Scholar

than Tellan or far less common Pharsi, and the language and the light honeyed shade to her clear skin suggested not only her background but who she happened to be.

“As you wish, mistress,” replied Quaeryt.

“It is my wish, scholar.”

He bowed his head, then turned and walked the ten yards or so to the first archway.

Two guards stood there.

“The young mistress requested my presence.”

“Wait,” said one.

The other turned and disappeared past another bank of ferns. In moments he returned and nodded. Both stepped aside, but as Quaeryt walked past, he could feel their eyes on his back.

He kept walking until he reached the young woman. “You requested my presence, mistress?” Quaeryt avoided looking directly into her eyes, as required when addressing a woman of stature.

“You’re going to see my brother, aren’t you?” Her voice was pleasant, with that hint of huskiness he found attractive. Her face was also well-shaped, neither too long nor too round.

“My presence has been requested by Lord Bhayar. I could not presume your position. Many women have brothers,” he replied. “I only know that you are favored to be here in the fountain gardens.”

“Favored? One might say that. You are a scholar. Tell me something.”

“About what, mistress?”

“Aunt Nerya”-the girl-woman nodded to the duenna-“claims that for an unmarried woman to ride in public without her parents or a male relative is as bad a sin as Naming. Is it? Are there any writings that declare that? Has any high chorister of the Nameless proclaimed it?” Her light brown eyes studied him with an intensity he found unsettling, yet oddly pleasing.

“I have read none, mistress, yet I am not a scholar of the Nameless, but of history and of the physical world. You would do better to ask a high chorister.”

Nerya nodded.

“Are you a coward to refuse an opinion?” The young woman’s voice remained pleasant, a tone more suited to asking about the weather or the time to dine, but with the slightest undertone of amusement.

“Any man is a fool to offer advice on how a woman behaves with regard to her family, unless he is her husband. In that case, he might still be foolhardy. I would far rather be called a coward than to be a fool.”

“So you’re afraid of Bhayar?”

“I respect Lord Bhayar, and only a fool would not have a healthy respect for a lord as accomplished and powerful as he is. I also respect his willingness to learn and to listen.” Even if his lack of patience limits both.

“Do you ride, scholar?”

“At times, mistress. There is little call for scholars to ride.”

“I had heard differently.” She offered a smile, one not quite inviting, nor yet dismissive. “In time, perhaps I can persuade my brother to have you accompany us on a ride somewhere … suitable.” There was a slight pause before she extended a sealed missive. “Since you are a scholar of history, you might find this of some amusement. If you do, I will take your comments. You may return them to me, directly, if we happen to encounter each other, or you may pass them to Nerya.”

Historical comments from her? Quaeryt took the sealed document and inclined his head. “I will do so.”

After a moment, she added, “You may go.”

“By your leave, mistress.”

“You didn’t use my name,” she said.

Quaeryt smiled. “It’s not my place to presume.” Although doing so would be a pleasure … if most dangerous.

“Go.” The single word held a tone of amusement … and perhaps something more.

He bowed and then turned, slipping the document inside his tunic and making his way from the fountain gardens, wondering exactly what Vaelora had really wanted … and even more of concern, what was in the missive or document. He hadn’t seen her in years, and then only a handful of times from a distance, but Bhayar’s other three surviving sisters were all much older-and married. The oldest, Chaerila, had been married to the Autarch of Antiago and had died in childbirth a year after the wedding. The autarch had promptly remarried-a niece of Rex Kharst, another matter of continuing concern to Bhayar.

Still … there was definitely something about Vaelora … far beyond mere attractiveness, although she was certainly good-looking. She might have been raised to be married off for political purposes, but whoever married her would have his hands full, and then some, Quaeryt suspected.

Enough … you’d best not even dream about her.

He concentrated on what he would say to Bhayar as he approached the private staircase.

Savaityl was not there, but the guard nodded politely. “Lord Bhayar is currently occupied.”

Still thinking about Vaelora and what she wanted, and wondering why on Terahnar she had reached out to him, Quaeryt waited for a good half glass before the bell beside the grille gate rang and the guard unlocked it. He nodded politely and started up the staircase, seemingly as hot as an oven. When he reached the third level, he was drenched in his own sweat. He stopped and blotted his forehead before he walked slowly to where an assistant steward stood outside the open study door.

“The scholar is here, Lord.”

“Send him in.”

Quaeryt stepped past the man and walked toward the desk Bhayar stood behind, looking down and examining a musket laid out on the wooden surface.

“There ought to be a better way of making these,” mused Bhayar. “Do you think they could be imaged?”

“I would doubt it. A good imager might be able to image each piece perfectly, but they’d still have to be put together, and if any piece happened to be the slightest bit out of true…”

“It wouldn’t work. Or worse, would misfire.” Bhayar shook his head. “It must have taken Kharst’s smiths years to hammer out the parts for the muskets he supposedly used at Khel. They take forever to load, and they’re not very accurate. I’d wager that they were mostly for effect, and that his cavalry was what routed the Pharsi.”

“It could be.”

“You don’t sound convinced, scholar.”

“The Pharsi won most of the battles where cavalry were important. Rex Kharst had to have done something different at Khel.”

“Maybe he just had more cavalry by then. Or imagers.”

“That’s very possible.”

“I understand my sister summoned you,” Bhayar said evenly, “and gave you a document detailing her thoughts on history.”

“She did. I thought it unwise to refuse it.”

Bhayar laughed. “I have found it unwise to refuse her more reasonable requests as well. Yet you were most proper. Even Savaityl thought so, and he is not generous in his judgments. Most proper. Were it not for your reputation, scholar, one might think that your interests did not lie in women.”

“I have great interests in women, and your sister is most attractive. Most attractive. It is not my place to make advances to her or to respond to such.”

“You’re right. You also have good judgment in that and in many other matters.” Bhayar picked a leather pouch off the desk and extended it. “Your silvers and golds for travel.” He then handed Quaeryt a thin leather folder. “That holds your appointment as scholar assistant to the princeps. I thought an easily concealed case would be more suitable.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt bowed his head. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“I also have sent a dispatch telling both Rescalyn and Straesyr to expect you. Upon your return, I want a detailed report on the state of matters in Tilbor. An honest report.” A chuckle followed. “Knowing you, that is doubtless an unnecessary warning. I still felt compelled to make it.”