Chapter Text
Daeran's earliest memories are of the bench in the garden.
It's a long walk to the bench. Mama has to lead him every time, because he'd get lost otherwise, the winding path surrounded by pretty laid flowerbeds in straight neat rows and large flowering trees. It's made of indented dirt rather than the usual gray stone that lines the rest of his mother's gardens. He holds her hand--or her three fingers, since that's all he can fit in his grasp--and they both go slow.
The sun shines through the trees on a rare, perfectly clear day, flaring the bright corona around Mama's blond hair. She's beautiful, she's always beautiful, but here it's in a different way, her hair caught in a loose braid rather than inlaid with ribbon and jewels, her dress straight-lined and made for work in the dirt rather than dance and chatter with her many, many friends. Here, her only friend is Daeran, and the smiles she has are all for him.
The air smells of flowers. And while they walk, his mother sings, the same song she always does when they head to the bench:"Oh, ho, the garden path, the pathway to the gardens, oh! Long path, the winding path, the pathway to the gardens oh! By the path there is a tree, a large tree, a weeping tree--tree by the path on the pathway through the gardens, oh! Past the tree, there is a bush, a large bush, a lilac bush--bush past the tree, past the tree by the path, on the pathway through the gardens, oh!"
It keeps going, his mother listing each thing by the path as they cross it, a winding recitation--vines by the moss, by the moss on the rock, on the rock past the fork, past the fork by the flowers...Daeran would try to sing along, but he always gets lost halfway through, forgetting if the bush had been by the creek or the reeds, or if the nest had been in the branches of the green tree or the willow tree. Mama always laughs when he stumbles, the kind of laugh that invites him to laugh, too, and he's big enough to walk the whole way now, so he'll be big enough one day to sing the whole song.
They'll get there eventually, long after Daeran's feet have started to hurt and the late morning light has grown golden in afternoon--the little clearing with the big bench, tall enough Daeran needs to be lifted to sit on it. The white marble is patterned in dappled shadow where the leaves of the tree over it filters the sun, and Mama takes a moment to examine the branches--it's around his birthday, and they are heavy with green fruit. Mama takes a pear straight from the tree and they take turns biting into the flesh.
Time is strange, when a memory is so old, worn thin like paper in a well-loved book. This could have been one day, but it was more likely many days, all similar except for the slight differences in the song along the way; Daeran would learn later that the lyrics were composed of the things his mother took notice of while they walked. The pear they eat is sometimes soft with ripeness, or crunchy and slightly tart, and sometimes there is no pear at all but little white flower buds that decorate the branches of the tree and carpet the bench and the ground beneath it.
This day, or one day, or many days: it all ends the same way, the filtered light of the sun turning dusky with early evening, and Mama telling him that it was "time to go have dinner with Papa, now." Daeran always gets off the bench without complaint; by that point the marble is uncomfortable under him, and while he could stay there forever, he could just as easily go. He can walk, he wants to walk, but the next thing he knows he's in his mother's arms, face pressed against the soft fabric of her collar, and the world is dark and heavy against his closed eyes.
His mother's hold on him is confident and strong; she will never let him fall. And in his ear, he hears a different song, a lullaby that presses him further into sleep.
#
"I want a lamb," Daeran tells his mother.
He is older now, old enough that he has to see his tutors every day rather than every other day, except for Sundays, which it must be this day because the book he is reading is one he likes for once. His mother is reading with him, a quiet day for her. There are very few quiet days, for Mama--most days are Event Days, especially recently.
It doesn't make a lot of sense to Daeran. Event Days have dinners that are long and full of people Daeran doesn't care about and Mama has to smile all night, even when the conversation is boring and it's past bedtime. They don't do anything fun, and her cheeks must hurt to smile so much, but she never complains. And she always makes sure there are at least three Event Days a week, like she wants to have long boring dinners all the time.
"Lamb--for dinner? I suppose we can ask Reann if she can muster it up, but I'm pretty sure the kitchen has already started preparing morels." Distracted, Mama turns a page--her book is large and unwieldy, something with flowers on the cover. Another gardening book, which means that in the next few months she'll have another flower bed set up somewhere, with exotic plants she'll have exacting directions for to keep them alive, if only for a season. They're pretty until they're not, until they're replaced with something else.
"No," Daeran rolls his eyes. "As a pet."
