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Was that hope she saw in his eyes? She couldn’t be sure. ‘Father, I can’t give you my reasons. But I know what my choices yielded, beyond this much-used body. My mother was an officer in your company. I was her daughter, held apart from her beloved legion. So, I knew nothing of it, nothing of a soldier’s ways, nothing of my mother’s ways.’ She sipped the wine. ‘What she did to me, and what you did to Osserc … well, of your children, one of us at last understands your reasons.’
She did not think there was enough in her words to make his eyes glisten, and the sudden emotion, so exposed and raw in Urusander, shocked her.
Looking away, Renarr set down the goblet. ‘A young soldier of the Legion came to me tonight. He came, not for my cheap gifts of love, but to confess his crimes. Slaughter of innocents. Terrible rapes. A mother, her young boys. He named the squads and the company. Then he stood before me, and cut his own throat.’
Urusander rose from behind the desk. Then he was directly before her. He moved as if to reach out, to take her into something like an embrace, but something held him back.
‘Father,’ she said, ‘you have troubled children.’
‘I will make amends, Renarr. I promise you. I will make amends!’
She would not yield her heart to him, lest it sting with pity. In any case, such feelings within her had sunk into the depths. She did not think she would see them again. ‘Your High Priestess, Father, needs to understand – her temple, the faith she offers, it needs to be more than it is. Speak to her, Father, speak to her of hope. It’s not all there simply to serve her. She needs to give something back.’
She stepped away, retrieving her goblet. She drained it, and then went to her cloak. ‘My bed is not the place for confessions, especially the bloody kind. As for absolution,’ she turned and offered him a faint smile, ‘well, that will have to wait. There are things remaining, Father, that I still need to learn.’
The man looked wretched, but then he slowly straightened and met her eye, and nodded. ‘I will wait, Renarr.’
She felt that promise like a blow to her chest, and quickly angled away, to struggle with her cloak and fumble at the clasps.
Behind her, Urusander said, ‘Take your old room tonight, Renarr. Just this night. There are dire events in the town below.’
She hesitated, and then nodded. ‘This night, then. Very well.’
‘And Renarr, tomorrow morning, I would hear from you the details of that young soldier.’
‘Of course.’ But he would not. She would be gone with the dawn.
Bedrooms of girls and boys. All the way to tents and temples. Whoever could have imagined the distance possible between them, all in the span of a handful of years?
* * *
Silann walked through the camp, hunched over against the cold. His wife’s new habit of sending him on errands, delivering messages, along with a host of other demeaning tasks, was growing stale. He understood the nature of this punishment, and to begin with he had almost welcomed the escape from her company. Better than weathering the contempt in her eyes, the myriad ways of dismissal she had perfected in his presence.
Command was a talent, and he was not foolish enough to believe that he possessed it in abundance. Mistakes had been made, but thus far there had been no obvious, or direct, repercussions. That was fortunate and Silann had sensed a rebirth of possibilities, the way ahead opening up. He would do better next time. He would show Esthala that she had not married the wrong man.
Still, an angry woman carved deep trenches, and pulling her from them would not be an easy task. But he would make her see him in a new way, no matter what it took.
There had been that boy, that escape. And Gripp Galas. Back then, there was pressure, with choices that needed making, the kind of pressure that could stagger anyone in the same situation. Blood to be spilled, and then quickly buried. Moments of panic could take the surest officer.
Well, they were past that now. She was holding this grudge far too long. No one deserved the disgust she seemed so determined to level upon him, not after all these years of marriage. Uneventful marriage. No crises, and a son – true, he’s rejected the soldier’s path, but surely we can forgive him that, if only to accept, finally, that his is a weak soul, a soft soul, too tender for most professions, and we well know the harshness of an army’s culture. Its cruelties.
No, it’s all for the better, Esthala, and all this contempt – for me, for our son, for so many others – it offers no useful salve to your life. You must see that.
To reveal tenderness, darling, is not a confession of weakness. And even if it is, then we must all know that weakness, with someone.
You seek to be strong, at all times, in all company. It makes you impatient. It makes you cruel.
Still, he was done with delivering mundane messages. He would face her down, this night. There were different kinds of strength, after all. He would show her his, and name it love.
He started as a figure joined him, matching his stride. A glance across revealed a hooded, cloaked form and little else. ‘What is it you wish with me, soldier?’
‘Ah, forgive me, Silann. It is Captain Sharenas, fighting the cold however I can.’
Though she did not draw back the hood, Silann knew the voice. ‘Welcome back, Sharenas. Have you just returned, then?’
‘Yes. I was on my way to speak to your wife, in fact.’
Ah, then … well, Esthala and I will need to find another night, I suppose. Tomorrow night, to work things through, to make it better again. ‘She is awake,’ Silann said. ‘I too am on my way back to her.’
