Lorn raises his eyebrows.
“You met her. Vernt’s consort.”
“I know. Mycela-she’s the daughter of Lector Abram’elth. One of the last scrolls I got from Father said she was expecting this summer.”
“She is. She does dote on Vernt, but the cream and simpering can get heavy at times, especially now that she’s already planning the child’s entire life.”
Lorn glances at Ryalth.
“I already told Jerial she was welcome to stay with us,” Ryalth says.
“A merchanter I know has consented to let me live in his dwelling,” Jerial says, with a faint smile.
“Someone who once was a dissolute gambler?” Lorn asks, almost idly.
“Exactly. It’s an arrangement of convenience.”
Ryalth nods.
Lorn turns to his consort. “I don’t suppose that Ryalor House made those arrangements?”
Ryalth smiles brightly. “How could I have done otherwise?”
Lorn shakes his head, then looks at his sister. “You’ll be close to us?”
“Only about three blocks to the northwest. It’s a small place. It used to be a carriage house.” Jerial smiles. “That way, at times, I can take care of Kerial.”
“You two…” Lorn shakes his head, then glances toward his consort.
Kerial has begun to windmill his arms, and Jerial glances at Ryalth.
“He’s hungry, I think,” Ryalth says.
Jerial stands and carries the boy to his mother, and Ryalth takes him, then unfastens several buttons on her tunic and eases her son to her breast. “He is hungry-again.”
“Father left some things for you,” Jerial looks at her brother. “Vernt got most everything to do with the Magi’i, but there are several stacks of books for you…and some papers he gave to me that he asked that you read as soon as you returned to Cyad.”
“We can send some of the warehouse workers from Ryalor House with Lorn to get the books later in the eightday,” Ryalth suggests, shifting Kerial slightly as he feeds.
“Don’t make it too long…and I need to get that box for you, while I’m thinking about it.” Jerial rises. “I’ll be right back.”
After Jerial takes the stairs, lightly and quickly, Lorn glances at Ryalth. “She seems to be all right.”
“She is.” The lady trader studies her son fondly. “You are a little piglet.” She looks up. “I’ll wager you were, too.”
Lorn shrugs helplessly. “I don’t recall.”
“I’ve heard about you and the pearapple tarts.”
“I was older then.”
“And probably more restrained,” the red-haired woman counters.
Lorn is still laughing as Jerial comes back down the stairs from the fourth level. The carved wooden box that Jerial carries had rested on one of the lower shelves in his father’s study, Lorn recalls, although he has never seen the box open. It is perhaps a third the size of a lancer footchest, and made of a dark and shimmering wood, inlaid with spirals of intertwined shimmering white cupridium and green lacquered cupridium.
“The box was Grandfather’s, Father said.” Jerial extends the box. “It’s filled with papers, and there’s a folded and sealed letter to you there.”
Lorn swallows and takes the box.
“Oh…and Vernt has made the arrangements with the registry to have the shares of the bond transferred to you and to me and Myryan.”
Lorn frowns.
“Father and Mother had set aside enough in golds,” Jerial explains, “and some in a trading account, so that the house wouldn’t have to be sold. Vernt will even have some golds, as well as the house.” The dark-haired healer looks at her brother. “You were kind to relinquish the elder-claim.”
“I’m not even the oldest, and I couldn’t see you and Myryan suffering.”
“You think I’d suffer?” Jerial arches her eyebrows.
“Well…”
“I’m doing fine, but I thank you.”
“Whhaaaaa!” Kerial interjects as Ryalth shifts her son to her shoulder to burp him.
“Now…in a moment, you can have some more, you little piglet.”
Kerial’s burp is loud, and Lorn winces. Ryalth smiles as she lowers Kerial to her other breast.
“You’ll get used to it,” Jerial predicts.
“I’m sure I will.” Lorn looks down at the heavy box in his lap once more. “Did Father say…anything?”
Jerial shakes her head. “Just that you would understand.”
“For a while, I think he despaired of my ever understanding anything.”
“He just wanted you to think that,” suggests the dark-haired healer.
“Ryalth has said as much,” Lorn admits. “You two think alike…too much, at times, I fear.” He grins.
“Poor…poor lancer officer,” Jerial coos at her brother.
“It’s a good thing you’re my older sister,” Lorn mock-grumps, “and that I respect you.”
“Very good, because you still don’t know everything,” Jerial responds. “Ryalth and I have to make sure you listen to us.” She grins.
“I’m outnumbered.” Lorn looks from side to side.
“You’re overdramatizing, too, dearest,” suggests Ryalth.
Lorn shrugs.
“How long will you be free?” asks Jerial.
“I have furlough until an eightday from oneday, but I’ll be reporting directly to the Majer-Commander to work here in Cyad.”
“That’s quite an honor,” Jerial says evenly.
“A dangerous honor,” he admits. “More dangerous as the seasons turn.”
The healer nods slowly. “What else are you doing…today?”
“We also need to see Myryan,” Lorn says.
“Yes, you do.” Jerial’s words are firm.
Lorn tilts his head at the tone of her words.
“She doesn’t talk to me-not really talk-and I don’t think she’s that happy. She will talk to you.”
“We’ll go there from here.”
“I’m glad.”
Ryalth disengages Kerial. “No. No biting.” She closes her shirt and tunic before burping her son.
Jerial stands. “You two need to see Myryan, and I need to finish packing before Mycela’s simpering turns to whining.”
“She whines?”
“Most politely,” Jerial says dryly. “It’s still whining.”
Lorn stands, then helps Ryalth. The three walk down to the front door, Lorn with the ornate wooden box under his arm.
“I’m looking forward to your dinner,” Jerial says. “I’ve been eating too much of my own cooking lately.”
Lorn raises his eyebrows.
“Mycela’s cook’s and my tastes aren’t exactly the same. That’s another reason to finish the packing.” Jerial grins as she opens the door.
The coachman has the carriage door open before Lorn and Ryalth have descended the steps out to the Road of Benevolent Light.
“Out to the Twenty-third Way,” Lorn tells the coachman. “East,” he adds as an afterthought.
“Yes, ser.”
Lorn assists his consort into the coach, then follows and settles himself on the seat beside her. “Kerial is doing well.”
“We’ll see how he lasts,” Ryalth replies.
Lorn glances at her, seeing the weariness in her eyes. “You’re tired.”
“It isn’t always easy, being the mother and the lady trader, even with a bed for Kerial in my trading office. And trading now is more dangerous than ever.”
“Why now?”
“The Emperor has lost three fireships, and there were never enough to protect all the traders. Piracy is increasing, particularly in the Gulf of Candar. They say that the pirates have built a small base on Recluce.” Ryalth shrugs. “The Emperor’s Enumerators are getting stricter, and since there’s no Hand to appeal to…”
“You wrote about that. The Emperor hasn’t appointed a new Hand?”
“Not yet. There are rumors that he’s ill, as well. That means prices go up and down with the latest rumors, and that makes merchanting even harder-without the sleep I lose to my little friend here.”
“Gaaa…” Kerial says.
“Yes, you, piglet,” Ryalth replies.
The carriage slows.
“Twenty-third Way, ser and Lady!”
Lorn waits until the coach comes to a halt before opening the door and then helping his consort out. Still holding on to the box from his father, he glances up. “I don’t know how long…”