Read Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) for Free Online

were not there. So, I think—”
    “You don’t have to say it. I understand, and you’re right.”
    “I know it may not be easy…”
    Her laugh is soft, short … and bitter.
    “I will see you then?”
    “You will.”
    Lerial rises and inclines his head. “Thank you … again.”
    “You’re more than welcome.” Her words are warm, anything but perfunctory.
    After leaving the small salon, and wanting to be alone, he walks back to his own chambers, rooms he has not occupied in more than a season, and for less than two eightdays over the past several years. There, he rereads the letter.
    Use it to balance good and power. Good only needs to survive, not triumph. Lerial thinks he understands what the majer was suggesting, but he decides not to pursue that line of thought. Not yet. One of the other lessons he has learned from the majer is that matters are often not what they first seem, and when one has a chance to wait and reflect, it is often better. But then, sometimes you don’t get that choice.
    At a fifth before fifth glass, he makes his way down to the main salon. Emerya and the two girls are the only ones there.
    Ryalah runs to him and throws her arms around his waist. “You’re here!”
    Lerial realizes, belatedly, that she has indeed grown … and so has Amaira, who now stands almost as tall as her mother. “I am indeed.”
    “How long?” Ryalah releases him and steps back.
    “I don’t know … but not too long.” Lerial looks to Amaira. “You’re looking very good.”
    “Thank you, Uncle Lerial.” Amaira’s smile is still shy and sweet, although Lerial can sense a certain strength in the flow of order and chaos around her, and a definite darkening of the order she holds, suggesting that, like her mother, she will be a strong healer. He can also see that her black hair holds hints of a reddish tinge, something he does not recall, either with her or anyone else.
    Last, he turns to Emerya, whose hair is now close to entirely silver, a shade not unbecoming to her. “It’s always good to see you.” He steps toward her and adds in a lower voice, “We need to talk later.”
    She nods. “Your mother will be here, but only when your father arrives.”
    “I wouldn’t have expected it otherwise. You’ve told the girls we’ll be having company at dinner?”
    “I did. I told them that Maeroja’s consort had just died, and that they need to be very kind because he was a special man, and she loved him very much.” Emerya smiles, although the smile is for her daughter and niece.
    “Isn’t she special, too?” asks Ryalah.
    Behind the younger girl, Amaira nods.
    “She is,” replies Lerial.
    The palace bells are striking fifth glass when Maeroja enters the salon, the mourning scarf draped more widely across her shoulders.
    Even before she has taken three steps into the chamber, Kiedron and Xeranya follow her.
    “I’m so glad you could join us,” offers Xeranya as Maeroja turns to face the couple.
    “I do so appreciate your courtesy and kindness,” replies Maeroja.
    Lerial translates those words to mean his mother’s courtesy and his father’s kindness.
    “We could do no less for you, given all that you have done for Lerial and all the majer did for me,” replies Kiedron.
    Lerial senses that his father’s voice has almost caught. That surprises him, but he adds, “I cannot say how much I appreciate how at home you both made me feel.”
    “What will you have?” asks Kiedron, stepping toward the refreshments table.
    “The lager, if you please.”
    “I’d be more than pleased,” replies the duke cheerfully.
    Lerial turns to his mother.
    “The white wine, thank you.”
    As Lerial moves to the refreshments table, Emerya eases over to Maeroja and begins to speak. “It’s been years since we’ve talked, and I was hoping we’d have a chance…”
    The interplay confirms to Lerial that dinner will be polite, punctuated by the attempts of Emerya, his father, and himself to bring