The Fireseed Wars

Kalvan nodded, expelling a deep breath and casting out his anger. "There will never be another woman in my life, if anything should happen to you, my love. I will do my best to follow-"

"I know that darling. The pain of leaving Hostigos has cut my heart in two. The one half wants to die: the other half is glad to be safe with you and our baby. I know these are perilous times. We are homeless, and on the run from a merciless foe. We will be lucky to survive the coming winter."

"DPs-that's what we called them after our big war-Displaced Persons, or refugees. We will endure."

"I have faith in you, my husband, but I know in my heart we would still be in Our home but for my rash decision to punish Prince Araxes of Phaxos… That is when the world turned against us-"

Kalvan shook his head. "You're wrong, Rylla. This war with Styphon's House to the end was inevitable. As long as the Fireseed Temple exists, we will be at war. We've broken the Temple's monopoly of fireseed and shifted the earth underneath their feet. Styphon's House will not rest until we are both dead and our memory erased-that is, if we let them."

"Spoken like a true king."

"A king without a country." Kalvan looked down at the ground and pressed his fingers against his forehead. "I've got such a Dralm-damned headache!"

"Yes, you, Sarrask and Chartiphon spent most of last night finishing that keg of winter wine…"

"So? We were thirsty."

"My husband, I haven't brought this up before because I didn't think it was a problem, but now I do. Your drinking grows worse every night-if it's not with Sarrask, Halgoth and Pheblon, you're drinking ale by yourself." She forced herself to remain calm; yelling and screaming would not solve Kalvan's problem.

Kalvan face reddened. "I've got very good reasons to drink: We've lost our home, we've lost our country, we've lost your father, we've lost Harmakros and his good men, too. I'd be worried, if I wasn't drinking!"

"I would, too, if it was only two or three times a quarter moon, but not every night."

"It's something I do to relieve stress!" he snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

She stomped her foot. "You will talk about it! It's causing problems, with you, with us and with your thinking."

"What are you talking about?" he said, his voice rising again.

"Yesterday, you sent Prince Kestophes running from the audience tent as if he were some low-born varlet!"

"That sanctimonious skunk had the audacity to tell me that we should stay out of Ulthor; instead go through Nyklos where there's not even a decent harbor. If it weren't for my guards, he'd have planted a blade in my back!"

"But that's not you, my husband. Prince Kestophes has always supported us before-"

"Yes, when we were fighting the Styphoni on other people's territory. He likes to fight, but he's not trustworthy. I ought to take his head off his shoulders!"

"Kalvan! That's not like you. You're the diplomatic one of the family. Don't expect any miracles from me, Bless Yirtta! Can't you see that it's the drink talking, not you?"

"The hell you say!"

"I know you're under a lot of pressure, from me and from our subjects who all expect you to perform miracles. But drowning your problems in drink is not going to solve anything, only make them worse!"

"I said: I don't have a problem! No one else has mentioned my drinking."

"Of course not! They're all afraid to. Afraid you might take offense and banish them! Or worse. Either that, or they're like Sarrask or Halgoth, half-drunk themselves all the time."

"I don't buy it, Rylla," Kalvan said as he visibly reined in his temper. "Maybe I drink to excess once in a while, but it's not a problem."

"It is, but you just don't want to recognize it, my husband. If you keep it up, you'll become like Gasphros. Remember him, the troubadour and how much of Ermut's Best he drank? And remember how sick he got after the University dedication? How Brother Mytron had to lock him in a shed for a moon half before he was able to admit his problem?"

Kalvan nodded. "Yes, Gasphros was turning into the University drunk… But, Rylla, there's no alcoholism in my family, and I'm not drinking the hard stuff-just wine and ale. Well, sometimes Ermut's brandy…"

"Kalvan, answer me this: Had you been going down the staircase alone last night, would you have trusted your own footing?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so… Maybe you're right, Rylla. It's possible I've been drinking too much lately. I have a lot on my mind."

"I know, my love. Remember our first night together after Harmakros' son's Name Day Celebration?'

"Just barely…"

"Well, I do. When you woke up, you wouldn't look at me. When we touched-it was as if you'd found a serpent in our bed, until you recognized my face. What if I had been that horrible red-headed Grefftscharri woman from the Foundry? Sirna. May Dralm have mercy upon her spirit."

"Please, my head hurts enough without thinking of that nightmare!" Kalvan hung his head. "You're right, maybe I have been drinking too much."

"There's no 'maybe' about it."