Page 39 of Among the Burning Flowers
‘Saint above, boy, what is it?’
‘Skuldir Vatten has written again.’
‘What does he want?’
‘He offers you belated wishes for your birthday, but he also … raised the subject of death. We ought to ensure the coastal defences are—’
‘Bah, let Skuldir rot. Queen Sabran will not brook any more carping from Hróth.’ Leovart squinted at Aubrecht. ‘For the life of me, I can’t remember why we didn’t offer you up toher, rather than plight you to the Donmata. Now I’ve squandered my only eligible relative.’
You were too busy trying to court Queen Sabran yourself, Aubrecht thought.
‘I am very happy to marry the Donmata,’ he said. ‘And grateful that a time has finally been set.’
‘You can blame Sigoso the Cold for the tarrying. He must have lost his faith in marriage after what tha—’ Leovart paused to cough, ‘what that wretched Southerner did to him. He’s lucky we’re taking the girl, frankly. Our future princess consort, and he wants her back within the year.’
‘King Sigoso is not old, Granduncle. Marosa will have many years in Mentendon before she is crowned.’
‘No.’ Leovart coughed again, harder. ‘No. He wants her back as soon as she’s with child.’
Aubrecht was sure no one had told him that.
‘I see,’ he said, after a pause. He would digest the knowledge later. ‘How are you feeling, Granduncle?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
‘What have you been doing today?’
‘Oh, the … accounts.’ Leovart dabbed his mouth. ‘I’m very busy, Aubrecht. Come back later.’
Aubrecht might once have stayed, to coax and wheedle until he was blue in the face, but he had long since learned that Leovart would feign a headache, or some other ailment, to avoid the matter of Hróth. By the time he reached the doorway, Leovart was asleep again.
In spite of his better judgement, Aubrecht still loved him. Lievelyns had to stick together, through thick and thin. There were too many circling wolves for swans to turn upon themselves. He went back to his study, rubbed his temples, and picked up the next letter.
At the time, Leovart had made a fair point about the succession. Aubrecht had been newly orphaned, left to care for his three younger sisters, including a weakened Betriese, who had barely survived the sweat. He had also been trained to enter the faith, despite living at court. His uncle had wanted him to be Principal Sanctarian of Mentendon, to raise Mentish standing with the Berethnets.
Crippled by grief, with no knowledge of politics, Aubrecht would not have been able to rule a country. Now that hewasready, Leovart seemed resolved to die on the throne. The wind that fought the barge of progress Mentendon had otherwise become.
‘Aubrecht?’
Suddenly he had sympathy for Leovart never getting anything done. He glanced up to see his twin sisters at his threshold. ‘Perhaps we could speak later,’ he started, but they had already marched in. ‘I have a great deal to do today.’
‘You sound like Granduncle.’ Betriese leaned over his shoulder. ‘What is it you’re doing?’
‘I am attending to the needs of Mentendon.’
‘Do stop pretending to write letters every time we step into your eyeline.’ Bedona snatched one up and raked her gaze over the crabbed writing. ‘This looks dull. Saint, is this aboutsewers, Brecht?’
Both of them followed the Inysh manner of dress, like many of the younger courtiers. At this time of year, they wore apricot and spring green, paired with rose-gold jewellery. The latter clashed with their scarlet hair, but Aubrecht knew better than to point this out.
‘Even dull letters need answering. Especially the ones about sewers,’ he said patiently, ‘unless you would like Brygstad to be overrun with night soil.’ He slid the letter from the Vatten out of sight. ‘Nonetheless, I am at your disposal. How may I help you this morning, Bedona?’
‘We’d like to write to the Donmata Marosa,’ Betriese said in her delicate voice. ‘Does she speak Mentish?’
‘She is learning.’ Aubrecht touched her rosy cheek, making her smile. ‘I am sure she would appreciate a letter in Mentish, Bette. Let me know when it is done, and I will send it for you.’
‘At least we’ll have something to do,’ Bedona drawled.
‘Be grateful for your empty days. Ermuna will take on a great burden when she becomes my heir apparent.’
