“Well, Elia?” Aefa demanded. Her tone drew Rory’s attention, and he glanced between them, confused.
Holding her voice calm, too aware of the threat to Innis Lear in the form of the Aremore ladies, Elia addressed Rory as if he were in her command already. “You must remain here, for now. I am certain you will be welcome with me at this court, or with your Alsax cousins at their estate. For your own safety. If you have a death sentence on your head, you must be careful in how you address this, and I must be careful my sisters do not see your flight as a desertion.”
He nodded, neck loose, mouth woeful. “What a disaster these stars have been. Elia, you should write to Ban, to see if there has been news.”
Elia flicked a glance at Aefa, whose lips were pursed so tight they seemed a little pink bow. But they could not share any suspicions regarding his brother, not without breaking Rory’s heart further or revealing weakness to the Aremore court. She would write to Earl Errigal himself, instead. There would be nothing bizarre about that, as he’d written her first, and she’d yet to reply. Perhaps she could mend the damage on her own, without wounding either brother more. “I will.”
“Thank you,” Rory said, then he flung his arms around Elia.
Because she knew not what else to do, Elia allowed him hold on to her as tightly as he wished.
SIX YEARS AGO, INNIS LEAR
BY THE TIME he was old enough to understand anything, Rory Errigal understood this: the best way to learn what mattered, in any place or among any people, was to make friends with the women. The oldest women, the youngest, and those with the most secrets. In Errigal Keep, Rory began with the kitchens, using his smile with innocent abandon, and repaying extra cookies and kindness with a willingness to sweep up messes and offer information about his father’s schedule in return, and even once taking the blame for a broken cup that was his mother’s favorite. The housekeeper had made certain Rory’s punishment was mitigated as best she could. He moved on to his mother’s companions next, instinctively knowing when to smile and bring them buttons they thought they’d lost, or mention how he’d noticed his mother admiring a particular shade of blue recently. He made himself beloved of the townsfolk, too, carrying little cups of holy water from the Errigal navel well to the homes of newborns, just because of how the families would cheer. And because they trusted him after.
He was an only child, the earl’s son and heir, pride and promise of Errigal’s future. It was easy for him to love, easier to be generous. What Rory had, he had in plenty enough that sharing cost him nothing.
Until the day his mother left, and Errigal brought Ban into his life.
That day, Rory finally understood some things could not be shared. Sharing was what drove his mother to Aremoria, to live with her sister forever. Rory had too many friends in the kitchens and rear halls, among the wives and children of Errigal’s stewards and retainers, among the bakers and hunters and barrel makers of the Steps, not to hear again and again that his half-brother was a bastard. Discovering Ban’s birth had offended Rory’s mother so greatly, she refused to look upon Errigal’s face or the stones of their home ever again.
He understood his father should not have shared this particular thing, because it hurt his mother, but all that was overshadowed by how entirely wonderful it was to have a brother.
Ban was older, smarter, quieter than Rory, and afraid of absolutely nothing.
For years, the two played at adventures together. Sometimes they snuck into the White Forest, where the spirits whispered secrets to Ban, and then Ban told Rory where to aim his arrows. Sometimes they hid together in the guard stations at the Summer Seat, peering through crenellations to search for sea monsters or an enemy army. Sometimes Ban convinced Rory to do wild things like leap into the deep black waters of the Tarinnish, and sometimes Rory had to punch one of the retainers’ sons for calling Ban a bastard.
Rory thought for a little while that he was in love with the princess Elia, but it didn’t take him long to realize his feelings were only a reflection of his beloved brother’s.
The month every year all three were the same age fell in the early spring, and it was Rory’s favorite. Ban and Elia had not yet had their anniversaries, so remained fourteen, but Rory’s passed, letting him fly older like a loosed arrow to meet them. Errigal brought his two sons north to Dondubhan after the ice broke, to be with the king and journey to the Summer Seat together, not realizing it wasn’t the chance to spend time among the king’s retainers both boys longed for, but Elia. Though to be sure, Rory, at least, delighted in the soldiers just as much.
Since they’d seen her at the Midwinter festival, Elia had grown to exactly Ban’s height, as Rory pointed out to them when the three dashed off early on their second morning together, across the moorland to the ruins of an old watchtower settled around the eastern shore of the Tarinnish. Ban frowned at Rory’s declaration and stopped walking. Wind ruffled the dark water of the lake, and the first yellow flowers spotting the moor nodded. Then Elia put her toes against Ban’s toes, her hands in his hands, and leaned in until the tips of their noses kissed. She blinked, and Ban blinked, and suddenly Rory felt terribly alone.
He flung his arms around them both to make up for it, and Ban, who’d stopped allowing Rory to push him around with his greater size years ago, released Elia to tackle Rory. They went down, wrestling hard and fast, until, as usual, Rory ended up on top. He
