“You should know that my sister is... She’s gentle.” He didn’t know how else to describe her. He wondered what Naelin would think of her—and what Sira would think of Naelin. He toyed with lying to Sira about who Naelin was, to put his sister at ease, but he’d never lied to her. He couldn’t. Not to Sira.
“I’m sure she’s wonderful. I can’t wait to meet her.” Naelin’s smile was genuine, and no matter what, he felt like he was giving his heart to the right woman.
He just hoped that smile remained when she went inside the house.
He climbed up, swinging onto the platform in front of the door—or, rather, a tarp that bore the seal of a border guard, embroidered badly. He lifted it and ducked inside, holding it up behind him for Naelin.
Naelin entered—he was relieved when she looked around, interested.Maybe this won’t be a total disaster, he thought. As he’d told her, it was nicer than it looked from the outside. Lots of wood furniture. Lots of quilts. And not a speck of dirt.Even dirt fears disappointing Mother, Ven thought.
Mother marched through the kitchen, plucked a kettle off a hook, and shoved it onto a rod that spanned the fireplace. “If you’re expecting a victory feast to celebrate your triumphant return home, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. Rations are in the barrels. Serve your friend whatever you like.”
Nope, definite disaster.His mother was determined to be unpleasant. Really, he shouldn’t have expected anything less. He did leave without saying goodbye, and he hadn’t sent word or tried to visit, unlike his sister, who’d never left, and his brother, who visited on every holiday and undoubtedly sent bushels of flowers on random occasions, purely to make Ven look bad.
“You’ve eggs,” Naelin said, with a nod toward a basket of blue bird eggs on the counter. “I can cook for all of us.”
“Suit yourself. You travel with my son, so you’re welcome here.” Mother plopped onto a chair and put her feet up on a worn table. “All right, Ven, explain yourself.”
“Believe it or not, Mother, I’m not here to see you. This is Queen Naelin. We are traveling north to Arkon, to retrieve her children from Queen Merecot of Semo. Naelin, this is my mother, Zenda.” He crossed to the kitchen—he still knew where the skillet was. He set it over the fire for Naelin. She’d already located a bowl and begun to whisk eggs together.
“Herbs?” Naelin prompted.
Mother, meanwhile, had snapped to her feet. “Your Majesty!”
Ven checked a cabinet and pulled out a smattering of cooking herbs, which Naelin proceeded to sniff, then crush into a second bowl. An onion and a potato were hanging in a net over the sink. She handed them to Ven. “Dice them,” Naelin ordered. He pulled out his knife. “Clean it first, then dice them.”
Behind them, Mother said, “A queen, cooking in my kitchen... Your Majesty... I...Ven!” She turned on him, and he instinctively sidled beside a stool so it was between him and his mother. Mother didnotlike surprises.I probably should have taken that into account. And yet... it wasalmostworth it, seeing her expression.“You’re not going to say anything further about the fact you’re traveling alone with a queen?” Mother demanded. “Where are the palace guards? Where’s her escort? Are you crossing the border with the queen? This is unprecedented. And didn’t the stories say her children were dead? How did they end up with Queen Merecot? Forgive my frankness, Your Majesty.”
A soft voice, sweet as spring wind, whisper-sang from the doorway. “Oh, but it’s not unprecedented. Queen Renna the Delighted enjoyed surprising tiny villages with visits. She’d tuck in the little children with a lullaby.” Sira stood just inside, her wild hair even wilder than Ven remembered, in a cloud around her petite face, as if it wanted to swallow all her features. She looked smaller than he remembered too, her bird-thin arms and legs like the stick limbs of a tree spirit. But she was smiling at him, and that was all that mattered. “Ven, you came home!”
He crossed the house in two strides, scooped her up, and swung in her in a circle. She laughed like she did when she was a little kid, a peal of bells escaping her grinning lips.
“Silly bear, put me down. You’ll break me!”
He put her down and growled like a bear before he remembered that his beloved queen was standing only a few feet behind him watching this entire exchange. He felt his face heat up beneath his beard, which only made Sira laugh louder. “Naelin, this is my sister, Sira.”
“We heard you singing,” Naelin said. “You’ve a beautiful voice.”
“I sing to the birds,” Sira said. “They’re the beautiful ones.”
“You sing just as beautifully,” Ven told her firmly. She’d always downplayed her gifts. He never let her, though, not while he was around. “The birds are envious of you.”
Mother interrupted. “Sira, this isQueenNaelin, joint queen with Queen Daleina. She’s on her way north to bring her children home—apparently, the rumors were wrong. They’re alive.”
Sira dropped into a curtsy as gracefully as if she’d spent her life in a palace. She was naturally graceful.A fact that Mother never noticed,Ven thought. Mother had always focused on Sira’s limitations, but she had many strengths. “I know your songs, Your Majesty. I’m so pleased to meet you, and even more pleased to hear your children are well.”
Naelin looked startled. “I have songs?”
“Oh, yes. My favorite is ‘The Ballad of the Reluctant Queen,’” Sira said, beaming at her. “The descent into minor during the bridge to the second verse is lovely.” She sang the melody wordlessly, holding out the last note for an instant, then fading it. “It’s for sunset after a particularly beautiful day, when you don’t want it to be night yet.” Ven was watching Naelin’s expression closely and saw it tighten, the instant before she turned back to add herbs into the bowl of eggs.She’s thinking she should have stayed reluctant.It was easy to guess her thoughts these days.Too easy.But his sister couldn’t know that, and went on. “I sing it to the dawn and the night, to the wind and the rain, and they come to listen.”
“You know they’d come anyway,” Mother said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sira was as patient as ever, with her secret little smile. She’d always known how to let Mother’s words roll off her. He wondered how she did it—they stuck like burrs into Ven.
“Your singing is important,” Ven told Sira. “Gives the rest of us a reason to keep fighting.” He felt Naelin studying at him, and he focused on the potato, skimming off the skin with his blade and slicing it into chunks. He hadn’t directed those words at her, but he didn’t regret that she’d heard them. She’d probably accuse him of lacking subtlety, which Daleina had so recently commented on.
I carry at least five weapons at all times. Subtlety isn’t what I do.
They fell into silence as Naelin prepared the rest of the meal, issuing the occasional order. Sira set out plates, even scrounged up napkins, which she folded into flower shapes.
