Secca paced across the floor of the chamber she had always used in Falcor. Somehow, she never wanted to live in the large chambers Robero had created by remodeling the liedburg. If she had to be in Falcor, then those Anna had used would suffice. Her eyes flicked to the open shutters, whose dark wood was silvered in her sight, as was everything. Silver, not gold. Even the perfect white rose that lay upon one corner of the writing table was silvered. Secca slowed her pacing and smiled, thinking about the moment when Alcaren had presented the rose to her, a moment that she would treasure always, both for the love it showed and the innocence it had represented.
Her eyes lifted from the rose to Alcaren.
“You must be Lady of Defalk,” her consort insisted. “You have known that for weeks, if not longer. Why do you hesitate now?”
“I just wanted to stop the killing and the destruction. I didn’t want women to lose all that Anna gave us.” Secca paused. “And I killed more people than she ever did.”
“Did you have any choice, if you did not want Liedwahr under the hands of the Maitre?”
“I did not see any,” Secca admitted.
“No one else did, either. Not the Matriarch or the Council of Wei or even the Ladies of the Shadows.” Alcaren paused, and then continued, his words measured. “My lady…that is why you must be Lady of Defalk, and why Defalk must include Neserea, Ebra, and Dumar. Only then will there be no killings by the scores.”
“By expanding Defalk threefold?”
“You already hold it,” he said. “They all will bow to whoever you appoint as Lord High Counselor in Dumar. Neserea’s lords should become part of the Thirty-three, and you should call all the lords, including Hadrenn and his sons, the Fifty or some such.”
“What will the Thirty-three say?”
“They will say little. You stopped the Sea-Priests, and only three holds in Defalk were destroyed. Two of those belonged to loyal lords. You can at least help rebuild those two with sorcery. Leave Aroch as an example. The cost to you and the SouthWomen was great, but the SouthWomen will recall with pride for generations their role in repulsing the Sturinnese and in supporting the Lady Sorceress. All will know the price you paid to save them, and that is as it should be.”
Secca glanced toward the open window, catching a hint of the summer to come, with the spring flowers from the garden Alyssa had planted. Secca shook her head. Alyssa, like Anna, had done her best with Robero, and it had not been enough. Will your best fail to be enough? Will you always be looking over your shoulder? Wondering what devastation and disaster may lie ahead?
“I don’t like being the person one has to be to rule effectively.” That was it, pure and simple.
“So long as you remember that, all will be well. Was that not Lord Robero’s greatest failing?” asked Alcaren. “That he liked power more than ruling?”
“One of them,” Secca acknowledged.
“People follow you,” Alcaren said.
“Now.”
“They know that you went into danger for them.”
“They will forget.”
Alcaren laughed. “Have you an objection to everything?”
“No…yes.” Secca turned toward the window. Finally, she turned back. “As…as Lady of Defalk…the reason why Anna could not be Lady…” Secca flushed and looked down, her eyes straying to the hearth before which she had once played Vorkoffe, never dreaming how she would one day return to the chamber.
Alcaren waited, a supportive smile on his face.
“As Lady…” She stopped, then began again. “Lady Anna was but regent because she could not have children, and a ruler…” She found herself flushing even more brightly.
Alcaren took her hand, then reached up with his other hand and turned her face to him, looking at her with gray-blue eyes that saw into her, but did not judge or condescend. “Would that be so terrible, my love? So very awful to have a child?”
Secca eased her arms around him, brushed his cheek with her lips, and then held tightly to him for long moments…and for the future.
In time, she took a half step back and looked again into his eyes—silver-centered amber meeting silver-centered gray-blue. She tilted her head back ever so slightly, and then their lips met.
Outside the unshuttered window, the spring song of a redbird rose liltingly, and with promise.