Aleyar whispers something, and Tyrsal turns and kisses her, flushing slightly.
Beside Lorn, Ryalth sighs. Lorn can hear more than one gentle sigh from the back of the hall where the halfscore of couples stand as witnesses and family.
Then, Tyrsal and Aleyar turn and walk back toward the double doors that are opened by two junior Magi’i.
As the just-consorted couple nears Lorn and Ryalth, Tyrsal smiles broadly and happily at his friend. Lorn smiles back. After the two pass, Lorn and Ryalth turn and follow the others out of the hall and down the wide white-granite steps.
A line of carriages waits outside the hall, and Lorn and Ryalth share a carriage with Syreal and Aleyar’s youngest sister, Nyarl. Like all of Liataphi’s daughters, Nyarl and Syreal are blonde, although Nyarl barely looks old enough for the healer pin she wears in the collar of her white tunic.
“They both looked very happy,” Ryalth says.
“So did Father,” suggests Syreal. “Aleyar is happy, and he has a magus in the family at last.”
“Having the head of a trading house in the family is also good,” Lorn observes.
“From you, Lorn, I will accept that gratefully.” Syreal smiles. “From others, it would be condescension. I wish Veljan would have come to the ceremony,” she adds. “He will be at the consorting dinner.”
Lorn notes the absolute lack of doubt in Syreal’s voice, and represses a smile.
Syreal glances at Ryalth. “I hope you don’t mind, but he insisted that we be seated next to you. He wasn’t sure there would be anyone else he could talk to.”
“I do understand,” Ryalth replies. “It felt strange being the only ones not in white.”
“I wanted to wear my greens,” Nyarl said, “but Father and Mother insisted on white. When I get consorted, I will wear green.”
Lorn smiles.
“You were a magus, once, weren’t you?” Nyarl asks Lorn.
“I was a student magus,” Lorn admits.
“I thought so. I’ll wager-”
“Nyarl…” cautions Syreal.
“Yes, sister dear.”
“I’ve been a lancer officer for many years now.”
“Tyrsal says that you’re the best field officer in the lancers. Are you?”
Syreal rolls her eyes.
Lorn laughs. “Tyrsal is kind, and he’s my best friend. He may rate me higher for that reason.” He inclines his head to Ryalth. “My consort, the lady trader, has accomplished far more than I have.”
“He says you’re the most accomplished lady trader in the history of Cyad-”
Syreal sighs.
Ryalth bursts out laughing, shaking her head. “That may…be true…but only because there have been so few.”
The carriage slows, then stops, then creeps, then stops, the pattern repeating for several times until it halts before the stone floral gateway to Liataphi’s dwelling. Lorn slips out of the carriage and holds the door for the three women.
“Thank you…” murmurs Syreal.
Lorn and Ryalth follow the sisters into the house and up the circular staircase to the second-level foyer, where several groups of people are already gathered and talking. As Lorn surveys the small crowd, again he notes that virtually all are clad in white shimmercloth.
He frowns as he senses the brief chill of a chaos-glass, and he glances at Ryalth, who responds to his glance with a nod. Syreal catches the exchange. A slightly puzzled look vanishes almost immediately as she says in a low voice. “Terrible manners…and less point, except to be rude. Probably Rustyl. I told Father and Tyrsal he could not be invited.”
“You’re not exactly fond of him?” Ryalth asks.
“He tried to insist Father allow Aleyar to be his consort, and even got Chyenfel to put in a good word. Father, for once, listened to the rest of us.”
“Even were he not my friend, I would find Tyrsal far better for your sister,” Lorn says.
“Rustyl is a finely-formed dungball,” suggests Nyarl brightly.
“Nyarl…”
“He is, but I’ll be still.”
“Thank you,” answers Syreal.
Lorn and Ryalth smile, then watch as Syreal turns.
Veljan-wearing pure blue shimmercloth, not the blue-and-green of Ryalth’s tunic, is blocky, clean-shaven, and square-faced. He makes his way from the circular staircase toward the foyer outside the dining area, and his brown eyes sparkle when he catches sight of Syreal standing beside Ryalth.
As he approaches, Veljan bows to Ryalth and then to Lorn.
“You have heard of Lorn and the Lady Ryalth, Veljan,” offers Syreal.
“I am most pleased to see you both here, and especially you, Lady Ryalth.”
“And I, you, honored trader.” Ryalth smiles warmly.
Lorn inclines his head politely.
Veljan laughs. “I can only lay claim to seeking to be honest and fair and listening to two of the best advisors a trader could ever have.” His head inclines to Syreal.
“Lorn! Ryalth!” Two dark-haired figures make their way through the growing crowd.
Lorn smiles as Jerial and Myryan approach. “I was looking for you.”
“We just got here,” Myryan explains. “Ciesrt was late, and now he’s stopped downstairs to talk to someone.”
“These are my sisters, Jerial and Myryan.” Lorn looks the other merchanter couple. “And Veljan and Syreal. Syreal, you may recall, was a favorite of Father’s.”
Syreal flushes slightly as she bows. “Aleyar has talked about you both so much. I am so pleased to meet you.”
Veljan bows. “And I, also.”
A handbell rings, and Liataphi’s voice rises above the conversations taking place around the foyer. “If you would all find your placards and seat yourselves…”
“We’d better find Ciesrt,” Myryan says, then looks at Veljan. “It was good to meet you.” She turns to Lorn and Ryalth. “We’ll talk to you after dinner.”
“And you, too,” replies Syreal.
“Please find your placards,” Liataphi’s voice rises again.
“Father…always organizing everyone,” says Syreal good-naturedly.
“There’s one in every family,” Veljan says. “My sister Elnya is that way.”
“Yes, she is,” agrees Syreal, “nice as she is.”
“Chyla looks like her,” interjects Nyarl. “Perhaps she’ll be like Lady Ryalth.”
Syreal rolls her eyes. “Nyarl…you need to find your place.”
“So do you.” But Nyarl bows and turns.
“I love her,” Syreal says as the younger healer slips past several Magi’i and consorts Lorn does not know, “but she has the healing skills of one twice her age, and the tact of people of one-half her age.” After a pause, she adds, “We’re over on the left side of the first table.”
“At the bottom, I imagine,” suggests Veljan, withholding a grin for a moment.
Syreal flushes, if briefly, then shakes her head, moving toward the table. The other three follow, and seat themselves before the simple white cards with their names. Lorn is seated farthest to the right and from the head of the table, jointly shared by the newly-consorted couple. Above him on the same side are Aleyar’s parents, so that Lorn sits beside Lleya. Ryalth is seated on Lorn’s left, with Veljan beside her, and Syreal at the bottom corner.
Serving girls come down the tables, offering either Fhynyco or redberry juice. Lorn, Ryalth, and Veljan take the wine, Syreal the juice.
Somewhere the bell rings, and silence finally reigns in the dining area that holds three tables. At the head table, Tyrsal rises and surveys the party.
“Thank you all for coming,” Tyrsal says. “I’m supposed to make a few light remarks and then let everyone enjoy the food. So I will. First, we thank our parents, for being the first ones in making this happy event possible. Second, I would like to thank Lorn, and only say that you and your father were absolutely correct about Aleyar, and I wish I’d listened sooner.” Tyrsal grins. “Except I probably wouldn’t have appreciated her half so much then. And lastly, I’d like to say how much it means to us both for you all to be here.” With another broad smile, Tyrsal sits down.