Momentary Peace: The Year of Veras Book 3

Momentary Peace

The Year of Veras Book 3

J. Mark McDonald

ISBN 979-8-88685-912-6 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88685-914-0 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88685-913-3 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by J. Mark McDonald

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Year of Veras Series

Chosen

Hidden Paths

Momentary Peace

Broken Crowns

Allies in Arms

Hand of the Divine

Released

135

136

137

137

138

139

140

142

144

145

146

148

149

149

149

149

150

150

151

151

153

153

154

155

158

159

161

162

164

166

168

168

169

169

169

170

170

171

172

172

173

175

176

177

178

180

181

182

182

183

183

184

About the Author

The Year of Veras Series

Chosen

Hidden Paths

Momentary Peace

Broken Crowns

Allies in Arms

Hand of the Divine

Released

Characters

135

Archbishop Deirdre Cousland

South of Saragosa, Tomania

Looking into the mirror positioned at eye level on the wall of her private office, Deirdre frowned. More gray hairs. The lines on her forehead seemed pronounced. The image in the mirror looked thin, frail, hardly worthy of the awe and respect so well-deserved. Was it time for a new host? The current one would last six more years, but it was fading. Man or woman next time? They expected a woman, of course, but men had served a few times. She'd been hosted by a woman for so many years; she had to be careful not to think of herself as feminine. The next host needed to be physically stronger, and more attractive. Appearing as a shriveled old lady was not appropriate for the voice of Flanora. Even like this, she could still command respect or engender fear, but some of the more pleasant benefits of being hosted were difficult with such an undesirable shell.

Someday perhaps, she would be assigned Kurg or Brusdor, something a little more exciting. Flanora was soft, loving, a fertility goddess. She couldn't kill anyone, even a violent criminal! If she were offered Hendir, she'd play the role differently than Obreon. His version of pushing the boundaries of a control system was little more than an agreement to maintain the status quo. Deirdre chuckled. One would think after representing the mother of the gods for so many years, her personality would have adapted, but no. Her finer traits didn't fit with the human's expectations of the epitome of motherhood.

A knock sounded on the dark walnut door. Now what? Enter.

Bryne Howell, the bishop serving as temple administrator, leaned in. Deirdre tried to hide her revulsion. The puny man smelled terrible. His entire face was smattered with tiny volcanoes, a few always ready to erupt. Spineless and cowardly, he trembled in her presence; he might suddenly perish if she expressed disapproval. Madam Archbishop? he begged in a squeaky voice that seemed appropriate for a mouse.

What is it, Howell?

Madam, as you know, next week is the Revel. I believe we are prepared, but I would like to go over the plans with—

Not now. Come back later. Deirdre turned back to the mirror, dismissing the man with a subtle wave.

Yes, Madam. The mouse closed the door.

A capable servant perhaps, especially for a human, but she had no patience for his hygiene issues, especially after confronting him more than once. Besides, she justified, it was time for the link. Soon the signal, the summoning call of her master, would ring out within her mind, calling her true name.

He is going to be angry. Is there a way for him to single me out or will he blame everyone? If the rumors are true, Ferdinand will certainly be reprimanded. Is he tired of Xerucia's excuses and ready to give another spirit an opportunity to capture Padraig Hendricks? They both deserve more than just a simple reprimand.

Deirdre grinned maliciously at the thought.

Sooner than expected, she heard the call. Deirdre took a seat in the nearest chair, closed her blood-red eyes, and reached into the ethereal realm. Her master's signal was always strong, easy to follow. Connecting to the link, her mind quickly settled into a familiar mode of listening only. Controlling thoughts became easy after practicing over a few millennia.

‘Yes, well, time to begin,' Baalmudus announced with a clear, powerfully projected thought. As intelligent as the Principality was, did he recognize how frequently he used the speech pattern? ‘We are going to be making a few changes, so pay attention. If you do not understand something, ask a question. None of you can afford another failure. To make that point perfectly clear, you will find Xerucia is no longer with us. She has been sent to the Kalevars.'

