by Cayla Kluver
The news that I would be inspecting the city had spread quickly, and men, women and children lined the streets, pleased with the successful rebuilding effort and glad for a break from the day’s toil. We rode in carriages to each section of the city, then would disembark to walk some of the streets. Women would call to us and offer us flowers as we strolled along, while the men would respectfully bow their heads. We would nod and touch extended hands, occasionally tossing treats to the girls and boys. Although the sun was partially obscured by the light gray clouds of fall, and the air was chilly, nothing could dampen my spirits. There was hope again in the eyes of my people.
For part of the time, Narian walked next to me, but my mother’s subtle glances in his direction eventually prompted him to drop behind and fall in step with Cannan. I smiled, for he was clearly puzzled by her, having little experience to fall back on.
As it turned out, it was a good thing Narian was not beside me when we reached the southern end of the city, for Steldor was among the crowd. I nodded to him, and he returned the gesture without averting his eyes. I recalled his argument with Narian in the antechamber, and even across the distance between us, I could feel the aching of his heart. It was terrible to know that I had the power to stop that ache, that what he craved was me. But I wasn’t the only one who could ease that pain—he had the power to help himself, and I prayed he would move on and find someone with whom he could be truly happy.
We went in a wide loop, returning to the Bastion by late afternoon. Cannan dismissed the guards who had accompanied us, then adjourned to his office; Narian did likewise.
“Thank you so much for coming,” I said to my mother. “It was right that you were there.”
“I enjoyed myself very much, and would like to extend an invitation of my own. Would you join me in my quarters for tea?”
“Yes, thank you. That would be lovely, and warm.” Her cheeks were rosy from the day’s activity, and mine were no doubt a match.
“Shall we say a half hour? And, Alera, please ask Narian to escort you.”
My eyebrows rose dramatically.
“I don’t know if that would be best,” I hedged, for I had no idea how Narian would react to her invitation.
She drew me away from the Cokyrian sentries stationed by the door and dropped her volume. “Alera, if you’re going to marry this man, he’s going to be my son. I want to know him better.”
“Yes, but…I don’t know if he’d be comfortable. He’s very reserved, and probably wouldn’t say much.”
“Then those are things I’ll learn about him. It can’t hurt to ask him, can it? If he prefers not to come, I’ll accept his decision.”
My mother was full of subtlety. She did not say that she would understand his decision, only that she would accept it. And her phrasing wasn’t really chosen with Narian in mind—it was to let me know that this was important, and that I should do all I could to ensure he would be there.
“I’ll do my best,” I agreed, thinking that this would be the quietest tea I had ever attended.
Leaving my mother behind, I walked through the antechamber and across the Hearing Hall to reach Narian’s headquarters, which was situated in the former strategy room between Cannan’s office and mine. As always, there was much activity in the partitioned room; I also could not simply knock on the door to his private office, for a Cokyrian sentry prevented access to him without an appointment. In the end, I directed one of Narian’s officers to inform him that I wished to speak with him about an “urgent provincial matter.”
“Shall we go to your study?” Narian asked when he emerged from his office, knowing full well I had no political matters to address.
“Yes, I think that would be best.” I couldn’t repress a smile, for his eyes sparkled with curiosity.
As soon as we had closed the door to my study, and before I could speak, Narian kissed me, catching me by surprise.
“I’ve wanted to do that all afternoon, Alera. I’m not particularly fond of the gowns Hytanican women wear, but I’m willing to make an exception for this one.”
I laughed, my head spinning, and he took hold of my hands.
“Now, what’s this about?”
“My mother has invited me to tea, and we would be pleased to have you join us.”
Despite how casual I was trying to sound, Narian stiffened, and I could feel him pulling away. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“You both would like me to join you?”
“Yes, she suggested it.” I took a deep breath and made my confession. “She knows that we’re betrothed, that we’re in love.”
I couldn’t gauge his reaction from his face, but the fact that he released my hands suggested he was disturbed, piqued—not an encouraging sign. I waited, giving him a chance to straighten out his thoughts, then tried again.
“I know we agreed not to tell anyone—”
“Yes, we did,” he snapped, walking over to my desk, not meeting my eyes. This was so uncharacteristic of him that I knew I had to proceed very carefully.
“Please listen. We agreed not to tell anyone, but she’s my mother. She won’t breathe a word.”
“How can you be sure?”
I almost laughed, confused as to how he could question that. “Because she’s my mother! She raised me, Narian. I’ve always been able to trust her. Just believe me.”
I paused, expecting him to respond, but he did not. Instead he feigned interest in the papers lying atop my desk.
