Zakariya had foregone her crown and instead wore chains of gold over her long, tightly twisted hair. The golden links were interspersed with diamonds that glittered like stars, the stones matching the ones embedded in the rings she wore and the wide array of necklaces that draped over her shoulders. The gold stood out against the black of her fitted robe, the long sleeves made of sheer, airy voile and caught at the wrists with gold bracelets.
She stepped aside only far enough to allow his father to greet him. Emperor Consort Taye of the House of Sa’Liandel was taller than his mother, hair a dark blond going gray throughout, with light brown eyes and skin that had tanned over the years beneath the desert sun. Vanya had gotten his height and broadness from his father, and he was able to look his father in the eye after they embraced.
“Let us go inside to discuss your return,” Taye said.
Vanya nodded before half turning to look down at the courtyard where Soren still sat upon the velocycle. “I would bring the warden with me.”
Zakariya made a soft noise in the back of her throat. “As you say. We have much to discuss.”
Vanya gestured at Soren to join them. It took a few seconds before Soren deigned to get off his velocycle, taking the steps up to the porch at an unhurried pace. He inclined his head awkwardly to Vanya’s parents, brass goggles shoved on top of his head, face streaked with dirt from the wind of their ride. He didn’t appear nervous, though there was a hint of exasperation in his gray eyes when Soren finally looked at Vanya.
“I was going to head over to the warden resupply station here in Bellingham. I need to report back to the governor about the revenants,” Soren said.
“We have telegraph machines here for you to use, and any supplies you need we will obtain for you,” Vanya said.
Soren arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Vanya smiled slightly at the faintly irritated tone in the warden’s voice. “Come inside and out of the heat. We’ll discuss what happened with my mother, and then I will take you to the bathhouse. We could both use a soak.”
Vanya desperately wanted to scrub off the grime of their time on the road. Public bathing houses outnumbered the drinking houses in almost every city of Solaria. Even small villages had at least one inside their defensive walls. It was only polite to wash away the potential threat of poison from their bodies before moving about society.
“You could use a magician who excels in healing,” Soren shot back.
“How badly are you hurt?” Zakariya asked sharply before Vanya could respond.
Vanya bit back a sigh and gestured at the open front doors to the estate. “This is a story better told inside.”
Zakariya pressed her full lips together. “We were given photographs of the wreck.”
Vanya remembered the vicious tumble about the royal train carriage as the train derailed. The bruises on his body had not all faded away, some too deep for the bruise balm to fully penetrate. And heached, for traveling by velocycle and sleeping on the hard ground wasn’t conducive to healing. He wanted to be seen by a magician skilled in healing magic, wanted a long, hot soak in a bathhouse. He wanted to show Soren what the warden had been missing on the road.
“I survived,” Vanya said gently. “And I owe that survival to Soren. Now, come. Let us go inside.”
Zakariya pulled him into another embrace, her hands clutching at him in a way that spoke of grief deferred. Then she put him at arm’s length, and they turned to face the servants,praetorialegionnaires, and the citizens crowded in front of the gate at the end of the drive.
“The star gods have shined on us this day, for they have returned my son, your prince, to us. We mourn no longer what might have been. Tonight, Solaria shall celebrate his return,” Zakariya called out.
The cheering that went up was expected, even if Vanya doubted everyone in Bellingham was thrilled with his return. Such was the way of the Houses and all the distant, wavering bloodlines who aligned themselves with ever-changing promises.
Amidst the noise of celebration, Vanya was ushered inside, the thick walls of the estate allowing for a cooler temperature inside. Some of their household servants had remained inside, quick to set up the table in the foyer with a plethora of cold juices and flavored water.
Vanya hesitated as they approached it, thirsty in a way not easily ignored now, but the memory of the quiet killer on his tongue would not disappear. He was surprised when Soren grabbed a glass of citrus juice, took a quick sip, swished it about his mouth before swallowing it, then offered the glass to Vanya.
“It’s fine. You can drink it,” Soren said.
Vanya took the glass from him, fingers slipping slightly on the condensation. “Resorted to becoming my own personal poison tester now?”
Soren grabbed his own glass. “Hardly. I need to use your telegraph machine and was promised a bath. I can’t do that if you set fire to this mansion like you did to the steam train.”
“Then you shall have one.” Vanya curled his fingers at a nearby servant. The young woman dutifully stepped forward and bowed, hands clasped together in front of her. “Take Soren to the bathhouse here and provide him anything he needs. He has my full authority to use our telegraph machine for any warden business he requires.”
“Yes, Your Imperial Highness,” the servant murmured.
“I’ll join you when my meeting is finished,” Vanya told Soren.
Soren arched an eyebrow before downing his juice in one go and leaving the glass on the table. Then he allowed himself to be led from the hallway, booted feet making no noise on the mosaic-tiled floor.
“I think that conversation you promised us cannot wait,” Taye said in the wake of the warden’s absence.
