Soumeta stared at her, more terrified and cowed by Yalith's freezing cold precision than she would ever have been by any shouted confrontation. Yalith held her eye for another handful of heartbeats, then nodded very slightly.
"You may go, Fifty Soumeta. And the next time you tell my assistant you have an appointment to see me, you had better have an appointment. Because if you don't, you will never have one again. Is that also clear?"
Soumeta nodded quickly, and Yalith snorted.
"Then go," she said, and Soumeta seemed to levitate up out of her chair. She disappeared through the door much more rapidly than she'd entered, and it closed behind her.
It opened again after a moment, and Sharral stuck her head back into Yalith's office.
"I thought you said we couldn't step on her?" the assistant said mildly.
"No, I said you and Balcartha couldn't step on her."
"Isn't that more or less the same thing?"
"Not even remotely." Yalith grimaced. "What I just did was to personally counsel and reprimand a junior officer because I was dissatisfied with the fashion in which she'd carried out the instructions I'd given her. Well, I did smack her for insubordination, too, but that was on a personal level. What I did not do was to have one of my subordinate minions-that's you, Sharral-whack her, nor did I overreact by having one of her military superiors-that's Balcartha-give her the same reprimand." The mayor shrugged. "Not even her sponsors on the Council can suggest that anything that just transpired in this office was remotely improper on my part. Or that she didn't just give me ample justification for the hammer I did bring down on her."
"And just which member of the Council do you expect to be fooled by all of this dancing around the point?"
"I don't expect to fool anyone," Yalith said. "You know what sort of juggling act I'm already doing with the Council. The sides are pretty clearly drawn, but as long as I stay within the bounds of custom and usage, Saretha's clique doesn't have a pretext to call for an open vote of censure."
"Do you really think it's that bad?" Sharral looked at the mayor, her expression both dismayed and surprised.
"Do I really think that? No." Yalith shook her head. "But that doesn't mean I'm right. And it also doesn't mean the situation can't change. So until I'm positive about exactly what it is Saretha wants-and that I can keep her from getting whatever it is-I'm not planning on taking any chances."
She shook her head again.
"This thing has been building for a long time now, Sharral. I don't like the way the intensity has suddenly started climbing over the last year or two, either. And, to be honest, I'm just as angry as Soumeta or Saretha could possibly be. But right this minute, the situation is hanging on the very brink of going out of control. We don't need some silly confrontation-or anything!-to make things even worse."
Chapter Sixteen
Bahzell Bahnakson stood on the battlements of Hill Guard Castle, gazing off into the distance and worrying. Brandark Brandarkson stood at his left elbow and helped him do it.
"Why do I have the feeling this was a really bad idea?" the Bloody Sword hradani murmured.
"Coming up here?" Bahzell looked down at him and cocked an eyebrow, and Brandark shook his head with a tight grin. It wasn't raining. In fact, the sun shone bright, and clear blue patches showed through fitful breaks in the clouds. But the blustery wind was much stronger up here on the walls, where no obstacles blocked or abated its power, and both hradanis' warrior braids blew out behind them.
"No," Brandark said. He gestured at the road, stretching off to the east. "I meant Tellian's haring off this way."
"It's not as if he'd any other choice, is it now?" Bahzell replied, and Brandark shrugged.
"The fact that something's the only choice someone has, doesn't make it a good idea when he does it," he pointed out. "Especially not when he has as many enemies as Tellian does. I don't like the thought of his dashing about out there with no more than a score of bodyguards, Bahzell."
"First, it's only by the gods' grace that he's any bodyguards at all with him," Bahzell snorted. "Once Tarith turned up and he'd confirmation of all Leeana had done, he was all for heading out with naught but Hathan beside him. Now that, I'm thinking, is something as most anyone would think was after being a bad idea."
"You know," Brandark observed, "you're developing quite a gift for understatement, Bahzell."
Bahzell only snorted again, louder, but both of them knew he was right. Even Tellian had known that much, although both Hathan and Hanatha had found themselves forced to sit on him-almost literally-before he'd admitted it. That had been harder for Hanatha than for his wind brother, but frantic as she was over her daughter's safety, she was also the wife of one great noble and the daughter of another. Despite the unmatchable speed with which any wind rider's courser gifted him, the Lord Warden of the West Riding had no business at all putting himself at risk by gallivanting around the countryside unprotected. It was entirely possible that one of his enemies might be keeping an eye on his comings and goings with an eye towards a quiet little assassination, assuming he was foolish enough to offer an opening, and not even a courser could outrun an arrow. Besides, as Hathan had grimly pointed out, Leeana had stolen enough of a lead that it was unlikely even coursers could overtake her short of her destination, so there was no reason to dash out like reckless fools.
"Second," Bahzell continued after a moment, "that's his daughter out there, Brandark. He's a noble and a ruler, aye. But he's after being a father before he's any of those other things." He shook his head. "He'll not give over, no matter what."
"But is that really what's best for Leeana?" Brandark asked more quietly. Bahzell looked at him again, sharply, and the Bloody Sword shrugged. "I know he loves her, Bahzell. And I know he wants her safely home again. But Leeana's no fool. Whatever other people may think, you know-and so do her parents-that she didn't do this on a whim. If she thought it through as carefully as I'm sure she did, perhaps what she's doing is actually for the best."
Bahzell grunted. He'd thought the same thing himself as he remembered the pain, and the fear-and not for herself alone, he realized now-in a pair of jade-green eyes. But he knew that even if Tellian had come to the exact same conclusion, it wouldn't have made any difference to his determination to protect the daughter he loved from the consequences of her own decision.
"It might be you've a point," he said finally. "I'll not deny I've wondered the same. But in Tellian's boots, I'd make the selfsame choice, and well I know it." He shook his head again. "It's a hard thing, Brandark. A hard thing."
They fell silent again, gazing off into the wind, and wondering what was happening out there beyond the eastern horizon.
"Milord Champion!"
Bahzell looked up in surprise. The delicious odors of one of Tala's dinners-rich, hot curry, chicken, beef, and potatoes-drifted tantalizingly upward from the bowls and dishes on the table before him, and evening was busily giving way to night outside the window. He'd invited Gharnal and Hurthang to join him and Brandark for supper, but he hadn't expected any other visitors this night. And he certainly hadn't expected to see Sir Jahlahan Swordspinner turn up in his quarters in person.