Maddek seemed frustrated by that answer. “I have seen others in the same way—I have witnessed their joys and their struggles.”
“So until my mother died, perhaps we were the same. Both only witnesses to how others lived. But after she was gone . . .” Yvenne’s throat tightened. “No longer could I see outside the tower. And it was as if not only my mother had died but also everyone we’d watched. They did not know me, but I knew them. And so many were lost to me at once.”
Maddek grunted softly. “And you were lonely. Not just for your mother but for them.”
“So I was. But I knew they still lived, so instead of grieving, I would imagine what they did each day—and imagining is much more difficult than watching. I would imagine myself in their place and then have to imagine how they would feel and react. What would bring them joy, what would they fear? What might break their hearts or heal them again? And every time I imagined these things, I felt it, too.” She clenched her fist over her chest. “As if I were also living those lives. I have been maid, soldier, farmer, noble, thief, miller, magistrate—and so many others. I have been celebrated and I have failed. I have been cruel and kind, corrupt and just. I know not whether my imaginings were those of a fanciful fool, but I think it not much different than what a Ran aspires to be. He must be like the best of his people. I have already been the best—and worst—of mine.”
Thoughtfully he nodded. “And I have only been a warrior.”
“And son. And commander. And friend.”
“So I have been. But I have not much imagination beyond my own experience.”
“That cannot be true. You would not have won so many battles if you did not understand your opponents and imagine what they might do. You have great capability for imagining. It has simply been directed toward a warrior’s purpose.”
Suddenly lit by amusement, his gaze caught hers. “Of late, new purpose I have had—and many imaginings I have had of you.”
Yvenne’s cheeks heated even as happy pleasure skipped across her heart. That tenacious weed, reaching for the sun again.
As if her blush were a satisfactory response, Maddek grinned yet made no move toward her. “So I should imagine myself in another’s place.”
“That might be a fine start,” she agreed. “Though not as I did in my tower. No time do you have to lie around and imagine yourself a seamstress. Instead do it as you speak with others or observe them—as you must have done last eve while talking to the Gogean soldiers, and seeing them not as a Parsathean warrior sees them, but as if you were in their place.”
“Then this is not truly a new lesson, but one that you taught me last eve. It only requires practice.”
“So it does.”
“Then I will practice. But for our new lesson . . .” His eyes narrowed as if considering, before he finally said, “Had you but one lesson for the Gogean queen, what would it be?”
That was easy enough. “That my father’s tyranny should not be admired or imitated.”
His gaze sharpened on hers. “Does she admire it?”
“Five years past, she did.” Beside her, the roan twitched a fat fly from her shoulder. Idly Yvenne waved the insect away, then smoothed her palm over the mare’s glossy coat. “My mother watched her and her brothers closely—”
“As a possible match for you?” Maddek interrupted.
“For a time. Though Queen Felis married before I even reached a woman’s age.” It hardly mattered, as Yvenne would not have chosen either Felis or her brothers. The younger was not so objectionable, but the elder brother was. “She and Prince Oren were speaking of unrest in the villages, and of the farmers who refused to send the full portion of their harvest. Felis wished for a queen’s guard as strong and as ruthless as my father’s guard, so they could silence dissent more easily. Oren suggested that she hire Parsatheans to do it.”
Posture abruptly rigid, Maddek growled, “If such a request had been made, we’d have helped the farmers tear apart the palace walls.”
“So they realized.”
“And Oren said this?”
She heard his disbelief but understood he didn’t think that she’d spoken false. Instead his disbelief stemmed from his familiarity with the prince. Oren had served two years upon the Lave, leading the company of Gogean soldiers. Maddek had dined and fought alongside the other man.
“He did,” Yvenne confirmed.
A muscle worked in his jaw, anger in every taut line of his body, and Yvenne realized she had taught him the wrong thing. Already he knew not to resemble her father in any way. Although it was a lesson the Gogean queen might have benefited from, her people would have benefited more from another. So would Maddek.
“Yet imagine if she had sent her guard to the villages,” Yvenne told him, then briefly left his side to untie a bag of feed from his saddle. “And if instead of—”
“Give her no more than a handful.”
Surprised by the interruption, she frowned at him. “What?”
“The grain,” Maddek said. Arms still crossed, his feet planted, he had not moved except to follow her with his gaze. “At the pace we ride, too much feed will shorten her breath and tighten her gut. They can eat their fill at night.”
“Oh.” Amused now, Yvenne returned to stand in front of his mountainous form. “It is not for the mare.”
“Are you so hungry, then?” There was a teasing glint in his narrowed eyes.
Smiling, she shook her head. “You are easily distracted from your lesson.”
He grinned. “I am.”
And unapologetic for it. But she was also too easily distracted, too aware of the pounding of her heart when his gaze fell to her lips.
At least if he was watching her mouth, he would not likely note the unsteadiness of her hands as she fumbled with the ties cinching the bag closed.
“I am to imagine that she sent her guard to the villages,” Maddek said. Distracted, perhaps, but still paying attention.
“Not to crush them, though.” The sack opened and she glanced up to meet his eyes, which were no longer focused on her lips but seemed intent on the whole of her face. “Imagine if she sent them to help the farmers harvest another row. If in the spring she promised to send her guard to plow another field. Or if she had hired the Parsatheans to help instead of slaughter. For you are more than raiders with swords, and none of you is a stranger to the harvest.”
Understanding lit his eyes. “That is truth.”
“So here is your lesson, Maddek of Parsathe.” Holding the sack open between them, she urged, “Reach in with one hand and bring out as much as you can.”