13

She then turned and disappeared into bath. Valere stepped onto the balcony. One hand came to rest over his heart, while the other rose toward the heavens. Golden light gathered beneath his palm, unfurling into a radiant mandala whose circles bloomed through the air.

“Garuka!"

He called and the blue-and-gold eagle alighted upon the railing before he had even opened his eyes. "My Prince," she inclined her head.

“Bring Nanna," he added. "Now.”

Garuka gave a single nod and was gone in the blink of an eye, then before three heartbeats had passed, she returned with Nanna.

“Valere,” Nanna climbed down from Garuka's back. "You spent n..."

“No time for talk,” he cut her off before she could finish. “We have exam, and she needs help with her hair because her arm is injured," his voice dropped into quiet urgency. “And do not speak to her about anything else.”

“What do you take me for?” Nanna dismissed him with a careless wave of her hand, already walking toward it.

“Do not tell her stories about me,” Valere stopped her near the door. “She is an orphan, so do not speak to her about the Coitus Ceremony.”

“Gods be gracious.” Nanna's hand flew to her heart, then she vanished beyond the bathhouse door.

“May she remember silence,” Valere dragged a weary hand across his face, "and may this morning pass without becoming a tale.”

With that prayer offered to no one in particular, he gathered his garments, cast one last glance toward the closed door, then turned away and disappeared into the bathhouse of the adjoining chamber. He returned a changed man, his bluish-brown hair was still damp, darkened by the water, loose strands clung to his brow and temples. Fresh linen rested across his shoulders; practical trousers were cut for movement rather than display, he rolled one sleeve, then the other, measuring the fit against his forearms with the quiet precision of long habit.

Fit for the archery assessment, he decided. Nothing to catch upon a bowstring. He dragged his fingers through his damp hair, sweeping it back from his forehead and reached for his boots then the door opened and he went utterly still, one boot stayed half-laced in his hand.

Ryska stood in the doorway, dressed for the same practical morning as he was. A loose white linen shirt was gathered at her wrists, its softness drawn close beneath a black corset laced just below her breast and wide pleated trousers fell in graceful folds around her legs.

Her hair had been remade in the Aldaene fashion, parted with perfect precision down the middle, three slender braids woven from the roots along either side before the whole of her hair was gathered into one long, immaculate braid that fell like a ribbon of sunlight down her back.

“Ryska,” he breathed.

“Fix your hair,” Nanna stepped forward before he could protest and began putting his damp hair in order.

Valere froze as Nanna's fixed his hair. He had been trying to stand before Ryska as a man worthy of admiration, someone she might look upon and be impressed by, and Nanna, with effortless indifference, had reduced him to a little boy being put in order before breakfast.

“You like her?” Nanna whispered.

“With my whole heart,” Valere nodded.

“Bring her back after the exam,” Nanna said. “I will hold Feast of First.”

“Nanna...”

“I know she has no mother," Nanna cut in. "But you have me, and so shall she. Whatever a mother is meant to do in such a moment, I shall do for you and for her.”

"We..."

“Culture is always the first thing you children forsake,” Nanna cut in. “What will people say? That your first Coitus Ceremony went unheld because your mother left this world?” Her expression softened. “Your mother placed you in my hands, trusting that I would keep you as my own. Let me do what she would have done for you. I shall arrange your Feast of First, you will bring the girl home this evening."

Valere opened his mouth but before he could utter another word, palace servant arrived to announce that food had been prepared.

The conversation died where it stood, and they made their way to the dining table. Yet Nanna’s thoughts refused to leave the marks she had seen upon Ryska’s body. She had raised Valere to be gentle with women, yet Ryska bore red marks across her neck, her breasts, her back, and her arm. She understood that coitus belonged to two people alone and was not for others to question, but she could not allow her own upbringing to fail here. A man, even in the fiercest depths of desire, must remain gentle with a woman in bed. She decided she would speak to him after he returned from his assessments and make certain he understood that he was never to love a woman with heavy hands.

“What would you like?” Valere tilted his head toward the spread before them, and Nanna was pulled from her thoughts.

Ryska's eyes had already gone wide taking it in. The table stretched from end to end beneath the weight of the morning's abundance, warm rounds of bread still breathed steam, bowls of lentils the color of gold, fragrant rice, vegetables dressed in herbs and butter, thick milk, buttermilk, honey, cheeses, dried fruits, and nuts gathered as though the harvest of an entire valley had been invited to breakfast.

“You eat all this,” she asked, “for breakfast?”

“No, this is full course meal," the servant standing at the edge of the table bowed his head. “The Crown Prince asked for it to be prepared this way, my lady," the servant said. "The whole day will go in assessments and there will be no time left for the midday meal.”

Ryska let her gaze travel across the table again, taking in every dish before she looked back at Valere. “There is no meat.”

“Meat is for winter,” Nanna said. “Summer and the monsoon belong to whatever the myris and the sea grants, grain, fruits, and fish.”

“What meat do you like?” Valere asked. “I shall have it brought.”

“I shall try these strange vegetables instead,” Ryska pointed to the pot of golden gravy, where small cubes rested beneath the surface.

“That is a milk cube,” Nanna said as she served it onto Ryska's plate. “It is not a vegetable.”

Ryska offered her a small, sheepish smile before looking toward Valere, who was eating the very same dish with flatbread, tearing it apart with his hands. She tried to do the same, but the bread refused to yield beneath her fingers. She had never eaten this way before, had never even seen bread or food like this. Valere noticed her quiet struggle, tore off a piece, dipped in gravy, and held it out to her.

Ryska accepted the bite, and a quiet smile touched Nanna’s face as she moved to the seat beside her. “I shall teach you.”

“She will not learn it easily,” Valere said. “She is Vianian.”

“You eat your own breakfast,” Nanna replied, picking up a piece of fish and holding it toward Ryska. “Try this.”

“I do not like fish.” Ryska recoiled at once.

“Then this?” Nanna pointed toward the dried, spiced vegetables.

“No, I do not like vegetables.”

“Then do you eat only meat?”

“Mutton, mostly,” Ryska took another bite of the green vegetable gravy and said mid chew. “This one is surprisingly good.”

“Do you like it?” Nanna smiled. “It is monsoon green.”

She barely let Ryska finish one bite before offering another dish, watching her face for the smallest change in expression, asking after every few mouthfuls whether she liked it, and reminding her again and again not to force herself to eat anything she did not enjoy. Valere watched the exchange and understood Nanna was trying her hardest to care for the girl she had quietly decided he would one day bring home.

“Forgot me?” Valere complained, if only to draw Nanna's attention away before she overwhelmed Ryska entirely.

“You are no child,” Nanna dismissed the attempt with a careless wave of her hand.

“And she is?” Valere shot her a sidelong look in the middle of chewing.

“He is rather fond of theatrics,” Nanna told Ryska. “Do not reward him for it.”

Ryska smiled and then lowered her eyes to her plate. It was too much, this sudden, effortless care after the life she had lived through the past two months. Every insistence that she eat only what she liked reminded her of a home where she had been raised in loving hands.