“Exactly.” Myacha picked up a jeweled butter knife and toyed with it, the cut gems sparkling in the sunlight. “As I say, he has a point. But I’m still-”
She cut herself off abruptly, and Brayahs looked at her speculatively. He didn’t need his mage talents to sense her unhappiness. Nor was he unaware of the reason she’d stopped so suddenly, and he felt a surge of sympathy for her position. Much as she had to know Borandas loved her, there was still an inevitable awkwardness whenever she might find herself in disagreement with her husband’s son.
“The North Riding’s policy is for Borandas to determine,” he said, after a moment, “and Thorandas is his logical advisor, not to mention his heir. For that matter, I’m officially in the King’s service now, and that means I have a tendency to look at these things from the Crown’s perspective. Borandas would have to take that into consideration when the time came to think about any advice I might have for him. Having said that, however,” he looked directly into her eyes, “I can’t escape the feeling that having Cassan in a position of ascendancy would be far worse for the Kingdom- and the North Riding-than having someone like Tellian there.”
“I know. I know.” Myacha put down the butter knife and reached for her chocolate cup again, but she didn’t drink from it. She only held it cradled between her palms, as if for warmth, and her expression was worried. “And I think Borandas feels the same way. In fact, up until a few weeks ago, I was certain he did. To be honest, I’m still certain he felt that way…then.”
“Oh?”
Brayahs wanted desperately to push for more information, but he wasn’t about to ask her to violate her husband’s confidence, so he kept his voice as close to merely politely interested as he could. Unfortunately, Myacha knew him as well as he knew her, and she laughed harshly.
“Borandas has asked my opinion, and I’ve given it to him,” she said. “In most ways, that’s that, as far as I’m concerned. But…but he doesn’t seem truly at ease in his own mind over this, Brayahs. I think…I think his instincts and his reason aren’t in full agreement. And I think this betrothal between Thorandas and Shairnayith Axehammer worries him more than he’s prepared to admit even to himself.”
“I haven’t spoken to him about any of this myself, yet,” Brayahs said slowly. “I know he’s going to want my impressions of the summer session, and I’ll give them to him, of course. But he is Baron Halthan. When it comes down to it, the decision’s his, and in fairness, I don’t remember the last time I saw him make a hasty judgment when it was something this important. I may not always have agreed with his logic, or even the decision he ultimately reached, but he’s a good man, your husband, Myacha. He takes his responsibilities seriously.”
“I know.” Myacha blinked, her amethyst eyes bright with unshed tears, and inhaled deeply. “I know. But…there’s something odd going on, Brayahs. Something that…worries me.”
“Odd?” Brayahs repeated. That wasn’t a word he was accustomed to hearing from Myacha. Nor was the youthful baroness in the habit of jumping at shadows or seeing “odd” things that weren’t actually there. “What do you mean, ‘odd’?”
“It’s just…”
Myacha stared down into her cup for several seconds. Brayahs could almost physically feel her tension across the table, although he couldn’t begin to put his mental finger on its cause. It was certainly more than any simple concern over her husband’s peace of mind, however; that much was obvious.
“I’m worried about Sir Dahlnar,” she said finally.
“About Dahlnar?”
Sheer surprise at the sudden shift in direction startled the question out of Brayahs, and her eyes lifted from the inside of her cup to his face. He looked back at her for a second or two, then shook himself.
“I’m sorry. You just…surprised me.” He smiled wryly. “Dahlnar Bronzehelm has to be one of the most levelheaded men I’ve ever known.”
“I agree,” she said softly. “But something’s…changed, Brayahs. Last winter, even earlier this spring, he was consistently urging Borandas to be wary of Cassan. And Yeraghor, of course, but mostly of Cassan. In fact, I remember Borandas saying to me that Sir Dahlnar had told him Cassan had to be growing desperate over Tellian’s growing successes, and that desperate men made dangerous allies.”
“I can believe that,” Brayahs said. In fact, he could almost hear Bronzehelm saying those very words, just as he’d given similarly astute advice so often in the past.
“Well, he’s changed his mind,” Myacha said flatly. “He’s actually in favor of Thorandas’ betrothal, despite how closely that’s going to bind the North Riding to the South. And he completely agrees with Thorandas’ concerns over Tellian’s growing power base. In fact, I think he’s even more concerned about it than Thorandas is, and he’s entirely ready to support Cassan-tactically at least-as a means of slowing Tellian down.”
Brayahs blinked in astonishment. That sort of shift in position, especially in such a brief period, was very unlike Dahlnar Bronzehelm. The seneschal was almost maddeningly deliberate and analytical. That was exactly what made him so valuable to Borandas. So unless he’d become aware of something Brayahs had seen no indication at all of from Sothofalas, why would he have-?
“You’re not suggesting Cassan’s influenced him,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
“No, of course not.” Myacha tossed her head impatiently. “If there’s one thing in the world I’ve never worried about, it’s Sir Dahlnar’s integrity. In fact, that’s what concerns me so now. It’s not as if any of this-except, possibly, Leeana’s relationship with Bahzell-came at him suddenly and without warning. And, unlike Thorandas, he’d never allow his…prejudices to color his advice on such an important question. I’m not saying Thorandas does that on purpose; I’m only saying Sir Dahlnar would consciously make sure he didn’t do it. And yet he’s completely changed his position on cooperating with Cassan and Yeraghor.”
“Well, it’s always possible he’s actually been inclining in that direction gradually for quite a while,” Brayahs pointed out. “He’s not the sort to give radically different advice without having spent the time to consider it carefully first.”
“No, he isn’t…even if that does seem to be exactly what he’s done.”
Myacha set her cup down very precisely on its saucer, folded her hands on the edge of the table, and leaned over them towards Brayahs.
“It’s not just the change in his position that concerns me,” she said very, very quietly. “It’s that…it’s that when I look at him, there’s something… wrong.” Her expression was frustrated, and she gave her shoulders an impatient shake. “It’s like…like he’s casting two shadows, Brayahs. I know that doesn’t make any sense, and it doesn’t really describe what I feel like I’m seeing, but it’s the closest I can come. It’s just…wrong,” she repeated.
Brayahs sat very still, his own expression blank, as only a master mage’s expression could be, yet a sudden, cold tingle went through him.
The magi of Norfressa, the Order of Semkirk, knew far more about the art of wizardry than anyone outside the Order probably even imagined. Among other things, the Axe Hallow Academy was the keeper of the entire library Wencit of Rum had managed to save out of the wreck of Kontovar. No mage could use wizardry, of course. Indeed, the mage talents and wizardry were mutually exclusive, and that was one thing which had made the Axe Hallow Academy and the Council of Semkirk the logical keepers and protectors of Wencit’s manuscripts and notes.
As long as the object was to keep them out of than hands of other wizards, at least.
Brayahs had wondered, on occasion, why Wencit had never attempted to reconstitute the White Council of Ottovar here in Norfressa. Oh, immediately after the Fall, in the face of the refugees’ hatred and distrust of anything smacking of wizardry-aside from Wencit himself, perhaps-the decision against training a new generation of wizards had undoubtedly made sense. But that had been twelve hundred years ago, and Brayahs knew of his own personal knowledge that the “art” was far from extinct among the descendents of those long-ago refugees. Surely Wencit had to have at least considered the possibility of rebuilding the White Council, training wizards to support him against the threat of Kontovar and the Council of Carnadosa!