Morn, Fir of Marla: 29 Xiven

Eight months—a full year—passed with Kayin’s stomach never loosening, never relaxing from the anxiety the peka attack gave him. Tidesa’s cold secrets were his only company; no one else seemed to know that her plans for him meant he would some day leave Yatora, never to rule.

Everyone still called him Prince Kayin. Everyone held him at arm’s length. Tae gave up every game to let him win, never admitted to losing on purpose. Teachers complimented his answers to questions whether or not he was correct.

In an overwhelming moment of loneliness, Kayin shouted at a servant when she told him to put on his shoes: “I’m not even going to be a king, why do I need shoes?”

“Oh, Your Highness!” fawned the servant as she dropped to her knees. “You will be the most benevolent, the wisest king! You will lead us to the Golden Age! Have faith in yourself as we all do!” Worse, still, she took his tears to mean that she had to shower him in more empty compliments with promises of a future she couldn’t see, a future she didn’t know Tidesa was lying about. He couldn’t figure out what it was that he felt when he watched the servant grovel, just that it made his chest ache. Every time she said something nice like, “You’ll be the smartest, the greatest king!” it only hurt more.

Kayin started to wear his shoes without complaint after that.

The only other person that didn’t shower him with shallow promises of the future was Sepik. As far as he could tell, she didn’t know he wasn’t meant to stay here. If she knew that, he had no doubt she would celebrate every day until he did leave.

Although Kayin and Sepik were only forced to sit next to each other during the three designated meal times, it was still far too often. Sure, eating this much helped make him feel stronger, like he could focus more and get through the day with less struggle, but he’d take eating less if it meant he didn’t have to sit by her.

And after Tidesa’s confession, that Sepik was the only one to rule Yatora, Kayin’s sourness leaked into sarcastic comments. Sepik might be a queen some day, but she won’t be his queen. He’ll be long gone before she came of age. So, maybe so he wouldn’t explode in any other way, he grumbled under his breath more often.

One time during dinner in particular, Sepik was complaining as usual, something about how she resented eating edia again.

“Yuck!” she cried. “Is there a spice out there that can mask its stench, at least?”

And before Kayin could stop himself, he mumbled, “Is there a spice out there that can mask yours?”

Tae, on the other side of him, started to choke on a mushroom. It wasn’t a big enough scene to garner too much attention from the adults, but it was distracting enough so that Sepik forgot to retort.

When everyone blessed Ichaemi for giving Tae his air back, the dinner table settled back down, and Tae waited a few moments before he nudged Kayin with an elbow.

He whispered, “I thought that was kind of funny.” Maybe it was because Kayin wasn’t supposed to acknowledge the comment at all, but he couldn’t help but notice Tae didn’t add a ridiculous formal title after it. It shouldn’t have been a form of encouragement, but it certainly felt like one.

Turn, Fir of Marla: 29 Xiven

The very next day, after nighttime quiet reading, Kayin remained in the study room to stare at the other books. Books didn’t lie to him, exaggerate, or call him by false titles. Books gave him every answer he asked, even the fictional ones. And he was getting pretty good at reading, too.

He stared at the spines of the fiction books the castle had to offer, hesitating at one that had another unfamiliar word. Vaguely, he could tell someone entered the room again, with the way the air felt tighter. But he ignored them in favor of trying to figure out this new word.

“Keeg-ahm,” he murmured to himself.

“It says Cigam,” said Tidesa. Kayin looked to her voice; she stood in the doorway of the study room, with a scowling Sepik beside her.

“Why are we here?” asked the little brat, arms crossed over her chest. Normally, Sepik liked to brandish the expensive embroidery of her dresses, but she didn’t have to pretend to be worth anything in front of Kayin.

“Maybe because you’re too annoying for anyone to handle by themselves,” Kayin spat.

Tidesa sighed. “Come along, Kayin. You and Princess Sepik are being summoned. I expect you both to behave.” Summoned? Right before bed? He was sure to snatch the book about Cigam to carry with him into the hallway, where the king’s Chief of Staff, Arill, stood. The woman didn’t seem panicked, at least. Tired, but that was normal. Arill was one of those people that looked tired no matter the time of day. Maybe it was really hard to be Chief of Staff.

“Arill, I leave them in your capable hands,” Tidesa said. Maybe it was some sort of secret code, because this made Arill look more alert than he’d ever seen her.

