Intrigues: Book Two of the Collegium Chronicles (a Valdemar Novel) by Mercedes Lackey Page A

incredibly smug of late. So both Soren and I are concerned. We want to know what he’s up to. It might be nothing. But if there is anything going on that is counter to the interest of the kingdom as a whole, not only do we want to know what it is, we can use that to dismiss Chamjey, or demand his resignation, and have someone more honest put in his place.”
    Mags nodded. “Am I gonna need t’ get leave t’ skip some classes?” He both hoped for and dreaded the idea. Hoped for, because he would certainly not be at all averse to missing a complex maths class or two. And definitely not averse to missing a language class.
    Dreaded because if he did miss the classes, he would only have to make them up. Ugh.
    “Perhaps. I don’t know yet, but I’ll take care of the arrangements for you. In the meantime—” Nikolas handed him a slip of paper. “This is his address, if you care to scout it out. Perhaps it will give you some ideas for following him without being observed.”
    Mags took it, and smiled. The address was not far from Councilor Soren’s home, and the Councilor—and more especially, the Councilor’s niece Lydia and her friends—were acquaintances of his. No one would think twice about seeing him ride past, and he was overdue for a visit.
    Now he just had to somehow squeeze time in for that visit. From somewhere. And make sure Lena was all right. And help find some way to make her feel better if she wasn’t.
    And then there was that Kirball thing that Caelen wanted him to look into.
    He sighed. Things were just never simple. “Yessir, I’ll hev a look, soon’s I kin.”

    “Chamjey?” Lydia said, with curiosity. “Why don’t you ask uncle about him instead of me?”
    “Cause yer uncle’d tell me what he was. I wanna know what he does.” Mags grinned at her. It was pure luck finding her alone like this, and he’d snatched it up. “Yer servants all talk to ye, so I wanta know what they tol’ ye. They prolly wouldn’ tell me, cause I ain’t family.”
    He was “paying” for his information by serving as a yarn-holder while Lydia wound skeins of extremely fine, soft yarn into tight little balls for the lace shawl she was planning on knitting. Lydia and Soren had an unusual relationship with their servants—unusual by the standards of the wealthy, that is. They knew all of them by name, about their lives, and treated them as people rather than furniture. If there was anything more to Chamjey’s mysterious comings and goings than Nikolas already knew, the servants would certainly have told Lydia.
    “What he does, well, hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Ana was telling me the other day that some of the servants think he is having an affair or keeping a mistress, but she doesn’t think so.”
    “Huh.” That would be a bit of a laugh on Nikolas if a clandestine affair was the cause of Chamjey’s behavior. “Why not?”
    Lydia smirked. They were sitting in her solar, with lovely sunlight pouring through real glass windows down onto both of them, and with a crackling fire on her hearth it was almost as warm as summer. Lydia had pulled back her tumble of red curls with a green ribbon, and was wearing a deceptively plain green wool dress to match. But Mags knew, thanks to Lydia’s own expert ongoing tutelage in such matters, that appearances were indeed deceptive. The wool was the finest of chirra underfur, the gown was expertly tailored, of a design that would not fall much out of fashion, ever, and green was a very, very hard color to dye. Only red was harder. Lydia’s “plain” gown probably cost more than some of the velvet and satin outfits that the highborn paraded around in at Court. This was the sort of thing that was passed down through generations as an heirloom, for it was easy enough to put it in fashion with a new collar, belt, trim, undergown or overgown.
    Lydia had even explained to him why it was that red, green, and white had been chosen respectively for the Bards, Healers and