path to the knoll that overlooks the river and the fields. The stone bridge after which the manor is named is still there after all these years, still in daily use.
'These are your lands now,' says Mother.
'Yes,' says Perrin, though he finds it hard to accept.
'Your father managed them well,' she says. 'He was always fair to his tenants, and they respected him.'
'Everyone respected him, apparently.'
'And rightly so. But I do not think you have any interest in managing our estates, do you, Perrin?'
Perrin stops walking and looks at her. 'Of course I do. It's my responsibility.'
'Your responsibility, yes. But not your desire.'
'What are you getting at, Mother?'
'I want you to donate these lands to Aba.'
'To the Arcadians, you mean.'
'To Aba, I mean.'
'Doesn't Aba already own everything anyway?' Perrin smirks.
'You're too old for that snotty attitude, Perrin,' says Mother. 'You demean us both. I have considered the matter prayerfully for some time.'
'Mother,' says Perrin. 'You can't expect me to just ... hand over my estate. It's madness.'
'You have an enormous trust that will give you income for the rest of your life, Perrin. You don't need the money.'
'It's not about the money. I don't care about that.'
'The Church will manage the estate with love and care. They will treat the people with respect, even those who do not believe.'
'Oh, yes. I'm sure they will. And I'm sure they'll happily pocket the income as well. Don't be naive, mother.'
'I am many things,' she says, her voice trembling, 'but I am not naive.'
'Mother,' says Perrin. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Honestly.'
'I know.'
'You're right, of course. I don't have any interest in being a landholder. Or in being a member of the House of Lords, for that matter. But Bresun and Marin will-'
'Bresun cares about nothing but money and status, and Marin is a fatuous cretin!' says Mother, her voice rising. She's breathing heavily.
'Well, as soon as I'm of age I'll be in charge and I'll make sure that they stay in line.'
'By the time you come of age, Bresun will have found a way to take all of this from you.'
'He can't, Mother. It would be unlawful.'
Mother laughs, but it is not her usual warm laugh. It's more of a cackle. 'Oh, Son. There is only one law that cannot be bent by money and influence. That is Aba's law, and it will punish Bresun, but not in this life. Bresun wouldn't dare go after your father, but he'll have no qualms taking you on.'
Perrin pauses. He has never known his mother to be a cynic.
'Look out there,' she says, pointing at the fields. 'See those farmers? In two years' time they'll be groaning under Bresun's whip. And if you don't believe me, go visit his little estate and see how happy his tenants look.
'We called them noblemen, remember? Descendants of kings, each and every one of them. Don't they deserve better than that?'
Perrin has no idea what to say.
'I told you then that one day you would have to decide what kind of man you wanted to be. Now perhaps that day has come. Make the right choice. If not for Aba, then for me.'
She leaves him there on the river path. One of the farmers spies him and waves, beaming.
The next day, Perrin sits Bresun down and explains that he's considering donating Oarsbridge and Connaugh estates to the Arcadians. Bresun smiles patiently, and explains in no uncertain terms what a terrible idea this is. He is charming and convincing, and within the hour, Perrin and he are sharing a drink and Perrin is laughing at himself for ever having considered such foolishness.
'Your mother is a wonderful woman,' says Bresun. 'But she's not the most realistic person in Faerie.'
