In his small study off the balcony, Aetlen finishes the chord on the mandolin with a flourish, then grins at his daughter. “There!”
“I liked that one,” Verlya says. “I haven’t heard it before.”
“I learned it from your grandfather, Ulgar. He called it a tune to stir the blood. Your mother thinks it’s too strident.”
Sitting on the stool across from her father, the blonde girl frowns.
“Too loud and noisy,” Aetlen explains.
“Sometimes loud feels good. Will you teach it to me?”
“If you promise not to play it often around your mother. She needs quiet these days.”
“If you listen,” promises Verlya.
“I will.” Aetlen looks to his left as the study door opens, and the Matriarch steps into the room.
“Mother!” Verlya leaps from the stool, takes two steps, and wraps her arms around Alya’s waist.
The Matriarch returns the hug, the somberness leaving her features as she holds her youngest child. In time, she disengages herself gently and smiles. “Could you go downstairs and tell Cook and Ulya that we would like to eat shortly?”
“You’re eating with us?”
“I am,” Alya affirms.
“I’ll tell them.” With a smile, the blonde girl bounces from the study.
Aetlen rises and closes the door. “I heard…the shadow sorceress returned to Elahwa,” he says slowly. “With Alcaren and the SouthWomen.”
“She did not bring Hadrenn’s lancers, nor the company from Silberfels.” Alya slips into the chair across from her consort. “Your study is warmer.”
“It’s smaller, and there’s but one window and the doors. I was giving Verlya a lesson with the mandolin.”
“She may need it,” Alya says darkly.
“The shadow sorceress?”
“She may come to our aid. Not with lancers, but with what she knows.” Alya’s eyes are dark as she looks to her consort. “How can I refuse if she does? If she does not, we must face the old hard choices. We may in any case.”
“Do we need her aid? There is no hunger, and no older folk are dying of chill and consumption. We have stores in the granaries—enough for years.”
“Do we wait until Dumar falls, and the Sturinnese try again? Do you think the Maitre will remove the fleets once he holds Dumar?”
“Can we break the blockade?”
“With what? You know what happened the last time. We can protect the channel and keep them from entering, but they can destroy our trade, and in time that will destroy all that is Ranuak.”
“Will it come to that? With the shadow sorceress in Elahwa?” asks Aetlen.
“Perhaps not. The shadow sorceress met with Veria,” Alya says.
“Your eyes say you are worried—most worried.”
“Veria will speak as she sees. She may well persuade the sorceress to aid us. Or she may let the sorceress make that decision.”
“You worry that the sorceress will come to our assistance?” Aetlen frowns.
“I do indeed, for that will lead us down the trail to the true horrors of a sorcery war. We had almost managed to bury the old knowledge.” Alya shakes her head. “Then came the Sturinnese and the great sorceress.”
“Is it just the old knowledge?”
“No. The Lady Anna understood beyond the rote spells, beyond the music, and, worse, she has taught at least the shadow sorceress. The spell-poisonings are but the beginning of the horrors.” Alya’s lips twist. “Yet we cannot bury that knowledge, not to any good end this time.”
“If you kill the shadow sorceress…?”
“You want your daughters—all daughters—in chains and under the thunder-drums?”
Aetlen shakes his head.
“Whatever may come, it is but a question of the least of great evils.”
“The least of great evils…” Aetlen turns toward the single small window, where he looks into the darkness of an early winter evening for a moment before turning back. “Can you see nothing more hopeful?”
“I continue to hope, but I cannot say that I see better.” Alya takes a deep breath, and a smile appears on her face. “Let us go have dinner with the girls.”
Aetlen matches her smile with one of his own, then offers her his arm.