“War. The question is when. Ferrum won’t give up, because Jariola gets weaker every year. You can’t maintain strong commerce and industry under a hereditary oligarchy. Stakanar is still eyeing the mines in southern Tiempre, and the Abierto Isles want to annex Meritas. The Council really doesn’t want to continue building up armaments, although they keep talking about modernizing the fleet. That won’t happen anytime soon, and the Ferrans know it.”
I picked up Diestrya, because that was easier than continually moving her away from danger. “So who’s behind the stronger elveweed?”
“The seeds or cuttings were doubtless supplied by Stakanar, and the funds to grow it-you were right about it having to be in the south-from Ferrum.”
“Do you know where?”
“Know? Yes. Be able to prove it, no.” She picked up her shears. “I need to get back to trimming these before we get a truly hard freeze. Enjoy your dinner with Iryela and Kandryl.”
“I hope to.” I’d never mentioned that dinner to anyone at all, except Seliora, not even Maitre Poincaryt.
Diestrya and I continued our walk, all the way up to the park area, and the hedge maze that she was still too young to appreciate, and then all the way back home. The whole way I wondered what I needed to find out from Iryela…or Kandryl.
I also wondered why I hadn’t picked up on what Maitre Dyana really was before, other than that she’d come from a High Holder family. But when I’d studied with her, she’d revealed nothing and always kept me on the defensive. Ever since then, I’d been with the Civic Patrol and hadn’t seen her all that much. When I had, she’d always avoided talking anything but pleasantries. Her recent words hadn’t been casual, and that raised yet another set of questions, all of which suggested that even more was at stake than I’d already thought.
At the same time, when it came right down to it, I was only one Civic Patrol captain among a number, and one of a handful of talented imagers, and all of the others with such abilities were far more experienced. Besides, even if war broke out, few events of major impact could occur in L’Excelsis that we hadn’t already seen-conscription riots, spies and assassinations, and explosions, to name but a few. Certainly, the Place D’Opera explosion, though startling, was nothing to compare to the explosion that the Tiemprans had set off years before in the Temple of Puryon.
Still, I couldn’t help but worry as I fed Diestrya and put her down for her nap. With all the exercise, she slept well.
Seliora walked into the house just after fifth glass, as Diestrya and I were struggling with the usual three-year-old’s post-nap crankiness. Somehow we got through the next glass and were ready to depart when the Dichartyn girls arrived to watch Diestrya, since Klysia had Samedis off. I would have been very surprised if Aelys didn’t look in once or twice as well. I’d also made arrangements earlier to borrow my parent’s coach-and Charlsyn-since Iryela’s L’Excelsis estate was a good half-glass north of the Plaza D’Nord, and I didn’t feel right about using a duty coach. There wasn’t any way to catch a hack back to L’Excelsis, and I didn’t want to impose on Iryela, although she certainly could have afforded the imposition.
Seliora wore a red ankle-length dress with a black jacket and a black sash belt, with a black opera cloak, not that we’d been to the opera in years. As always, I was in grays, and we met Charlsyn on the west side of Imagisle, where we usually took the duty coach, at sixth glass. I’d thought that on a Samedi evening, the Boulevard D’Ouest would be thronged, but it wasn’t, and less than a quarter-glass later, we were riding through the Plaza D’Nord.
“It’s good to be going somewhere by ourselves,” said Seliora, “and not with family.”
I agreed. “We’ll probably get a note from Mother…”
“It came yesterday. I forgot to tell you. She’s asked us for next Samedi, or the following one, if that’s not convenient.”
“Which would you prefer?”
“This coming Samedi, the thirty-fifth. Mother was thinking about a dinner for Shomyr’s birthday on the seventh.”
“Are you up to two nights in a row?” I paused. “We could leave early, saying we were tired because of the Autumn Ball the night before.”
“Rhenn…they are your family,” she said gently.
“I know, but I’ll have to work on Samedi.”
She just looked at me, and I laughed. “Next Samedi it is.”
“They’ll be happy.” She raised her eyebrows. “After all, would you want to eat dinner with Culthyn every night?”
She had a point there.
Iryela’s chateau-technically it was now Kandryl’s, even though she’d inherited it and had to marry him to keep it, if only after a fashion-was set on the east side of the main road, a structure a good three hundred yards from end to end laid out in a “Y” shape. The southern section ended at what looked to be a cliff, but which was really a wall down from the terrace. At the end of the terrace there had once been a square stone tower, but Iryela had not had it rebuilt after I’d destroyed it. A gray stone wall a little more than two yards high extended around the grounds, and a single set of iron-grilled gates, without even a crest on them, afforded access to the paved drive beyond that led to the chateau.
The gates opened at our approach. Charlsyn then guided the coach through the walls and up the spotlessly clean stones of the driveway and under the portico. There, a footman in black and silver stepped forward to open the coach door and to extend a hand to Seliora. As I stepped out after her, I saw another coach stationed on the far side of the circle, beyond the fountain and circular garden. The crimson and silver body work, far grander than the brown and brass of our coach, confirmed that Frydryk D’Suyrien and Alynkya D’Ramsael had already arrived.
We hadn’t even reached the outer doorway when an older man, in a black velvet jacket with silver piping over a silver shirt and black trousers, stepped forward, inclining his head deeply. “Master Rhennthyl, Madame, welcome.”
“Thank you, Fahyl,” I replied. “You are looking well, as always.”
“Thank you, sir. Madame awaits you in the family salon.”
We followed Fahyl inside and down the right-hand hallway off the main foyer. The family salon, although twice the size of our dining room, was the smallest and most intimate gathering chamber in the chateau.
Iryela immediately rose from the settee where she’d been seated. “Seliora! Rhenn!” While she’d filled out slightly after the birth of her twins the year before, she was still slender and very white-blonde.
Kandryl also rose, immediately, as did Alynkya. Frydryk was slower, languid in standing, as if he were the Chief Councilor instead of his father, although I’d observed that Councilor Suyrien always exhibited great courtesy on the occasions when I’d seen him.
“Do sit down,” Iryela went on. “Our white Grisio for you, Seliora?”
“Please.”
“Your red,” I said.
I took the chair beside Iryela, since she had gestured toward it, while Seliora eased onto the other settee beside Alynkya.
“You travel enough that you ought to have your own carriage,” said Frydryk.
“For work, I can use the duty coaches, and otherwise,” I said with a shrug, “we make do. Besides, where would we keep the coach and coachman?” I turned to Iryela. “How are the twins?”
“Sleeping, thankfully,” replied Kandryl dryly from beside her.
“I imagine you’re happy they’re past the colicky stage,” said Seliora.
“Exceedingly,” said Iryela.
Frydryk didn’t quite sneer, as if to intimate that talking about children and colic was scarcely suitable High Holder conversation.
So I smiled and asked him, “How is your father these days? I’ve heard that he’s rather occupied.”
“Ah, yes…with all the troubles caused by the freeholders.” Frydryk nodded sagely. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were being counseled and paid by Ferran agents.”