“I thought you might be.”
Quaeryt ignored the knowing smile. When he’d been given his names, he’d been too young to know that Ryter was the most common name in Telaryn and that a great proportion of orphans bore the surname “Rytersyn.” “My parents died of the Great Plague when I was very young, and in a place where no one knew their names.”
The princeps nodded. “You are welcome here. I will have young Gaestnyr fetch Syndar and Lankyt and then ready your chamber. You can wait for them on the porch. These days it is much cooler there.”
“Oh … and because of the wreck, I will need to make arrangements for another few sets of scholar’s garb.”
“That should be no problem at all. We have a fine tailor.” The princeps strode briskly out the door, and Quaeryt followed, waiting on the shaded porch and standing to catch the light breeze out of the east, while both Zarxes and Gaestnyr vanished in different directions.
Before long, another young man, wearing the uncollared brown shirt and brown trousers of a student, appeared from the east side of the porch, which apparently circled the entire building. He was broad-shouldered and brown-haired and looked much as Rhodyn must have as a young man, Quaeryt thought.
“Scholar … the princeps said that you had a missive for me?”
“I have missives for two students,” Quaeryt said. “You are?”
“Syndar Rhodynsyn.”
Quaeryt lifted both missives from his jacket, looked at the names, and handed one to Syndar. “He wrote this late on Lundi.”
“Who did?”
For a moment, Quaeryt didn’t answer. Didn’t Syndar even know his father’s writing? “Your father did. The other missive is for your brother.”
“Oh…” Syndar nodded. “I’m sorry, scholar. My thoughts were elsewhere. Thank you. I do appreciate your bringing it here.”
“You’re welcome. I was pleased to do it. Your father and mother were most hospitable and kind.”
“They are, indeed.” Syndar nodded again. “I do thank you.”
Then he turned and left.
Almost as soon as Syndar was out of sight, headed around the east side of the porch, another student, this one far more slender, walked toward the scholar from around the west corner of the porch. His steps were quick, almost eager, and he bowed immediately after stopping short of Quaeryt.
“Scholar Quaeryt, sir? I’m Lankyt Rhodynsyn. The princeps said you might have a missive for me.”
“I do indeed.” Quaeryt proffered the remaining missive.
As soon as Lankyt saw his name, he smiled. “Thank you so much, sir. Thank you.”
“Your father wanted to make sure that you got it, yet…” Quaeryt offered a curious expression and let his words die away.
“What is it, sir?”
“Your brother did not seem overjoyed.…”
“He has many things on his mind.”
“That is what he said, but I’m sure you do as well.” Quaeryt paused. “You have another brother. Your mother mentioned him. He’s in Bhorael, as I recall.” Rhodyn had only said not to mention the letters.
“That’s Jorem.”
“Your father didn’t say much about him. He seemed sad when he mentioned his name.”
“Jorem and Father … they don’t see things the same way.”
“I’ve heard that’s often true.”
“You must get along well with your parents, sir,” said Lankyt with a laugh.
“No. My parents died when I was very small. I was raised by the scholars.”
“Oh … I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean…”
“That’s all right. You were saying…”
“It all happened because of the riots … and the Telaryn armsmen. Did you hear about the riots?”
“Only that there were riots.” At the time, Quaeryt had just returned to Solis and hadn’t been that interested in much beside persuading the scholars to take him back. And Jorem had avoided talking about anything like that.
“Old Lord Chayar had told the armsmen to leave the local girls alone. Some of them decided that no one would mind if they took some liberties with the Pharsi girls. Even the Tilborans looked down on them.”
Quaeryt let himself wince.
“I see you know about Pharsi women.”
“I know that the women are the ones who run the households and that their husbands are usually the ones who do the obeying.”
“Some of the soldiers ended up dead, and some were wounded. The governor-the old governor-sent the garrisons out to patrol the streets and then had his engineers destroy the four whole blocks where the armsmen were killed. Some of the dwellings and shops weren’t owned by Pharsi families, and the owners protested. The governor ignored them. He said they were all Tilborans, and he didn’t care who believed what. People started throwing rocks at the soldiers, and things got worse, and more people and more soldiers got killed, and then the armsmen killed a lot more people…” Lankyt shrugged. “I wasn’t here then, but that’s what the old scholars say happened.”
“Those sorts of things can get out of hand, but I don’t understand what that has to do with your brother.”
“Oh … he rescued a Pharsi girl and her parents. They were visiting their cousins, trying to help them leave Tilbor. The parents were badly hurt in the riots, but Jorem managed to get them all back to Bhorael. They had a produce factorage.”
Quaeryt forced himself to wait.
Lankyt finally went on. “He kept seeing Hailae, and they fell in love. After two years, when he was about finished with his studies, he wrote Father saying that he intended to marry Hailae. Father wrote back saying that was fine, and that he looked forward to having his son and new daughter taking over the holding. That was where the trouble started.”
“Hailae wanted to stay near her family?” asked Quaeryt.
“She was their only child, and they were ill. Father offered to bring everyone to Ayerne, but Hailae and Jorem said that they wanted to carry on the factorage. He did not wish to ask Hailae to give up all that her parents had sacrificed for, and their injuries were too great for them to run the factorage. Father was hurt, I think. That was when he sent Syndar here to study. I came a year later.”
Quaeryt nodded slowly. “Your brother-Syndar-seems rather quiet. Withdrawn, almost.”
Lankyt nodded. “He wants to stay and be a scholar. He never liked all that went into running a holding.”
“And you?”
“I’m ready to go back to Ayerne any time. Father wants me to stay until Year-Turn. I think he hopes Syndar will change his mind.”
Quaeryt wanted to shake his head. So often brothers fought over an inheritance, and in the case of Rhodyn’s sons, it seemed as though the father would have preferred either son who didn’t want the holding to the one who did. “You really like Ayerne, don’t you?”
Lankyt’s face brightened once more. “I’ve always loved it. I’ve studied about plants and trees, and I think there are things I could do that would make the holding even more prosperous. I’ve even visited the growers around here, the ones that the scholars say are the most successful…”
Quaeryt nodded pleasantly, trying to hide a smile at the young man’s enthusiasm, as well as his own sadness, knowing that the expectations of others might well dampen those feelings.
“… and Caella has already tried some of what I wrote her, and it’s working with her orchards.”
“Your mother mentioned that.”
“They didn’t think she could do it, either.” Abruptly, Lankyt stopped. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to…”
“You didn’t. I think you’ll make a fine holder.”
