He took a sip of brandy and said softly to himself: “How right you were, father.”
* * * * *
Martok was relieved to see the rest of his staff return just in time for the arrival of his new allies. The house rapidly became a beehive of activity. One by one the mage houses, both great and small, presented themselves to him – each swearing allegiance and denouncing the actions of the Bronstar family as criminal. The wealthier families offered gifts of land and gold, as well as their condolences for the deaths of his father and former guardian. Those who did not have gold or land offered the services of their craftsmen should Martok ever decide to expand his estate. One even suggested that Martok might like to wed his daughter, who admittedly was beautiful, but was also clearly upset to be offered as if mere merchandise for trading.
At the end of a month, Martok estimated that he now possessed nearly as much wealth as the Prustoni Estate. That was a matter he needed to address soon, he reminded himself. By now it was certain that all the various relatives were eagerly lining up to receive their portion of the inheritance. But they would have to wait a little longer yet.
Eventually, the stream of visitors slowed to a trickle – for which Martok was more than grateful. He had never imagined diplomacy could be so physically and mentally demanding. Each evening, with yet another round of meetings over for the day, he would sit in his garden and stare up at the heavens. The frigid air of deep winter was kept at bay by a six-foot tall marble column that he heated using a simple spell. Snow covered the grass completely, also giving the shrubs and flower bushes an entirely new and pleasing aspect. As beautiful as it was in spring, he also found this time of year to have a unique beauty of its own. Tranquil in a way that helped him to still his mind.
It was on a particularly clear and cold night that Gretchen joined him, wrapped in a thick wool blanket and holding a sealed parchment.
She settled beside him on the bench and sighed. “Your mother used to come out here to clear her head too. She said there was just something about it that made her forget her troubles.”
He wrapped a protective arm around the old woman, pulling her close. “You know you shouldn’t be out in this freezing weather.”
“Nonsense, I love the winter months...and the cold. I’m not some thin-skinned southerner.”
Martok smiled. “I would never dare suggest that you are.” He glanced at the parchment. “Is that for me?”
Gretchen hesitated for a long moment before handing it over. “It’s a letter…from your mother.”
His surprise was total. He found himself holding the missive as if it were made of the most fragile crystal. “My mother?” he repeated.
She nodded slowly. “Your father intended on giving it to you when he thought the time was right. But he never got the chance. After he died, I decided to look after it and pass it on once things had returned to normal.”
“Do you know what the letter says?”
“Not exactly; I wasn’t with her when she wrote it. But I do know what she wanted to tell you.” Suddenly, there was great sorrow in her old eyes. “She loved you very much. Just remember that when you read it.”
Gretchen began to rise, then allowed Martok to help her up the final part of the way. Without another word, she shuffled off back inside the house.
Her words had struck an ominous chord. Of course his mother loved him. He'd not once had any reason to think otherwise. His father had never told him how she died, but he'd assumed this was because speaking of it was simply too painful for him. Over the years, it had become unimportant. He'd always been confident that one day he would learn the truth without having to press his father on the matter.
Now, it seemed, that long-awaited moment might be here.
With nervous eyes, he regarded the parchment for several minutes before breaking the wax seal. While opening it, he tried to recall the sound of his mother's voice. But it was elusive. As was her face. Nonetheless, as he read the first word, the memories all came flooding back.
My Dearest Martok,
What I am about to tell you is very difficult to say. And after you read this I can only hope that you will somehow be able to forgive me for the terrible thing I have done to both you, and my beloved husband.
When I met your father I was little more than a girl. Nineteen and naïve, I had no idea how complicated and confusing the world could be. All I knew was that I loved Ralmar with all of my heart. He was so handsome and kind. I thought I must be the luckiest girl alive. And even though he wasn’t as wealthy as some of the other mages, he showered me with expensive gifts. Some were even crafted by the dwarves. I told him that he didn’t need to give me all these things. That I would have loved him even if he were a pauper. He would just smile and kiss my forehead and tell me that it made him happy to do so.
More than anything, we wanted to start a family. But after six years I still hadn’t conceived. The healers couldn’t figure out why. We tried everything, but to no avail. I could tell it was breaking your father’s heart. He blamed himself, though I thought surely there must be something wrong with me.
It was during this time that your uncle Sylas came to live with us at the manor. Before that, he had been serving as an advisor and teacher to the son of a rich family in the east. He had objected to our union from the beginning and made it very clear to me that we would not become close. You see, my family lacked the influence that Sylas was seeking. He had been hoping that his brother would increase the Dragonvein’s standing through marriage. But Ralmar, as always, did as his heart told him.
I think the first year was the hardest. Every time Sylas spoke to me, I could clearly hear the disapproval in his voice. It wasn’t really hate, but he did blame me for Ralmar’s decision. And when he discovered we were unable to conceive, that just made things worse. After a while, Ralmar began going away on long trips alone. He said it was to meet with the other mage houses in order to better our standing and increase trade. But I think it was more because he couldn’t bear the constant anger between Sylas and myself. He loved us both, and found it impossible to understand why we couldn’t settle our differences.
Every spring he would leave. And each time he did, he would stay away longer and longer. It was then that something changed. Sylas came to me one morning and told me that he had been wrong. That he should have been more welcoming of me into the family. He insisted it was Ralmar’s stubborn nature that was the real cause of his anger, and that he had used me as an excuse not to blame his brother.
To tell you the truth, I don’t know if he believed what he was saying, or if he had simply grown tired of the bad feeling between us. What I do know is that he genuinely hoped our new found friendship would encourage Ralmar to stay at home more. But sadly, it didn’t.
