Vanya tweaked one of Raiah’s braids. “I shall see you both in Calhames.”
Soren held still as Vanya leaned in to first kiss Raiah on the cheek and then him. The gesture, done so publicly, felt like a risk with everything going on, but Vanya had made it clear the other day that trying to hide what they were to each other would be detrimental in the long run. They’d have to come clean with the vow anyway, which Soren knew would be a political nightmare, almost as much as Vanya wanting to marry a warden turned foreign prince.
Soren carried Raiah onto the Imperial airship to his right, trudging up the gangplank while she chattered happily away about what she wanted to do when they got to Calhames. Once on the flight deck, a crew member handed over two fur-lined flight jackets. Soren slung both over his free arm before finding the captain. He conferred briefly with the woman to ensure his velocycle had been put in the cargo hold before heading to the observation lounge located behind the flight cabin. A crew member opened the heavy door for him, and Taisiya, already seated at one of the low sofas, waved them over.
“There you are,” she called out.
“Raiah had to say farewell to Vanya,” Soren said.
The sofas each came with lap belts, and Soren buckled Raiah in after he set her down and got her jacket on. She leaned forward and made grabby hands at the tea tray situated on the low table, the plates filled with small pressed fruit squares dusted with sugar and the rock sugar sticks she loved so much. Soren handed her one stick and a few of the fruit squares on a small plate, declining when she offered him one.
Praetorialegionnaires settled themselves around the observation deck for the launch, politely ignoring the conversation Taisiya seemed determined to have with him. Thankfully, she waited until they were well in the air and Raiah had her nose pressed to the window on the outskirts of the observation lounge.
“I understand Vanya wishes to bring you into the House,” Taisiya said, holding her teacup in both hands. Her robes today were thin for summer weather, but she’d worn a fur-lined cloak as well in anticipation of the chill to come from the flight ahead, and someone had provided her with a thick blanket to drape over her legs.
“He asked,” Soren said, meeting Taisiya’s gaze.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “And did you accept?”
“Yes.”
He’d been part of the household since the moment Vanya had given him the vow all those years ago, but to be of a House came with a wealth of social and political power outsiders rarely gained. Vanya had sworn off marriage after Nicca’s death, not wanting to make Raiah a target by bringing another House into the tangle of succession rights. He’d skirt that issue by marrying Soren, but there were a host of other problems that would come from the union.
And Taisiya, as with any goodvalide, knew them all. “The Houses will not care for your ascension.”
“Vanya has an heir.”
“An heir is not the issue here, and to be quite frank, you haven’t the ability to give him one. Many know you as a warden, a people who we owe sanctions to due to the major Houses keeping the old burial traditions alive through the Ages.”
“Which you should never have done.”
“We prayed how the Dawn Star asked those who ruled to pray.”
“You knew it was wrong.”
Taisiya shrugged and sipped her tea. “It was wrong only in the risk we and our ancestors took, but it was ours to take. The sanctions are owed, and they will be paid, but the Houses will not take kindly to you gaining even more power over them.”
“The wardens aren’t the ones who will be marrying Vanya, and the governor says I am no longer a warden.”
“A warden cannot be unmade, and you are a foreign prince to the country Vanya owes a vow to. You must see the pitfalls in this endeavor of yours.”
“I won’t walk away again.”
Taisiya’s lips quirked upward at the corners, but there was no humor in her eyes. “Good. For all his hurt and anger, Vanya mourned your absence in his life.”
Soren found his throat dry and leaned forward to pour himself some tea. The red tea Taisiya favored was far better than the blend he’d had in Ashion. “He knows I never meant to hurt him.”
They’d talked about such things late into the night after their reunion, speaking all the words they’d held back over the years, the act like lancing an infected wound. They carried no secrets between each other anymore, only an understanding that everything they’d done—for each other and to each other—had been done out of a sense of duty.
“Most never mean the hurt they give, but that doesn’t undo the pain. I am glad you have both come to an accord, despite the delicate and difficult political situation it leaves us in. The House who holds the Imperial throne is never meant to marry for love but for power. Vanya did his duty there, so I suppose he can be granted this.”
“Thank you,” Soren said wryly.
“Don’t thank me yet. You cannot marry Vanya until the war in the north is over and the sanctions are ratified. You will be blamed for both, by virtue of your past.”
“I would have died if the Dawn Star had not given me to the wardens.”
“You should be thankful it was our guiding star who aided you and not the North Star. If there was ever proof you were meant for Solaria and not Ashion, it would be that, though I anticipate few Houses being pleased about such a truth.”