Papa has been gone for less than year--long enough that the harsh pain of it has dulled a little, but not long enough for the house to stop feeling so empty. Neither of them go into his old office, or the room where they'd laid his sickbed, and yet Heaven's Edge still feels cavernous without his wheezing laugh.
Even with all of the Event Days, the rooms full of people still feel empty. And on days there aren't people, Mama just spends all her time in the gardens, or reading about gardens, and getting fussy over the plants. The obvious way to fix this all, of course, is to bring something else into the house.
Mama won't have any more children--and good, too, because Daeran visited Mama's friend Lady Deandre last year and her newborn cried so loud the sound scraped his ears from the other side of the manor. The thought of that in Heaven's Edge makes him want to jump out a window. They can't make do with just friends--they don't like coming so far north unless Mama's throwing a party, but you can't throw a party forever, and Daeran's not allowed to stay in the banquet hall past his bedtime so it would be pointless to try that route. There are servants, obviously, but while they know them all by name and Daeran says hello to them every morning, they don't let him play or do anything interesting at all, really, so they're useless.
What he really needs is a pet. Something cute so Mama likes it, that will also like to go outside with him and want to play with him, so not a cat, but not loud like a baby, so definitely not a dog. He hasn't seen sheep outside of storybooks, but their eyes are so big in those pictures and they seem quiet but also would prefer outside. His warmest coat is also wool, so he knows they'd be warm too--if he ever got cold or lonely in bed he could just have the lamb sleep with him. It's perfect.
"A pet," Mama repeats. Her book is on her lap, forgotten. Her attention is entirely on him, her pale brows climbing high on her forehead. "What in the world would you want a lamb as a pet for? Don't answer that. No, you can't have a lamb."
"Why?"
"Because it's not an appropriate pet for a noble, dear."
"Why?" Daeran asks again, this time angry at the unfairness of it. Lambs were cute! He could get a nice big ribbon to put around its neck! He'd name it Lambchop and never, ever eat it! It would love him forever!
"Because it's a farm animal," Mama says. "It belongs in the fields, not in houses with nobility."
"Why?"
Mama's face pinches like it does when Daeran won't eat his greens and she's about to tell him to go to his room. "Because nobles have to be respectable...we have to be above reproach. And nobles don't have lambs for pets, we'd be ridiculed of for it."
"Why?"
"Because--because it's not done!" Even Mama can tell that's not a good excuse. "Look my boy, nobles are very silly about a lot of things, and one of them is that they care too much about how things appear. You have to look a certain way, and act a certain way, all because your great-great-great-great grandfather was gifted land and a title for driving Kellids out of Mendev. So we live in a nice big house, and hold nice dinners so that everyone knows we're nice people, and we don't slurp our soup, and we don't have lambs for pets."
Daeran pauses, considers that. Then, finally he asks, "Why?"
"Oh for--" Mama suddenly moves in a blur, throwing herself off her chair and over to Daeran, dragging him off his. Her fingers dig into his sides, making him squeal with laughter.
"Do you want to know why? Do you really want to know why? It'll smell!" She's laughing too now, rolling around on the carpet with him. "Do you want a stinky pet? Do you want to always smell like a barn? Because that's what will happen if you get a lamb! Don't think I won't make you clean it up yourself either! No servants will help, it'll be your responsibility--it won't be so nice to have around when you're trying to keep the wool from getting dirty, now will it?"
Daeran can't answer. He's too busy laughing until he runs out of air, squirming to get away from his mother's tickling hands.
Mama eventually lets go, rolling over to lie beside him on the carpet. They both take a minute to catch their breath.
When Mama's own harsh pants even out, she says, "We'll get you a pony, Dae. There's room in the stable for one. How does that sound?"
Not as nice. A pony can't sleep in his bed with him; he knows they're smaller than horses, but he imagines they'd still be pretty big. He wouldn't be able to pick it up and carry it around like he wanted to with a lamb, either.
But...he would be able to ride it around. That might be nice. And he could probably find a ribbon big enough to fit around its neck, too.
"I suppose that's acceptable," he says as proper as he can manage, and Mama laughs and laughs and laughs.
#
Daeran is eight the first time he runs afoul of the revered Nestrin.
It's a long time coming. Nestrin hates him, has hated him since he first joined the Arendae household last year, with his paladins and his giant boring books and his endless lessons. It's even worse because the things he's actually teaching would be interesting, Mendev's history and geography and how people make decisions that affect the whole country--but when the revered Nestrin teaches it, he makes it sounds as interesting as grass growing, and he always has to put in stupid lessons about Iomadae's grace to boot.
