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“Kember has a very rigid social structure. My father was a minor noble, very conscious of his position, and equally determined that I should better it. Do you know Lord Artek?”
“Nelly’s husband? I know who he is although we’ve never spoken. And I’ve never heard anyone call him Lord Artek before.”
He shrugged.
“From what he told me, he abandoned the title after the war.”
He’d often wondered how difficult it had been for the other male to abandon his position—a position his father would literally have killed to have.
“Artek’s father was the ruling lord of our House, and my father was determined to impress him. He brought me up to believe that my duty was to my House and more specifically to the lord of our House.”
“Was he a bad ruler?” she asked when he paused.
“Not particularly. Cold, even to his own son, but he put the interests of our House first.”
“What happened?”
“The war on Vizal happened. A stupid war about nothing more than bragging rights over a piece of territory. All first born sons on Kember were called to fight, and of course my father was thrilled to volunteer me. I had been well trained as a warrior, and he ordered me to make sure I covered myself with glory and returned full of medals and acclamations.”
It had even seemed reasonable at the time.
“But the reality of war is nothing like the way it is told in history books, even when it accurately reflects the number of casualties. Each of those numbers is a person, someone I knew, someone who died.”
She twisted around to face him, her eyes worried.
“You don’t have to keep going.”
“I think I want to. I’ve never talked about it before. My squad was there—they know what it was like, but we never discuss it.”
“Never?”
“Only indirectly. We all know why Naffon is afraid of enclosed places and make sure he is never in that position, but it’s never said out loud.”
“Didn’t your military try and help after the war?”
A bitter smile twisted his lips.
“It is difficult to accept help from someone who has never experienced it. Who talks about finding peace and has never lived through a nightmare.”
“Which I suppose brings us back to your father?”
He nodded.
“I was injured in the second year of the war, badly injured, and sent home. I was so grateful to leave, but my father was irate. How could I have let myself be injured? Where were my medals? Why hadn’t my rank increased?”
He could still hear the echoes of his father’s voice.
“I told him how terrible it was, how much I hated it, but he didn’t listen. My injuries were severe enough that I was released from service, but as soon as I could walk, my father volunteered me again.”
Her eyes widened, tears pooling in the green depths.
“How could he do that to you?”
“Because his ambitions were more important than his son.”
He’d come to terms with that eventually.
“But if he was the one who volunteered you, surely you could have refused to go?”