Deirdre winced but made sure not to relay fear through the link. The punishment was more significant than expected. Apparently, her master was more than just a little angry.

‘I am sure Xerucia will make an excellent sword or ring.' Baalmudus allowed a hint of delight to color the thought. ‘Perhaps you are astute enough to recognize that I have grown weary of excuses and poor performance. Within the week, I will select another spirit to take Xerucia's place. Baron Hendricks needs to join us, and we need to determine the next target.'

Deirdre didn't envy the spirit assigned to that task. In general, nobles didn't have enough misery and dissatisfaction in their lives. Given the restrictions of the prevailing strategy, spirits couldn't just take control; a joining had to be mutually agreed. Only those sufficiently desperate accepted the offer. Orchestrating the circumstances to foster that degree of discontentment, especially in a high-ranking noble, was difficult. She had to give Cliaxor credit. He'd manipulated Ferdinand Esperanza expertly. In the end, the son couldn't stand his father and saw no way out, no hope, so he agreed. If Baalmudus wanted more joined nobles, he had to select capable spirits and give them the time required to create enough dissatisfaction, enough despair. Hope had to be destroyed.

‘Now, since I am sure none of you want to share Xerucia's fate, I will provide the assistance that you all clearly need. Halazon has been elevated to Authority. He recently joined with Gavin Mayfield, an assassin from Kendorus, and that is how he will be known until the assignment ends.'

Halazon? Really? Deirdre didn't understand the decision. Any spirit that was more philosopher than soldier didn't belong in the ranks of Authorities. What position would he assume? None were open.

The spirit formerly known as Halazon offered, ‘I am at your service, Master.'

‘Yes, well, we shall see if the elevation was warranted.' The threat was only slightly veiled. ‘I am sanctioning a Rolweht sect. This will be a covert sect. As such, we will not condone open worship of the death god. Do not publicly acknowledge its existence. Gavin Mayfield will be its first Archbishop, and he will not repeat Vierun's foolish mistakes. I do not want to relive the destruction of Tanivar. Is that clear?'

Halazon? She still couldn't believe it. A spirit known for being a daydreaming philosopher representing the god of death and master of Ulfara? Halazon didn't act, didn't execute strategy. He'd rather ramble on about where Lanoren sat on a technology scale or whether Androvians should be taught more about Jalonian history, especially the Purge.

Baalmudus paused for effect before continuing, ‘It will take a few months to get established, but the sect will primarily be used as enforcers and assassins. They will also have resources skilled in joinings, traditional or forced.'

Deirdre's eyebrows rose. A change in policy?

‘Forced joinings will be allowed as long as the practice is kept secret. One failure could ruin the control mechanism, so do not attempt it without complete assurance of secrecy. Ferdinand, take one of your captives and force a joining on them. I want to see what happens.'

‘Gladly, Master. Thank you,' Ferdinand replied. Deirdre could feel the visceral joy in the spirit's response.

‘This is not something to be happy about, worm! I am risking thousands of years of finely tuned control systems because you idiots cannot defeat a bunch of patchers!'

The link became strangely silent for a long moment.

As if the spirit had taken a deep breath to regain his composure, Baalmudus continued in his normal, ominous tone. ‘Do not contract with the Rolweht sect for insignificant matters. They are to be used in the war against the cult only. Your inability to defeat the cult has forced my hand. As a result, I am obliged to initiate other changes in strategy as well. I am willing to allow subtle and infrequent use of tactics that would bend the rules of the control systems, but be assured, use them at your own peril. A mistake that threatens the system will cost you dearly.'

Freedom to try new tactics? Now that could prove very interesting. Conversely, Deirdre had no interest in being sent to the Kalevars.

‘I am sure you need help to understand the fine line I am drawing, so I will provide an example. Archbishops, inform the bishops that you are preparing early for transitions to new hosts, get more of them interested in becoming the next Archbishop. Then, selecting up to five of the candidates, initiate the joinings. Save the host you want to take for later, when you are ready to transition. Understood?'

No thoughts were projected.

