L. Modesitt - Heritage of Cyador

“I’m not a full magus, and never will be.”

“Call you a war magus, then, but you were the difference. I’ll admit it. I also agree with your recommendation. There is, however, just one small problem with it. How exactly am I going to enforce it?” Rhamuel smiles.

“You make failure to comply treason against Afrit and execute anyone who fails to comply. It won’t work otherwise.”

“I’d agree with that as well, but the same problem remains. If someone has a powerful mage, how can a duke without mages make them comply?”

Lerial can see the difficulty … and he realizes, as he has considered before, just how much tradition and structure had kept the Cyadoran Magi’i and merchanters in their places … and that Rhamuel has neither. Nor does he have any mages.

“You see…” says the duke, “I’ve thought about this. So did my brother. But we’ve never had enough golds to buy mages, and without them, we don’t have enough power to raise tariffs to gain the golds to buy their services, let alone their loyalty.”

“I can see that.”

“I also have another problem. As duke, I’m supposed to produce heirs-sons. What most people do not know is that I was more seriously injured than almost anyone knew in the battle against your father and the Mirror Lancers years ago. It is sheer fortune that I even have a daughter. With Mykel dead, it will become obvious that I can have no heirs. The only living individual who can carry on the family blood is my niece.”

“That’s not true.” Lerial doesn’t want to dwell on that. “Besides, Amaira is your daughter, and her mother is the sister of the duke of Cigoerne. You can’t get better bloodlines than that. Why not just find her an appropriate consort and make her son heir to Afrit?”

“I thought of that. It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because Amaira isn’t known to either the merchanters or the people of Afrit and because you can’t consort your cousin.”

“I can’t? What does that have to do-”

“Whether I like it or not, or whether you do or not, the duke of Afrit must be seen as both wise and powerful or be wise with a powerful backer. I can supply the wisdom, or at least enough of it or the image of it, but no one believes a crippled ruler is powerful, and you are the only individual of ducal lineage in all Hamor that the merchanters absolutely know is powerful and loyal to me … at least loyal to me in terms of Afrit.”

“But … what about Lephi?” Lerial hates to ask that question, but it is one his parents will certainly ask.

“He doesn’t have your skills, and even if he did, which he doesn’t, the last thing the merchanters would accept is a consorting that puts Cigoerne in a position to control Afrit. You have fought and nearly died, possibly more than once, to save Afrit from the Heldyans. You are of ducal blood, but you are not the principal heir. In addition, and not unimportant, you’re halfway to falling in love with Kyedra and she with you.”

“I still don’t like Kyedra being forced to consort me as if she were a tool.”

“We’re all tools, Lerial. I was for my brother, and you have been for yours. Your father was for your grandmere until he was old enough and smart enough to rule on his own. Even after that, she supplied the wisdom he had not yet learned. I know. I was there, you might recall.”

“I don’t recall. I was too young, and they kept me away from you.”

“There is one other thing. If you consort her, you’ll have to renounce any claim to Cigoerne, you know,” Rhamuel says.

Renounce Cigoerne? Everything Grandmere had worked for? All that Father has done? All that you’ve done? All those you’ve killed to allow Cigoerne to survive and prosper? “That’s asking a great deal, even though you know I never intended to be the heir.”

“I know that. Few others do, and fewer still will after all that has happened. If you don’t renounce any claim to Cigoerne, the people, especially the merchanters, will not accept Kyedra’s son, assuming she will have one, as duke, or her as his regent, should I die before he is of age.” Rhamuel laughs ironically. “In my condition, that is likely. Do you want another uprising? Do you want another Maesoryk scheming to turn Afrit over to Khesyn or his heirs? You have to decide what you think is best. No one else can. You can ride back to Cigoerne, and no one will think badly of you. Not after destroying Khesyn’s invasion.” Rhamuel holds up his hand to stop Lerial from saying anything.

Lerial can see the effort that requires of the duke, and the fact that his hand begins to shake, and Rhamuel has to lower it. He’s not as strong as he seems.

“You gave your word that you wouldn’t reveal Maesoryk’s treachery. But how long will that remain hidden once you leave … if that is your choice?”

Lerial also knows what Rhamuel has not said. That if he does not consort Kyedra, that will further weaken Rhamuel … and Afrit … and Cigoerne in turn. And now that Kyedra is the only one carrying the possibility of producing an heir, she cannot consort Lephi, because all the merchanters of Afrit would protest. Paradoxically, he is faced with what he never wanted for Kyedra, for her to be forced into consorting someone, and he is that someone. What would the majer have said to this? How would he…?

A slow smile crosses Lerial’s face as he realizes that the majer had already known. Why else would he have written that last letter? The one that had said, the words burned into Lerial’s memory:

What I task you with, and it is a task and not a request, is to assure that the heirs of the Malachite Throne do not perish, that they do not stoop to petty bargains for a peace that will not last, and that their heritage will shine on when the City of Light is long forgotten. This does not mean you are to re-create Cyad or Cyador. That time is past. It does mean that what was best of that time should live on through you and what you do.

And what is the best of that time? “Doing what is right and proper.”

“What?” asks Rhamuel.

“I will consort Kyedra … only if she will have me of her own free will.”

“It took you long enough,” says a too-familiar voice.

Lerial turns and then stands to see Emerya standing in the corner of the study, with Kyedra beside her. Kyedra is smiling, offering that radiance that warms him even when it is not directed at him.

A concealment shield … and you didn’t even sense it!

His expression must have revealed his thoughts, because Emerya says gently, “There are still some things you don’t know about order.”

Then he and Kyedra are moving toward each other, and no one else is in the study, not for them.

Lerial hands the missive to Kyedra, a missive that they have hoped to receive for more than a season. “You should read this.”

She takes it, but he stands at her shoulder and watches as she reads the words set so carefully on the thick parchment.

My Dear Lerial …

Or should I address you as Arms-Commander of Afrit?

Majer Altyrn always said that you would do great and unexpected deeds, and that I should not be surprised at where your deeds led you. I am surprised. I was also disappointed at first, and that is why this letter, I freely admit, has been so long in coming, but both your mother and Maeroja counseled me that what has happened has turned out for the best …

When he had read those words the first time, for a moment, Lerial had been surprised, but now he understands. His mother has always feared that his abilities would outshine his older brother’s and cause difficulties for Lephi and incidentally for the future of Cigoerne, but mainly for Lephi. Now those difficulties will not exist. There may be others, but not those.