as we return, and you can leave Imagisle, Mama wants you to come for dinner. She said a real dinner.”
I could tell that Seliora meant every word, but still . . . “What do they-or you-see?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Is it that bad?”
She shook her head. “I’m trying to keep it from being bad. You have to understand, Rhenn. There’s a . . . it’s a curse of sorts that comes with the sight. Too often, we’ve found, if things are bad, but not too bad, and we warn someone, especially someone we care about, in their efforts to avoid what we saw might happen, they make it worse.”
I didn’t like what she said, especially about things being bad, but I could see how that could happen. If I’d been warned about Johanyr, I might well have tried to be less harsh, and I might have been the one headed to Mont D’Glace. “You didn’t know about the assassin?”
“It’s harder with you. I told you why. Mama just told me to be very careful.” She paused. “You have to understand. I wouldn’t be telling you this now if you weren’t an imager.”
“Because people think of Pharsis and imagers in the same way?”
She nodded. “People don’t like those who do things they can’t understand.”
I’d already seen that. “Does having the sight help in your business?”
“Sometimes. At times, I can see someone who’s pleased and even get a glimpse of the design. Mother and Grandmama are better at sensing what people like.”
“Between all three of you, that gives you a great advantage.”
“Only because Papa and Shomyr are fine crafters. The craft of the furniture and the design together . . .”
“Are all the most sighted Pharsis women?”
Seliora smiled and tilted her head. “Mostly, but that’s because you have to trust your feelings. Most men think too much.”
I took her hand in mine.
“That’s the one area where they don’t think enough.” But she was smiling, and her words were soft and warm.
“And women do?” I grinned at her.
“When we find what we know and feel is right, we don’t keep looking. Any woman who does hasn’t found what’s right.” Her lips quirked. “There’s always the problem that the right man won’t recognize that she’s the right woman.”
Her words shivered through me, because they made me think of Remaya, who had seen Rousel and never let go. What if Rousel hadn’t seen? Was Seliora the right woman for me? Or was I merely the right man for her? The two weren’t necessarily the same thing. I’d certainly wanted to be with her, but . . . how would I know? Really know? And was I thinking too much?
“Yes. You are thinking too much.” She laughed.
“Do you read thoughts as well?”
“Only when they’re written on your face.”
I laughed. We might be close to the same age, but in one area, at least, she was far older and wiser. So I said just that.
“It’s a good thing you know your weaknesses, Rhenn,” she replied. “You don’t have many, and that can make you most vulnerable. Too many men with few weaknesses delude themselves into believing they have none.”
“Oh . . . I have weaknesses, and you’re definitely one of them.”
We talked for a long time, not saying all that much, but enjoying the banter and the early evening, and it was well past the seventh bell when I finished helping Seliora and Odelia pack everything back into their wicker baskets and then walked to the bridge with them.
There, on the edge of the bridge, Seliora turned to me and slipped her arms around me, then lifted her head and lips. We did kiss, and it was anything but brief.
When we finally released each other, she looked up. “You will come to dinner when we come back.” Her words were anything but a question.
“I promise.”
I stood on the bridge and watched until the three of them caught a hack, and I was glad that Odelia and Kolasyn were with Seliora, competent as she was.
46
A wink is not as good as a well-chosen phrase; in
intrigue, it’s better.
The next week and a half gradually got harder and harder, both in terms of my lessons with Master Dichartyn and the interrogations that resulted from those studies; the exercises required by Clovyl, which were designed to increase my strength and stamina without straining unduly my recovering injuries; and the sessions with Maitre Dyana.
I thought about Seliora, more than a little, but generally during the day, because I was so tired at night that I fell asleep quickly.
Maitre Dyana had me read and memorize a set of handwritten notes and observations on High Holders, and then she would quiz me. On the first Jeudi in Juyn, she took the notes back. “By now, you should understand that conversation is more than mere words. It is a combination of inflections, innuendos, gestures, and dry wit. Few not born into that culture ever master the intricacy of conversing well in that style, but someone such as you could certainly learn enough to interpret what lies beyond the words.”
“Especially as a merchant-born young man never expected to be more than an aide?”
She ignored my question, clearly deeming it rhetorical and unworthy of a reply. “The difficulty faced by the High Holders is that many of them equate intricacy and complexity with intelligence. The difficulty faced by those who do not understand intricacy and nonverbal complexity is that they often cannot distinguish between mere complexity for the sake of complexity and complexity that masks motives and intelligence often far greater than is usually encountered.”
I thought for a moment. “The more powerful High Holders would not remain so without both wealth and intelligence, but the web of complexity that veils all High Holders can shield the actions of the more intelligent and deadly, often until it is too late to discern the pattern and results.”
“Dichartyn believes you can see beyond the complexity.” Maitre Dyana raised her right eyebrow, a gesture far more effective than words could have been.
“You have great doubts, but you’re willing to make the attempt.” I smiled politely. “I can’t do a gesture like that, but even if I could, wouldn’t it be out of character for a man?”
“For any man thought to be interested in women.”
I had doubts that I’d be terribly convincing as any other type of man.
“Maintain that pleasant, close-to-but-not-quite-supercilious smile through everything, young Rhennthyl, and it will save you many words and much difficulty. Do not ever forget that on their actual holding, High Holders retain the rights of low justice, and that can be quite painful.” Her face changed slightly, in a manner I could not have described, but could certainly have painted, and there was pleasant interest, behind which was a hint of cold predation.
“Is that the expression one receives just after swallowing poison or getting a knife in the back?”
“No.” Her voice was sweetly pleasant. “That is the expression used when someone has just received word that they have ruined you. It’s an expression of triumph over someone who used to be an equal. The High Holders seldom kill each other . . . or those who have done them great wrong. That is far too kind.”
