Kier Inelkar Var Corminevar las Saral-Ibis resembled neither the ruler nor invader of the Palladian Empire. There were certain features which were apparent traits of the Ibisian royal line – small nose, slightly pointed face – but there was not the marked similarity to Ieskar Medair had found in Cor-Ibis' features. Nor was there any hint of Farakkian blood. The woman was as pale and remote as any of the White Snakes, without even the Corminevar jaw which had kept so many women of that line from being named true beauties. It made it better, that Inelkar did not look like either of the men Medair had known. Her nervously clenched stomach relaxed and she felt more in command of herself.
Avahn stopped some ten feet from the group gathered around the throne, and folded into a bow full of subtle complexities. Medair recognised it and decided to offer Kier Inelkar the same obeisance she had been trained to give the woman’s forebear, so long ago. The depth to indicate Medair was someone of much lower, but still courtly rank. The touches to either shoulder, but not to the heart, for Inelkar could surely not count as Medair’s sovereign and thus was owed no indication of loyalty. Avahn took himself off to one side of the chamber, leaving Medair alone before the throne.
"Medair ar Corleaux." The Kier’s voice was thin and precise and, though she was self-contained, there was nothing of Ieskar’s statue-like immobility in her manner. She wasn’t even wearing white, which had been the only colour permitted to the Kier who had ruled Saral-Ibis. "You have performed a signal service for us, Kel," Kier Inelkar said, surveying Medair’s close-fitting dress, tanned skin and streaked hair. "And raised many questions. An interesting problem, with debt owed and suspicions which cannot be ignored." A brief pause, then: "You are not a Medarist."
It hadn’t been a question, but Medair shook her head anyway, and the Kier continued.
"No. For a Medarist who denies her cause is a contradiction beyond resolving. But the name Medair is significant to more than that band of angry children. You bear not only the name of an Imperial Herald: there is also a tool of that dead office."
The interest in Medair’s satchel had been marked since her entry: an elderly female Keridahl and a middle-aged man with the single jade of an unranked Kerin appeared to be the most interested. They had both been studying the leather bag from their places on the Kier’s left since Medair had entered the room. The man shifted, then restrained himself, drawing the Kier’s attention to the degree of a brief, disinterested glance.
"The Empire’s Heralds were a stubborn breed. Those who did not perish in the conflict of our arrival departed Palladium. The mage who created the satchels died in her workroom, which was unfortunately placed near Arran Wall. None could reproduce her work, although there have been many attempts over the centuries. Now, it seems, someone has succeeded." She considered Medair’s impassive face. "A woman named Medair carrying a functioning Herald’s satchel is hardly a coincidence."
Since it seemed to be her cue, Medair said briefly: "The satchel was not given to me for my name, Ekarrel."
"Perhaps not. Still, you have both satchel and name, and conflict clouds the horizon. I will not pretend it is not tempting to take satchel and secrets from you, but I do not see that such an act is justified. We owe you a debt, Medair ar Corleaux, and one not to be lightly ignored in the face of what is to come." The middle-aged man on the Kier’s left made a hastily stifled sound and she again turned to look at him. Medair had guessed that the elderly woman was Keridahl Alar – perhaps this was a relative or supporter. Foolish, whoever he was, to reveal any sign of dissent to the Kier’s decision. But the Kier was forbearing, and merely looked at him until he was still and stiff with contrition. Jedda las Theomain, at the man’s side, was looking past the Kier to Cor-Ibis, who was in turn watching Medair, waiting for her to betray herself. Tension snarled the air, but the Kier possessed at least the self-command of her ancestor.
"However," she said, her light, cool voice perfectly emotionless, "I cannot ignore the security of Palladium altogether, and the chance of examining a functioning satchel is difficult to pass by without any attempt to expand our knowledge. Will you consent, Kel, to satisfy our curiosity on one or two questions, and to allow us to study your satchel for a short period – until after the evening meal? We will undertake, most faithfully, not to attempt to open it."
Another resemblance to Kier Ieskar, in the concession which merely paved the road for the polite demand. Medair fingered the strap of her satchel, wondering if she dared to trust not only the Kier, but those who would attempt to discover the crafting of the satchel. An impatient hand could destroy it, and all it–
"By all means," Medair replied, feeling just a little giddy. She lowered the satchel from her shoulder. They wouldn’t be able to open it, but Medair did not object to the possibility that they might do by accident what she could not contemplate deliberately. The over-anxious Kerin immediately came forward and took her satchel, and she watched his retreat with only the faintest pang, aware of Cor-Ibis' narrowed eyes and sharpened attention. He had probably expected her eventual consent, but not this abrupt, almost cheerful capitulation. She turned enquiring eyes to the Kier, and found that she, also, watched intently.
"We are obliged, Kel," Kier Inelkar said. "Tell me, what was your purpose in coming to Athere, a year ago?"
Medair had not expected this, and chided herself for underestimating the woman as she cast about for a suitable reply. No doubt she looked entirely guilt-ridden while she sought a relatively innocuous answer. What had happened to her much-vaunted Herald’s training?
"It had been a long time since I had been to Athere, Ekarrel," she said, eventually. "I wanted to see how much it had changed." The truth, sounding like a lie.
"You had been here before?"
"Some time ago."
"From your voice, I would name you Kyledran. There are few in Kyledra so familiar with the customs and traditions of my people as you appear to be."
"Perhaps they have not had the opportunity to visit Athere."
"Very likely," the Kier replied, one of her pale eyebrows quirking faintly. "It was fortunate for Keridahl las Cor-Ibis that you happened past. For what reason were you in Bariback Forest?"
"I live there, Ekarrel."
"Ah. Who was it gave you the satchel?"
Medair considered that one. There was no way she could tell them the truth. Desy an Kerrat’s name was well known, and five hundred years in the past. "It would be easier if you didn’t ask me questions I am obliged to lie to answer, Ekarrel," she pointed out.
"You believe me capable of discerning your position on a question, before I ask it?" The Kier’s tone was tolerant, but the expression shared by several of her silent court suggested Medair take care.
"Yes," Medair replied, a simple, serious estimation of this woman’s abilities.
"Unfortunate. For it is the questions you do not care to answer, which I wish to ask."
"Yes, Ekarrel. That is unfortunate."
They looked at each other, Kier of conquered Palladium and Medair an Rynstar, whose very name was a secret brandished openly. The implacable gaze was Kier Ieskar’s. But there was no reason to declare enmity and Kier Inelkar eventually inclined her head.