you spread information awfully fast.”
The lingering disgust vanished in a resounding belly laugh. “I am one of the Paran’s advisors. He informed me immediately.”
“Oh. Well, all right. That makes sense. So, um, about the implant—do you know how it’s done?”
“I am unfamiliar with the realm of the apothecary, artisan. I know only that the theory is quite old, and that you will understand the implanted language when you awake.”
She blew a sigh out the side of her mouth. “That sounds good.”
“It is all I know,” he added. “I cannot tell you anything more.”
“It was enough, Kellandin, thank you.”
* * *
The Monral leaned back at the desk in his closed study, frowning at his chief advisor. He had required the man to wait, standing, while he finished reading a report, but Adryth remained imperturbable. The Monral’s frown deepened. He used the tactic more from habit than necessity; it had not affected Adryth in tens of years. Finally, the Monral put his tablet aside and nodded permission to speak.
“I cannot advise you properly if you do not tell me your plans,” the man said. “I remind you—”
“—of what happened five years ago,” the Monral finished. “I would have succeeded, had Parania not betrayed me to Suralia.”
“That is my point, high one. Chaos will find its way into the most careful arrangements. I know you have set a major plot in motion. You must prepare for the consequences of failure at any point. The Monral your father—” Adryth stopped himself.
Sudden fury widened the Monral’s eyes and flared his nostrils. He dares! He fisted one hand under the desk. Early training and years of practice kept his voice soft, but he allowed himself to bristle. “Am I your apprentice, then, Scholar?” he asked.
Adryth took a small step backward, lips twitching nervously. “Forgive me, high one. I seek to inform—” He paused. Then he straightened and his expression flattened. “An advisor cannot work with incomplete information.”
“Indeed? You chastise me well enough despite that.”
Adryth opened his mouth to speak, then snapped his jaw shut. The Monral lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“The artisan caste requests more Vedeli marble,” the scholar said. “The stock of materials suitable for training young sculptors is low and contains little variety. I arranged a preliminary negotiation with the Vedelia’s heir. His counteroffer included a substantial increase in the amount of grain he requires in return, but we expected that, given the flooding and the crop failures they experienced during the summer. I sent the information to you.”
He nodded and picked up his tablet. The numbers were high, but not unreasonable given the circumstances, and well within Monralar’s surplus.
“We would do well to court Vedelar’s favor away from Suralia,” he replied. “Accept it, and return tomorrow.”
The Monral quit his chair and turned to gaze out the window as the man left. This wing of the stronghold overlooked the city, its pale stone towers gleaming in the golden sunlight. To the east and west, fields of grain busy with autumn harvesters abutted the walls, and beyond it the sea crashed against the shore. Satisfaction at the sight of his well-run province softened the annoyance caused by Adryth’s impertinence.
Soon, all of Tolar would benefit from his rule. His chief advisor’s fears had no path in reality. He would weaken Parania and punish the Paran for his part in the humiliating setback five years ago, and in the process, gain the support he needed to take leadership of the ruling caste—all without leaving a trace of his hand. The Paran would never know who bore the responsibility for his anguish.
He need only monitor his target’s movements and strike when the opportunity presented itself. Soon .
And Suralia could not interfere, this time.
* * *
CCS-52-0113
FROM: Adeline Pearson Russell
SUBJECT: Tolar activity
Officer at Gliese 877 reports
The lingering disgust vanished in a resounding belly laugh. “I am one of the Paran’s advisors. He informed me immediately.”
“Oh. Well, all right. That makes sense. So, um, about the implant—do you know how it’s done?”
“I am unfamiliar with the realm of the apothecary, artisan. I know only that the theory is quite old, and that you will understand the implanted language when you awake.”
She blew a sigh out the side of her mouth. “That sounds good.”
“It is all I know,” he added. “I cannot tell you anything more.”
“It was enough, Kellandin, thank you.”
* * *
The Monral leaned back at the desk in his closed study, frowning at his chief advisor. He had required the man to wait, standing, while he finished reading a report, but Adryth remained imperturbable. The Monral’s frown deepened. He used the tactic more from habit than necessity; it had not affected Adryth in tens of years. Finally, the Monral put his tablet aside and nodded permission to speak.
“I cannot advise you properly if you do not tell me your plans,” the man said. “I remind you—”
“—of what happened five years ago,” the Monral finished. “I would have succeeded, had Parania not betrayed me to Suralia.”
“That is my point, high one. Chaos will find its way into the most careful arrangements. I know you have set a major plot in motion. You must prepare for the consequences of failure at any point. The Monral your father—” Adryth stopped himself.
Sudden fury widened the Monral’s eyes and flared his nostrils. He dares! He fisted one hand under the desk. Early training and years of practice kept his voice soft, but he allowed himself to bristle. “Am I your apprentice, then, Scholar?” he asked.
Adryth took a small step backward, lips twitching nervously. “Forgive me, high one. I seek to inform—” He paused. Then he straightened and his expression flattened. “An advisor cannot work with incomplete information.”
“Indeed? You chastise me well enough despite that.”
Adryth opened his mouth to speak, then snapped his jaw shut. The Monral lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“The artisan caste requests more Vedeli marble,” the scholar said. “The stock of materials suitable for training young sculptors is low and contains little variety. I arranged a preliminary negotiation with the Vedelia’s heir. His counteroffer included a substantial increase in the amount of grain he requires in return, but we expected that, given the flooding and the crop failures they experienced during the summer. I sent the information to you.”
He nodded and picked up his tablet. The numbers were high, but not unreasonable given the circumstances, and well within Monralar’s surplus.
“We would do well to court Vedelar’s favor away from Suralia,” he replied. “Accept it, and return tomorrow.”
The Monral quit his chair and turned to gaze out the window as the man left. This wing of the stronghold overlooked the city, its pale stone towers gleaming in the golden sunlight. To the east and west, fields of grain busy with autumn harvesters abutted the walls, and beyond it the sea crashed against the shore. Satisfaction at the sight of his well-run province softened the annoyance caused by Adryth’s impertinence.
Soon, all of Tolar would benefit from his rule. His chief advisor’s fears had no path in reality. He would weaken Parania and punish the Paran for his part in the humiliating setback five years ago, and in the process, gain the support he needed to take leadership of the ruling caste—all without leaving a trace of his hand. The Paran would never know who bore the responsibility for his anguish.
He need only monitor his target’s movements and strike when the opportunity presented itself. Soon .
And Suralia could not interfere, this time.
* * *
CCS-52-0113
FROM: Adeline Pearson Russell
SUBJECT: Tolar activity
Officer at Gliese 877 reports
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