Sofy shook her head earnestly. “Lenayin has had so many wars, yet out of those wars we have built common understandings that have not perhaps made a peaceful land, but a more civilised one than existed before. Maldereld did not allow the bloodshed of the past to prevent her from building something wonderful in her present. Our peoples are now at war, yet that does not mean that what must follow shall be tragic for all. We can find a common path, I am certain of it!”
Lesthen walked slowly through a gap in the balustrade and out onto the circular floor, amongst the sculptures that measured the movements of heaven. “For so long in Tracato we serrin have fought the nature of things,” he said sadly. “We forged peace for a time. We did not build armies of our own, because the successes of the Rhodaani, Enoran and Ilduuri Steel gave us an excuse not to. If the nature of the lashka'won is war, then we have ignored it, as one who lives in the sea might neglect to learn how to swim. We thought that here, we had an island of peace, yet an island is nothing before the greatest of waves. We presumed to have solved the world. We lived in pretence.”
He turned to look at her, leaning against a man-sized tower that Sofy now recognised as a giant sundial. Its shadow upon the ground touched markings on the tiles, denoting the hour. “I look at you now, young princess, and I see myself until only quite recently. You carry the weight of the world, two halves of the world in fact, and you try to make them fit neatly together by sheer force of will. I wish you luck in your endeavours, but I do not know that my own example can lend you much confidence.”
“What would you have me do?” Sofy asked him, eyes wide in faint desperation. “What would you suggest, as the best for your people and mine?”
Lesthen smiled sadly. “If the first group of the lashka'won are correct, then there is no best solution for your people and mine, only for one or the other. To fight the natural way of the world is the path to endless turmoil, yet not to fight it is to give in to the ways of brutality and war. It is for you to choose. This is my philosophy, at the end of my days. It is the philosophy of sadness. And I ask you to forgive me, for pressing it upon you now.”
To Jaryd's surprise, Zulmaher led him to a small temple, nestled amidst a crowd of dockside tenements. Zulmaher led Jaryd up the tight, spiral steps of a belltower, until they emerged in one of the temple's twin spires. On all four sides were arched windows, presenting an excellent view of the harbour. Against the dock were perhaps fifteen tall ships, barely a fraction of the number the berths could take. Jaryd thought it sad that he'd walked what felt like halfway across Rhodia, yet was unable to see Tracato at its finest. All the ships were gone, fearing the consequences of the Rhodaani Steel's defeat.
Seated by one window, with a large book in his lap, was a boy of perhaps fourteen years. He wore lordly clothes, and a short sword rested against the chair in its scabbard. With fine, pale features, large eyes, and longish brown hair, Jaryd thought he nearly passed for a girl. In Lenayin, such a boy would have a miserable childhood.
“Lord Alfriedo,” said Jaryd, with a short bow. Evidently the meeting was here because neither Zulmaher nor Alfriedo thought it wise to invite the likes of Jaryd so publicly to the Ushal Fortress.
“Master Nyvar,” said Alfriedo, and his voice was high like a girl's too. He closed the book, and lifted it with effort onto the side table, atop two other tomes. “Is that the proper form of address? Or is it yuan?”
“In Torovan, master will do fine.” Jaryd leaned against a wall, so he could see the street. He felt more comfortable that way.
“I have been reading of Lenayin,” said Alfriedo. He spoke in the manner of a very intelligent boy who was accustomed to each interlocutor hanging upon his every word. “It does seem a very fascinating land. A very savage land filled with savage people, and yet you have codes of civility that raise you far above the barbarian.”
“In my experience,” said Jaryd, “the only barbarians in Lenayin are the nobles. The common folk are far more civil.”
“They say you were once a noble. The heir to Tyree. Only your family's rivals murdered your brother and dissolved your family.”
Jaryd nodded. “My brother was perhaps five years younger than yourself. He was killed in cold blood. I demanded revenge on those responsible, but the king's law would not allow it of a Verenthane. I renounced the faith and became Goeren-yai instead.”
A black-robed priest chose that moment to emerge from the stairway, carrying a tray with tea and cups. He placed it on a small table, with bread, dip, and olive oil, and departed with a smile.
“And did you win your revenge as a Goeren-yai?” Zulmaher asked, pouring tea for them all.
“No,” said Jaryd. “I discovered there were things I cared for even more.”
“Young men believe that what they will or won't do can change the world,” said Zulmaher, handing him a cup. “Older men learn differently.”
“I should like to travel to Lenayin one day,” said Alfriedo, grasping his own cup. “I grow tired of only learning about the world in books. I did greatly enjoy my conversation with your Princess Sofy, though. I have met three sisters of the Lenay royal family, and found them each formidable in different ways.”
“We generals were hoping the girls had inherited all the wits and character,” Zulmaher added wryly. “It seems we hoped in vain.”
Jaryd nodded. “King Koenyg is a warrior, plain and simple. Myklas too, to everyone's surprise.”
“And Prince Damon?”
“The most intelligent of the three,” said Jaryd with certainty. Knowing that Sofy agreed made him even more certain. “Perhaps the most capable, but lacking conviction.”
Alfriedo looked sad, and gazed out at the harbour. Jaryd frowned. And then realised. “You were very close with the Princess Alythia?” he asked the boy.
Alfriedo nodded. “She was with us only a short time. But she became like an older sister. I never had an older sister before. She was…”
He did not complete the sentence. The boy had lost his mother too, in the same disturbance that killed Alythia. Jaryd was struck by how great a burden had fallen upon such slim shoulders.
“I only met her briefly, once or twice when we were all younger,” said Jaryd. “Courtly circles in Baen-Tar. I recall we danced once.”
“She told me much about Lenayin,” Alfriedo said quietly. “Were it not for her, I do not believe I would hold your land in such affection.” He sipped at his tea. “And then there was Kessligh Cronenverdt, I know he is a Torovan by birth but he considers himself a Lenay. I met him three times. He is a very wise man, yet I do not know that I agree with him in even half of what he says. He did give me many ideas for things to read about, however. I have been reading a lot of Rhodaani history, and a lot of serrin books. These books are serrin.”
He indicated the books on the table beside him.
“Lord Alfriedo is wondering how committed you are to your princess's safety,” Zulmaher cut in, as though concerned that his young lord was giving away too much too early. Jaryd looked from one to the other, warily.
“Utterly,” he said.
“Well, I'm very glad to hear that,” said Alfriedo, somewhat drily. “When a Lenay warrior says such things, I can at least be certain I believe him.”
Zulmaher grimaced. “It has been a frustration,” he admitted. “The enemies of Rhodaan's nobility have all deserted the city or gone to ground. It has been as though all dreams were realised…save that of course my Rhodaani Steel has been defeated, a terrible cost for even the hardest of hard-line feudalists to swallow.”
“Not all,” Alfriedo corrected scornfully. He looked angry.
“No, not all.” Zulmaher looked angry too, but hid it better. “Understand, Master Jaryd, that it is a dilemma of the most challenging kind. We nobles did wish for greater restoration of noble rights, but we are patriots too.”