Raiah nodded enthusiastically as he carried her into his office, her braids brushing against his cheek. “I had riding lessons today.”
“So it appears.”
Vanya carried her to his desk while Caelum handled the files and dealt with the aides that had followed them. He sat in the chair, settling Raiah in his lap. She immediately leaned forward and started going through the items and papers scattered on the desktop, careful not to make a mess but curious as she always was. Vanya spoke with Caelum about the evening schedule, focused on the dinner set to occur in just a couple of hours, when Raiah piped up again.
“Papa, you’re missing a photograph.”
Vanya waved the others off, not watching them leave the office as he turned his attention back to his daughter. “All the ones of you and yourvalideare here.”
The photographs in question were neatly arranged at the corner of his desk in stand-up frames, with others perched on the bookcase behind him. Raiah craned her neck around, blinking her big brown eyes up at him with a frown on her little face. “But you’re missing the one with Soren and me. I thought you said you would find it for me?”
Vanya’s gaze darted to the tintype photographs, knowing exactly the two she meant. One had been of Soren with Raiah when she was younger, taken of the pair together in the gardens there in Oeiras’ Imperial estate before the threat ofrionetkaswas known to them. The other had been of Soren by himself, sitting relaxed in a private room, his gaze focused not on the camera but on Vanya, who had been the one to take the photograph.
He’d taken others of Soren over the years, many of which were scattered across the various Imperial estates, along with some that had always traveled with him. But after Soren had left—after the lies were revealed and the hurt of betrayal had lodged itself in the center of Vanya’s chest—he hadn’t been able to look at the photographs without wanting to break them at times.
Eventually, he’d taken them down and sent them off to his personal storage, hiding them away, as if he could ever hide the gaping hole that existed in his life these days where Soren once stood. Raiah had been persistent lately in finding them again, but he knew it would be best if she learned to forget about the warden.
Vanya cleared his throat. “I’ll ask the servants where they’ve gone. But I believe it’s time for your bath.”
She frowned stubbornly at him, but Vanya knew the best way to ward off an argument was to distract her. Handing Raiah off to her governess with a kiss goodbye and a promise to see her before her bedtime staved off another tantrum.
Finally alone in his office, Vanya rubbed at his forehead before reaching for the telephone perched on the side of the desk. He put the receiver to his ear and pressed a button, immediately being connected to the Imperial estate’s operator. “Put me through to the wardens’ governor.”
“Certainly, Your Imperial Majesty,” the operator said.
It took time, knowing it was a later hour in the east than it was in Oeiras, but eventually, the wardens’ governor joined the call.
“Governor Delani,” Vanya said. “We need to discuss the tithes my country owes you.”
Three
SOREN
Soren’s head ached with the constant chatter of a language he didn’t understand. He knew Solarian, and he knew the trade tongue, but he’d never learned Ashionen, and the gap of his understanding was clear in every meeting he attended with Caris over the weeks since flying north. He knew she meant well by wanting to keep him included in the high-level talks with military officers and nobility, but all it did was leave Soren feeling as if he were a bug under an alchemist’s microscope.
The room he’d been given in the small estate Caris called home was clean, the closet filled with clothes Soren rarely wore. His preference was still for the field uniform he’d worn for years as a warden, the leather and durable cloth a comfort, even if it made people question his identity as Caris’ brother. The broadsheets insisted on referring to him as Prince Alasandair Rourke, according to Caris, much to her chagrin. She still called him Soren, as did everyone in her court, which consisted of exactly one lady-in-waiting in the official records so far and a man who Soren assumed was Caris’ betrothed, despite not seeing any rings on either of their fingers.
Nathaniel Clementine was friendly enough, if more than a bit reserved. Lady Lore Auclair knew a bit of Solarian, though her trade tongue was better. Along with her mother and brother, they were the next highest-ranked nobles in the country after Caris, and the three of them had to be more than simply an old bloodline. The meetings they took with the military and others spoke of different roles that no one had yet to inform Soren of. But he’d spent enough time in the Imperial court to know the ebb and flow of political power, and Duchess Meleri Auclair had plenty of it.
Then there were the E’ridians, thejarland his husband, who seemed quite content to remain in Cosian with their single E’ridian war airship despite the fact that country had no alliance with Ashion. Blaine and Honovi were fluent in the trade tongue. Speaking with them was always a relief, a soothing bit of sound after hours spent with the tutor trying their best to teach Soren Ashionen and the manners and habits of a people that had never been his.
The tea and food were different, and some mornings, Soren found himself acutely missing the strong tea or sweet chai he’d always had at Vanya’s table and the savory, family-style breakfast spreads favored by Solarians. Ashionen food lacked the spices and chilis he’d grown used to over the years. The food shortage that had hit the eastern provinces meant not everything was available, but Soren didn’t really think that mattered. Ashionen food was not as heavily spiced as Solarian, and he had yet to locate any sort of restaurant in the frontier city that served the dishes he missed.
He’d taken to brewing his tea in the kitchen without aid from a cook, making the black tea darker than was preferred by everyone else in the home. It wasn’t as strong or as spiced as the kind he’d drunk in Solaria, but it did its job of waking him up before dawn every morning.
The early hours were always quiet in the estate, something Soren appreciated, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before his ears were assailed with Ashionen. He was busy sprinkling a spice that smelled similar to one used in chai into his tea when someone cleared their throat behind him. He’d heard their footsteps in the hall before they arrived and so didn’t jump at the sound.
“It’s early,” Blaine said in the trade tongue.
“I’m not leaving,” Soren replied with a shrug.
He’d thought about it so many times since arriving in Cosian and stepping off that airship. But Delani had given him a border to guard, and Soren had never in his life walked away from his duty. He wasn’t about to start now.
A brief pause before Blaine’s footsteps drew closer. “Do you always walk around with your weapons on?”
Out of habit, Soren reached over his right shoulder for the hilt of his poison short sword, the clarion crystal embedded in the pommel cool to the touch. His gloves were tucked into his front pockets while he prepared his tea and the toast in a contraption that Caris had proudly said she and her father had modified together when she was younger. She’d shown him how to drop slices of bread into the two holes while the clarion crystal–powered machine heated the bread to the desired crispness.
His toast was currently resting on a plate, butter melting on both slices, and his tea was almost how he could drink it here. “I’ve learned it’s better to be armed no matter where I am.”
