Duty (Book 2) Read Free Page B

the duel. . .”
    “Mother!”
    “Calm yourself! You and Cadaen have overactive imaginations. I took him to my room to talk to him—and to test him. When you listen to him, there is something about him that feels . . . old. Every time I have been in his presence, I feel at peace in some inexplicable way. Have you talked with him much?”
    “I rarely see him since he is the night watch. When I do see him, I usually find myself stumbling for something to say. And he says practically nothing. Still, now that I think of it, I have felt safer knowing he is outside my door. Until recently, I thought him nothing more than another fine swordsman. But I see now that there is more. He has humbled me. I don’t think it is his wisdom or his skill, but an inner strength I don’t think is breakable. There is a deep sadness somewhere in his heart, though.”
    Mirelle regarded her questioningly, and the Chalaine explained what had happened in the library as she, Fenna, and Jaron watched him sleep.
    “He has suffered more than should be endured by anyone,” Mirelle said. “If he lives, we should work some way that Fenna can spend more time with him. I can see she cares for him a great deal. I hope he will return her affection.”
    “So does she. I like him, too, and I am sorry if it ever seemed otherwise.”
    “Fair enough. When I named him your protector, it was political suicide, though his actions have since vindicated my decision tenfold. I worried you would be angry over losing Dason. I know he made you laugh. Gen probably won’t make you smile much, though if he should live, and may Eldaloth grant that he does, you must speak with him. As I told Maewen, he is wise and well-spoken. I think you would find comfort in his words.”
    “If Fenna can’t figure out how to talk to him, I doubt I will have much success, either. I’ve little experience talking with people in general, much less someone as closed as Gen. It took no effort to get Dason to ramble on about anything.”
    “I think the key, my daughter, is to ask questions that begin with ‘why’ and imagine him with a mug of ale in his hand dancing and singing on a table.”
    The Chalaine smiled at the image, finding it hard to conjure up.
    Mirelle took Gen’s fevered hand in hers. “I have so many things I would like to ask him. Some that I’m afraid to.”
    “The scars.”
    “Yes. And perhaps how old he really is. If he somehow has elven blood in him and is older than me, then Fenna might have some competition after all.”
    The First Mother smiled, and the Chalaine knew she was joking—at least she thought so. They sat in silence for a while, listening to his labored breathing.
    “Would you have me love him as you do, Mother?”
    Mother fixed her eyes on her daughter, trying to penetrate the veil. “Of course not. But I would have you love something , Chalaine. Gen’s training taught him to submerge his feelings, to ignore pain. I fear, however, that it also robbed him of the ability to feel pleasure or to truly serve anything except duty and abstract ideals.
    “When I think back to him facing the demon, cowering though I was, I see someone all too willing to throw everything away, someone who didn’t love life enough to even attempt to survive. I see someone who doesn’t even seem alive enough to accept the affection of a beautiful young woman, attention most men can only dream about.”
    “He has utterly confused poor Fenna.”
    “My point is this, daughter. Before us lies a man, and a great one, slipping away because when the night is gone, he can no longer feel the warmth of the sunshine on his face. And since meeting Chertanne, you have become much the same.” Mirelle paused, letting the thought sink in. “Find something, anything, you can love and anchor yourself to it. It will bring you joy when the rest of the world seems cruel and unfair. And I can think of nothing more cruel and more unfair than seeing you wed Chertanne. You were the anchor