‘Yes, well, I did not expect any of you to be brave enough to ask a reasonably intelligent question. I shall continue. We need to give people something to be excited about, something that draws them to the Theocon and the temples. As such, I want each of you to develop a strategy for starting a new legend. Something similar to the legend of Brusdor smiting the solitaur to save the helpless knight Davell. Devise the plan, but make sure it is robust before you seek approval. Determine how you would use witnesses and reinforce the tale. I will sanction the best plan, and then you will all support it.'

A competition between Authorities. Deirdre smiled; she liked the odds.

‘Assuming you understand, I will move on. I have instructed Ferdinand to hold the cult leaders indefinitely. Those recently executed are being called martyrs, and their sacrifice appears to be fueling the growth of the cult. We will isolate them and let them die slowly. Also, a prophecy has been found buried in an innocuous book within the Tomanian national library. I am not sure how you could have let that occur, given centuries of searching, but it has.' Baalmudus paused. ‘I do not want another one found.'

Deirdre made a mental note to have the Grand Temple's library searched again.

‘While we are on the subject of failures, I will point out a few more. The relics have still not been recovered. Marciene, you have the lead and therefore, most of the blame, but all of you are supposed to be helping. Ferdinand, do not think to risk an important objective just to humiliate a peer. Do that again and you will be removed, understood?'

‘Yes, Master.' The response was weak, embarrassed.

Struggling to keep her reaction out of the link, Deirdre smiled wickedly. Ferdinand got caught, probably interfering with Marciene's attempt to recover the relics. Now the sorceress knew it as well. The fool had been an Authority long enough to avoid such clumsiness, but then there wasn't much that escaped Baalmudus's scrutiny.

Her master continued, ‘The cult is expanding. If you do not mount an effective resistance, it will soon spill into Fairchild and Bronland. As evidence to its insidious nature, Graham lost a priest. The priest was executed, but not before damage was done.'

‘My apologies, Master,' offered Graham Brennon, Archbishop of Pendaris.

‘Yes, well, the point is that you all must assume your puppets are vulnerable and act accordingly.'

A few thoughts acknowledged the order. ‘Yes, Master.'

‘We are not using Lyford effectively either. All over Androvia, people worry about Hendir initiating the End. A cow dies, and they call it a sign! Use their fear to combat the cult. Ensure your bishops are singling them out as a source for Hendir's rage. Remember, Lying tongues?'

A few answered, ‘Yes, Master.'

‘Regarding our geopolitical strategy, Marlach is preparing and will be ready in a few months. He is taking longer than expected for some unknown reason, but the outcome is certain, nonetheless. Perhaps the relative ease of his assignment has diminished his capabilities. He is pressing Fairchild to join with me as well, and together, I expect to have that task completed before Marlach begins. We still need more nobles to become joined to simplify the expansion of theocracy throughout Androvia. At the same time, make sure they are not indoctrinated by the cult. We have managed to contain the cult within the lower classes, and that must continue. Lastly, the truce between Bronland and Tomania is unfortunate, but in the end, it will not matter. Neither country will offer much resistance.'

Deirdre considered Marlach's forces. The chaos and devastation would surpass anything the world had seen since the destruction of Tanivar. But where was the enemy? Why weren't they responding?

‘Many have recently asked about signs of the enemy, having noted none in your particular territory. I can only caution you against being lulled into complacency. That being said, we still cannot explain how the girl is protected. The enemy is cunning. They will not hide in the shadows forever. Be ready.'

136

Duke Elinar Fairchild

Draiden Castle, Fairchild

Sire, if I may say so, that was very well done. If this were a real duel, the lieutenant and I would have died. Wiping the sweat from his reddened brow, the captain sheathed his sword while attempting to limit his panting. A pace behind and to the left, his lieutenant nodded in agreement as he began removing the protective padding.

Is that so? Elinar asked, controlling his frustration.

Yes, Your Grace. Your movements are precise, your balance flawless, and of course, your attacks came at such a speed that neither of us could defend. I could bring a third next time if you wish.

Perhaps the captain was sincere, but the match felt otherwise. Captain Heath, let me be clear about my expectations. If you or any of your lieutenants ever hold back or give me anything less than your best, I will have you flogged on the spot. Is that clear?

