Mother watched it all from her seat, feet firmly on the table, crushed leaves stuck to the soles of her boots. All of them sat when the eggs were ready, and the kitchen was filled with the smoky, oniony, thick scent of an ordinary midforest home—a smell that he didn’t associate with this eagle roost of a place.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Naelin said as she spread her napkin on her lap.
“You cooked, Your Majesty,” Mother said.
“With your food,” Naelin pointed out. “I like to cook.” To Ven’s surprise, she sounded cheerful.Could she actually be enjoying this visit?
“Food serves a purpose: keeping a body strong,” Mother proclaimed. “Never saw much point in fancying it up. People who waste their time on that are fools.”
Ven put his fork down. Didn’t slam it. He was proud of that. “You’re insulting your guest, Mother.”
“Yourguest,” she snapped. “Told you, I don’t do hospitality.” Then her eyes widened. He crossed his arms and leaned back as Mother ducked her head in a bow. “Beg pardon, Your Majesty. Of course you are welcome here. These are your woods. Ven will tell you—I’m a woman with strong opinions who speaks her mind.”
“Except when you don’t,” Sira said, still sweet and gentle.
“Always,” Mother said.
“Not always. You haven’t told Ven that you missed him yet.”
Ven reached across the table and covered his sister’s hand with his.That’s Sira, he thought,always seeing good, even where there wasn’t any.He shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. As long as she was here, he could weather whatever Mother said. Sira beamed back at him with the same wide, guileless eyes she’d always had. Changing the subject, he asked Mother, “How’s the border?”
“Tense.”
“Any hint what’s going on beyond it?”
“Been tense over there for years. Worse now. There was some hope when the new queen took over, but then after the invasion failed... Yeah, they don’t like us much. Your Majesty, speaking from my professional opinion, if you’re planning a visit, you should bring a squadron with you. Or at least more than just my son.” Mother fixed her eyes on Ven, and he felt like squirming as if he were thirteen and caught borrowing her longbow without permission. “Why didn’t you bring your candidate?”
“I don’t have one at present,” Ven said. “Queen Daleina has released me from my duties as champion in order to escort Queen Naelin on her mission.”
“I see.”
He braced himself as she stared him, an inscrutable look on her face—he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than her usual look of profound disappointment.
“After dinner, spar with me, Ven.”
Her words surprised him... and yet didn’t.
“Of course, Mother.”
Ven stripped off his armor, leaving him in just a shirt and pants. He laid his knives in a pile, joined by his bow and arrows—when Mother said “spar,” she meant swords and only swords. He then climbed down onto one of the platforms, where she was waiting, just below Mother’s house. “Live steel or wood?” he asked.
“Live,” Mother said.
“Wood,” Naelin said, coming out onto the platform behind him. He turned to face her, but he couldn’t read her expression. Her eyes looked hollow, as if she hadn’t slept in days, though he knew she had. Or thought she had.
“Your Majesty, with all due respect...” Mother began.
“I need him whole,” Naelin said.
Ouch.“I can handle myself,” Ven said. He’d sparred with the best champions in Aratay, trained for years, kept himself at peak readiness. His mother was seventy years old. Surely she must have slowed by now.
Surely...
“Of course you can,” Naelin said. “Use wood anyway.”
He saw Mother smirk, but she picked up two practice swords. He knew they didn’t have bladed edges, but they were vicious things: hardened oak with weights shot through them. Looking at them made his arms and legs ache—he knew the kind of bruises they could leave. Mother tossed him one as if it weighed nothing. Catching it, he rocked back a step, and she smirked again. She was going to enjoy this.
I shouldn’t have said yes. What am I trying to prove?
