He looks back at me then.
There is no reaction in his face. Only scrutiny, as though he is deciding whether I am worth the inconvenience.
CHAPTER 22
Introductions
Ilook to Petunis. “Who is he?”
For the first time since I have known her, she does not answer immediately. She looks at him with the familiarity of someone who has been irritated by him for a very long time, and when she finally speaks it is with clear reluctance.
“My brother,” she says. “Your mother’s twin. So, your uncle."
He takes another step into the room as though it belongs to him more than it ever belonged to anyone else, his presence cutting through the tension left behind by the attack with careless ease.
“King Regent,” she adds. She lets out a low, unimpressed sound. “An incredibly incompetent one,” Petunis continues, without looking at him.
He snorts and takes a slow drink from the flask in his hand.
“Technically,” she goes on, “he should have ruled this country alone. In practice, it would have drowned in liquor or collapsed entirely, so I took over what mattered.”
“Imanage what actually matters,” he replies, as though correcting something trivial. “The military. The desert factions. The only people in this country who know how to fight instead of talk.”
“He rarely graces us with his presence,” Petunis says.
“Because this place is unbearable,” he answers.
His attention turns to me. His face changes then, recognition surfacing through the rough edges of the rest of him. “You look just like her,” he says. “Like Ryaran.”
Ryaran. My mother. He may be the first person I have ever met who speaks her name with casual affection and not with a dreary heaviness.
He exhales slowly, the edge in him easing just enough to reveal a quieter kind of exhaustion. “She told me that if you ever came here, I was to watch over you.” He gestures vaguely with the flask. “So here I am. Watching over you.”
His eyes drop briefly to my throat. “I see she gave you the pendant I gave her.”
My fingers move to it without thinking, the familiar weight grounding me in a way nothing else in this room has managed to. “It is all I have left of her.”
He nods once, as though that confirms something he had already decided. “Well, do not expect me to stay here forever. I am here long enough to make sure no one kills you. I do not want that on my conscience.” He takes another drink. “Understand that this is a great favor. The only thing I hate more than the palace is my ex-wife.”
He looks past me. “Where is that bitch?”
“Lady Venya is attending to her duties,” Petunis replies.
“That means she is off somewhere being a whore,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else.
The doors open again.
The herald begins, “Prince Syle of Alarna?—”
“Oh, shut up, Norasin.” Uralish says without turning. "Do you think I cannot smell my own spawn?"
Poor Norasin.
Uralish looks at me instead. “If you did not know, this is my son. Syle. He does not speak. One of his more admirable qualities. Fortunately, he is easy on the eyes and a prince, so I will get heirs all the same. That is really all children are good for, as you’ll soon learn. They’re otherwise shitty burdens destined to make your life miserable.”
Syle does not react to the insult, his attention already on the room, on me, on everything at once with a quiet awareness that feels more intense than anything his father has said. I wonder if he will speak to me in my mind again, or if that is something he can do with everyone.
Uralish turns his head toward Petunis. “Lessons are over. The King Regent requires the Queen Heir.”
