Daughter—

There are memories in my dreams of late, memories of your birth and those strange circumstances of which I have told you little.

You were born at the foot of our yew tree, in the conduit court. But you were conceived there, too. With a spirit I have strived to forget. A ghost, an earth saint, a creature of roots and seashell eyes, of inhuman beauty. Haunting. I have rarely believed it to be more than a dream, and dream it may be. Your father is your father, I swear it. And yet … I dream of this other creature again. He says your name. He says you are awake, and when he does, so do I wake up.

Some nights he tells me a story: that you will be lost to me in this battle, if this battle is fought. You will return to him. It is your destiny to return to him.

This is all a dream. It cannot be real. But these memories unsettle me, and in this unsettled state I must bring to you a decision you will not like.

Perseria will not be marching to Liresfane. I have received an offer of pardon from Celedrix, and signed by the newly married Calepia, Prince Hal. Perseria will accept. I urge you to join me at the side of our queen, of your prince.

Vindomata is lost in vengeance, Isarna. I would wake myself from it, and you.

I do not expect you to understand, not now, but perhaps someday. When you are a mother. I hope that by choosing thus I make it possible for you to live to be one.

I beg you: hold what you have, and think what you have to lose if you march south against Celedrix. Even with Innis Lear, the armies are matched, and she holds Lionis. The best outcome of this battle, unless you kill your queen or your prince, is an Aremoria divided.

There are no others for Perseria if you die, Isarna. There will be nothing.

Sue for peace, I beg you, as your lord and your mother.

Forgive me.

Caratica Persy