The Power and the Glory

Book 1 Chapter I: Arranged

In her most unkind moments Naluran sometimes thought the gods had given Irímé so many blessings to hide they hadn't given him a personality.

While she sulked outside the house the sun had finally slipped behind the hills. The gryphon sailed overhead, squawking at a nest of rooks in the trees. Some of the animals in the menagerie growled and chirped. Voices outside the gate warned her that her other siblings were coming home from their evening at the theatre.

Naluran moved to go back inside. A thought struck her suddenly. Instead of going in the door she turned and ran along the path that circled the house. Lights shone in the library windows. They were partially ajar to allow the cool night air into the house. She stood against the wall and listened. Unless she moved she was indistinguishable from the brick in the half-light.

"Above all," her mother was saying, "you must not offend your future wife. No matter what she says or does -- and I must say I've heard some strange tales about her -- you must not show obvious disapproval. Change the subject if you feel you must say something. And do nothing to make the royal family think you're a country bumpkin!"

There was no reply from Irímé. Perhaps he had fallen asleep after the first hour of their mother's spiel.

"We must pretend changing the wedding date is of no consequence to us," Kumolnea continued.

Naluran did a double take. Changing the what? Why had she heard nothing about this? She handled all the official correspondence. When Irímé's future wife came to visit it was Naluran who arranged the day's itinerary. When Irímé went to visit her in her foster parents' home it was Naluran who arranged his journey.

"I know, Mother," Irímé said in his usual dull tone.

"And be sure not to forget--"

Naluran didn't listen to any more. She needed to check the recent communications from the royal family. Perhaps she'd forgotten something -- though she couldn't see how she could have forgotten that.

~~~~

The allied empires of Saoridhlém and Seroyawa had a long-standing tradition. A child from one royal family would be fostered by the other's royal family, and vice versa. It was a very useful tradition, one that ensured the two empires maintained close relations while also providing a bargaining chip -- or a hostage -- if those relations soured. Kiriyuki perfectly understood the reasons for the custom. She acknowledged that it was a good idea. Most of the time she was quite happy with Abihira as her foster sister.

And then there were times like this. Times when she devoutly wished Abihira had never set foot in Seroyawa.

"Iyeshisu[5]. Please tell me you aren't summoning demons in our boat-house."

Abihira hadn't heard her come in. She yelped and knocked over the ink bottle when Kiriyuki spoke. Black ink splashed all over the sheet of paper in front of her, covering the runes she'd drawn and spilling over onto the floor. Kiriyuki pinched the bridge of her nose. She watched helplessly as the current bane of her existence tried to mop up the ink, and got most of it on her own clothes.

"Kiriyuki-erira[6]!" Abihira stood up, dripping so much ink it looked like she'd been swimming in it, and sketched an overly-dramatic bow. "Please pardon this lowly one's failure to receive you properly. As you see I have been hard at work--"

"Making a mess," Kiriyuki interrupted, torn between laughter and exasperation at her antics. "Which you're going to clean up before you come back to the house. What were you doing, anyway?"

"Nothing," Abihira said promptly. In Abihiraese that always meant, I am up to no good and will wreak havoc if not stopped.

Kiriyuki eyed the ink-stained sheet of paper as if it was a snake about to strike. "Do you know what you're doing?"