as it might be.
She tightened her fingers around mine, and we just stood in the chill, silently, for a time.
Finally, I took her arm, and we began to walk. “I do want to finish your portrait, and it’s not getting done out here.”
“I don’t want just a portrait.”
I knew what she meant. “I want more than that, too, but I’m not going to let things slide because of corrupt Patrol officers and vengeful High Holders. Besides, I do have plans.”
“I never doubted that. Will you tell me?”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I haven’t worked out everything yet.” I still had trouble with the full implications of Ryel’s feud, and the fact that I might well have to deal with not just Ryel, but Dulyk and Alynat as well. Just because I’d partly blinded Johanyr, I was facing either losing my family or ruining another?
“You will tell me?”
“Yes.” And I would.
We walked more quickly toward the studio. North of the center of the quadrangle, we passed two seconds headed toward their quarters. One was Vanjhant, the blond and chubby imager who’d been a witness at the ill-fated Floryn’s hearing the previous spring.
“Good afternoon, Vanjhant.”
“Good afternoon, sir, mistress.”
After they passed, I caught a few words, carried on the wind.
“. . . does something with the Civic Patrol . . .”
“. . . looks like he’d be the type . . .”
Did I really look that way?
“Yes,” replied Seliora, although I’d not said a word. “Even your father said something about it, Khethila told me. You never looked like a portraiturist, and now you look much more like a very fit and physical naval officer.”
“Not an Army type?”
She shook her head.
Once we got to the studio, I helped Seliora out of her cloak, then held her tightly. The kisses that followed were not short, but not overly long, and she eased away from me.
“There was something about a portrait . . .”
The smile in her eyes warmed me, and I posed her, then went to the easel.
I only worked on Seliora’s portrait for a little more than a glass, but by then I had her face completed, except for a few touches, and some of her jacket. It still took close to a quint before I’d cleaned up everything and closed up the studio.
“I’ll be glad not to have to wear this every Samedi afternoon,” she said as we walked toward the Bridge of Desires-the closest bridge for hailing a hack to go to the factorage.
“You can wear a different blouse next week. That part’s done.” I grinned at her, except it was close to a leer.
She blushed. “You can be impossible.”
“Not impossible. Merely difficult.”
We were both chilled by the time we crossed the bridge and managed to hail a coach. The ride south to Alusine Wool was not much warmer, because the wind was strong enough to whistle around and through the rattling windows. There was a single coach outside Alusine Wool when we emerged from the hack, but when I’d paid the driver and turned, the coach had pulled away. I hoped whoever was inside had expended more than a few golds purchasing wool.
Seliora stood and studied the front of the building for a moment, and at the letters of the sign. I let her. She’d never been to the family factorage before. Then we walked up the low stairs and in through the doors.
Khethila immediately stood as she saw us enter. She didn’t run down from the desk on the rear dais, but she didn’t dawdle, either.
“Rhenn! Seliora.” She gave me a quick hug and Seliora a slightly longer one. “You’re so kind to come.”
“Have you heard anything else?” I doubted that, because it was more than two days to Kherseilles by ironway, even by urgent express.
She shook her head. “I won’t hear anything until Lundi at the earliest, I expect.”
“Do you know how badly Rousel was hurt?” asked Seliora.
“The message from Remaya said that he had broken ribs and crushed legs.”
“Was there anything about how it happened?”
“No. Just that it was an accident.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Seliora’s words were both warm and supportive.
“Not right now. I can’t think of anything.” Khethila glanced around the factorage. “We’re selling a bit more than we did last year at this time, and I’ve been writing up the bid for another Navy order. All I can do is make sure that Father doesn’t have to worry about the business here.”
We talked for almost another glass before Seliora and I took our leave and let Khethila and Eilthyr begin to close up the factorage.
As we stood outside at the edge of West River Road, waiting for a hack, I half turned to Seliora. “Do you have the evening planned, lady?”
“We could join Father and Mother at home and then go with them to Chaelya’s. . . .”
I couldn’t help smiling. “What did you tell them? That you’d ask me, and to expect us?”
Seliora blushed.
“I thought as much.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
We waited for less than a quint before a hack, even bound northward, stopped for us.
Once we were inside, I asked, “Do you think we could take a ride tomorrow, early in the afternoon?”