She’d made a face, and Eleni’s smile had loosened and spread, relief overtaking her.
And that had been that — an awkward moment averted.
Only it hadn’t been — just saved for later, as it turned out. And now here they stood in her Aunt’s bright and airy dining room, surrounded by wine fountains, and sunlit stone, andfartoo many clementine buns. The warm salt breeze wove through the open archways and sent their cloyingly sweet scent washing over her. The effect was a little sickly, but she made herself move forward and reached for a bun. Its glaze had begun to run in the thick heat, and it pooled around her fingertips where they dented the soft pastry, glueing her knuckles together. She took one giant bite and smiled a stiff and sticky smile. Eleni beamed back at her.
“No more fish taste?”
Adeline gagged on her pastry and her aunt’s smile dropped.
“Sorry,” she winced.
“S’okay,” Adeline managed. “Ask me again in about four buns time.”
“Are you really going to eatfourof those things?”
The voice that sounded from the entryway was high and incredulous. Adeline glanced up to see a small figure edging into the room with her arms crossed tight across her chest. She could be no more than thirteen, even if she held herself with the air of a courtier who had seenfartoo much over a long and eventful life. The girl considered Adeline imperiously, through bright brown eyes that may as well have been a coat of arms; a Vanjir child, there was no mistaking that.
Adeline tried not to notice the hostile current that spun outward from where the girl stood and threatened to drag her under.
“I could be convinced to share,” she said, smiling warmly.
The girl gave a vaguehmph, and let her gaze flick over Adeline, assessing her head to toe before cocking a discerning brow.
“Lyra,” Eleni said, sharp enough to have the girl dropping her crossed arms. “This is your cousin, Princess Adeline Beira of Eisalaan.”
“I know who she is,” Lyra said beneath her breath. She might have rolled her eyes too, but she dropped into a curtsey before Adeline could tell for sure.
Adeline mirrored her, dipping her head to hide the slight twist of her lips. Daughters knew she remembered being Lyra’s age. Remembered how she’d felt like a moody impostor in her own body, every word coming out wry and snippy whether she meant them to or not.
“A pleasure to meet you, cousin.”
“Alright,” said Lyra.
Adeline crammed another bite of pastry into her mouth to keep from laughing, and Lyra wrinkled her nose with clear distaste. Eleni sighed.
“Where is your grandfather?”
The girl snorted. “Only Isa knows. He left the parlour before I did, but he moves like a drunk turtle on four broken legs.”
“Lyra.”
“What’s she done now?”
At the sound of a new voice, hoarse and low, Lyra’s grin overtook her. It was a lovely smile, actually; the apples of her cheeks glowed with her joy, setting the whole of her small face alight.
“Ah, Papou! I’m impressed,” she said cheekily. “Only took you forty minutes.”
The old man shuffled around the entryway and Eleni hurried to meet him, then helped him to a seat at the top of the dining table. He winked at Lyra as he went.
“This old turtle has a bit of life in him yet,agameni.”
The old man sank into his seat with a groan, laid his hands on the armrests and then, satisfied that he was settled, he fixed his eye on Adeline.
“Now, sweetAdeleni. You remember me?”
Adeline smiled. “Of course I do.”
And she did, a bit; Papou was her father’s father. He’d been ill the last time she’d been here. She thought that might have been thereasonthey’d come here, in fact, so Silas could help Eleni with the then-Emperor’s duties in his absence. Still, he’d made time for her. She remembered sitting at the foot of his bed, and that he’d recited old fairytales to her from memory; half of them in Dhaliaan that she didn’t quite understand. She remembered that his room had been thick with flowers; an indoor meadow.