By now we had been married for more than ten years and Ralmar had all but given up any hope for a child. He had stopped sending healers to figure out what was wrong. I remember once suggesting that he should divorce me and take another wife. One that could give him what I could not. It was the only time I ever saw him fly into a rage. He said he didn’t care about children any longer, and if I did, then I should leave him and find a man who could give them to me. I never suggested such a thing again.
After that, I began spending more and more time with Sylas. He was kind and willing to listen to me when I had no one else to talk to. He knew Ralmar and I were drifting apart and did his best to reassure me that things between us would improve soon. Though neither of us really believed that, it was nice to hear anyway. I needed a friend, and I think Sylas did too. He was still hoping to find a favorable marriage for himself, but so far none of the other houses were open to their daughters being courted by a Dragonvein. I believe that’s why he studied magic so diligently. He thought that if his family name could not help him, then he would need exceptional power in magic to raise his status. And I have to admit, he did indeed become far more powerful than most other mages.
But constant study also meant he spent many long hours at home alone with his books. It was this solitude more than anything else that drew us together. With me missing your father so much, we were just two lonely people trapped inside our lives. That was when I started to have feelings of love for him.
As he read this sentence, a chill ran down Martok's spine. Suddenly, he didn’t want to continue. He didn’t want to know what other damning words might be written on the parchment. Only with great self-control did he resist the urge to set it aflame immediately. Then he remembered Gretchen telling him how much his mother had loved him when she'd handed the letter over. He could also see the sorrow – a kind of pleading for him to understand – in the old woman's eyes.
After taking several deep breaths to steady himself, he continued reading.
Neither of us wanted to admit it at first. We tried to ignore our feelings, but in the end we couldn’t stop ourselves. It was just a week before Ralmar was due to return home when we finally gave in to our weakness. I betrayed Ralmar. I betrayed my husband in the worst way imaginable. It only happened once. And we both swore never to allow such a thing to happen again. But it was done nevertheless, and could not be undone.
By the time Ralmar returned, I had already decided to dedicate myself to renewing our marriage. It helped that Sylas left quite soon after this, taking up a position with the House Jeminia to teach their eldest daughter.
At first Ralmar was as distant as ever, though we still shared a bed and I did all I could to please him. But then everything changed. I discovered that I was with child. When I told him, I had never seen your father so happy. It was as if we were newly married again and were seeing the world as fresh and clean through young eyes. He doted on me every waking moment, vowing to remain in the manor for as long as I desired.
I was happy too. In spite of what had passed, I had never stopped loving your father. But I was also afraid of what would happen should he ever discover my betrayal. I swore that I would never allow this to happen. Even if Sylas were to confess, I would deny it. I would kill him if I had to. A stupid oath to take, I know.
After Sylas learned of my pregnancy, I naturally expected him to suspect the truth. With this in mind, I already had a story prepared when I saw him next. I told him that, just after he left our house, I had visited another healer and discovered why I was unable to become pregnant. She had succeeded where all the others had failed, and because of this timing, it was obviously impossible for him to have been the father. I’m not sure if he believed me. However, I had told the same lie about the healer to Ralmar as well, and when he repeated it, Sylas didn’t press the matter any further.
And that, my son, is the truth laid bare. Sylas Dragonvein is your father. I am writing this letter because a short time ago, Ralmar finally learned the truth. Now, I am not sure what will happen next. Whatever that turns out to be, I will take full responsibility. I wish I could say that I would change the past, but I cannot. I have you, Martok, and you are worth any pain that I might suffer for my crimes.
I would ask only one thing after you read this. Do not blame Ralmar. He is your true father in every way that matters. He loves you more than life itself. I have no doubt whatsoever that, even now, his love for you will not falter. He is the kindest man I have ever known, and a far better person than I.
I love you always, my son. Never doubt this.
Valsilari Dragonvein
Slowly and methodically, Martok crumpled the letter in his hands. One thought was cutting through all else; he had killed his own father. What's more, he had done so gladly. He wondered if Sylas had known the truth all along. He already knew that his father had somehow discovered it eventually, and that posed another question. Had he really killed his mother in a fit of rage, just like the rumors said? It now seemed to be an all too horrible possibility.
A whirlwind of conflicting emotions were spinning around in his head, making him feel dizzy and nauseous. Lies...all lies. His entire life was filled with nothing but falsehoods and betrayal. He tried to stand, but collapsed to his knees. Almost immediately he found himself emptying his stomach onto the snow covered walkway.
He remained there for several minutes before eventually pushing himself to his feet and staggering inside the house. Gretchen was waiting just beyond the threshold, her face deeply creased with concern.
“You knew?” Martok demanded.
She nodded. “Yes. She told me just after your father discovered the truth. You had become ill and a healer came here to treat you - a particularly gifted healer. She sensed that Ralmar was not your father. She was young and innocent and simply asked who your real father was. She said it would help should she ever need to treat you again. Ralmar only needed to take one look at your mother's face for him to know the truth.”
When the old woman offered nothing more, Martok grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “What happened, damn you! Did he kill her?” Realizing that he was hurting her, he released his grip and backed away. “Forgive me, Gretchen. But I must know.”
“If I could, I would tell you. I swear it. All I know is that your father banished her from the manor that very same day. But then, only an hour or so after she left, he became distraught and went chasing after her. Whether or not he found her, I don’t know. He returned alone late that evening and never once spoke of what had happened.”