L. Modesitt - Heritage of Cyador

“What will you have?” asks Kiedron, stepping toward the refreshments table.

“The lager, if you please.”

“I’d be more than pleased,” replies the duke cheerfully.

Lerial turns to his mother.

“The white wine, thank you.”

As Lerial moves to the refreshments table, Emerya eases over to Maeroja and begins to speak. “It’s been years since we’ve talked, and I was hoping we’d have a chance…”

The interplay confirms to Lerial that dinner will be polite, punctuated by the attempts of Emerya, his father, and himself to bring warmth to the formality that will continue to be exuded by his mother.

Dinner goes exactly as Lerial has expected-formal, with underlying tension, and with Kiedron, Lerial, and Emerya being as warm and cheerful as possible. When it is over, Emerya ushers the girls off to bed, and Lerial escorts Maeroja back to her quarters in the south wing of the palace. He can sense Maeroja’s relief as soon as they are away from the dining chamber and walking along the main front corridor.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“It’s not your fault. There are some things that must be, and it’s a small price to pay for years of happiness.”

“But it’s hard to pay after a loss.”

“That’s when it’s most important,” Maeroja murmurs softly. “Wasn’t it hard for you to talk to Elder Klerryt?”

Lerial is momentarily surprised, but realizes that the majer would certainly have told his consort. “Yes … but I wasn’t in love with Alaynara.”

“You knew exactly what I meant about what happened in Verdheln five years ago, Lerial. That should tell you something.”

He laughs softly, barely above a murmur. “I should never dispute you, Lady.”

“Do not make me more than I am. Do not do that to anyone … but do not make them less, either.”

Those were the majer’s words. He is still considering that when Maeroja speaks again.

“I will be leaving before sunrise tomorrow so that we can make Teilyn in a single day. I cannot keep Captain Shastan’s lancers any longer.”

“Nor would you, knowing what you know.”

“I do not know exactly what he wrote, Lerial, but I will add my own words. Do not make foolish sacrifices for others. Very few sacrifices of self are worth that price, because one who lives and strives can keep making the land a better place. Accomplishments end with death.”

“The majer said that it was better to have the enemy make the gallant sacrifices.”

“Sometimes, one must let friends or others close to one make the sacrifices.” She smiles wryly. “That can also become a rationalization for using others without care. It is far better to avoid useless sacrifices or those which gain little or sacrificing others in the same fashion. Most sacrifices are unnecessary and can be avoided. Too often those who send others into avoidable danger call their deaths necessary sacrifices. They usually are not. In the end, you will do what you feel you must.” She stops outside the door. “Thank you for walking with me.”

“Thank you for letting me. Do take care on the ride back … and give my best to your daughters.”

Maeroja offers the smile he has found so enigmatic. “I will.” Then she opens the chamber door and slips inside, closing it behind her.

Lerial can hear the latch bolt click into place. He turns and begins to walk back toward Emerya’s chambers-her new chambers, a sitting room with two bedrooms off it, reflecting how Amaira has grown.

When he reaches his aunt’s second-level quarters, he raps gently.

“You can come in, Lerial.”

Lerial does, closing the door quietly. He does not see anyone, nor does he order-sense anyone. Then, abruptly, Emerya is seated before a small hearth in which a low fire burns. “I’ve never been able to detect your concealments.”

“One of my few magely talents. And a vanity.”

He takes the chair across from her. “Is Amaira asleep?”

“She’s likely reading, but the door is solid. How are you doing?” she asks.

“Better … now.” He shakes his head. “How can Mother be so cold, so hostile to Maeroja? She just lost her consort, and he was a man who gave everything for us, especially for Father and for me.”

“Don’t you think she must have her reasons?”

“I suppose she must, but what did Maeroja ever do to her? Maeroja consorted Altyrn, and they were happy together. I can’t imagine that Mother’s sister would have been happy with Altyrn. She wasn’t even happy in Cigoerne, from what you told me.”

“Lerial … there’s more that I haven’t told you. Your mother believes she lost her sister because Altyrn spurned Zanobya. Zanobya would have consorted Altyrn. She was taken with him, but she couldn’t bear staying in Cigoerne when he turned her down. He was gentle about it, but…”

Lerial can’t help but think about Altyrn’s reaction when Lerial had distanced himself from Rojana.

“So … Zanobya fled to Swartheld. She died there in childbirth three years later. She might have lived had she given birth here. Xeranya never saw her again. Your mother blames Maeroja.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Your mother asked me never to mention it. Your father asked that I honor that request. I would ask that you never reveal that I have told you … but you should know. Your mother loved Zanobya dearly.”

Lerial conceals a wince. What else could Emerya do? Then he frowns. “But the majer couldn’t have met Maeroja until after Zanobya fled, could he?”

“No, he didn’t, but that doesn’t matter. Altyrn did so much for your father that Xeranya dared not blame him. And then, after he helped you so much … Blaming Maeroja was so much easier.”

Lerial can understand his mother’s feelings of loss and grief, but not why she feels she must blame Maeroja. Yet it is more than clear what she feels and that those feelings will never change. “You’ve been writing Rhamuel for years, haven’t you?”

“You’ve just come to that conclusion?” Emerya offers an amused smile.

“I’ve thought so ever since I left for Verdheln, but I never said anything. Is Atroyan … not particularly stable?”

“That’s one way of saying it. He is always charming and witty, but he thinks that everyone is plotting against him.”

“Including his brothers?”

“Especially Mykel, his youngest brother … and that is absurd.”

“Why?”

“I’d prefer to leave it at that, Lerial.”

“So Rhamuel has been keeping Atroyan out of trouble … mostly?”

“He tries. He’s not always successful. Every so often there’s some field-grade officer who gets to the duke when Rhamuel isn’t around and persuades the duke to do something unwise. Then, too, Rhamuel isn’t as wise as he could be. He’s balanced and has common sense, but not too much imagination.”

“But he’s charming and gentle with women?”

“Of course.”

Lerial waits.

“I did what I had to … Kiedron and your mother needed all the help they could get.”

Lerial can sense something behind the black mist of order. Sadness … or something even more painful? “And it was unlikely that Rhamuel would ever be allowed a consort in Swartheld?”

Emerya nods.

“Does Amaira…?”

“She knows. She also knows that she can say nothing. I write him, always about my daughter, should others read the letters, and convey what other information he needs to know. In a veiled and fluttering feminine fashion…”

Lerial doubts that Emerya has ever been a fluttery female.

“… and your father and I discuss that. In turn, he sends me cheerful letters with gossip and odd bits of information.”