In Which Elarys Reviews the Necessities

June 19, 1184

Today was Elarys's son's seventeenth birthday.

She hadn't seen Landus in a while--there had been no pressing need to visit, now that Roderick was gone and his alleged lumber plans had died with him--but she had raised a glass to him at dinner. Seventeen was legal age in Dovia, so it seemed appropriate. It was also Landus's first year of study at that new university. He would still be a knight, of course, but why shouldn't she wish for his academic success? Not that his planned major in Physics would have been her first choice for him, but surely it could be useful somehow.

And he enjoyed it, didn't he? Why shouldn't he enjoy it? No one born before 1167 had even had a chance to attend the university in Naroni, or at least hadn't tried as far as Elarys knew. Even if he majored in flower arrangement and minored in squirrel-wrangling, he'd have a step up on most knights of his generation.

She hoped he'd made many friends, and would make more. The more friends he had, the more reason he had to stay in Naroni. Of course, her reasons for visits there had solidified when she'd sent the girls there, even if Catherelle had eventually returned to Spain, but when Neilor too had expressed an interest in a fresh start, she'd been eager to send Landus along with him. That gave her three children in the area. Elarys was not so naive to think herself immune to tragedy; Death didn't always arrive with the courtesy of a slow knock, and she might have dropped by unexpectedly on any of the children.

But what were the odds that she'd come for all three of those in Naroni before things had been settled? Them, plus all of her grandchildren?

Especially since it wouldn't be too many years now. It was coming--not so quickly that she couldn't revise plans if need be, but quickly enough. The Heiress had returned. Searle had seen to that, bless his soul, even if it hadn't ended well for him, even if he'd never known a damn thing. It was only a matter of time before the Trials began.

All that mattered now was that Ietrin left the forests alone. Perhaps she would visit him again, soon... and as a host's gift, she would bring the wine that killed his father. She'd remind him that he'd chosen it, that he himself had hired on Master Finessa, that he'd had tangible motive most would believe of him. Farrier had been instructed to leave hints, and Elarys had more than a few little birdies at her disposal; if she gave them the notes, they would sing.

So far, Ietrin had done nothing to outright displease her, but caution had been necessary. The Trials had to occur. The Heiress needed to take her rightful place. The Cycle could not be broken.

And she could not expect Ietrin's tiny little brain to comprehend why.

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