The ease of it catches Evran off guard. He has spent months preparing himself for the scrutiny he assumed would come, the whispered questions, the sideways glances, the subtle and not-so-subtle calculations of people trying to determine what a southern lord's son is doing at the Warlord's side. He braced for it the way he braces for most things, with quiet dread and the armor of composure, and instead he finds only welcome andthe matter-of-fact acceptance of people who have been told he is coming and are genuinely pleased to receive him.
"The eastern wing has been prepared for the Drakkari delegation," the man says. "If you'll follow me."
They follow through the courtyard, past a training ground where warriors are sparring, through an arched passage that opens onto an inner garden, smaller than the outer grounds but lush, with climbing roses and a central fountain that catches and throws sunlight in bright fragments. Then through a heavy oak door and into the eastern wing, which is all warm stone and tapestried walls and the clean smell of rush-strewn floors.
Their rooms are generous. High ceilings, tall windows that overlook the valley, a fireplace already laid with kindling. The bed is larger than the one at home and draped in furs and quilts of Rendari green, and Evran sets his pack down and runs his hand along the carved wooden bedframe, feeling the patterns beneath his fingertips, vines and leaves and the suggestion of mountains.
He does not have long to admire it. There is unpacking to do, and after that there is the business of being seen.
The first day at Heldrin's End is spent at Vaike's side, and Evran is glad of it.
There are people to meet, many people. The Rendari delegation alone seems to number in the dozens, and they come in a steady stream throughout the afternoon, council members and advisors, warriors and trade masters, each one greeting Vaike with the blend of respect and wariness that powerful men inspire. Evran stands beside his husband and is introduced, again and again, and each time he offers his hand and his name and a smile that he hopes conveysI am pleased to meet youand notI am overwhelmed and my thighs are still sore from three days on horseback.
He learns names and forgets them almost instantly, then learns them again. The Rendari trade master is a heavyset woman with ink-stained fingers and an encyclopedic knowledge of grain prices. The head of the Rendari guard is a scarred man with kind eyes who asks Evran about the mountain crossing with genuine interest, an abiding love for the mountains that never tires of hearing about them. A succession of advisors and minor officials blur together in a procession of handshakes and titles, and Evran does his best to keep track and accepts gracefully that he will not remember half of them by morning.
The other clans are still arriving. Evran catches glimpses of unfamiliar banners and unfamiliar faces in the corridors, but as everyone is still getting settled, the first day belongs to the Rendari, the host clan, the keepers of the peace.
Vaike navigates it all with the steady, unhurried confidence that Evran has come to understand as competence so thorough it appears effortless. He speaks to each person with his full attention, remembers names and details and the names of children he heard about years ago, listens more than he talks, and when he does talk the room listens back. Evran watches him and thinks that Vaike was built for this, the fighting and the ruling and the diplomacy and the patience, the quiet work of being a leader who is trusted because he has earned that trust a thousand times over and continues to earn it with every interaction.
It is late afternoon when a retainer approaches Vaike with a summons, the Rendari Warlord would like a private word before the evening, and Vaike turns to Evran with slight hesitance.
Evran touches his arm. "Go. I'll be fine."
Vaike studies him for a moment, those grey eyes searching his face, weighing whether fine means fine or fine meansI will say whatever I need to so that you can do what needs to be done.Whatever he sees there satisfies him, because he nods. He leansdown and presses a kiss to Evran's temple, just above the braid, and goes.
Evran watches him disappear down the corridor and allows himself exactly one steadying breath before a voice erupts from behind him.
"Are you the one who came in with the Drakkari?"
He turns.
There are two of them, standing side by side in the corridor with the restless energy of young people who have been waiting impatiently for something interesting to happen and have decided that Evran is it. They are the same height, the same build, lean and coltish, and they share the same dark Rendari coloring, deep brown skin and black hair and sharp-boned faces that promise to be striking once the last of childhood softens from them. But where one is practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a grin that takes up half her face, the other hangs back slightly, hands clasped in front of him, watching Evran with quiet, careful eyes.
They are obviously twins.
"I am," Evran says. "I'm Evran. And you are?"
"I'm Tria," says the one in front, and she is already reaching for his hand, shaking it with an enthusiasm that makes his arm rattle. "And that's Arin. We're Warlord Harath's, well, you've probably guessed, everyone always guesses, it's the face thing."
"She means we look alike," Arin says quietly, from behind his sister's shoulder.
"Obviously we look alike, Arin, we're twins."
"You said 'it's the face thing.' That's not clear."
"It's perfectly clear. Evran, was that clear?"
Evran is smiling so wide his face hurts. "Very clear."
"See?" Tria turns back to her brother with the triumphant air of a girl who has won an argument she was never going to lose. Then she whips back to Evran, braids swinging. "We heard youwere here and we've been waiting to meet you all day. Father said we weren't to bother the delegations, but you're not busy anymore, are you? Your Warlord just left, we saw him go, and you look like you could use someone to show you around."
"Tria," Arin starts.
"Unless you don't want to, which is fine, we understand if you're tired from traveling, the mountain pass is brutal this time of year."
"I would love to be shown around," Evran says.
Tria beams. Arin's shoulders drop with what might be relief, whether because Evran agreed or because his sister has stopped talking is difficult to tell.