Wes Heath snapped to attention. Yes, sire. Perfectly clear. He swallowed a ball of anxiety rising in his throat before opening his mouth as if to continue. He paused, holding in the frozen comment.

Speak! Elinar commanded.

"Your Grace, I just wanted you to know that we were not holding back."

The sensation of magic danced across his torso and left leg as Elinar sheathed the enchanted rapier. The duke headed back to his private chambers, leaving the two soldiers behind to consider their performance and his threat. Apparently, his skills had finally caught up to the remarkable capability of the rapier. If the captain and his men were no longer a challenge, then who? Would Phaton agree to spar? Elinar wondered if the spirit bound to his breastplate would counteract the enchantments in Phaton's blades. He doubted it would prevent paralysis, but it might negate the health-draining enchantment.

Perhaps it was best not to find out.

Servants, craftsmen, and royal guards stepped aside, bowing as Elinar strode through the halls toward the tower and its circular stairs. Lost in thought, he was oblivious to most everything transpiring around him in the massive castle. Draiden was built by Naranor Fairchild, his great-great-grandfather, during what some called the Age of Wonders, a period lasting two hundred years just after the Declaration of Separation was signed. During that time in Androvian history, magnificent castles, Grand Temples, and the Academies were constructed. Those turbulent centuries were filled with great accomplishment, plenty of hardship, and chaos as the empire disintegrated.

Draiden was still the greatest structure in the world, as far as Elinar was concerned. Its courtyard alone was larger than entire castles belonging to lesser dukes. With four levels above ground and two beneath, the keep had far more interior space than any other structure in Androvia. No one could keep track of all the servants, activities, movements, or trades in such a huge organization. The maintenance of the castle and grounds alone required a crew of over twenty men. There was always work to do. Feeding a thousand people twice a day was more than one assistant steward could handle, and Wisseric had a dozen to help him manage all the affairs of Draiden.

But Elinar's mind was elsewhere.

For the fourth time in less than three days, the frustrating conversation with his counterpart surfaced again. Was counterpart even the right word? The memory of the link turned over in his mind as if it were a huge but incomplete tapestry, woven with confusing scenes of a battle with a monster whose image was so terrible that the artist didn't want to finish the spectacle.

Spirits were infuriating.

How did it know so much about events in Androvia? It knows more about Hanor than I do! The spirit's confidence was unnerving. Could that be an exploitable weakness? It was so certain of complete victory. If Androvia is so frail, then why did they wait for me to approach them? Heels echoing in the tower, he climbed the ancient stone stairs. He felt the cool air evaporate the perspiration from his brow. Just like the others, it cares more about that ridiculous cult than reunification! And it's not even from Androvia!

The more he thought about the conversation, the angrier he became.

Do they really think I am that easy to manipulate? That I would bow down before them? Give up control just because they ask? Stepping from the tower and its circular stairs, he shook his head in frustration. The richest man in the world felt cornered, vulnerable. There were so many warning signs, subtle and obvious. How do I separate myself from this arrangement? How do I protect Trenton? The best path to reunification is still with their aid. Could I succeed without them?

The two guardsmen standing outside his private study in yellow and black tabards straightened before the one on the right opened the door. Inside, standing over the Travail board, was a younger version of himself, the only significant difference being the tint of his skin, an inheritance from his Alwanian mother. With short, curly black hair and green eyes, he had a smile warmer than Elinar ever seemed to manage. Trenton turned. Father.

At the sight of his son, Elinar's frustration faded away. Trenton, how are you today?

Excellent. Slightly taller than his father, the boy still looked young for his age. Is that how he would always see his son? Approaching, he continued, Thank you again for the hunt yesterday. It was great to see everyone. Your staff seems well.

Motioning toward a woman in dress whites, Elinar called her over, musing, Prosperity tends to have that effect.

The Revel is in two days. I assume it is still inappropriate for me to attend, correct?