“Would you please look at me?” I gently prodded.
His eyes found mine, but they were steely, skeptical and almost defiant, as though I had challenged him.
“Narian,” I murmured, hoping something in my voice would drive away whatever instinct had awakened. Again and again, I was forced to acknowledge the extent of the Overlord’s reach; his shadow fell on Narian even now. It wasn’t Narian’s fault, though it was easy to become discouraged by it; eighteen years of someone’s tyranny was not easy to overcome, and was impossible to forget.
“I’m sorry if this bothers you,” I said, stepping closer to him. “But there’s really no danger in her knowing.”
“There is danger in her knowing.” He walked past me to the hearth, increasing the distance between us. “There always is when the information itself is dangerous. You didn’t have to tell her, Alera. I don’t understand why you did.”
I bridled, feeling like he was scolding me. “I’m not a fool. I would never knowingly put us or this kingdom at risk. Don’t speak to me like you’re the only one who understands the need for discretion. I made a decision that you obviously don’t agree with, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”
We stared at each other, our postures stiff, neither of us breaking the hush that had fallen over the room.
“I didn’t mean to imply,” he finally muttered, without change in his expression.
I hesitated, unable to determine if he were being sarcastic or sincere. When he glanced to the floor, I knew it was the latter. He approached me, stopping a few feet away—just out of reach.
“But I don’t understand it, Alera. I honestly don’t.”
I closed the remaining gap between us, not letting him maintain either physical or emotional distance, then laid a hand upon his chest, lightly scrunching the fabric of his shirt.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to confide in someone?”
He didn’t reply, disconcerted. He had, in fact, shared confidences with me, but it was always a s
truggle against his nature—against his training—to do so. After a few moments, he nodded, still not understanding, but unwilling to prolong the argument.
“Can I take that as agreement to accompany me to my mother’s tea?” I teased, bringing a slight smile to his face. “Now that she knows about us, your willingness to come would mean a great deal to her. When we are married, you will, in her eyes, become her son.”
He sighed, then nodded once more. By my guess, he was perplexed and intrigued enough by this last notion to risk an hour or two in the former Queen’s presence.
We walked together across the Hearing Hall and through the King’s Drawing Room, then continued up the spiral staircase to my parent’s quarters on the third floor. My mother was waiting for us in the parlor, occupying an armchair across from the sofa, intending to let Narian and I sit next to each other.
Once over the threshold, Narian began shooting me looks that I found humorous, as though he regretted being pulled into this and was wondering if he could fake illness to escape. He could lead an army, face down the Overlord and challenge the High Priestess, but apparently he had qualms about spending time with my kind and demure mother.
“Alera, Narian, I’m so glad you’re here—both of you. Please, have a seat.” She motioned to the sofa and we complied.
“Good afternoon, Queen Elissia,” Narian greeted her, deliberately choosing to address her according to Hytanican custom, for he had a gentleman’s manners. In fact, one of my earliest impressions of him was that he was a chameleon, with a knack for having exactly the effect he wanted on people.
The low table between my mother’s chair and the sofa held the tea service, and my mother filled the cups herself.
“I saw no need for a servant girl,” she offered, but I suspected she was being cautious, not wanting to generate speculation or rumors about the reason Narian and I had joined her for tea. “Wasn’t it a wonderful day today?”
All went smoothly for the first fifteen minutes—my mother was, after all, very adept at making people comfortable. She chatted, though not excessively, primarily with me. As I had predicted, Narian was silent and observant, letting me carry the conversation while he tried to get a feel for the woman across from us, not quite trusting that she was on our side. He was never rude, and never short with her; he simply hid himself behind good etiquette.
During a natural pause in conversation, my mother perused Narian and me, and her mood became contemplative.
“When was it that you fell in love?” she asked. “Was it right under our noses?”
“More or less,” I said with a laugh, glancing at Narian. “We became friends when he first came to Hytanica. All those trips Miranna and I made to Baron Koranis’s estate were really so I could see him.”
Mother smiled and Narian glanced at me as if this were news to him. Then she picked up the thread of the conversation.
“I remember falling in love,” she mused, and I wondered how far she would venture into her story, knowing it was not a wholly happy one. “I was fifteen, going through the very difficult experience of losing my family in a fire. I was brought to live in the palace, for I’d been betrothed for years to Andrius, Alera’s uncle, who later died in the war before we could be married.”
I realized she was not talking to me, and that, though he was still aloof, she had captured Narian’s interest, for his deep blue eyes were resting attentively upon her.
