Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

19

"Don't fret, my dearest heart." Mhera laid her hand on Matei's shoulder. She was sitting next to him on his bed, her expression lined with grief.

"It's my fault. Mhera, I dealt with him so harshly—I said things I didn't mean. I held him to blame. Goddess above...I held him to blame." Matei shook his head, putting his face in his hands. "If he comes to harm, I shall never forgive myself."

"You spoke from your grief. Matei, Uachi is your dearest friend, like a brother to you. Do you think he believes you were in earnest? Give him credit. Besides, he did not go on impulse. I was the one who told him of my vision." She drew a trembling breath. "If I had not—if I'd only stayed silent—"

"No." Matei looked up at her at last, putting a hand on her cheek. "He would already have made up his mind to go; your vision only gave him direction."

"If there is anyone who can bring Uarria back safely, it's Uachi. I all but asked him to go. It was selfish."

The two of them sat in silence for a long time, staring at the rug. It was summer, and so the hearth fire had not been lit; a lamp burned on the bedside table, casting shadows around the room. Watching the shapes of the chairs and the bedposts flicker on the wall made Matei think of Uarria.

Even still, the thought that she was missing would catch him unawares, make his breath catch in a ragged flare of pain, and he would have to stay still for a second, grounding himself, trying not to come unmoored. This was such a moment; dwelling on Uachi and his flight, whatever the purpose, had taken Matei's mind briefly away from his daughter, and now, thinking of her, so young, out there in the company of a madwoman goddess-knew-where was like a blow to the stomach.

She's afraid of the dark, he wanted to say, but he caught the words in his throat and kept them there, burning. A glance at Mhera's face suggested that she knew what he was thinking; she held his gaze for a moment and then closed her eyes, drawing her breath in.

"We need to talk of other things," Matei said, his voice hoarse.

"I know. The letter from Tuamach." Mhera opened her eyes again, reaching for the stack of correspondence that lay on the pillow. Ever since the days when the two of them were only pretending at their marriage, they had kept up the habit of reviewing correspondence and other important matters together in the later hours of the night, that they might turn their troubles over together and be fully prepared to face them in the daylight. She picked up the topmost missive and smoothed out the creases. "Captain Jessin writes that they are in need of more supplies, and that the battles of the past two weeks have lost us a hundred and a score of men."

Matei sighed. "I will speak to Lord Geale tomorrow." He could never think of Geale without thinking of his first encounter with the man. Uachi had been there; he had called Lord Geale "a coin-counter with all his scribblings in order." It had amused Matei at the time, although he had endeavored not to show it. Now, he heard the echo of those words like the beat of a drum in an empty room. Were Uachi here now, he'd have said something just as blunt.

"I cannot stop thinking how foolish all this bloodshed is," Mhera murmured, staring down at the letter. It shivered in her hands. "They asked for their independence and if they would simply give us Koren—they cannot think we would execute him, but we must somehow neutralize the threat he poses to undo all we have done—"

"But it's more than that," Matei said, and he knew Mhera knew it, too. "This isn't a war with Narr, Mhera; at its root, this is a war with Koren. He threatens everything we have changed here. He will not rest until he lies in this very bed."

The two of them glanced as one toward the pillow. Matei, as the emperor, had taken the bedchamber that had once belonged to Emperor Korvan, and which had housed all the emperors before him, all the way back to the Blessed Sovereign Broycan himself. For the most part, they could forget the shadows that haunted the place. They had brought their own memories, their own light. But at times like this, considering the blind ambition of Matei's half-brother and the thousands of lives that had been and would be lost in his pursuit of the throne, it was difficult not to feel the shadows.

"We'll send supplies, and we'll send men," Mhera sighed. "And we'll send a letter...again."

"If our correspondence reaches this High Queen, she must have no desire to entertain it," Matei replied. "Who knows what Koren has promised her to support his claim to the throne?"

"There must have been something. Otherwise, she would have given him up." Mhera laid the letter aside and rubbed the heel of her hand over her forehead.

The two of them sank back into silence again. The very absence of words was laden with things they could have said. When Matei caught Mhera's glance, he heard his daughter's name, echoing in the silence between them, and he could tell by the way Mhera dropped her eyes at once that she had heard it, too.

He folded her into his arms, and she let her head fall to rest against his chest. It had been so long. A lifetime.

Meanwhile, men and women were fighting and dying at the front.

"It's wrong of me to be here," Matei murmured, gazing at the cold hearth.

"Wrong?" Mhera echoed.

"Sitting on my featherbed as men and women die."

She sat up; he loosened his arm so that she could, but he did not look at her until her hand came to rest on his cheek, gently turning his face toward her. "Matei."

"It's wrong."

"You did not ask to be crowned. Your place is here, on the throne." There was a note of fear in Mhera's voice.

Matei smiled at her, raising his eyebrows. "Mhera, you don't believe that."

"I do—how can you—"

"Shh." He leaned in, pressing his lips to her cheek, and he rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, her lips quivering. "I know you are frightened to hear me say it. Don't worry, my love. I am not running to pick up my sword. But you don't believe my place is in a pretty chair; if you did, I would not find you so often in the kitchens or out in the Arcborn quarter."

"Potatoes and city children are not going to kill me," Mhera said, a note of taut defense in her voice. "It is hardly a comparison."

Matei closed his eyes, sliding his arm around Mhera again. "You're right. Let's set it aside." 

They did. They turned their focus to other things that night...but Matei had opened a door that could not be easily closed again, and through that door was a path that he knew he must walk as surely as he knew that the sun would rise. 

Another little glimpse into the lives of our heartbroken, careworn parents. I often wonder what it is like to deal with unbearable personal grief while also shouldering immense responsibilities. For those in government, positions of authority, or even leadership positions at different companies and organizations. For parents who have families to support. For faith leaders. 

How do you walk your own dark path while also supporting the people who depend on you? I imagine it's exceedingly difficult. 

On a different note: Updates have been more than a little inconsistent and I would like to remedy this issue now that I have settled back into a steady writing habit! 

Going forward, I plan to update weekly, either on Saturday or Sunday (I'm based in Virginia, U.S.A., so I'll be on Eastern Time). 

Thank you for reading! 

xx Mina