Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) by Jr. L. E. Modesitt Read Free Book Online

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?

 
    V
    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