‘Well—’
‘Mother War rules here.’ Yarvi shook his head as he went back to his books. ‘Those of us who speak for Father Peace must find other ways to serve.’
Koll made another effort. ‘Honestly, I’m afraid.’ A good liar weaves as much truth into the cloth as he can, after all, and there had never been a truer word spoken than that.
Father Yarvi frowned at him. ‘Like a warrior, a minister must master their fear. They must use it to sharpen their judgment, rather than let it become a fog that blinds them. Do you think I am not afraid? I am terrified. Always. But I do what must be done.’
‘Who decides what must be done, though—’
‘I do.’ Father Yarvi slammed the lid of his chest and stepped close. ‘We have a great opportunity! A minister is a seeker of knowledge, and you more than most. I have never known a more curious mind. We have the chance to learn from the past!’
‘To repeat the mistakes of the past?’ Koll muttered, and instantly regretted it as Father Yarvi caught him by the shoulders.
‘I thought you wanted to change the world? To stand at the shoulder of kings and guide the course of history? I’m offering you that chance!’
Gods, he did want that. Father Koll, feared and admired, never talked down to, never taken lightly, and certainly never butted in the face by some white-haired thug. He forced it away. ‘I’m grateful, Father Yarvi, but—’
‘You made a promise to Rin.’
Koll blinked. ‘I …’
‘You are not too hard a book to read, Koll.’
‘I made a promise to Brand!’ he blurted out. ‘She needs me!’
‘I need you!’ snapped Father Yarvi, gripping at his shoulders. His hand might have been withered, but it could still squeeze hard enough to make Koll squirm. ‘Gettland needs you!’ He mastered himself, let his hands fall. ‘I understand, Koll, believe me, no one better. You want to do good, and stand in the light. But you are a man now. You know there are no easy answers.’ Yarvi winced down at the floor, as if in pain. ‘When I brought you and your mother out of slavery I never expected anything in return—’
‘Why bring it up so often, then?’ snapped Koll.
Father Yarvi looked up. Surprised. Even a little hurt. Enough to give Koll a familiar surge of guilt. ‘Because I made Safrit a promise. To see you become the best man you could be. A man she could be proud of.’
A man who does good. A man who stands in the light. Koll hung his head. ‘I keep thinking about all the things I could have done differently. I keep thinking … about the offer Mother Adwyn made—’
Yarvi’s eyes went wide. ‘Tell me you did not speak of it to my mother!’
‘I’ve told no one. But … if we had, perhaps she might have found a way to peace …’
Father Yarvi’s shoulders seemed to sag. ‘The price was too high,’ he muttered. ‘You know that.’
‘I know.’
‘I could not risk fracturing our alliance. We had to have unity. You know that.’
‘I know.’
‘Grandmother Wexen cannot be trusted. You know that.’
‘I know, but …’
‘But Brand might be alive.’ Father Yarvi looked far older than his years, of a sudden. Old, and sick, and bent under a weight of guilt. ‘Do you suppose I do not have a thousand such thoughts every day? It is a minister’s place always to doubt, but always to seem certain. You cannot let yourself be paralysed by what might be. Even less by what might have been.’ He made a fist of his shrivelled hand, mouth twisting as though he might hit himself with it. Then he let it fall. ‘You must try to pick the greater good. You must try to find the lesser evil. Then you must shoulder your regrets, and look forward.’
‘I know.’ Koll knew when he was beaten. He had known he was beaten before he opened his mouth. In the end, he had wanted to be beaten.
‘I’ll come,’ he said.
He didn’t need to tell her, which was just as well. He doubted he’d have had the courage.
Rin looked up at him, and that was all it took. She turned back to her work, jaw set tight.
‘You’ve made your choice, then.’
‘I wish I didn’t have to choose,’ he muttered, guilty as a thief.
‘But you do and you have.’
He would’ve preferred her to break down in tears, or come at him in a rage, or beg him to think again. He’d worked out a cowardly little plan to twist any of those back on her. But this chilly indifference he had no answer to.
Dribbling out, ‘I’m sorry,’ was the feeble best he could manage. He wondered if his mother would’ve been proud of this, and didn’t much care for the answer.
‘Don’t be. We’ve wasted enough time on each other. And I’ve only myself to blame. Brand warned me this would happen. He always said you were too full of your own hopes to hold anyone else’s.’