It's not Daeran's fault he can't pay attention when he has to suffer through the longest, dullest lessons imaginable. Nestrin's patience wears thin on a daily basis, and he likes to assign lines for practice until Daeran's hand hurts when Daeran amuses himself too much.
It's also not Daeran's fault when, on a sunny summer day shortly after his eighth birthday, he breaks the statue of his great-grandmother.
Technically. He doesn't really break the statue of the woman itself. He had no intention of doing so, even though the likeness of the stern, witch-faced woman gave him nightmares as a baby and could only be improved, even if it was through breaking something off.
Instead he's decided to amuse himself by stealing some cream from the kitchens while Reann wasn't looking and giving a brilliant mustache to his haggard old ancestor. He'd clambered up the enormous monstrosity--the larger-than-life woman displayed in full marble armor upon a marble horse rearing its head--and balanced himself against the horse's neck, his feet anchored on the old woman's knees. It wasn't terribly comfortable, but it would let him carefully sculpt the cream facial hair. He wanted to give her the biggest mustache Mendev has ever seen, one that curled at the edges and hid the scowl she gave everyone.
He had only scooped up a little bit of the cream when something cracks behind him--under him--and he tumbles down alongside the horse’s head, neatly severed from the rest of its marble body and falling to the ground with a thunderous smash as Daeran hits the cold marble floor, shooting pain up his back and legs and knocking the wind out of him. Its blank white eyes stare into Daeran's as they lay side-by-side on the ground.
Daeran holds the empty gaze for a second, winded and stunned and aching all over, locked into a staring contest with the stupid horse's head. It's the sound of echoing footsteps from the other side of the hall that breaks the spell, shooting him upright.
He just broke the ugliest statue in the manor, but Nestrin will burst a blood vessel seeing it and assign him enough lines his hands will fall off if he gets caught. He's about to just get up and run away, but then he sees the bowl of cream, spilled all over the equine head and covering it in evidence.
Maybe if it's just the horse, someone could think a strong wind blew it off--since apparently it was so delicately connected to the rest of the sculpture that even the slightest pressure would break it--but with the cream, people would wonder. Reann would know that Daeran takes from the kitchens all the time. It wouldn't be long before fingers pointed his way, and then it's lines all over again.
He has to get rid of the evidence, and now--he doesn't think any more, he just reaches down and hefts of the horse head, nearly knocking himself over in the process. Why is it so heavy? Trying not to make too much noise in case the servant searching for the source of the cracking can hear him, he waddles over to the nearby window and chucks it out, where it lies like a bright white beacon on the mulch.
Anyone walking by could see it from miles away. Daeran follows it outside, grunting as he lands halfway in one of mother's bushes and half on the hard stone. He’ll be bruised like a bad peach by the end of this. He sends a quick silent prayer up to Iomadae--who knows, maybe Nestrin is correct and Iomadae will bless those in their time of greatest need--and half-rolls, half-carries the thing all the way to the lake. It goes in the water with a large splash, and sinks into the mud until there is no trace of the marble in the opaque water.
"What is going on here?" Daeran jumps at Nestrin's voice, but it's still from the family hall--great-grandmother's statue has been discovered. He runs into the woods and then doubles back, heading toward the hall as if following the increasing sounds of commotion. By the time he gets there, Nestrin is surrounded by two paladins--as if it was a demon who killed the poor marble horse--and servants sweeping up the dust from the cracked rock and talking amongst themselves.
"Did something happen?" Daeran asks.
Nestrin turns to him like a bloodhound finding a hare. His voice is level when he speaks. "Daeran, did you do this?"
"What? No! How could I? I don't even know what's going on." Daeran scrunches his face in confusion, looking and sounding perfectly innocent.
But Nestrin has it out for him, and his face pinches in cold disapproval. "You are the scion of the oldest house in Mendev. Lying is beneath you. Just tell us what happened and where the rest of the statue is."
"I'm not lying!"
Nestrin blinks at the vehemence in Daeran's voice, rearing back. "You will not yell at me, young man. I know you are lying, and if you continue to do so your punishment will only get worse."
Daeran stomps his foot. "You can't punish me for something I didn't do, that's unfair!" Indignant fury bubbles in his blood. Yes, he did do it, but Nestrin can't know that, and it's insulting that he just assumes it must be Daeran's fault! There are three dozen staff at Heaven's Edge, not to mention Nestrin and his stupid paladins. Any one of them could have done it. But Nestrin's only pointing his finger at him!