Lifting his arms, Elinar chuckled as the servant unbuckled his breastplate. I am not sure why you feel the need to don a mask, drink excessively, and couple with complete strangers, but no, it is not safe. Even at the Grand Temple of Flanora, it is too easy to be kidnapped or worse. Besides, I thought there was a young lady at the Academy that captured your attention.

Trenton's eyes widened. How did you hear about that?

I am your father. I know everything.

Hah! That stopped working when I turned fifteen.

Really? What a shame, Elinar teased as the servant placed the enchanted breastplate on an armor stand. But given the reason I asked you to spend some time here this afternoon, perhaps it is appropriate.

The grin faded from Trenton's handsome features. What did you want to discuss?

Turning to dismiss the servant, Elinar realized he didn't know her name. He remembered Darcy Fletcher and how the unknown servant had risen from complete obscurity to exasperatingly infamous. Young lady, you are dismissed. He wasn't going to make that same mistake again.

With a quick courtesy, the woman headed toward the mahogany door.

Why hadn't there been any repercussions from Darcy Fletcher's story? Surely, she must have orchestrated an audience with Tennath by now. Did he doubt her? Elinar's personal experience, limited as it was, confirmed the general consensus that Tennath Canol was a very clever man. No doubt, he would look for corroboration before taking action. Is that what they were waiting for?

Father?

Startled, Elinar refocused. I am going to have some lemonwater. Do you want a cup?

No, thank you.

The duke walked to the refreshment cart and filled a cup from a crystal decanter, sliced lemons floating within. Absently looking out the window, his gaze stretched over the crashing surf below. Elinar reminded himself to proceed slowly, to carefully guide his son along the delicate path. The conversation was only the first step in a complicated journey, and it had to end right. Any outcome without Trenton by his side was intolerable. I wanted to discuss the future.

Very well. Trenton stood before a cushioned chair, waiting for his father to take a seat in the matching chair a pace away.

Elinar considered calling Zedra to his lap but allowed the brown and black lynx its rest, deciding the cat's position might actually help demonstrate a point later in the discussion. You will sit on my throne one day. You will wear our family's heirloom. Elinar motioned toward the headless bust that displayed the massive necklace with its eleven cubes of solid gold, each section engraved with an ancestor's name and date of rule. As such, I am going to start involving you more in national strategy, negotiations, and duties of state. You should also start building relationships with our allies.

Elinar corrected himself, most of their allies, not all of them.

Trenton's brow knit. Father, I am more than happy to participate and learn at your side, but why are we having this conversation now? You will be on the throne for at least another seventy-five years, assuming of course people are interpreting Lyford incorrectly. Trenton chuckled. I find more Enders every day!

Seventy-five years. Some dark corner of Elinar's mind found that an unlikely conclusion. Given the path he was on and who was traveling with him, he wasn't sure he would survive another seventy-five weeks, let alone years. He didn't care much about Lyford or his prophecy, but he did want to make sure Trenton was ready to inherit the throne. We can never be certain about the future. Regardless of what some prophecy might entail, or what the gods might choose to do, I will work to create the best possible future for you and for Fairchild. That said, there is always a chance of disease, assassination, accident, or some other unforeseen threat. Elinar glanced at the heirloom. How soon before the twelfth ingot was added? He forced his thoughts back to the moment. I know you will be capable of performing in my stead, but I want to make sure you are fully prepared.

Trenton adjusted his position in the cushioned chair, a tinge of discomfort reflected in his countenance. The pleasant smile faded as his voice softened. All right, what would you like to discuss first?

I will start with a few generic comments that should help you make decisions in the future. First, almost every decision has trade-offs and consequences. You will need to understand how to determine all the trade-offs of any given decision. Many times, the right decision for your nation and your subjects is the hardest to undertake. Great reward comes with great risk. If you raise taxes, how will the nobles respond? What will the peasants think? If you enter a favorable trade agreement with one duke, will your other allies be jealous and angry? There are always options, even if they all seem to end in disaster. Elinar paused to check his son's comprehension. None of the topics were beyond him, but the real message might be so veiled that he would never connect the dialogue to a future conversation about the value of reunification. There are times when you have to collaborate with people or forces that you would never allow near your family. Still, to achieve your objectives, you may have to make allegiances with suspect allies, if only temporarily.

