“Many people will be coming for the festival,”I pointed out, having no better response to his rather obvious declaration.
Nyana wouldn’t be responsible for all the cooking, of course. Vendors would erect stands. Most people would purchase their meals in the market. Nyana would cook for the King and his guests. All the kingdom’s lords and their families had either arrived or were en route. They would gather in the upper levels of the castle, where they would converse and dine before the start of the night’s celebrations.
Harlan aimlessly sorted through the carrots, occasionally picking one up and setting it back in the crate. “I wonder if there will be marzipan cake again this year.”
“Likely,” I acknowledged, selecting a wooden board to work on. All kinds of baked treats would be set out on the tables within the castle, along with chalices of wine, plates of cheeses, breads, and other snacks. Once the festivities began in the courtyard, nearly any food imaginable could be sought out and purchased.
“Have you tried it before? It’s nutty, but sweet too. I asked my maid to call for some, but she told me it wasn’t something made in the eastern lands, only in the west. Did you know that?”
The pang of apprehension I felt before returned at the mention of the western lands, and I swallowed. “I did not … I put higher stock in the knowledge of politics and major trade than where nutty cakes are baked. Do you know where our carrots come from?” I nodded to the crate.
Harlan scrunched his nose, detecting my challenge at his knowledge of the kingdom, and turned the subject back to the festival, brushing past my question. “I overheard Mother’s ladies’ maid say a storyteller would be posted in the courtyard telling tales of the old lore and the history of Ayrenven. Isn’t that interesting?” His gaze grew distant. “Mother sent her off though, before I could hear any more. She seemed upset.”
No surprise there. I grunted and took the crate of multicolored carrots, halting my brother’s aimless investigation of them. The boy was always doing something with his hands or fidgeting in some other way as if he were incapable of sitting still. With nothing to do, Harlan began to swing his legs, his boots kicking the lower cupboards, and leaned back on his palms.
“What happened?” Harlan asked, gaze set at the low-dipping neckline of my tunic.
“Thieves,” I said with a sigh of frustration. I did not enjoy the prospect of retelling my story for the fourth time.
“An ambush?” Excitement twinkled in his eyes. “You must tell me everything, Neir.”
The boy reveled in tales of bravery and adventure. In a sense, it pleased me that he held such a view of my life. Still, I was a bastard, and he was a prince. He needed to focus on his schooling. It was safer for him, too, to spend his time within the upper levels of the castles than with me.
Nyana joined us with a small basket of red berries in her arms and sat it atop the counter. She drew a rag from where she kept it tucked into the tie of her apron and swatted the boy with it. “Down. You may be a prince, but this is my kitchen, lad, and I don’t need your rump on my counter.”
Harlan grinned ear to ear and jumped down, giggling. Nyana’s expression softened, and she tousled his hair. The gesture was simple—an older woman showing affection to a child—yet outside of the kitchen walls, she would never show such familiarity with him. It was the hierarchy of things. While on another occasion the heft of my guilt may have caused me to push Harlan to leave, the looming possibility of my departure made me hesitate; my gratitude for the moment winning over my conscience.
“Do you not have classes today?” I asked, hoping the boy had forgotten about my wound.
Harlan pouted, leaned against the counter, and rested his chin on a palm. I snapped the green foliage from the carrots and separated them. “Veritran is boring.”
Veritran was the resident professor. He instructed all the children raised in the castle, including myself and the other boys of the castle guard. Harlan, with his title, was tutored in the castle library one-on-one, not in the hall where I’d been forced to sit days on end with half a dozen others listening to the man’s flat tempo of a voice. He was dull—terribly so—but that didn’t matter.
“It’s not supposed to be exciting,” I told him. “You need to learn if you want to be King one day.”
Gods be good that day didn’t come anytime soon. The boy wasn’t ready for such an undertaking. With a prickle of guilt, I wondered if he ever would be. It wasn’t his fault, really. Kaius never reprimanded him, nor did Astraea.
Despite the role the Queen took in my own discipline as a boy, she’d never once raised a hand to her son. Never scolded him or enforced any kind of boundaries. The sun rose and fell on Harlan in the Queen’s eyes. She’d lost five pregnancies that I could count before the boy, and two since. He was a blessing, and I could understand that. But still, doting on him as she did would only hurt him in the long run. She had to see that.
The boy was spoiled, and because of it, he acted immaturely. His knowledge of the kingdom and the people who resided in it was lacking, to say the least. He knew nothing of which towns exported what goods, which families were to be trusted, and which to be watchful of.
By eight, I’d committed myself to the guard, killed with my first blooding, and left the comforts of the room Nyana and I shared to bed among battle-toughened guards in the barracks. Yet my brother, in all his innocence, knew only of his comfortable life within the upper levels of the castle. He cared little to learn what lay beyond the walls that separated the royal gardens and courtyards from the rest of the city, the rest of the kingdom.
“Knife,” I said, tone flat, and the boy retrieved one for me. I began scraping the rough outer layer of a purple carrot, eyeing him as he picked through the basket of berries, oblivious to my scrutiny.
Perhaps I should’ve taken a more significant role in his life, stepped in where Kaius hadn’t, and shown the boy some discipline, some guidance. But the fear that I may lose control, and may replay the horrors of the past, kept me submissive. Control was easier when I kept my emotions at bay.
“Fuck.” A drop of blood came to the surface of my thumb where I’d nicked it in my distracted state. I sucked at it, tasting the metallic tang.
A rag hit the back of my neck. “I heard that,” Nyana quipped.
Harlan stifled a laugh, covering his mouth with a fist. When Nyana passed, he coughed back his amusement, and I couldn’t help but return his grin.
By the time I finished peeling all the vegetables at the counter, the sun had risen above the domed opening in the wall. The morning had been enjoyable, laced with conversations of unimportant things, gossip, and festival preparations. At one point, Clara’s name came up, and Harlan’s cheeks reddened. Even at four and ten, my brother flushed at the thought of the young lady he was promised to. What must it be like to feel for a woman in such a way?
“You should be off, brother,” I noted reluctantly, taking a basket of berries from him. It was half empty, but Nyana could send one of her girls to pick more from the garden. The small, round fruit was one of the first things to ripen each year. Seeing Harlan’s lips stained red propelled me into memories of warm summers spent by the thorny bushes, of eating berries by the handful until my tummy ached. And into memories of another boy’s smile—different from Harlan’s, yet the same shade of red.
Harlan pouted, and I rested my hand on his shoulder, coming back to the present. “The festival’s tonight. You must go prepare yourself.”
