When Tomas and I got restless and speculated between ourselves on the dire consequences to the state of the universe should one of the tenants actually drink the glass of wine, our mother whispered that we were being disrespectful. For many years, I believed that she meant we were disrespectful to my father-a terrifying prospect that instantly corrected my behavior. Only later did I understand that our behavior was disrespectful to the tenants, who fed us, clothed us, and kept us in comfort in return for the use of the Comigor land and the protection of its lord.
When my father was away on campaign, my mother sat at the little table with Tomas and me beside her. Tomas had been awkward the first few years after his coming of age, when our mother was dead and our grieving father too drunk to do his duty, but he had grown into it. Until my banishment from Comigor, I had sat with him as always. To change the practice had been unthinkable.
I entered my sister-in-law’s bedchamber in great disturbance of mind. “Did you rest well, Philomena?” I said.
Philomena’s aunt lurked glowering on the far side of the bed, half hidden behind the bed-curtains. The duchess’s attention remained focused on her mirror. “I don’t know what was in my head this morning, Seriana,” said Philomena, smoothing a strand of her hair. “I should have told you to go immediately. My husband didn’t want you here and neither do I. I’ve only your word that he sent you.”
“You may accept what I say as truth or lies. But your son has a right to know how his father died, and there’s no one else to tell him of it.”
“For all I know, you may have killed Tomas yourself,” said Philomena, more from annoyance than conviction. “You were married to a sorcerer and conspired with traitors. My husband caught you at it and called down the law. You’re probably here for revenge.”
“I told you, I hold neither you nor your child responsible. Tomas is beyond knowing, so vengeance has no purpose. Nothing will bring back my son.” I pulled a small gray silk bag from my pocket and laid it on the bedclothes in front of Philomena. “I brought this for you. It’s not dangerous.” I smiled at the old woman, who had backed away from the bedside as if the little pouch might conceal a snake.
From the bag Philomena pulled out a lock of Tomas’s red-brown hair tied with a green silk thread. She twined it about her fingers thoughtfully.
“Let it make peace between us,” I said. “If for nothing else than this-your son is the Duke of Comigor. I’ve brought him the Comigor signet ring. I have no child to rival him, and I’m not likely to. This is the house of my father and his fathers before him for thirty generations. I’d not see it destroyed for pointless revenge.”
“I think that’s what Tomas was most angry about,” said Philomena. “That you would do what you did and risk bringing ruin to this decrepit pile of rock. I never understood it.”
My conviction that Tomas had been controlled by the Zhid, the ancient enemies of Karon’s people from the magical world across D’Arnath’s Bridge, was unsupported by physical evidence. But I would have wagered my life on it. “If Tomas had been allowed to think on his own, he would have known that I’d never take such a risk lightly. He might have tried to understand what I told him about my husband and his people. Whatever else, I think he believed me at the end. Will you summon the boy?”
Philomena tossed the lock of hair onto her coverlet and picked up her mirror, first polishing it with a lace handkerchief and then observing her pretty face twisted into a flirtatious pout. “He might not come. He was so much nicer when he was small and the nurse would bring him to us for an hour in the evening. We would dandle him about and then send him off to bed. Now he says such awful things when he’s angry, and he’s angry so often and for no reason.” She pursed her lips, pinched her cheeks, and smoothed the skin over her brows, but she also dispatched one of the maids to find the young duke and tell him his mama most urgently requested him to wait on her.
Philomena continued her self-absorbed activities while we waited. I wandered to the window, unsure of how to broach the subject of the rents. Managing Philomena would be a full-time study. I was delighted that I didn’t have to cope with her for more than a day.
The expansive view from the window behind the heavy draperies was serenely beautiful. The southern face of Comigor fronted wheat fields, a golden ocean that lapped at the stone walls and stretched into the midday haze as far as I could see to east and south.
A glance over my shoulder confirmed that the hissing sound was Philomena’s aunt whispering vehemently in the duchess’s ear. Philomena was not so circumspect with her replies. “She was not the sorcerer. She was only married to one-” When she found my eye on her, the old woman paled and stepped away from the bed. Astonishing how many people believed that marrying a sorcerer must surely imbue a woman with magical powers of her own. I had often wished that to be the case. “-and he’s long dead.”
More time passed. Philomena tapped her teeth with the corner of the silver mirror. “I think you should give the ring to me,” she said abruptly.
I perched on the narrow window seat, where I could both enjoy the prospect and keep an eye on the bedchamber. “I’ll give it only to its proper owner.”
“Why would you care who has it? He’s too young to wear it, and I can take it from him as soon as you leave.”
“If I give it to him, and you take it away, then he will know who has it and who does not. There’ll be no misunderstanding.” I trusted Philomena no further than I could see her.
Philomena sulked until the boy strode into the room. “Gerick, my darling boy. Have you come to brighten your poor mama’s day?”
Philomena didn’t wait for an answer, and the boy didn’t seem inclined to provide one. I didn’t think his answer would be to his mother’s liking anyway. His thin face was contemptuous and aloof, and I would have thought he cared about nothing in the world, except that he so studiously avoided looking at me. Though I stood in a direct line with the door, he proceeded directly to his mother’s bedside and allowed her to peck him on the cheek.
“Gerick, this woman has brought you something that belongs to you. She insists on giving it directly to you, as is her right, but Mama must keep it for you until you come of age.”
The boy turned to me and bowed politely, his eyes devoid of emotion, even curiosity. I waited for Philomena to make a proper introduction, but she said nothing more. So I motioned for the boy to join me on a settle padded with thin red velvet cushions. He positioned himself, stiff as a starched collar, in the farthest corner of the bench.
“I was with your father when he died,” I said. The boy’s eyes grew large, their chilly disdain melted in an instant. “I want to tell you something of that day…”
I had prepared carefully what I would tell him of the strange, fog-bound cavern hidden in the snowy peaks of the Dorian Wall, and of the cruel, empty-eyed warriors who had sought to ensure their dominion over the Four Realms as well as their own far-distant lands by luring the finest swordsman in Leire, the King’s Champion, to fight the Prince of Avonar. I told the story sparingly, so that all I spoke was truth, yet withholding the parts a child could not understand or that it would be dangerous for him to hear. The boy’s attention did not waver through all my telling.
“… And so, you see, they never intended for your father to win the match. They made him confused and angry and didn’t tell him what they planned, for the Prince was pledged not to slay anyone from our lands. It was a most sacred vow that his ancestors had made, and the wicked men wanted to corrupt the Prince. But despite their tricks, your father discovered how he’d been deceived, and he refused to fight the Prince any longer. He told the evil men that there was no honor for King Evard in the match.”