David Weber - The Road to Hell

And so had Gadrial. She’d longed to try to comfort Shaylar, but when she’d quietly suggested that to Jathmar, he’d shaken his head sadly.

“Not now, Gadrial,” he’d told her. “She…she just needs to be alone for now. It’s hard, especially for a Voice, to cope with all of this-” he’d waved vaguely at the townhouse around them in a gesture which took in everything beyond it, as well “-without knowing what’s happening in our own universes. And just now…just now she’s too raw and wounded to want to see anyone. Even you.”

His words had cut her like knives, but she’d understood. And now, as the door opened and she looked up, she froze. She wanted to run to her. Wanted to throw her arms around the other woman and beg her to forgive Gadrial for being on the wrong side in this awful war. She wanted-

She didn’t have to do anything.

Shaylar, tears streaming, crossed the room and embraced Gadrial . “I couldn’t bear it any longer,” Shaylar said softly. “Knowing how much this wait was hurting you.”

“But…”

Shaylar’s arms tightened down; then she stepped back.

“But you’re my friend, Gadrial. My only friend here. I need you, Gadrial,” she whispered. “And I think you need me?”

Gadrial hugged her again. “Gods, yes,” she said equally softly. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to speak to an Arcanan again!” She felt her own eyes prickle. “After what the Duke’s found out so far, knowing there could be even worse to come, I-”

Shaylar drew a deep, ragged breath. “No, Gadrial. I never felt that. I needed to be…alone for a while. It’s been terribly hard for me. For Jathmar and me, both of us. But I never felt like I didn’t want to see you, ever again.”

Gadrial’s eyes filled with tears. “Shaylar, there’s nothing I can say that can tell you how horrified I was by that news. How horrified I still am. Nothing justifies that. Nothing.”

“Thank you, Gadrial. That…helps.”

Gadrial touched Shaylar’s hair, tucked a lock of it behind her ear. “Thank you , Shaylar. For still being my friend.”

Shaylar nodded.

“Jathmar?” Gadrial asked after a moment

“He’s…thinking it over,” Shaylar said softly, and Gadrial nodded. Of course he was.

“I hope he decides to join us, too,” the duchess said, rising to put her own arm around Shaylar and hug her tightly. “But in the meantime, my dears, why don’t we all have some tea and send for something to eat?”

“I think that sounds like a very good idea, Your Grace,” Shaylar replied, and if her smile was wan and just a bit watery, it was also real.

* * *

Three hours and seventeen minutes later, the drawing room door opened again. Everyone jerked around, and Gadrial’s heart shuddered to a halt when she saw Jasak standing in the doorway. For long moments, she was frozen to the chair in which she’d been sitting for the past two hours, too exhausted to continue her pacing. Her eyes met his and the blaze of fire in them left her pulse shuddering, wondering if that fire was the look of a man filling his eyes with the sight of her for the last time or the fire of a man out from under the cloud that had dogged his heels all the way from that pile of wind-wrecked trees. Not to mention the man and woman sitting beside her, whose capture had wrenched Gadrial’s life-and everyone else’s in this room-inside out and upside down.

Then Jasak spoke. He whispered hoarsely, “The verdict was not guilty, on all charges.”

Gadrial sobbed aloud once; tears filled her eyes. Someone else was weeping, as well, close by. But then Jasak spoke again, and she stared at him in shock.

“I…can’t stay in the army,” he said.

“I don’t understand!” she cried. “You’re innocent! They cleared you! Cleared your name, your reputation, completely! Why can’t you stay in the army? We’ll need good officers!” Even as she said it, a flutter of terror-and raw, selfish gratitude-tore through her. He won’t be going to war ! Even though he needed to…and wanted to, being a mad Andaran. “I don’t understand,” she finished, miserable for failing to understand even this about the man she loved, and a strange little smile touched his lips.

“Yes, I was cleared, completely. But the Army needs someone to take the blame, even so. Someone besides Garlath, who’s been officially found responsible for starting the war, but who’s inconveniently dead and therefore not an ideal candidate. Much of the verdict hinged on his failure to obey my order to hold his fire, as we suspected it would. But that was a two-way sword. They determined that I was in command and that Garlath’s refusal to obey that order started the war. They also determined that my decision to leave him in place was reasonable and correct, given the circumstances surrounding his…attitudes and behavior. Your testimony tipped those particular scales very firmly in the direction of the final verdict, Gadrial.

“But because I was in command, ultimately the blame for the war rests in part on my shoulders. And however…fraught any decision of mine to summarily relieve him might have been, I didn’t do it. The fact that I obeyed regulations by leaving him in command clears me of legal responsibility, but a lot of people who weren’t there are going to be wise after the fact and second-guess my judgment. There’d probably be fewer Andarans like that than Ransarans or Mythlans, but there’d be more than enough of our own people. Any future military career for me would probably be a disaster, and if I tried to stay in uniform, every single one of Father’s political enemies would have a custom made club to beat him over the head with in Parliament and public opinion. So I’m resigning my commission to enter politics.”

Another strange smile curled around his lips.

“I’ve already been approached, in fact, after the verdict was read, the probable consequences to my career-and the war effort in general, given whose son I am-were discussed. Consequences which I brought up, in fact, when I tendered my resignation on the spot. After the dismissal of the court, Sogbourne approached me, privately.”

He shook his head. “He begged me to enter the political arena, suggesting I’d be an asset to the Commandery, not because of who my father is, but because of my voluntary resignation. If Father will have me,” he glanced over to meet the duke’s gaze, which hadn’t left his son’s face since he’d entered the drawing room, “I’ll work as an assistant or a page until the next election cycle.”

“Gladly,” the duke rumbled. “And Sogbourne’s right. We’ll get you qualified in a proper Andaran district and you’ll win that election, make no mistake about that.”

“Why are you so certain?” Shaylar asked, puzzled, and the duke grinned.

“Because an officer who voluntarily shoulders the punishment and the responsibility for a serious act he didn’t commit is seen-rightly so-as the most honorable of men. The sacrifice of an army career under those circumstances is the greatest one a man can make, other than to lay down his life. Oh, yes, Jasak will win that election. By a landslide.”

Gadrial shook her head.

“That’s nuts!” she protested, and Jasak chuckled.

“That’s Andaran,” he corrected. Then the mirth faded from his eyes and he crossed the room in three swift strides. Went down on his knees. Took both her hands in his.

“Gadrial, I’m pleading with you to consider becoming my wife. I swear by all that I hold sacred that you’ll be free to live your life by whatever precepts, whatever mores and beliefs you choose. Your career is the second-most important thing in my life.”