Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

12

Matei met Rhea on the way down to the dining room for supper one night, weeks after Uachi had left the Holy City. He picked up speed to catch up with her, and at the sound of his footsteps—or perhaps the heavier footsteps of his armored guards—Rhea stopped, turning to look over her shoulder.

She smiled wearily. "My boy."

"Good evening, Grandmother," said Matei. He leaned down, and she leaned up. It was a familiar pattern: they kissed one another's cheeks, and then she accepted the arm he offered her and began to walk again. "How are you tonight?"

"Oh, sweet, don't ask me that," Rhea said. "It's yourself you should be worried for. You've not slept, not soundly; I can tell by the shadows beneath your eyes."

Matei gave Rhea a tight smile and nothing more. He had been trying to balance his grief and his duties, and it unsettled him to think that the strain was beginning to show. Being vulnerable before his wife or his grandmother was one thing; being vulnerable before his people was another. He hoped it was Rhea's long acquaintance with his moods that enabled her to see past his facade and not his diminishing control.

Rhea clucked, her brow wrinkling with concern. "Don't despair, Matei. Don't give in to despair, not just yet."

"I won't," he said, putting a note of steel in his tone. "I fear it's Mhera who's at risk of giving in to despair, Rhea."

The old woman smiled. She, too, looked tired; she loved Uarria dearly, and Matei was under no illusion that the princess's disappearance had been in any way easy for anyone who'd known her. But Rhea's words were calm and measured. "She is stronger than you might think. A mother's fear must be tempered with a mother's hope."

Matei sighed. When he looked at Mhera and saw the marks of her long weeping, sleepless nights, and sorrow, it was difficult for him to believe that she could bear the burden that had been placed upon their shoulders. She had told him already in more ways than one that it was his own disappearance as a boy that made it impossible for her not to fear the worst.

Even Matei feared the worst. It had been weeks, and Uarria was still not home. Thoughts of his daughter haunted his every step. Even as searches continued, every fruitless report deepened the dread that she might be lost forever. And as time had worn on without news from Uachi, Matei had begun to suffer another worry, too: that he may have broken his bond with his dearest friend in all the world.

Their last words had been bitter and full of anger. Rather, Matei's had been. To have parted on such terms with his brother-in-arms and worry that he would never have a chance to make it right grieved Matei sorely. Knowing that Uachi was traveling south unsettled him, not just because he feared that Uarria might be so far from home. He knew Uachi would be plunging back into his work, focusing on commanding his men and pursuit of Uarria so he would not have to dwell on a betrayal for which he had been unfairly blamed.

I'm sorry, Uachi. I'm sorry for my anger. Come home, and I will beg you to forgive me.

"Matei?"

Pulled from his reflections by Rhea's worried tone, Matei straightened his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Grandmother. I was thinking of Uachi. Of the search."

She looked at him with sympathy and love. "You've much on your mind, dear heart. Do not apologize for bearing it. Tell me what I can do for you."

As they neared the entrance to the dining room, Matei shook his head. "Nothing but pray, Grandmother. Pray that Zanara will bless us. Pray that she will not permit Uarria to be harmed in retribution for my lifetime of sins. I can't bear it."

"This is no punishment, Matei."

"I feel it must be. And it's a punishment I'll not survive."

"You've borne more sorrows than this, although there can have been none quite so great." Rhea took Matei by the hand just outside the dining room, drawing him to a stop. When she met his eye, hers were gleaming. "I know, Matei. I know what you fear now more than anything you have ever feared in your life. I have been in that dark place. When Rhodana was taken, I knew...I knew I would never see her again. 'Twas the emperor's bidding whether she lived or died, and I knew he would never permit my baby to live, not after all she'd done and all she'd dared.

"But she was a woman grown, Matei, and a leader of men and women all across this wretched nation, and she had shed blood and waged a campaign many years in the making. Uarria is a child. I do not know what was in Ealin's mind when she took our girl away...but I cannot think, not yet, that this world is quite so wicked a place that an innocent babe would be made to bear the punishment for her father's supposed sins."

Matei placed a hand on Rhea's lined cheek. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I've been thoughtless," he murmured. "I know you lost a child, Grandmother. "

"And you a mother, twice over. Grief is a heavy yoke, but it is not a grave, Matei. Wherever she is, your little one can feel your love and your hope. Keep that candle burning. It may well give her the strength to go on."

***

Mhera looked up, catching the movement of her balcony curtain out of the corner of her eye. There stood Madam Gella in her long, dark dress, her hands clasped around a cup of tea.

"Good afternoon," Mhera said softly, straightening in her seat. She passed the heel of her hand over her tired eyes.

Gella approached her small table and placed the cup of tea in front of Mhera. "I put a bit of honey in there," she said.

"I don't take my tea sweet," Mhera said, giving Gella a questioning glance.

"I know, but you didn't eat your lunch, either." Gella brushed the front of her skirt, which was already immaculate. "What are you making, Your Grace?"

Mhera smiled faintly, lifting what she had been working on: a girl's dress. She had been adding embroidery around the collar, creeping vines and little buds. "She grows so fast," she murmured. "She'll be wanting dresses when she's home."

"That she will," Gella said. She returned Mhera's smile, although it did not quite reach her eyes. "She seems to grow an inch every fortnight, doesn't she?"

"She'll be taller than I am, I suspect. When she's grown."

For a moment, the women were silent; they exchanged a brief glance, and then each of them looked away, Mhera to her work and Gella to the Imperial Gardens, which were in the full, bright bloom of summer.

At length, Gella cleared her throat. Then she tipped her head toward the cooling cup of tea she had brought. "Do drink it, Your Grace."

Mhera nodded, tracing her finger tip along the vine she had been working on before picking up her needle again.

"I shall see you at supper." Gella's voice was soft.

Again, Mhera nodded. She did not speak, and she did not look up. She bent her head to her work again, her expression shuttered now.