Princeps

“Unless he thinks bringing two more regiments to the west might give Kharst second thoughts.”

“From what I’ve heard, Rex Kharst is impulsive enough that he sometimes doesn’t even have first thoughts.”

“Impulsive, but effective. Or his marshals are good enough to make his impulses effective.”

“That doesn’t lessen the effectiveness,” pointed out Straesyr.

Quaeryt noted that the governor didn’t point out that those less charitable to Bhayar could have said the same thing about the Lord of Telaryn.

“Myskyl could have First Regiment on the road in less than a week,” said Straesyr. “What about supplies?”

“Raurem is supposed to deliver a wagonload of those grain cakes on Jeudi, if we don’t get another storm. The rest of the stores are ready to go.”

Straesyr nodded. “The grain cakes will help, especially for the ride beyond Ayerne. There won’t be any forage at all.”

“I’ll see about getting more of them for Third Regiment. We have the golds for them, and even if it’s tight, we won’t have the expenses for victuals and fodder later in the year with two regiments gone earlier than planned.”

“Except that these orders to recruit and train another regiment will increase expenses.” The governor’s voice was dry.

“Creating a Fourth Regiment might not be bad. Some of the younger men who followed the hill holders might not mind food, clothing, and coppers, and sending them west would keep things quieter here. We might do a little planning along those lines.…”

“I already have,” replied the governor. “Rather, I’ve adapted the plans Rescalyn had already made.”

“Did he plan to split the old regiment into three regiments?”

“He planned for four, the way Bhayar just ordered.” Straesyr smiled sadly. “He was a brilliant man. He just didn’t anticipate that Bhayar would send an equally brilliant scholar to observe-and one who proved to be rather … durable.”

“Fortunate,” corrected Quaeryt.

“I’ve noted that fortune often tends to follow the most observant and best prepared in ways that reward them far more than mere chance, my dear princeps.” Straesyr offered a smile both warm and ironic. “In any instance, we’d best prepare for recruiting and staffing another regiment. Who would you suggest as commander?”

“Would Commander Zirkyl prefer to leave Rescalyt for a more active command? If you gave him a choice … a real choice … so that he doesn’t feel that he’s being pushed … Or would Myskyl prefer to leave First Regiment? They’re both good at training and discipline without overdoing it.”

“Since Myskyl’s senior, I’ll ask him. I’d wager he’d prefer to head south with First Regiment, but he’d like the chance to have a choice, and I’d like to give that option to him.”

Neither mentioned that the older commander had not been all that enthusiastic about the events surrounding Rescalyn’s death in the last moments of the battle against Zorlyn … or that he might prefer greater distance between himself and Quaeryt.

Quaeryt nodded, wondering, again, what exactly might be happening to the west … and if Straesyr would happen to be right in suggesting that Quaeryt might find himself leaving Tilbor before that long.

5

After Quaeryt left the princeps’s study on Vendrei and walked up to the private apartments, he looked first into the salon, then into the study where he thought Vaelora might still be writing. Both were empty. He found her in the dressing chamber, studying herself in the full-length mirror.

“What do you think of this?”

Quaeryt looked at what she wore, wide-legged purple trousers that, if she stood straight, looked like a skirt, above which were a yellow blouse and a tight-fitting jacket that matched the trousers.

“You don’t like it. I can tell,” she said when he did not immediately speak.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“The trousers and jacket are good. The yellow doesn’t go with your skin.”

“You could have said that first.”

“I … should have.”

She took off the jacket, looking at the blouse in the mirror. “I knew it.”

Quaeryt opened his mouth to ask why, if she knew it, she’d even asked him. Instead, he closed his mouth.

“The gray goes better … but it’s dull.”

“Do you have a pink or rose blouse?”

“If I had one, why would I be wearing the yellow? I didn’t bring a trousseau, dearest.”

The word “dearest” was not quite edged in acid, and Quaeryt kept still.

“And that’s not something my dear brother has bothered with sending.”

“And the seamstresses here are limited,” he offered. They’d been married with him in his browns with the one formal jacket-retailored temporarily to accommodate the splint-and she’d worn the best of the riding outfits she had brought.

“Are there any? With any great talent?”

Quaeryt stood, thinking. He knew he’d run across one. Then he winced. Why didn’t you think of that earlier?

“You have that look. What is it?”

“I just remembered. There is a seamstress in the harbor area. She used to create … tailor dresses for Tyrena.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think of her until now.”

“Oh?”

That word spoke volumes, but Quaeryt wasn’t about to address the implications. “She was … is one of the Sisters. She was the one who first told me about Chardyn’s link to the Khanar’s Guard and the pretender. I went into her shop by accident.…”

Vaelora sighed. After a moment, she smiled. “I’m sorry. I know it’s just a small dinner with Emra and Straesyr. But I did want to wear something different, and Eluisa offered me the yellow blouse. It doesn’t suit her either, and she never wore it.”

Quaeryt smiled ruefully. “At least, I remembered in time for something else.” He handed her the oblong envelope with the card inside.

She extracted it quickly and gracefully, her eyes scanning the elegant script. “A ball? A real ball? Who is High Holder Thurl?”

“One of the High Holders whose estate is nearby … comparatively. We may have to ride.” Quaeryt had never seen the carriages that remained at the Telaryn Palace in use, and he didn’t even know if there happened to be a sleigh. Probably somewhere, but why would anyone have used one in the last ten years?

“Ride? In a gown?”

That did sound ridiculous, Quaeryt had to admit. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I doubt Emra would even attend if she had to ride…”

“I will see.” Quaeryt held up a hand. “I doubt that we would be invited, except that as the sister of Lord Bhayar, you could not be overlooked, and so … I, as a mere lowly princeps, must also be included.”

“Quaeryt…” She grinned. “That is almost disrespect.”

“But … I did remember the seamstress.”