Duty-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book II ]

7

The memory of that night flickered in Eovin's eyes; the emotion in his expression caused a change in the atmosphere, as if the ghost of the woman both of them had loved stood there at his shoulder. "She had been ill. That much is true. Do you remember?"

Matei nodded. He had been just a boy, and selfish. He had always adored his mother, and he had been a dutiful, affectionate son, but how could a woman's changing moods capture the attention of a young prince with so much else to absorb his time? Still, he did remember. In the months leading up to her death, Esaria had been distant, tired, and had often complained of headaches.

Eovin seemed to choose his words very carefully as he continued, "We were not...as close as we had been. Sometimes I wonder what might have happened had we never chosen to part ways."

"What do you mean? I thought you said you loved her above all else?"

"I did. Do not misunderstand me, Matei; I loved her as dearly and as deeply as I ever had. Have you—?" It was out of character for the lorekeeper to stumble so over his words. He did not seem to know what to say. "Forgive me, I should not— ...What I mean is, perhaps you might understand it."

"What, have I what?"

"Loved a woman."

Matei's mother had died when he was only thirteen. He had been on the brink of manhood, but still very much a boy. To think of Esaria as a woman, as a human creature with her own passions and sorrows and yearnings, made him uncomfortable in a way it might not have had he matured at her side instead of with her memory alone.

He fumbled for an answer to Eovin's question. When Matei had come into manhood, he'd been living as a peasant boy; without the weight of the crown hanging over them, the girls and boys in the Arcborn quarter and in Hanpe had been freer with their affections than young people of noble blood. One or two of the girls had turned Matei's head. But love?

"I don't know. I suppose not. There was never...time." Even if there had been, Matei thought he understood what Eovin meant to say. For his part, Matei had always remembered the sin that have given him birth. However hot his blood had run in the company of a comely lass, he had never lain down with a woman—would never, unless he wed. He would never risk bringing a bastard child into the world to grow up with no true name.

Eovin smiled a distant smile; he did not seem to sense Matei's dark thoughts. "We had nothing but time. She often complained she had nothing to do but walk in the gardens and sew, and I...I had my books. That is how we first came together, you understand. Of course I thought her beautiful, and good-hearted, too, but I knew her only as an empress when she came to the palace as Emperor Korvan's young bride. Later, after she had borne him two children and found her life in the palace somewhat—difficult—she sought to occupy herself with an education. So there were books. Histories. Poetry."

Again, Matei was blindsided by a painful memory of his mother, resplendent in sumptuous cloth of gold, crossing the worn carpet of this very chamber to return a book of poetry to the lorekeeper. He and Mhera had been visiting that day. What had they spoken of? He could not remember; he could remember only Esaria's glowing figure, spectral now in his memory, and the sweetness and spice of ginger cookies.

"Anyway, Matei, I simply mean to explain the course of things for those of us who have the great fortune and misfortune of falling in love. At first, it is spring. Flowers bloom, birds sing, the sun glows warm and golden, and it seems that every person, every act, every minor slip of chance all falls into a grand and perfectly orchestrated pattern: the universe bringing two hearts together. And then the brightness of it all fades, leaving the true strength of love to endure without flowery trappings and songs.