The Truest Power

But Lysandra knew it would not last, and she was sorry for that, sorry that she must be the one to destroy Selia's happy, contented humor.

"The marigold salve is almost finished," she told Lysandra proudly. "I'll be sealing the pots soon, if you want to look at it first."

"No," Lysandra replied, heading for the cupboard where she kept her dishes stored. "I'm sure you've done it right. You've learned a great deal in the short time you've been here. But come, let's have some tea. There are things we must say."

Cups now in hand, she turned and saw that Selia's aura had already begun to darken, as if a bank of clouds was moving to block her inner sun. She knows what is coming, Lysandra thought. Of course she does . . . her own heart is telling her, just as ours are telling Renan and me. How can I get her to listen to what she knows but does not want to hear?

Lysandra put the mugs down and opened the cupboard where she kept the herbs she used for tea. She chose her favorite, a blend of wood betony and chamomile she kept already mixed. Betony strengthened both the body and mind, and chamomile relaxed while promoting clear thoughts and insight.

A kettle of hot water was always on the back of the stove, ready for use. Lysandra bent her attention to the necessities of the tea, studiously ignoring the continued darkening of Selia's humor. Finally, steaming mugs in hand, she went to the table and sat, willing her own calm to reach out and at least touch, if not envelop, her companion.

"Bring the honey with you," she said in an even voice that, though soft, was a tone that left no room for argument. My mother's voice, Lysandra thought with a small and wistful smile, grateful that she could think of her family again. That, too, was part of her healing.

Selia brought the honey as asked, her footsteps speaking her reluctance as clearly as any word. For a few minutes more, the silence continued as each woman fixed her tea the way she liked it. Then, finally, Selia drew a deep breath.

"I know what you're going to say," she began. "Father Renan has already said it. 'It's time to go, to leave here and continue with the task ahead.' But I don't want to go —and I don't want to finish anything that will make me be Queen."

Lysandra said nothing. She sipped her tea and waited, letting Selia say everything, logical or otherwise, that was boiling around inside her.

"You live a good life," Selia continued when Lysandra did not speak. "You help others here —people, animals, anyone who comes to you. The good you accomplish is tangible. That's something I want —not some abstract 'good of the kingdom.' I want to stay here, to learn what you do and help you do it. I've thought all about it, and I don't see any reason . . . eventually you'll need someone here. I mean, you're not old or anything —yet —but what if you were injured or sick? You need to have someone here, instead of living all alone . . ."

Her voice trailed off into the silence of both women unconvinced. Again, Lysandra waited passively, giving Selia a chance to continue if she wanted. But now the younger woman said nothing.

"Yes," Lysandra affirmed softly. "I do live a good life here. Peaceful, meaningful . . . but it is my life, Selia, and you cannot live it. Your own life awaits."

Selia pushed her chair back abruptly and began to pace. "I don't want that life," she said as she walked.