The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Epilogue

"I did." She handed him a letter when he stepped towards her.

It was from Methodical Joiner. He tried not to deflate and instead leaned casually against the doorway while he opened it.

"Well?" Auntie Charity bounced over to get a closer look.

"He needs me to come up to the hill," Able shrugged and refolded the letter. "Hopefully it's more paperwork and not requested edits. I'll go tomorrow morning." His aunt and brother both accepted this and went further into the house, but his mother tugged Able's sleeve before he could join them. He turned to see her holding another envelope, more substantial and bearing Lark's effeminate, loopy script.

He knew his breath had caught, and he also thought he saw a knowing look in her eyes. He'd made the decision to receive correspondence from Lark at home because it would attract less attention than at the University. It was nerve-wracking trying to encode what he really wanted to tell his lover into updates about the chronicle, and often enough the subtextual messages did not seem to be understood, but he was too paranoid about the letters being intercepted to do otherwise. It looked like the frequency of these exchanges, back and forth across half the world, was enough to arouse suspicion. If not that alone, his insistence on referring to Lark by his chosen name instead of titles and covering it by saying he didn't want the world to know he and the prince were good friends could be drawing attention.

"Thank you," he said softly, not ready to add anything else.

His mother only nodded and patted his arm before she turned back into the kitchen to resume her work. Some day he would tell her the truth. Maybe she would be ready when he was.

But for now, he went back outside and under the house to lean against a floodpost so he could gently work the seal open in privacy, for it was no longer solitude. Lark's letterlocking techniques were flawless, and it became a game akin to foreplay. Lark always surprised with clever folds that tucked in on themselves, and Able could not help but imagine him grinning as he watched Able try to figure it out.

I am in Aimsby, and I'm sorry if the gap since my last letter caused you any worry. The voyage back was as fine—or as fine as it could be! I started several letters while in Pearlshore before I realized that anything I sent from Aimsby would get to you faster anyway, so I just saved all my thoughts for one big letter!

I haven't had to work with my new "team" yet. So far their impression of me is tarnished with vomit, but perhaps I've redeemed it somewhat by riding ahead—only the body guard and defense minister opted to ride instead of waiting on carriages. They wanted to take the roads! I am still laughing. The state of Pearlshore and the road out of it had their eyes falling out of their heads. I hope they realize they have no idea what they've gotten themselves into and will start backing off. Yeah, I know you've warned me about hope—but what else can I do?

Instead I met up with Light and his captains here in Aimsby, which for its part is doing well. We've sent riders to all the towns asking them to elect councilmen and be quick about it. My hope is that if the Borealund council is up and running, the proof of its capabilities will have my father's men counseling him to accept it as a demand for ratifying the treaty. The defense minister is secretly pleased with me, I think, though he keeps giving the lectures he says he "has" to.

Reeve accepted my offer to have him and his closest re-stationed—seemed relieved about it. Maybe this was too lenient of me...I don't really know. I've thought a lot on what kind of ruler I want to be, you know (besides none at all!), but trying to imagine it and how I'd feel about it was like grasping at straws. Being in the thick of it has been better, it doesn't seem as hard doing it as thinking about doing it. But I might have poor perspective of the whole business. I've looked forward to re-establishing frequent communication with you, so that you can build fortresses of my straws (did you like that? I've been carrying it on a scrap in my pocket for weeks so I wouldn't forget it!).