“At the time, I was so lost and alone and frightened. And then Andrius and I grew close. With him, my life made sense again. I had something to hold on to, something to steady me. What was the worst time of my life became the best.”
There was a pause, and she innocently met Narian’s gaze. But her story was not innocent at all. If I could recognize the parallel she was drawing to his life in the aftermath of learning of his Hytanican heritage, then he surely could, as well. He didn’t say a word, however, and she dropped the veiled attempt to connect with him before it became awkward, turning to me instead.
“I’ve told you before, Alera—Andrius lives on in you. I see him in you every day.”
I smiled, tipping my head in acceptance of the compliment.
“And in you—” she said, once more turning to Narian, tapping a finger against her lips in thought “—I see Cannan.”
She was lightly cajoling him, exactly as a parent would do. I couldn’t imagine what was going on in his mind, but he was no longer eager to leave, his eyes never once flicking toward me or the door.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Cannan is strong and decisive. He seems unemotional, untouchable, but underneath he has more heart than most men taken together. And he could so easily have buried that compassion. In some ways, he would have hurt less throughout the years had he done so, but he would be half the man he is today.”
I was remembering things Baelic had told me, vague things about Cannan and their father. I had never considered that my mother would have knowledge on the subject, although I should have surmised it. She had grown up in the nobility with the men of her generation, and Cannan had been one of Crown Prince Andrius’s best friends.
Seeing the curiosity on Narian’s face, she went on, “It was no secret that Baron Burvaul—Cannan’s father—was a tyrant. In their family, everyone wore smiles for fear of what Burvaul might do if they did not, and everything stayed behind closed doors—except for bruises and broken bones, the vast majority of which were bestowed on Cannan. At that time, of course, Cannan could not fight his father, and so he fought the world instead.
“But when he was eighteen and was sent into the field of war, he changed. He gained perspective. And when Andrius died and Cannan was called back to become Sergeant at Arms, and later Captain of the Guard, he was more powerful than his father, in position and character. He never abused that power, but his victory lay in the fact that Burvaul could not bear the reversal of control. He lived the rest of his life in fear of his own son, who never punished him.
“I see that personality in you, Narian. Just like Cannan, you will never become the man who controlled you.”
“He didn’t control me,” Narian abruptly said.
“He didn’t in the end, did he?” she agreed, taking a sip of her tea. “Of course, the real question is about your mother. What was she like?”
“You know my mother,” Narian replied, his expression strange. I’d never seen him this way before—he seemed younger, less defensive. He was hesitant, but not guarded like he had been upon entering the room. It was almost as if he wanted to open up to her.
“I mean the woman who raised you. Your Cokyrian mother.”
Narian was shaking his head, despite the change I had detected in him. “I didn’t have a mother in Cokyri.”
“You’re far too well-mannered not to have had a mother growing up.” Her blue eyes were twinkling, unthreatening. Again, she was teasing him, and although I expected him to simply sidestep her a third time, he did not.
“To the extent I had a mother, she was the High Priestess.”
I looked incredulously back and forth between the two of them, for in half an hour, my mother had enticed Narian to divulge as much to her as I had gleaned in two years. Though I was now bursting to speak, I refrained, and she pressed him further.
“You’re close to her then?” This was more a statement than a question.
“At one time we were very close. She cared for me, when I was young. I grew apart from her over tim
e, and then, when I found out that I was born Hytanican…”
“Yes?”
“She lied to me. Had been lying for years—my entire life.” He was not letting himself feel the words, but there was an ache underlying them.
I thought back to when Narian and I had first met—he had fascinated me, but I had never considered what he must have been enduring. At sixteen years of age, he’d run away, and not just from home, but from his country, into the land of his enemy. His anger and feelings of betrayal must have been overwhelming, and he had to have been scared, though he never showed it. And now my mother had him talking about it.
“The difficulty at this point,” she said, nodding sympathetically, “is learning that you cannot judge the world by the actions of one person.”
“Yes, I can,” he responded, promptly enough that even my mother was surprised. “You can’t object to me evaluating the world based on Alera’s example.”
She laughed, while I sat quietly by, feeling my face grow hot. Narian was not one to give compliments, though I knew he noticed many things. I glanced to him, highly appreciative of his words, and laid my hand upon his forearm.
“Quite right,” my mother concurred, smiling at us both.
Narian and I left the parlor shortly thereafter in high spirits. The former Queen had been very accepting of him, and he had been remarkably forthcoming with her. Somehow, through common experience and maternal instinct, she had reached out to forge a connection with her future son-in-law.
