'Because I love you,' she said. 'And you don't love me.'
She stood up and hurried off, back to camp, leaving Silverdun on the ground, stunned.
Perrin Alt, now Lord Silverdun, is engaged to be married. Gleia isn't clever. Or interesting. But she's gorgeous, and popular at court. And everyone approves of the union. Silverdun isn't in love with Gleia, nor she with him. But such unions have little to do with love, and everything to do with status and propriety.
Truth be told, Silverdun would prefer not to get married at all. But his friends at court have pressured him into it; an unmarried lord above a certain age raises questions. Better to get it over with and settle into a life of torrid and illicit affairs-which, his married friends assure him, are more exciting than the unmarried sort anyway.
Gleia insists on a massive, extravagant wedding. Silverdun has no objections; any excuse for a party, after all. He sends a message to Uncle Bresun asking for a rather large sum of money, and to be prepared for Gleia's assault on Oarsbridge Manor, with her lavish plans for decorations and accommodations and musicians and all that.
Instead of a lump sum and well-wishes, however, Silverdun receives a terse note demanding his presence at Oarsbridge. Alone.
Silverdun notices upon his arrival that his uncle has redecorated the manor house in a style more lavish by half than any his mother would approve of. Bresun himself, however, is nowhere to be found. He's in the village on business.
'Where is my mother?' Silverdun asks a maid, deciding that the time has come to see her. He's surprised by the maid's answer.
The servants' quarters are unadorned, but spotless. He finds his mother in a room at the end of the hall on the first floor. The room contains only the barest essentials, along with a few small portraits and likenesses of Silverdun and his father.
'Perrin,' says Mother, putting aside a book of Arcadian poetry and embracing him. 'It's so lovely to see you.'
Silverdun hasn't seen his mother in over a year. Has, in fact, been scrupulously avoiding her since the debacle following his father's death. Clearly she's gone mad in the interim.
'Mother, you do realize that these are the servants' quarters, don't you?'
'I don't care for what your uncle has done in the manor house,' says Mother, shrugging. 'And I have everything I need here.'
Silverdun sighs and sits on the bed. 'You're really intent on carrying this Arcadian business as far as possible, aren't you?'
'Tell me about yourself,' she says, sitting next to him, ignoring his remark. 'I haven't seen you in so long.'
'I know I should write more often,' he says weakly.
'How are you?' she asks, waving away his half-apology. 'Are you in love?'
'It's funny you ask,' he says. 'I'm getting married. I thought I should tell you in person.'
'But are you in love?'
'Her name is Gleia. She's all the rage at court.'
'Oh, Perrin.'
'Now, Mother, don't be so sentimental. Were you in love with Father when you married him?'
'No,' she admits. 'But I wanted better for you. I tried so hard to ...' She trails off, starting to cry.
'Mother,' says Silverdun, touching her arm. 'You don't have to weep over me.'
'I tried so hard to show you another way of living. A better way. I knew early on that you might not accept Aba, but I hoped that you would see that there is more to life than drinking and carrying on at court.'
'Don't fret, Mother,' says Silverdun, smiling. 'I can assure you that I'm perfectly happy.'
'And the fact that you are, or think you are, is the saddest thing of all. You were such a bright boy, Perrin. So sweet and so innocent. So good. How did I lose you? What did I do wrong?' She is openly crying now. Silverdun has never wanted to leave a room more.
'You didn't do anything. I'm prodigal by nature. If I was more decent as a child it was only from the nearness of you.'
'There's still time for you,' she says. 'There's still time for you to decide what kind of man you want to be. You're very young yet.'
