“Everyone would know.”
“Healers are respected elsewhere,” Ryalth says. “I could get you passage anywhere in Candar-even find you a patron in some ports.”
Myryan shakes her head once more. “I’ll be fine. Sometimes…I just pity myself too much. I have a consort who wants me, and he’s gentle, and kind in his own way. I have a house and a garden. I’m respected as a healer. I’ve never had to make my own way, the way you have, Ryalth. Or fight people like Lorn has.” She swallows. “I’ll be fine.”
“You can stay here tonight,” Ryalth says.
“I’ll do that, but that’s all. Tomorrow…I’ll be fine. It’s just…Who could I tell? Jerial’s so strong. She doesn’t understand. Mother understood…I miss her so much. I wish I could talk to her.” Twin streaks of tears ooze down her cheeks. “I miss her…”
“I miss them both,” Lorn says.
“Gaaaa….” Kerial says, softly, a chubby hand extending toward the sobbing healer.
“She would have understood…she would have…” Myryan blots her eyes with a shimmercloth handkerchief.
Lorn and Ryalth exchange a brief glance.
“I’ll be fine,” Myryan says, more emphatically, wiping away the last trace of tears. “I just need a cry now and then. I didn’t expect…not here, but I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll stay here tonight,” Ryalth says, and her words are not a question.
“In the morning,” Lorn adds, “you can talk to Pheryk about where he ought to put the garden. Neither Ryalth nor I would have the faintest idea.”
“I can do that.” Myryan offers a faint smile. “Thank you for listening…both of you.”
“What is family for?” says Lorn.
“You’ve always been there, Lorn. I remember that. No one else knew…except Mother. And you went to Father when he was mad at you for other things, and you gave me time.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, I wish I were the one giving.”
“You do. Healers give all the time.” Lorn grins. “And you give things like fruits and vegetables we couldn’t get elsewhere.”
“I mean…big things, like you and Father have done,” replies the healer.
“Right now, all I do is read reports and go to meetings and write reports on them to the Majer-Commander. That’s not very big.”
Myryan looks at him, her eyes unwavering. “You know what I mean. You’re sweet, dear brother, but please don’t humor me.”
“The vegetables were to cheer you up,” he replies, “but I meant it about the healing.”
Myryan laughs, and there is but a slight edge to the sound. “You’re still the big brother.”
“I always will be.” He gives an exaggerated and sheepish shrug. “For better or worse-mostly worse, I fear.”
“You two…” Ryalth’s tone is half scolding, half mock-exasperation. “If you keep this up, Kerial will get cranky, and I won’t get to eat any pearapple tarts because I’ll be putting him to bed, and Lorn….”
“…will eat them all,” finishes Myryan.
“What can I say?” asks Lorn.
“Not too much,” suggests Ryalth, gesturing toward Kysia, who has peered out from the archway from the kitchen. “If we could have the tarts?”
“Right away, Lady.”
“I’ll never live down the tarts,” Lorn complains.
“Never,” Myryan agrees.
Lorn only hopes that Myryan is as fine as she says she is, even as he knows she is not, and as he knows he does not know how to resolve her problem, not as quickly as it needs to be resolved.
CXIX
In the golden glow of the single lamp, Lorn sits on the edge of the ornate bed, his eyes focused nowhere. He can hear Kerial’s gentle breathing from the small bed against the wall.
“You’re worried about Myryan.” Ryalth sits up, propping a pillow behind her against the headboard.
“Wouldn’t you be?” asks Lorn. “I’ve thought about it, but I can’t think of anything that would help.” He frowns. “Not that wouldn’t hurt you and Kerial worse.”
“You’ve thought about that before.”
“I debated killing Kharl’elth just before I became a lancer officer, when it was clear Father would consort Myryan to Ciesrt. I didn’t try. Instead, I pleaded to Father. He waited almost two years, but he still did it. He wrote me, told me that none of us had the choices others thought we did. I’m still not sure if he was right-or if I shouldn’t have done something then.”
“They would have found out, and killed you, and then I’d have lost you, and Kerial wouldn’t be.”
“They didn’t find out other-”
“Lorn…he’s the Second Magus. The Magi’i would never stop looking.”
“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t. I didn’t even try.” He does not look at Ryalth, instead looks nowhere.
“Lorn…”
“What?”
“You won’t solve this by looking into space. You can try to sleep. You can talk to me. You can try to find a verse in the book that helps. You can use the chaos-glass…seek out something…I know you…”
He turns, opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. He shakes his head. “That’s not fair.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“Nothing.”
After a long silence, he finally reaches for the silver-covered volume that has remained on the bedside table since he returned from Assyadt. He looks at the cover, the green-tinged silver that almost holds a rainbow in the lamplight, before he turns the pages. After a time, he reads.
“That’s sad,” Ryalth says. “It is like Myryan in a way.”
Lorn swallows. “I know. That’s why I read it.” He continues to turn pages. Then he begins again, more slowly, until he comes to a verse which, strangely, he does not quite recall, not really, yet now the words seem all too clear.
Lorn shakes his head. After a while, he begins to speak. “That’s the problem. No matter how great the ideal, no matter how noble the cause, the innocent suffer. Anything I do for Myryan-that I know how to do-will hurt others worse. All I can do is listen, and try to cheer her up. And it’s not enough.”
“Sometimes…sometimes listening is all anyone can do. And sometimes it is enough.” Ryalth offers a kind smile. “She knows you care. That helps.”
As he sets down the book, and finally turns down the lamp wick until the flame gutters out, Lorn wonders: Will his caring help enough?
CXX
It is near midday when Lorn walks into the Majer-Commander’s study, uncertain of the reason for his summons, since he has submitted all the reports that are required. Has the Majer-Commander finally decided to discuss his draft report on the Jeranyi strategy?
He bows. “Ser?”
“Please have a seat, Majer.” Rynst leans back in his armchair, the one behind the wide table desk. Behind him, bathed in warm fall light, the Palace of Eternal Light is once more framed in the large and ancient windows.
Lorn sits, comfortably, but neither fully into the seat, nor on the front edge.