L. Modesitt - Heritage of Cyador

“Enough that you can learn what you and father need to know.”

“Not always … but usually.”

“Do you think that Khesyn is really planning to attack Afrit … somewhere?”

“I’m afraid I do, Lerial. He’s made far more raids on Afrit than on Cigoerne. We don’t talk about it, but it’s clear from what I hear and from what the traders report.”

“And we can’t afford to have Afrit fall?”

“What do you think?”

“About the same as you and Father feel, I suspect. Khesyn holding even Luba would destroy us both in time.” Lerial pauses. “But how much can we trust Atroyan … or Rhamuel?”

“Atroyan not at all, and Rhamuel only to the extent that something benefits him and he cannot hurt you.”

Lerial is tempted to ask again how she could have done what she did … but she has already answered him.

Her eyes fix on him. “You have already done things that are necessary … I can see that. Destiny exacts a heavy price. What else do you want to know?”

“You’ve told me all I need to know.”

She shakes her head. “All you want to know, and all I can tell you, perhaps, but not all you need to know.”

He smiles in return. “You’re right.”

“If there’s nothing else…”

“Not now.”

Emerya rises. “Then … good night, Lerial.”

He stands. “Good night.”

As he walks along the corridor toward the steps up to his chambers, he thinks over what she has said. Some of what he has learned are things he has long suspected, but what he has not fully realized is the various prices so many have paid to create and strengthen the duchy … to continue the good traditions of the Malachite Throne, as Maeroja and Altyrn might have put it. Given all that, Altyrn’s use of the Verdyn war-and Lerial himself-to strengthen the duchy in the west, the cold-blooded poisoning of Dechund to put an end to the captain’s treachery and plotting … and likely much more about which Lerial knows nothing.

Lerial shakes his head.

And yet … what else could any of them do, faced with the destruction of all that they held dear?

Are you any better … given what you have already done?

Lerial sleeps well enough, but wakes early on sixday, thinking about what Emerya has said, and pondering over what she has left out that he knows too little about to ask the right questions. In turn, he still wonders about just how close-or distant-she and Rhamuel may be, although he certainly has the impression that they have not seen each other since she returned to Cigoerne after healing him and accompanying him back to Swartheld.

Early as he is dressed and in the breakfast room, seemingly within moments of the time he has seated himself, his father, mother, and sister join him, followed shortly by Emerya and Amaira.

“We thought we should have breakfast together,” his mother announces. “A family breakfast.”

Meaning that dinner last night was not at all a family affair. That realization saddens Lerial, particularly since Altyrn and Maeroja had certainly made him a part of their family when he had lived at Kinaar and worked and studied under the majer.

“You have to go back soon, don’t you?” asks Ryalah.

“Yes.” Lerial takes a swallow of lager, looking away from Kiedron, who happily takes a deep draught of bitter greenberry juice.

“In the next day or so,” adds Kiedron.

“There is one other matter we have not discussed, Lerial,” says Xeranya, smiling.

“Yes?” he replies as warmly as he can, given that something about her words and expression makes him wary.

“You’re twenty-two … almost twenty-three…”

“That’s true.” Lerial takes a mouthful of egg toast and waits for the other boot to drop.

“You might wonder why we haven’t talked about consorting lately…”

That is a subject that Lerial is more than happy has not been brought up, but he replies, “I had noticed that.”

“Duke Casseon and Duke Khesyn have been reluctant to make any commitments, especially where Lephi is concerned. Atroyan has said nothing…”

“Why don’t they want to consort their daughters-” questions Ryalah loudly.

Xeranya looks hard at her daughter. “Ryalah…”

“Yes, Mother.” Ryalah looks down at her egg toast.

“Or nieces,” adds Lerial quickly, and turning to his sister, “to Lephi or me? Because Cigoerne is the smallest duchy in all of Hamor.”

“What about Atla?” asks Ryalah.

“Atla’s not a duchy. It’s mostly desert and grassland, and there’s not much of worth there. The Tourlegyn clans share it-sort of, except they fight among each other as much as share, and there hasn’t been a leader from the same clan in hundreds of years.”

“I know that. I even know that some of the Tourlegyn clans live in Heldya. But why isn’t Atla a duchy?”

“Because they fight so much that no one clan has ever really ruled.”

“Ryalah,” says Xeranya coolly, “would you like to finish your breakfast? Or go without?”

Ryalah takes a bite of egg toast.

“As I was saying,” Xeranya continues, “if you should encounter either Duke Atroyan or Arms-Commander Rhamuel, it would be most helpful if you inquired as to the health of the duke’s daughter.”

“Kyedra? The one I met years and years ago?”

“She is his only daughter,” replies Xeranya.

“I will.” Lerial takes another swallow of lager, followed by a mouthful of egg toast. “What about Casseon? Does he have any daughters?”

“His oldest is about Amaira’s age,” says Emerya. “Khesyn’s sole daughter is around my age, and she has, I’ve heard, a daughter a year or so younger than you, Lerial. His eldest son has two boys. The youngest is about Lephi’s age, maybe a year or two older.”

From what he is hearing, Lerial almost wishes he had not asked.

Xeranya glances at Amaira and then to Ryalah. “Girls, it’s time to finish your breakfast. You can go to the courtyard until it’s time for your lessons.”

Lerial takes the quiet time while the girls eat to finish his own breakfast, suspecting that he would rather not be caught with a mouthful of food during whatever is coming after the girls leave the breakfast room.

Once Ryalah and Amaira have departed, Kiedron clears his throat. “You all realize that Lerial will have to be the one to head the force we send to Luba.”

“What about Lephi?” asks Emerya politely.

“Lerial is better suited to this.” Kiedron glances at Xeranya, then continues. “Because of what happened in Verdheln … and Ensenla, Lerial has more experience in avoiding great losses if he must deal with overwhelming forces. There is also the considerable problem of timing. Lerial can reach Luba almost in the time it would take Lephi to get to Cigoerne, and that doesn’t include the time for the fastest dispatch rider to get to Sudstrym. I doubt we can afford almost an additional two eightdays.”

Lerial can sense that, while his father is telling the truth, if exaggerating the time for dispatch riders, it is likely that there are other things he is not saying at all, but what those might be, Lerial has no idea.

“Should you go?” asks Emerya.

Lerial knows that those are not questions Emerya would normally ask. Why is she doing it? After just an instant’s thought, he realizes just why. Father asked her to.

“If I go … then there is too much temptation for Khesyn to attack with an even larger force at Luba, and there is too great a risk that even I could not save Atroyan. I suspect that is exactly what Khesyn hopes for. With Lephi at Sudstrym, Cigoerne is much less vulnerable.”

“That is if you remain in Cigoerne … or near it,” concludes Emerya.