Are you referring to a specific situation?

Time to take another calculated step in the journey. Yes and no. The comments apply to many situations you will face. I am currently managing one situation where I have established temporary alliances with people that I would not want to take on a pleasure cruise to Solnesia. I have intentionally shielded you from those relationships.

Is Phaton Richter one of those relationships? Despite his various disguises, I have seen him in the castle more than once. The reputation of the Aridane is both renowned and well-deserved, but whether it is good or bad depends on who you ask.

Phaton is an unusual man with a very strong commitment to his Order and its place in the world. That does not make him evil or untrustworthy. You just have to understand him. I have made alliances with less reputable characters, but that is not really the point. Just realize that everything I do, every choice I make, is for the benefit of our nation, our subjects, and you. Regardless of how it may look after the fact, regardless of the cost or sacrifice required, I am committed to leaving you a better nation to rule. Do you understand?

Trenton's voice suddenly sounded softer as if coming from a young man not even half his age. Yes, sir.

You will end up making your own decisions, but one resource I would tell you to always avoid is spirits. Never make an agreement with them. Never trust them.

You sound like you had a bad experience. Trenton didn't wait for a response. Can you tell me about it?

Elinar looked away to hide his aggravation. Yes, I have. The words came out softer than intended. I will tell you about it someday. But if something unexpected happens to me, you will find my journal very helpful.

Journal?

Elinar rose. Yes, come with me. Stepping to the side of the large mahogany desk, Elinar faced the dark wooden shelves lining the wall. Leather-bound books of all sizes filled half the shelves. Wondrous gifts from various nations and countless other articles adorned the rest of the space. A set of golden figurines representing the symbols of the gods sat below carved statues of horses, griffons, and falcons. An image of the Great Cypress sat across from a model of Parliament. A portrait of his great-great-grandfather, Aldris Fairchild, hung in the center of the wall, his green eyes staring at Elinar regardless of where he stood in the room. The family heirloom seemed to look better on him despite having three fewer ingots. The painting had been touched up many times over 750 years, but the painstaking work did nothing to diminish the grandeur of the subject. Behind him, two banners represented the new and the old. The flag representing the duchy of Fairchild hadn't changed in a millennia. Despite being dissolved 150 years before the portrait was painted, the Androvian Empire was still remembered through its banner, a golden thunderbird spread across a green field. The thunderbird was no longer used by any of the nations, the symbol fading into antiquity.

Trenton arrived at his father's side. Yes?

Crouching, Elinar reached beneath the second shelf. There is a rod that holds this cabinet in place. Yanking on the iron rod, he continued, It looks like a bookshelf, but that is not all it is. The cabinet swung toward him on a giant, single-bar hinge, revealing a large iron box with two keyholes embedded in the wall.

Trenton gasped. How long has this been here?

Elinar chuckled. Long before I was born. Note the two keyholes. I am going to show you where I keep the keys, but I want to make it clear that you are not to use them without my approval, unless, of course, I can no longer give you approval.

Understood, but I wish you would stop talking like you are going to die tomorrow.

Continuing as if he didn't hear the request, Elinar reached for an exquisitely carved solitaur made from a single piece of jade. Two hands high, four hands long, it was detailed down to individual fangs and overlapping scales. The wings looked like they could start rending air at any moment. Be very careful with this. It is very old. Elinar lifted one edge of the base of the figurine to draw a key, replacing it after showing it to his son.

I always liked that piece. Amazing craftsmanship.

It came from Tanivar during the second expedition. It was carved by a descendant of Selvynus.

They vanished twenty-six hundred years ago, somewhere around the year 1400! Is that how old it is?

You know your history, excellent. It is at least that old. And because Selvynus's race vanished from the world, it is even more valuable.

Can we put the key someplace else? I would rather not risk breaking it.

Elinar smiled. When this becomes your study, put it wherever you like. Crossing in front of the desk, the duke stepped to one of the large picture windows overlooking the ocean. Zedra's embroidered pillow sat upon the windowsill, the lynx still sleeping. The other key is under Zedra's cushion. Go ahead, retrieve it.

