Princeps

After taking a taste of her skelana, Quaeryt looked to her. “You made the better choice.”

“It’s nice to hear you admit that,” she replied with a smile.

“But the domchana is still good. It’s just not as good.”

Vaelora took a sip of the white and set it down. “Your choice of beverage was better, I think.”

“Do you want a lager?”

“No … this will do.”

After they finished the meal, and as they walked southward toward the piers, Quaeryt strained to hear the low murmured words from the four troopers, but he could only catch snatches of words, because the troopers walked more than a few paces behind, obviously trying to give Quaeryt and Vaelora some space and privacy.

“… like he knew…”

“… say he knows more than…”

“… said he was Pharsi, too…”

“… blond?”

Even though Quaeryt did not look back, the troopers’ words died away.

Quaeryt looked sideways at Vaelora. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She shook her head ruefully. “You’d think, after all these years, that people would know that there’s Pharsi blood in our family.”

“How?” asked Quaeryt quietly. “Except for when you handed out flour and bread in Extela, this is probably the first time in your entire life when you’ve been surrounded by people who didn’t know who you are.” Perhaps not the first, but there can’t have been very many times. He didn’t voice that thought.

“But … the people who own the cafe … they’re Pharsi. Why didn’t he attack them?”

“They’re subservient, in his mind. They serve. They’re in their place. We weren’t … and he didn’t know who you were.”

“People here seem to know who you are, even when they don’t.” Vaelora’s voice held an edge.

“What do you mean?”

“The old woman in the cafe.”

“She just recognized us as having Pharsi blood.”

“Oh? She didn’t say ‘one of the lost ones.’ She said ‘the lost one,’” said Vaelora, “as if it meant something. As if she knew you were that lost one.”

“She bowed to you, not me. And how would she know?” Quaeryt shook his head even before he finished speaking, and quickly added, “A vision?”

“Farsight,” suggested Vaelora.

“You haven’t had any more visions lately, have you?”

“No … dearest. They’re not that frequent. Not for me. Grandmere had them more often, I think.”

“Why would she…? Could it be a skill that improves with experience?”

Vaelora laughed, ironically. “How? It’s not something you can exactly practice.”

“I wonder…”

“Wonder all you want.”

“Haven’t all the visions you’ve told me about dealt with people close to you?”

“How was the eruption in Extela…” Vaelora stopped.

“Twice. Your family was there when she had it, and it influenced your life.”

“But she didn’t know that then.”

“Do you know that? Or what else she saw? I told you about the young Pharsi woman in Bhorael, the wife of Rhodyn’s son? She had a vision of me in her kitchen before she ever knew I existed.”

Vaelora frowned, then smiled wryly. “It’s best to think that what will be will be, and that at times we may get a glimpse of it.”

Quaeryt nodded, thinking, A glimpse of what lies before us might be helpful-except such visions don’t appear to be that accommodating.

He reached out and took Vaelora’s hand as they continued toward the river.

60

Unlike Lundi, Mardi had been uneventful, and Quaeryt enjoyed spending time with Vaelora, if only talking or walking … not to mention other pleasures, but the day passed too quickly, as did the evening.

Despite the comparatively cramped room Quaeryt and Vaelora shared in the small post adjacent to the piers at Tresrives, officers’ quarters that a year earlier Quaeryt would have found more than adequate, Quaeryt woke early and with dread on Meredi morning. In the gloom that was barely lighter than full darkness, he glanced over at the still-sleeping Vaelora and a smile appeared on his lips, one that vanished immediately as he thought about how soon they would be parted.

You never thought you’d feel this way … or even have the chance to.

So few scholars ever could afford a wife, and as for imagers, almost no families even wanted a child who might grow up to be one. Quaeryt had understood that as a very young orphan among the scholars. That was why he’d kept his imaging talent to himself for long, long years … until Vaelora had arrived, although he had to admit that she and Bhayar had suspected it earlier than that. But Bhayar might not have without your letters to her.

Vaelora opened her eyes and yawned, then rolled closer to him and kissed him gently.

As she leaned back slightly a while later, he asked, “What was that for?”

“You know very well, silly man.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“For loving me, and not the sister of the Lord of Telaryn.”

“I only really knew you, as you. You are the one who saw to that.” There had still been times when he’d seen a certain imperiousness, but although Quaeryt did not know, not for certain, he had the feeling that most women had moments of imperiousness. Certainly, most men did … often with women in particular. That, he’d seen from the outside, as it were.

“I did my best.”

“You did it very well.”

Vaelora looked to the riding clothes on the rack, then offered a sad smile. “We’d best dress.”

All too soon, after a quick and cold breakfast in the officers’ mess, and packing both their mounts, he was mounted on the mare, waiting beside Skarpa in the courtyard as Eleryt, Vaelora, and Third Battalion’s second company rode out of the courtyard and swung eastward on the river road toward Solis.

How long before I see her again? He tried not to think about other, even less pleasant, possibilities as he finally turned the mare and followed the commander toward the front of the regiment about to ride out to the west and who knew what awaited them there.

For the next glass or so, Quaeryt and Skarpa rode westward, first from the barracks and over the bridge over the Telexan River, and then along the stone-paved river road. As the day grew hotter and damper, Quaeryt folded his jacket and laid it over the front of his saddle, then at the first rest and watering stop, tucked it into the left saddlebag.

Two glasses later, when they stopped again, Quaeryt dismounted and actually opened the tight saddlebag to reach for the hard biscuits he’d slipped inside before leaving Tresrives … and paused at the envelope tucked in beside the small sack of provisions.

How had she…? He shook his head and extracted the envelope, slipping it inside his tunic for a moment while he took out two biscuits and closed the saddlebag. Then the biscuits went into a pocket, and he opened the letter, smoothed it out carefully, and began to read.

Dearest-

I know I have not been the most pleasant person at times over the last weeks. At such times, I have not been the best of wives, either. That has not been right, or fair to you. I can only hope you understand. For