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me.”
    “Lerial … there’s more that I haven’t told you. Your mother believes she lost her sister because Altyrn spurned Zanobya. Zanobya would have consorted Altyrn. She was taken with him, but she couldn’t bear staying in Cigoerne when he turned her down. He was gentle about it, but…”
    Lerial can’t help but think about Altyrn’s reaction when Lerial had distanced himself from Rojana.
    “So … Zanobya fled to Swartheld. She died there in childbirth three years later. She might have lived had she given birth here. Xeranya never saw her again. Your mother blames Maeroja.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
    “Your mother asked me never to mention it. Your father asked that I honor that request. I would ask that you never reveal that I have told you … but you should know. Your mother loved Zanobya dearly.”
    Lerial conceals a wince. What else could Emerya do? Then he frowns. “But the majer couldn’t have met Maeroja until after Zanobya fled, could he?”
    “No, he didn’t, but that doesn’t matter. Altyrn did so much for your father that Xeranya dared not blame him. And then, after he helped you so much … Blaming Maeroja was so much easier.”
    Lerial can understand his mother’s feelings of loss and grief, but not why she feels she must blame Maeroja. Yet it is more than clear what she feels and that those feelings will never change. “You’ve been writing Rhamuel for years, haven’t you?”
    “You’ve just come to that conclusion?” Emerya offers an amused smile.
    “I’ve thought so ever since I left for Verdheln, but I never said anything. Is Atroyan … not particularly stable?”
    “That’s one way of saying it. He is always charming and witty, but he thinks that everyone is plotting against him.”
    “Including his brothers?”
    “Especially Mykel, his youngest brother … and that is absurd.”
    “Why?”
    “I’d prefer to leave it at that, Lerial.”
    “So Rhamuel has been keeping Atroyan out of trouble … mostly?”
    “He tries. He’s not always successful. Every so often there’s some field-grade officer who gets to the duke when Rhamuel isn’t around and persuades the duke to do something unwise. Then, too, Rhamuel isn’t as wise as he could be. He’s balanced and has common sense, but not too much imagination.”
    “But he’s charming and gentle with women?”
    “Of course.”
    Lerial waits.
    “I did what I had to … Kiedron and your mother needed all the help they could get.”
    Lerial can sense something behind the black mist of order. Sadness … or something even more painful? “And it was unlikely that Rhamuel would ever be allowed a consort in Swartheld?”
    Emerya nods.
    “Does Amaira…?”
    “She knows. She also knows that she can say nothing. I write him, always about my daughter, should others read the letters, and convey what other information he needs to know. In a veiled and fluttering feminine fashion…”
    Lerial doubts that Emerya has ever been a fluttery female.
    “… and your father and I discuss that. In turn, he sends me cheerful letters with gossip and odd bits of information.”
    “Enough that you can learn what you and father need to know.”
    “Not always … but usually.”
    “Do you think that Khesyn is really planning to attack Afrit … somewhere?”
    “I’m afraid I do, Lerial. He’s made far more raids on Afrit than on Cigoerne. We don’t talk about it, but it’s clear from what I hear and from what the traders report.”
    “And we can’t afford to have Afrit fall?”
    “What do you think?”
    “About the same as you and Father feel, I suspect. Khesyn holding even Luba would destroy us both in time.” Lerial pauses. “But how much can we trust Atroyan … or Rhamuel?”
    “Atroyan not at all, and Rhamuel only to the extent that something benefits him and he cannot hurt you.”
    Lerial is tempted to ask again how she could have done what she did … but she has already answered him.
    Her