Trenton's flattened hand, palm down, stretched toward the bottom of the cushion. Elinar added, Carefully.

Pausing at the warning, Trenton reached the pillow and slowly moved his hand underneath. The lynx didn't move but a low, angry growl rumbled deep within its throat. Trenton jerked his hand back. No, thanks. I will worry about that one later.

Smiling openly, Elinar returned to his chair, taking another quaff of lemonwater. Any questions?

Yes, Trenton replied, taking his seat. Gathering his thoughts, he continued, This project you are working on with questionable alliances. Does Mother know?

Elinar preferred to avoid the question, but Trenton was smart enough to see through any attempt at misdirection. No, she does not.

Why not?

He was too close to his mother for Elinar to ask him to take sides. It was one of the disadvantages of being married to a good woman. There are a number of duties of state that your mother is not involved in. Wes Heath, Lucas Stonesifer, and Marciene Carter are the only staff members involved at this time. More will be brought into the fold when appropriate.

When will that be? When will I be brought into the fold completely?

I will bring other staff members into the process within three to five months. You will get more involved sooner than that.

Trenton placed his hand over his mouth, thinking. May I make an observation, Father?

Why would he ask that? If his son was going to join him, the boy had to understand how important he was. Trenton, you are my son, my only child. I love you more than anyone in the world. You never have to ask permission to share your thoughts.

The young man nodded, the warmth in his eyes saying more than words. I just wanted to say thank you for beginning this process and confiding in me. I will be ready for the next step when you want to involve me to a greater depth. Clearing his throat, he continued, The observation I mentioned was that I have noticed you seem more irritable, more distant lately, like you have something unusually significant on your mind. If this project is that issue, and if it is weighing you down like it appears, are you sure you are doing the right thing?

Elinar thought he hid his frustrations better than that, but then his son was rather intuitive. Still, the question sounded a great deal like the one he'd been asking himself lately.

137

Princess Selora Canol

Silverstone Palace, Tomania

The face in the mirror seemed older, like she'd aged ten years during the past fifty-four days. Selora almost chuckled, but the frustration of being gone so long outweighed the amusement over her juvenile behavior of counting the days. Leaning forward to see better, she wondered if the lack of sleep caused by the lumpy bed was casting a shadow beneath her eyes. Her hair didn't lie the right way, the tresses falling in strange directions as if protesting the lack of an experienced hand. Teresa was pleasant enough for a handmaiden, but even after five days of instruction, she still couldn't wield a brush like Karina. Maybe it was because she was so short, she didn't have a proper angle. So, Teresa, what should we talk about today?

As you please, Princess. Her accent was even stronger than Tennath's arcanist.

Your family? How many brothers and sisters do you have?

Eight brothers and twelve sisters, Princess.

Are you closer to the youngest or the oldest?

I have two younger brothers and three younger sisters, Princess.

Such stunning conversation. Selora recalled more exciting chats with her spaniel, Tyza. On the other hand, after nearly two months with nothing but men for company and that horrible visit to the front, any female companionship, regardless of its wit or ability to entertain, was more than welcome. At least the morning's arranged walk around the garden could prove amusing. Though, being required to attend dampened her enthusiasm. She'd had a few conversations with Prince Nicandro, but the meeting was to be their first formal exchange. Would he be charming or frustrated over his father's insistence?

Frowning once more at the image in the mirror, Selora waved off the young woman. Enough. Her appearance wasn't improving with additional strokes of the brush.

Yes, Princess. Teresa stepped back, lowering her dark eyes to await further instructions.

Where is my lilac water?

Teresa retrieved the small bottle. Princess, may I make a suggestion?

You may.

Beg pardon, Princess, but the prince would rather smell you than the lilacs. Women in Tomania, even noble women, don't use fragrances.

How barbaric!

Is that so?

Yes, Princess.

The fragrance had been with her for so many years, she no longer smelled the lilacs. Would she find her normal smell, whatever that was, unpleasant? Very well, as I am a guest in your country, I shall take your advice. But after dinner this evening, I will require a bath. Please ensure the water is warmer than last night.

