I walked toward the letter boxes, opened mine . . . and froze. A red-striped letter sat there, as deadly as if I were looking at the barrel of a pistol. As I drew it out, I recognized Khethila’s writing. I knew what was in the letter, but I still had to open and read it.
Dear Rhenn,
I have the feeling that this will come as no surprise to you. Rousel died late on Samedi. He never really woke up, Mother wrote.
Father is closing the factorage there, for now, and they will be returning with Remaya and Rheityr. They plan to arrive back here on Solayi afternoon. I will be arranging a memorial service for Rousel with Chorister Aknotyn for some time next week . . .
For all that I had feared Rousel’s death, even worried about it and half anticipated it, I felt encased in chill and as though I were being squeezed on all sides by massive unseen weights.
Numbly, I slipped the envelope and note into my waistcoat and hurried out of the dining hall and across the quadrangle toward the Bridge of Hopes. Hopes?
I had to wait almost a quint in the fading twilight before I could catch a hack to take me out to Khethila. Then as I sat on the hard seat of the coach, I couldn’t help but think, yet again, about how everything had come about, how the seemingly smallest of actions created ever greater losses. Because I’d half blinded the arrogant son of an even more arrogant High Holder in self-defense, my brother was dead, his wife a widow, and his son fatherless. Alynat was dead because he would have carried on with what Ryel had begun, as would Dulyk, given half a chance. And Ryel thought he was in the right.
I couldn’t help but reflect on Grandmama Diestra’s words about how those who were good but naive always believed that there was a way out where no one was hurt, and where all ended well. All too often, I was learning, such didn’t exist.
Yet . . . what I had done-and would do-was not right. It was necessary to prevent a chain of further wrongs . . . and I intended that the example I set would do just that, hopefully so that other imagers would not be faced with what I had encountered.
Was that a vain hope? I could only trust in my feeling that it was not, but that required my success, and that was not at all certain. I only knew that I had to try.
The ride out the Midroad seemed to take glasses, but it was less than half a glass when the hacker pulled up in front of the gate before my parents’ house. I gave him an extra few coppers over the fare and hurried up the walk to the door. I rapped loudly.
Khethila opened the door. Her face and cheeks were dry, but her eyes were red. “I thought you’d come.”
“I’m here.” I stepped inside and hugged her, then closed the door, one-handed, before putting both arms around her.
We just held to each other for a time.
Finally, I stepped back. “I’ve spent all week fearing it would come to this. Most people don’t live through those kinds of injuries . . . but I still hoped.”
“So did I.”
“The service . . . can I . . . ?”
“I closed the factorage early and had Charlsyn take me to see Chorister Aknotyn. He won’t set the day firmly until Mother and Father are back, but we’re planning on Jeudi. I thought you’d speak for the family. Can you be there?”
“I’ll arrange it.” We didn’t speak of it, but we both knew Rousel had been cremated in Kherseilles and his ashes scattered there, probably to the sea, because he had loved to sail.
We walked slowly back to the family parlor. Khethila dropped heavily onto the settee. I took the armchair across from Father’s and waited for Khethila to say what she would.
“I never felt good about Rousel going to Kherseilles,” she finally said.
“I worried about it.” I had, but not for the same reasons, I suspected.
“Rousel . . . he trusted people too much. He couldn’t believe that . . . that people could be so selfish . . . so uncaring.”
That was true enough. Even though he’d annoyed me at times with his carelessness and gibes, what she said was true. Part of Rousel’s carelessness came from his belief that things and people couldn’t go that wrong. But his carelessness and overly optimistic attitude, the arrogance of the Ryels, and my imaging abilities . . . and even my own willfulness in not wanting to bow down to Johanyr . . . all those had combined to kill my brother.
And I could not say anything to my own family. What good would it do, except create greater bitterness and anger, both against me and against the High Holders and the Collegium?
That was another price of being an imager, I was learning. I wondered how many more I would discover in the days, months, and years ahead.
47
Needless to say, I stayed late with Khethila, but did get a ride back to the Collegium with Charlsyn, only to sleep fitfully and wake up early on Jeudi. Because of the nightmares, most of which I didn’t remember, about all sorts of mayhem and violence being perpetrated on Khethila, one of the first things I did, after lighting the desk lamp, was to write a brief note to Seliora. I did take care to make it seem as harmless as possible.
Dearest,
Since I won’t see you until Samedi at the sitting for the portrait, I thought you should know that Rousel died over the weekend. Given the circumstances and the severity of his injuries, I had feared this might happen. There will be a memorial service here in L’Excelsis next week, but I do not know when yet.
I know that this might be an imposition for Grandmama Diestra, but Khethila will be all alone at the house until my parents return on Solayi, and you understand that, as an imager, I cannot stay there at night. If there is anything that can be done to see that she is not disturbed, I cannot tell you how greatly I would appreciate it.
I did sign it “With Love, Rhennthyl.”
After I sealed the letter, I sat at the desk for a time, recalling what Martyl or Dartazn had said about Master Dichartyn-that he never seemed to sleep and that it was no wonder, with what he had done. I also recalled what Maitre Poincaryt had said about Master Dichartyn not having had as few problems or enemies as I did in more than ten years.
But why? Why did it have to be that way?
Couldn’t the Collegium work matters out better with the Council and the factors and the guilds? Or had they, and what we lived under was the best they could do? That didn’t seem like the most satisfactory of answers, not to me, but it had been brought home forcefully that at times the best of compromises exacted a great burden on those caught between the millwheels of the compromisers.
Finally, I got into exercise clothes and headed out.
Both Master Dichartyn and Master Schorzat were there for the morning exercises and run, and I thought about telling them about Rousel. First, I dismissed it because saying anything would just leave more traces back to me. Then I realized that I could certainly say that he’d died of injuries in a wagon accident and that I would need part of a day to be at the memorial service. Not mentioning it would suggest more than being straightforward.
After the exercise routines, where I got thrown more than I should have in sparring, and the run, I cleaned up and hurried through breakfast. I did force myself to eat because I knew I needed to, and then headed to the administration building to find Master Dichartyn. It was early enough that he was there, and no one else was, when I rapped on his study door.
“Come in.” His voice was tired. “What is it, Rhennthyl?”
“Just one thing, sir. Last night I received word that my brother died of injuries he received in a wagon accident. I just wanted you to know that I’ll need part of a day next week to go to the memorial service. I trust that won’t be a problem.”