Exile by Anne Osterlund Page B

are trained fighters. Their defense of the southwest border is key to Tyralt’s ability to protect itself. At the time of the attack, the king of Tyralt realized this, and he and the Lord of Valshone made an agreement, an oral contract, which means even more to the people of the mountains than a written one. It stated that the heir of Tyralt, instead of wedding royalty from another kingdom, would marry within, a member of the Valshone.” The needle paused, then lifted again very slowly. “Upon my birth, I was chosen for this Right.”
    Aurelia struggled to understand. Perhaps it was unfair to blame her father for her own ignorance. She had always been reluctant to study the region of her mother’s birth. “But if the child of the Lord of Valshone is always chosen to marry the heir of Tyralt, wouldn’t that mean my father should be your cousin?”
    “No. Because the lordship of Valshone is not inherited, but earned.”
    Earned? Aurelia had heard of titles being given for great feats, but to do so from generation to generation? The idea was startling.
    “My father earned his place,” her mother continued. “He knew and admired the lord before him, but they were not related; and my father was not required to select his own child for the Right. It was his choice.” Her thread had grown short, the loops smaller with each stitch. “Of all the Valshone people, I was the only one to have a destiny selected for me.” She paused. “I was taught that this was a great honor, and I believed it. I believed it when I married your father. And when I gave birth to you and James.” The needle came to a sudden halt. “I think I believed it right up until your brother’s death.”
    A slate-gray shroud covered her mother’s face. What had it cost her to mention James? And what did it say about the change in her relationship with her daughter?
    “And then you left,” Aurelia whispered, “when you found out about Melony.” She knew her mother would never broach the topic of the king’s indiscretion herself.
    Lady Margaret reached for the thread scissors on the window and fumbled, knocking them to the ground. “I cried first,” she said, bending to pick them up. “And then I yelled, which served no purpose. Your father denied any responsibility for his actions.”
    Aurelia’s stomach churned.
    “I realized then that I wasn’t safe.” Her mother clipped the thread. “I knew your stepmother, Elise, not closely, but well enough. I knew if the king would not renounce her, that sooner or later, she would find a way to usurp me. There were rumors ... about her husband’s death.”
    Another death. Aurelia had known, of course, that Elise’s husband had died right after Melony’s birth. Why had it not occurred to her to question the cause?
    “I threatened the king,” her mother said, trying to rethread her needle. “Like an animal in a corner, I threatened him, and then I ran.”
    “But ... how?” Aurelia asked. “How did you know to come here?”
    The thread dropped, and her mother’s barren needle plucked at the fabric. “His Lordship was not, at the time, so disinclined to come to court. Though, due to the vast distance, his visits were ... notable.”
    Aurelia’s eyebrows rose. Notable how? Had Lord Lester made romantic advances toward the queen?
    The idea was not, when she thought about it, all that absurd. His Lordship was boisterous, opinionated, and sometimes rash. He seemed to care little for the rules and strictures of society, though this relaxed perspective did not apply, in any way, to his view of his wife’s safety. If there was one thing Aurelia could not doubt about her stepfather, it was that he truly loved her mother. And he had done all he could to protect her. Even, Aurelia realized now, from his knowledge of the threats to her own daughter’s life. Lord Lester might keep careful watch, through covert means, on the nation’s politics, but Lady Margaret was clearly oblivious.
    “Tyralt owes