Yes, Princess.

But then, all those people at the front didn't have the luxury of warm baths or even cold ones. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the images.

Rising from the cushioned chair, Selora checked the front of her velvet dress for wrinkles. Prean was more beautiful, its sheen more attractive, but she loved the feel of velvet. It was warm, comforting, even if less sophisticated. The flowing, moss-green day dress was embroidered in gold trim with a matching belt. Cream-colored ermine cuffs highlighted the belled sleeves. The train was too long for a walk in the garden, but she really didn't care. Selora frowned; if the negotiations lasted more than two weeks, she would have to wear her dresses a second time.

Another image flashed in her memory. Like so many others surfacing over the past couple of weeks the scene was unwelcome, forcing itself into her mind. A woman doubled over a washtub. Strands of sun-touched hair flopped back and forth below her coif, swinging with the motion of her arms and back. She was grinding clothes against a washboard. The soapy water turned burgundy. The tunic she scrubbed had been tan at one time, but now was just shades of red; the stains didn't look like they would ever come out. Her dress was in tatters around every hem. She paused long enough to wipe her brow and check the size of the pile of bloodstained clothes beside the tub. She obviously didn't have dozens of dresses to choose from. None were silk or prean or velvet. Selora hated the images. They appeared when least expected to remind her of how foolish she was, how selfish. She'd been so much happier at home, before the trip to the front began torturing her with truths from the world outside the palace. Hopefully, the memories would fade away when she finally got home.

Until then, she had to make do. Attempting a different approach to engaging the handmaiden, Selora asked, Teresa, what do you do for fun when you are not working in the palace?

I visit my parents once a month, Princess. I have friends in Marbeya. We like to sew and weave. One of my friends has a vegetable garden that we tend together.

Selora selected a gold ring set with a large green gem from the jewelry box. She wasn't in the mood for the jeweled tiara, so she drew the gold circlet. Do you plan to marry?

Someday, Princess. When I meet the right man.

Well, at least you have a choice.

Princess?

Never mind. Reaching for the fan on the chest of drawers, the princess reconsidered. Based on her response, her marriage wasn't going to be arranged, so how was it done? It might be interesting to know how commoners from another country selected spouses. Selora asked, How will you know he is the right man?

I suppose by the way he treats me, Princess. Teresa's eyes glazed over as she daydreamed. He will respect me, protect me, and by his actions, prove that he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. He will be a good man. He will honor the gods and tell the truth. And because he is that kind of man, he will challenge me to be a better person for him. Daydream completed, she added, I'm sure he won't have a name or wealth. I just want someone that loves me.

Finding a husband with all those qualities could take a long time. Are you worried about the End?

Not really, Princess. If the End comes before I find him, I'll continue searching in Ulfara. My mother always told us to find the right man, regardless of how long it takes, rather than finding the wrong one quickly.

Selora stared at the tiny handmaiden. She had to admit there was wisdom in what the Tomanian said. If given a choice, would I pick someone that fit her description, or a wealthy prince that did not love me? Could I be happy without servants and a grand castle? Only one person comes remotely close to fitting Teresa's description, and I barely know him. How will I ever know if it could work?

The handmaiden's comment about finding someone that would challenge her to be a better person echoed in Selora's mind.

Three quick raps sounded on the door. Stepping forward silently to answer, Teresa placed her hand over the latch, waiting on Selora's approval. The princess positioned herself at the center of the room, parasol in her left hand, preparing to present herself. Signaling the handmaiden, she watched the door swing inward. An Alwanian man of about fifty years stood in the doorway. His black vest with silver buttons and matching trousers appeared to be a servant's uniform. He had thick but short dark hair and a narrow mustache that covered only half the space between lip and nose.

Princess Selora. He bowed gracefully. Your Royal Highness, may I present, His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Nicandro Ramirez. Stepping backward into the hall, he made way for the prince.

Prince Nicandro's broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway. With a warm smile highlighted by a neatly trimmed goatee, he offered a bow before greeting her. "Good