"The head of the armies is the keeper of the people's fate, Lady Cithia, and he is the one who determines whether a nation will be at peace or in peril. I have never held that sort of position nor would I ever be allowed it... where I am from."
Her staff was propped against her shoulder, where her hair brushed against her cheeks as she leaned forward slightly to relieve her back. She did her best not to grimace or give any sign of fatigue. The benches in the wagon were hard on her bruises. She would have preferred to ride Dinaden if only to be away from this sort of talk. Vera didn't want to answer Lady Cithia's question. Even if she would have approached such a war differently.
"According to what history I know, this war was inherited by your father. The fighting before his birth was brutal. Wars that extend across generations are difficult to overcome because they stop being conducted with cleverness and begin to fester with hatred. Such wars become profitable, perverse, and so transform into disease..."
Vera's dark eyes stayed fixed on the floor as she spoke. She remembered well the lessons on Malondir and Astora. She would not insult the king by criticizing the tactics of his ancestors. Her family was purely military. Not monarchy, not judges or clerics.
"This war is a disease. In another life, it might have been a victory or a death. Perhaps you are right, Lady Cithia. Maybe so many did not need to die. Then again, in all the bloodshed both sides have become desperate for a cure. Both sides agree on something enough to talk in earnest for the first time."
Vera wondered what Eragos thought of what she was saying. Still chewing on salt pork and keeping silent, he made no effort to rescue her from this discussion. If he truly was a soldier from Tyrus, maybe he would see her as a cold being. Her hand wrapped around the middle of her weapon, glad for the solidness of the wood. She shared in the king's doubts that a marriage would be enough, but her code demanded that she deliver hope, not shred it. The marriage would shove life into the long dead corpse of diplomacy. She just couldn't stay long enough to see if that renewed body would keep breathing.
Such was her purgatory of an existence.
"As ugly as a field of dead soldiers is, my Lady, I think it uglier to acknowledge those deaths and not realize the worth of their sacrifice. For whatever end lives were spent, your countries now meet in peace rather than hatred."