“I didn’t think you would come,” Vanya said in greeting.
Soren dragged his gaze away from the other man’s face, taking in the vibrant cobalt robe Vanya wore. The underlying trousers were a cream color that offset the blue, both shades standing out against his dark skin. Cream thread embroidered in intricate swirls curled away from the center of the robe where it was clasped together. The ranking medallion glittered golden against his chest, and the thin circlet he wore was more elaborate than the one Soren remembered.
“I was needed in Daijal’s southern border over winter. We wardens had to run a grid search for revenants. There’s been a strange surge lately.”
“You could have come to Calhames in autumn.”
“I go where the governor tells me to.” Soren made an aborted gesture with one hand, meeting Vanya’s eyes. “I heard about the loss of your wife. I’m sorry.”
Vanya frowned, gaze unwavering as he stared at Soren. “I did not know Nicca well, despite our arranged marriage. But she was kind enough while she lived here, and I will always be grateful for our daughter, who survived.”
“What happened?”
The question was past his teeth before Soren could bite back the words. It wasn’t his place to pry into royal affairs, but everyone knew the murderous games the Houses played. He wanted to believe Vanya wasn’t cruel enough to murder his own wife, but anything was possible. Despite the handful of days they’d spent together on the road and the vow hanging from Soren’s neck, they didn’t know each other.
He shoved down the desire of wanting to because wardens weren’t allowed towant.
“She died in childbirth. Hemorrhaging and a clot in the lungs, or so the doctors said. The magician’s magic couldn’t save her in time, but they were able to save my daughter.” Vanya shook his head, mouth twisting. “There was no poison involved, no murder intended by anyone of my House, despite the rumors the House of Kimathi spreads now. I married Nicca to align our Houses, not break them apart further than they were before.”
Soren did not pretend to understand the intricate histories of the Houses, with all their blood feuds and vows and ever-shifting alliances that tied them all together. “Will you remarry?”
Vanya’s gaze became scornful. “And lessen my daughter’s right to the throne? Never. Raiah is my first and only born. That will make her a target all her life, but if I were to remarry, whatever House I tied myself to would demand their children be my heir in place of her, and that includes any branch of the House of Kimathi. I refuse to be the architect of my daughter’s grave when I have already lost my wife.”
Soren could say nothing in the face of that fierce promise. It wasn’t his place to offer comfort, even if he wanted to. “I hope your daughter grows up safe.”
Vanya stared at him for a long moment, dark eyes locked on Soren’s face. “Would you like to meet her?”
It would be impolite to say no, even if Soren had no experience whatsoever with children of any age. His tithing cohort didn’t count. “Do you want me to?”
“I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
Soren floundered internally for a moment, wondering what sort of game Vanya was playing here, because the Houses ever played such things. “I came to deliver the border reports like you asked. If you want me to see your daughter, then I will.”
“And what of the vow? Have you thought of a repayment I may offer you yet?”
Soren shook his head. “You owe me nothing, princeling.”
Vanya sighed, lifting a hand in a commanding gesture for Soren to follow him. “You’ll find that debt remains until you wantsomething. Come, let me introduce you to Raiah, and then I’ll have Alida show you to the bathhouse. I still have business with the Senate this afternoon, but you may rest here until I finish, and we’ll have dinner together.”
Soren couldn’t say no to an order like that, and in truth, he didn’t want to. Being out in the poison fields was never restful, and he’d had a taste of what luxury royal life could offer, enough to know he’d take whatever he could get. Besides, the governor had said to stay as long as needed to glean what information he thought was useful about the encroachment of revenants where they shouldn’t be.
“I wouldn’t mind washing off the travel dust.”
Soren retrieved the ledger from the chaise and followed Vanya out of the room, putting himself into the prince’s care.
Eleven
VANYA
The Senate’s session regarding water allocation ran past sunset. Vanya stayed until the end, shepherding the arguments how he’d seen his mother do in the past. With Empress Zakariya Sa’Liandel in Oeiras hammering out another trade treaty with the Tovan Isles, Vanya was tasked with keeping the Senate on track because the heat of summer was yet to come, and water was a resource the Houses had gone to war over before.
The water used for Solarian bathhouses was filtered and cleaned after use. Once all the soap and oil and other grime were removed, the water was used for crops, supplementing what was drawn from aquifers and the country’s rivers. Water rationing was law, especially during the dry seasons, and rights to that precious resource were always something to be argued over.
“Your daughter sleeps, Your Imperial Highness,” one of the wet nurses reported when he entered the nursery guarded by twopraetorialegionnaires.
Vanya quietly approached the low crib, staring down at his sleeping daughter. Not even a year old and she had a strong personality. Raiah’s dark hair wasn’t as curly as his own, and Vanya could see hints of Nicca in her nose and the lighter coloring of her skin. She had his eyes, and the stubborn way she cried until she got her way was him as well, according to his mother.
Vanya gently stroked a finger down his daughter’s round cheek, not seeking to wake her but still wanting that connection. He loved her, had loved her when she was first put into his arms after the desperate hecticness of her birth and the thinned-out grief that followed. He wanted to give her the world, give her the Imperial throne, and he’d do everything in his power to do that. Not remarrying would ensure her succession, and Vanya had given that vow to the stars.
