“Yes. Yes, I do.”
He nodded. “Honestly, as I said, I don’t know if I understand what love is to begin with, much less what you may happen to think it is. I think you’re a decent person, above average intelligence, you’re practical, usually logical, and don’t annoy me too much—except when talking about love. But if it helps, let me clarify my position. Should a miracle occur and we survive tomorrow, I would want to marry you for political reasons, as a means of uniting our people and increasing our power. I won’t be faithful; you should know that. And as one-sided or as unfair as it may seem, I would insist that you be. Not because I would be upset if you entertained another man, Fhrey, Dherg, or Grenmorian for that matter, but because your children will rule the world we make, and my bastards won’t have any claim, making my infidelity irrelevant. Make no mistake about it, our union would be a business arrangement, plain and simple, and one that would benefit me more than you. But ultimately our union would provide the most reward for the Rhune and Instarya peoples. Still, I hoped it would be based on mutual respect and honesty.”
“I see.” That was all she could think to say. What else could she say? “Doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose.”
“No, I can’t see how it would. Anything else?”
She shook her head, and the dashing fellow in shining armor disappeared.
Staring at the empty doorway, Persephone remembered Raithe’s words: I’ve loved you from the start. And it doesn’t matter if you can’t love me—whether it’s because you’re still in love with Reglan’s memory, or because you want to marry Nyphron. None of that matters because…because even now…even now…
She remembered his voice, how it cracked and quavered, how his hands were squeezed into fists, the passion on his face.
You’re practical, usually logical.
Usually, she thought.
Persephone shifted weight to throw her legs off the bed, but the pain ripped through her again.
Okay—okay!
She would wait for Brin or Moya to come back, then she’d send for Raithe. She wanted to see him before the attack. She needed to tell him the truth.
I have time. Another hour or two won’t make a difference.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Malcolm
We called him Malcolm, but I realize now that was not his only name.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
“Need a sword to put the name on,” Roan said, concerned.
The smithy was silent except for the low thrum of the furnace. Always burning, the fire kept the big room hot and the walls shimmering. In that fiery glow, everyone watched Raithe. Everyone except Suri, who stared at the floor.
Roan’s eyes betrayed a panic that Raithe didn’t understand until he realized all the weapons she’d made had been handed out. Not a shield, spear, helm, or sword lay in the racks. Plenty of metal remained, most of it in a pile of rock beside the pile of charcoal, next to the pile of stacked wood.
Raithe felt the pommel of the weapon at his side. “Can it be any sword?”
“Doesn’t even have to be a sword,” Frost said. “Just something strong to etch the name on. But a sword would be best.”
“What name?”
“Your name,” Rain explained. “Your real name.”
“Raithe is my real name.”
Suri shook her head. “Not what your parents called you, the name Elan gave you.”
Raithe didn’t know what that meant but didn’t think it important. He unbuckled his sword belt. Roan got up and reached out for it, but Suri shook her head. “That one already has a name.”
Raithe sighed. “We’re in the middle of a war and no one here has a sword?”
“What about your father’s blade?” Malcolm asked.
“It’s broken.”
“We’re in a smithy surrounded by the world’s premier sword smiths. I think they can do something about that. Where is the blade?”
“I left it in the barracks.”
Malcolm nodded and rushed out.
“Can you fix it?” Raithe asked.
“That blade is almost pure copper,” Frost said. “Would make a lousy sword for such a noble thing.”
“We have tin,” Roan said, then looked at the dwarfs. “We could make a bronze sword. Be a lot faster to forge than iron.”
“True,” Flood said. “Copper and tin melt fast and don’t need much heat, so it’ll take less time.”
Rain was shaking his head. “I think we can do better. We could make black bronze.”
“Need gold and silver for that, lad,” Frost replied.
Reaching up, Rain pulled free the golden torc from his neck. He held it out. “Use this.”
Frost and Flood looked at their companion in surprise.
Rain frowned at the torc. “It’s only a trophy. What good is it if Erivan invades Belgreig? Our people need to contribute something. If sacrifice can save all of us, then all of us should sacrifice, and in light of Raithe’s contribution, this is indeed the least I can do.”