“A-alone?” she stammered. But Tidesa just turned around and left toward the other end of the hall. Kayin didn’t have anything more to say, so Arill’s job of just walking with the children to the King’s Private Study Room was relatively simple and easy. He wasn’t sure why she was so scared of them when she worked directly for the King, of all people. What were two annoyed kids to a powerful old man?

Kayin hadn’t been in this room before. He’d never actually been up the stairs and to the far eastern side of the castle at all—he was told it was for adults only, and he wasn’t all that curious about it when he just saw people carrying books to and from this way all the time. He assumed that the King’s Private Study Room was just that, a study room like the one he and Sepik were forced to be in after dinner.

This room, though, was much larger. While every one of the four regular walls held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves containing books and scrolls—some of them half as big as Kayin—the center of the room did not have couches and desks. Instead, it was one, large table that was roughly the size of the one they ate at with some sort of drawing on it. Was that a map? They started looking at those in Life Skills last week. This table was much taller than the dining table, though, so it was difficult to see what particular landmarks they focused on from this angle.

The room was too distracting. He didn’t notice the King standing off to the side of the room in deep blue robes, waiting in the light of the fireplace.

“My children,” the King greeted, his voice taught and wheezing. Kayin fought the urge to correct him. “You’ve grown so much since you’ve come here.” While Sepik methodically folded her hands in front of herself, stood a certain way, Kayin struggled to pick his gaze off the floor. Instead, he hugged the book he grabbed closer to his chest, knuckles white, the wooden cover digging into his arms.

“Why—Prince Kayin,” the old man said, surprised. “What happened to your face? Where did you get that scrape?” This shocked Kayin into looking up. His hand reflexively touched his cheek, to the remaining three, raised cuts from the peka’s claws. If Arill didn’t approach to whisper in the King’s ear, Kayin probably would have said one of those treasonous things Tidesa warned him against saying. It was bad enough people stared at him, but now the King couldn’t even remember why?

“What’s that?” the King asked to Arill’s whispers. “Oh? When? Last year! Did I know this?” Arill nodded as she whispered. “Oh.” Arill took the old man’s odd sound to mean she was meant to step away and let him continue.

“Yes, well,” the King said as he coughed into his hand. “It—it healed well,” he said unconvincingly. “As—as I was saying, children….” The irritation made it too difficult to listen, so Kayin just looked around the room, to the different books and scrolls. The titles he could read from here were all related to strategy and fighting. Was this the War Room? Was this where every failed plan cost so much of Yatora’s land, so many people?

Kayin almost missed what the King said next: “…tomorrow in the village.” Now he looked up. What did he say? Kayin glanced to Sepik, but she looked just as confused.

“Huh?” he decided to ask the King. The King blinked his sagging eyelids.

“A parade is when important people walk around a city to their adoring crowd,” the man said.

“We’re going to the village?” Kayin asked. His heart skipped a beat. And, although Tidesa wasn’t there, he could almost hear her remind him to add, “Your Grace?” The old man nodded.

“This parade to the villagers will show how far you have come from your humble beginnings, my children—” The King covered his mouth with his hand to cough twice into it. His words felt tight and forced, now: “—and is the first step into Princess Sepik’s coronation.” Coronation?

“What’s that word mean, Your Majesty?” asked Sepik in her best fake-sweet voice over more of the King’s coughs.

“That’s when you become Queen, my little princess!” the King announced. “There is much to do between now and when you’re old enough, but this step shows my approval.”

It hadn’t been this cold in a room since the Seed Season began. Kayin’s limbs went numb, his face drained of blood. He hardly heard anything the King said anything after that, not the instructions on how to behave and hold himself, not their route around the village, nothing. His fingers still tingled on the walk back to his room, when he changed into his clothes for sleeping and when he sat on his bed with his book in his lap.

Queen Sepik. Did this mean he was going to have to leave Yatora soon?

No, don’t think about that, he told himself. Focus on that weird word.

“Ex-per-i-ment,” he sounded aloud to himself. Sounding it out, he recognized it. None of the texts he read for classes ever mentioned anything like experiments, like trying things no one else had before. They focused on tradition and stressed listening to elders. This book about Cigam was labeled as fiction, but it had more logic than some of the others he read.

Concentrating on the fresh batch of new words from the book helped calm him, just a little. But there were so many phrases he’d never seen before, and trying to figure out how to pronounce them started to get frustrating. The only thing that kept him going until the light from the fireplace died to mere embers was thinking of Aunt Aayin’s voice narrating all the new words.