Gauswn ushered the four out, then paused in the study door and said, quietly, “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” replied Quaeryt.
For a time, he just stood there, half standing, half propped against the desk, before he roused himself for the ride back to the Chateau Regis.
By the time he reached the stables there, his headache was no worse, but not any better, and at times his vision blurred. He dismounted and handed the gelding over to the ranker ostler. “Thank you. I won’t be needing him tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then Quaeryt made his way to the three studies that would initially comprise the spaces for the Ministry of Supply and Administration for Bovaria. He found Vaelora in the middle study, going over a ledger with a ranker clerk.
She straightened and walked over to him, studying him. Then she said in a low voice, in court Bovarian, “You’re exhausted, and your eyes are bloodshot. What did you do?”
“A little more imaging than I intended,” Quaeryt admitted.
“What have you eaten?”
“I had some lager and a biscuit or two.”
Vaelora gave a sigh even more expressive than the theatrical ones offered by her brother, then shook her head. She turned to the young ranker clerk standing beside one of the writing tables. “Stennyl … run down to the kitchen and get some bread and cheese. Tell them it’s for Commander Quaeryt. If they protest, tell them that Lord Bhayar’s sister insists.”
“Yes, Lady.” The ranker hurried out the study door, not quite at a run.
Once they were momentarily alone in the middle study of the three, Vaelora looked at Quaeryt and asked quietly, but far from gently, “Just what did you image? An entire anomen? A massive bridge across the Aluse?”
“Just the stoneworks on the north end of the isle.”
“Just? The isle is more than a half mille wide.”
“A bit wider,” Quaeryt admitted.
“All at once?”
“It seemed better that way.”
“Quaeryt Rytersyn … you may be the most powerful imager ever and a hand of Erion, but you are an idiot! It’s one thing to have to do something like that in battle … but…” She shook her head again, almost violently.
“I feel like we’re running out of time. This way … as the other imagers build on what I’ve done, they can’t slack off. They’ll have to match the height and strength of the stone walls, and that will keep the isle safe from flood damage. It will also create an image of power. That won’t hurt.” He lifted a hand to her lips to stop her protests. “People forget what they don’t see. In a few years, all but the oldest person in Variana will have forgotten the devastation and the death. You wouldn’t think so … but they will. A mighty stone isle-like a ship in the river-that’s harder to forget.”
“Dearest…” Her voice softened. “No one could ever accuse you of dreaming small dreams.” She paused. “Please don’t do quite so much again.”
He could hear the plaintive concern behind her soft words. “I won’t.” Unless there’s no choice.
After eating some bread and cheese, retiring to their quarters … and a glass and a half later, Quaeryt felt better, and ready to escort Vaelora from their quarters to the formal dining chamber at the south end of the lower level of the Chateau Regis. He found the formal dress uniform slightly looser than he recalled, and that surprised him, because the last time he had worn it, he’d been recovering from his injuries from the battle of Variana.
Vaelora wore the same black and silver dress and jacket she had worn then … and looked even more stunning, Quaeryt thought.
When they reached the main level, a ranker escorted them to the receiving room adjoining the dining chamber.
“Deucalon is here,” Quaeryt murmured after they stepped through the open double doors and he scanned the forty or so people in the room, in groups of three or four.
“How could he not be?” replied Vaelora. “We should pay our respects to brother dear.”
“Oh?”
“He gave me a look.”
There can be definite disadvantages to brother-sister communications, reflected Quaeryt as they made their way across the green and gold carpet toward where Bhayar stood, with his back to the closed doors leading to the dining chamber. Rankers circulated through the room, carrying trays with goblets of either white or red wine.
When Vaelora and Quaeryt neared Bhayar, he nodded to the trumpeter standing to his left and a pace back, and a short fanfare silenced the muted conversations around the reception room.
“Just so that all of you know a few of those attending … the distinguished gray-haired officer in the uniform of a marshal standing near the windows is Marshal Deucalon, in command of the armies of Telaryn … when I’m not interfering.” Bhayar gestured toward the marshal, then waited several moments before continuing. “You might also wish to know this charming couple,” announced Bhayar. “The beautiful one is my sister Vaelora, who was recently envoy to Khel, and the rugged-looking one is her husband, Commander Quaeryt, whose accomplishments are too numerous to discuss here.”
Another fanfare followed those words as conversations threatened to rise once more. “I haven’t even tried to seat anyone by position or protocol,” said Bhayar, adding with a smile, “except myself. So when we enter the dining chamber, please do not be surprised or offended by where you are seated or by whom your nearest companions may be.”
After a moment when Quaeryt felt that most eyes in the room remained on the three of them, the various conversations resumed.
“I assume we’re to be charming and not terribly informative,” said Quaeryt dryly.
“That would be helpful,” said Bhayar. “I’m told that I only have-properly-until the end of Avryl before I should cease entertaining for the summer and the first month of harvest.”
“I know how you love entertaining,” said Vaelora. “You can hardly wait for Mayas.”
“It’s necessary,” replied Bhayar.
“To let everyone know that the fighting is over and the intriguing can resume?” asked Quaeryt.
“Of course.”
A ranker stopped and proffered a tray. Both Quaeryt and Vaelora took goblets of the white wine. Quaeryt just held his.
“The wine’s not bad,” said Bhayar. “It’s just not good enough to keep some of the High Holders and their wives from complaining.”
“People always like to complain,” replied Vaelora, “in Solis or in Variana.”
Bhayar glanced to the Telaryn captain stationed just inside the doors from the main foyer, who offered a raised hand and a nod, then said, “Everyone’s here.” He turned to the trumpeter, who played another fanfare, then turned and opened the doors to the dining chamber.
After setting their goblets on a ranker’s tray, Quaeryt and Vaelora accompanied Bhayar as far as the head of the table, where he smiled and said, “Vaelora, you grace the far end of the table so that those lower will not feel excessively slighted. You’re roughly in the middle on the right, Quaeryt.”
Quaeryt inclined his head, then escorted Vaelora to the far end and seated her at the foot, directly opposite her brother. Quaeryt recognized the long dining table and chairs as those that had formerly graced the dining chamber of the late High Holder Paitrak’s hold, as had several of the sideboards. With a smile, he left his wife and made his way toward his own chair.
He noted the placards before each place setting, with the carefully spelled out names. To his right was Malyssa D’Chamion. Chamion … that’s familiar, but why? He couldn’t remember and quickly took in the name to his left. Alynae D’Fyanyl-Alte. That meant she was the wife of High Holder Fyanyl, not that Quaeryt had any idea who Fyanyl might be.