“Your prisoner,” suggested Deucalon.
“No. You can come and go as you wish, with one exception. You have been relieved of command, and you are not to meet or communicate with any officers except Commander Quaeryt. Should you do so, you will find that I will be far less generous. Far less.” Bhayar’s voice turned cold with the last words.
Deucalon looked to Quaeryt.
Quaeryt image-projected authority and cold certainty.
Abruptly Deucalon seemed to sag, looking older and tired. “I will do my best to be a loyal High Holder.”
“You may send for your family, if you so desire,” added Bhayar. “The holding you receive will not be in Telaryn, and they may wish to accompany you to it.”
“You are most kind.”
“All your personal items will be brought here,” added Quaeryt.
“You are most thoughtful, Commander.”
Quaeryt could hear the faint irony in Deucalon’s words and replied, “I have always attempted to think through everything in a fashion that serves Lord Bhayar most effectively.”
“He is most fortunate to have your loyalty.”
“No. I am most fortunate to serve a ruler who acts beyond his anger and looks beyond the moment.” After the slightest pause, Quaeryt added, “So are you.”
“You may go, Deucalon.” Bhayar turned to Quaeryt. “Commander, you may escort High Holder Deucalon to his quarters. They are the ones two doors down from yours.”
Quaeryt inclined his head, then gestured toward the door, following the former marshal out into the north corridor. Once outside, he said, “This way, sir.”
They walked several yards before Deucalon spoke. “You think you saved my life, don’t you?”
“Lord Bhayar made that decision, based on your long service,” replied Quaeryt.
“I’ve seen his anger, Commander. And I’ve seen his father’s. Did you recommend my fate to humiliate me?”
“No. I think you were misled, as was Rescalyn, and it would have served no purpose to have you executed. You will be given, I understand, a good high holding, if one that is somewhat isolated, but prosperous enough that you will be able to live in great comfort.”
“You and the imagers will be my gaolers.”
Quaeryt shook his head. “The Collegium will serve, if you will, as patrollers of the High Holders and the army command, doing nothing unless a High Holder or a senior officer proves disloyal or commits a heinous crime. There are too few imagers, as you well know, to do otherwise. We can destroy individuals or bodies of troopers, but we cannot follow small crimes or pettiness.”
“You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you … from the beginning?”
“Not everything, but most of it. Myskyl and Rescalyn made it necessary if Vaelora and I were to survive.”
“And when will you become rex?”
“Never,” said Quaeryt. “Never. That is not my position, nor would that be good for anyone, especially for any children we might have.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“No. I know it.” Quaeryt halted outside the half-open door. “Your quarters, sir.”
The former marshal looked at Quaeryt for a long time, then said, “You’re the one who will be looking over your shoulder the rest of your life.”
“I know that, too,” replied Quaeryt. I already have, and what is to come is a small part of the prices yet to pay.
Abruptly Deucalon turned and pushed the door wide open, walking into the apartments and away from Quaeryt.
Quaeryt turned and walked toward the grand staircase, leaving the door open.
58
Once Quaeryt had seen Deucalon to his quarters, he confirmed with Vaelora that the quarters on Imagisle were complete, if rudimentary in some aspects, and then conferred with Calkoran and Zhelan about billeting. They also settled on having a squad remaining at Chateau Regis to supplement the single squad from Eleventh Regiment that had been providing guards.
Bhayar did not invite Quaeryt and Vaelora to eat with him on Jeudi evening, as he had on every other night that Quaeryt had returned from missions or assignments, but took his meals in his apartments. He also sent a note saying that he would meet with Quaeryt at seventh glass on Vendrei morning. Quaeryt and Vaelora ate in the family dining quarters, by themselves, and Vaelora made certain that meals were sent up to Deucalon. Quaeryt wondered if Deucalon would eat them or reject them, fearing poison, although poisoning Deucalon in the Chateau Regis would have defeated the entire purpose of sparing his life.
Deucalon apparently came to the same conclusion, because the server reported that he had eaten most of what had been sent up-although he had questioned her and seemed pleased to have learned he was eating exactly what Quaeryt and Vaelora were-pork cutlets with fried and seasoned apples and lace potatoes.
Vaelora and Quaeryt finished eating and repaired to their apartments.
Much later that evening, Vaelora drew the sheet around her and looked across her pillow at Quaeryt. “You didn’t tell the entire story about what happened at Rivages.”
“No … I didn’t … but I will … to you, and only you … although the three imagers saw some of it.” With that, Quaeryt related exactly what had happened from the time Myskyl had tried to leave the officers’ salon through what his inspection of the ruins had revealed the following morning. He even pointed out that Elsior had seen the linkage between him and Erion.
Vaelora asked no questions during his recollection of events.
When Quaeryt finished, he looked to her and added, “I can’t explain how it happened, but that is what occurred, and I wouldn’t have been able to do a thing against Myskyl and the renegade imagers without Khalis, Lhandor, and Elsior.” He shook his head.
“You expected treachery from Myskyl. You didn’t expect the imagers.”
“I should have. We talked about the missing imagers. It made perfect sense that Myskyl would recruit them for his scheme. And I have to believe that Myskyl was the greater traitor, not Rescalyn or Deucalon. Myskyl set both of them up as his stalking horses. I should have seen that much earlier.”
“That’s in hindsight, dearest. In hindsight.” Vaelora smiled. “And you did … in your dream.”
Quaeryt shook his head. “My own dreams were telling me, and I still didn’t see it.”
“You couldn’t believe it.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to. That would have meant that I killed the wrong man.”
“No, dearest. You killed the right men. Rescalyn had to have known what he was doing and why. He was as guilty as Myskyl, if only because he went along with what Myskyl laid out for him, just as Deucalon has.”
“There was very little hard proof in dealing with Deucalon. Very little compared to the extent of his and Myskyl’s treachery, and he is the marshal that all too many troopers and officers believe led them to victory over the Bovarians. Some of them have never served under any other marshal. I still don’t like the fact that he won’t have to pay…” Quaeryt shook his head again. “Given who he is, it could be that he will pay more in some ways…”
“Rholan had something to say about that…” ventured Vaelora with a smile between mischievous and sad.
“You’re still reading and rereading it?”
“It’s interesting, and there’s more there than meets the eye in a first reading. Just as there is with you, dearest.”
“So what did Rholan say?”
“You know. You’ve read the book.”
“I’m tired. It’s been a very long day. You tell me.”
“I’ll read it. The writer-or Rholan-says it better than I could.” Keeping the sheet about her, she reached for the bedside table and retrieved the small leatherbound volume, opening it and paging through it. Finally, she reached the page for which she searched and began to read.