Nestrin's scowl deepens, the sides of his mouth going white. Daeran's never seen him this angry. "You are going to tell me where the rest of the statue is, right now. And then we are going to the chapel and praying--no, you will not argue. If you were any other student, the punishment would be far harsher. Dishonesty is the first sin on the path to demons. Do you want to go to the Abyss? Because you will if you keep acting like this!"
"And you will have a problem right now if you keep raising your voice in such a manner."
Daeran turns to his mother, standing at the entrance of the hall with her arms crossed. Her face is set and disapproving, like stone, and Daeran withers a little when she turns that cold gaze to him. "What is going on here?"
Nestrin gestures to the horse-headless statue. "Ywain Arendae's sculpture has been defaced and the young lord will not admit to his crimes."
"That's because I didn't do anything!" Daeran howls. "Something's gone wrong so Nestrin's decided that of course it's my fault, and won't even listen to me--Mama, he said I'm going to go to the Abyss if I don't say I did it!"
Sometime during Daeran's defense, the cold expression melts away from Mother's expression, leaving something worn and exhausted in its place. Mother sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Okay. You're saying you didn't do it--I'm trusting you."
The indignant anger freezes and melts away. "Oh. Good."
"I need your help then. Who do you think did it?"
"…I don't know. One of the servants. Maybe they knocked into it while dusting."
"A fair theory. If that is what happened, you're saying it was Aubergine who did it. She was taking care of the east wing today. Aubergine?" Mother turns her attention to the servant behind her and dutifully, the freckled half-elf steps forward, gaze on the floor. "Dae, I know you were playing in this part of the house. Did you see anything? Did it look like Aubergine might have done something?"
Something sharp and thorny settles in his chest, pricking at his lungs. He didn't like this. "I don't know. I guess."
"Well. I've already spoken to Aubergine right before this. She was the one who actually came to get me about the missing head and she said she found it this way. So, if that's the case, then she was lying. What do you suppose we have to do about that?"
Silence. Daeran knows these exercises--Mother sitting him down, walking him through situations, asking what he thinks is the best course of action. They've always been made up, before. But she's always serious when she asks for his opinion. "I guess...she has to pay to get it fixed?" It couldn't have been that much, could it? The statue had been so ugly. And Mother always insists on paying the servants so much, bonuses and little celebrations on their birthdays and gifts every new year. It wouldn’t be that bad for her.
"That would be good, but unfortunately, Aubergine lied as well. Honesty is so important, Dae, especially where we are, especially now. The Worldwound and its demons are always a threat, so we must always be able to trust our staff. Even about the little things. Even when they make mistakes."
"So, we can't trust her. I guess...we have to sack her?"
"Yes, it looks like that's the only recourse." There's no hint of a smile on Mother's face, and Daeran's stomach sinks. "What happens now?"
"What?"
"After she leaves. Where do you think she will go?"
Daeran wants to leave, actually. Preferably to go to his room, or maybe the stables to see his pony. Anywhere, really, is better than here right now. "Kenabres? Who cares?"
"It's important to consider the consequences of decisions, my boy," Mother chides. Her voice is gentle. "Even if the initial decisions were hers. Kenabres is likely the easiest choice...it is closest. What should she do then? We can use this to give her some advice."
"Get another job?" That's what servants had to do, right? They need jobs for money.
"Will she find work?" Mother wonders. "If anyone asks me why I let her go, I would have to tell them the truth. Why would anyone want a liar in their employ, especially in Kenabres? The city is a bulwark against demonic forces, and they tirelessly search for spies, saboteurs, and cultists amongst their citizens. Do you remember what Nestrin taught you of the Red Morning Massacre? Of course, we wouldn't expect Aubergine to be like that, but one lie means she could always be lying, and no one in Kenabres knows her like we do. No one will hire someone they can't trust."
Which would mean she couldn't get a job, and that meant she couldn't get any money. People need that to get a house, and food, and everything else, Daeran knows this even if Mother didn't think he did. He chews the inside of his cheek, feeling sick.
Mother still stares at him, waiting for him to continue the game--to tell her that Aubergine would go hungry, and live on the streets like the paupers did in novels, and probably die there too. Daeran doesn't say any of this, and the longer the silence stretches on, the longer his mother's face becomes.
Disappointed, she's disappointed in him, because she already knows the truth about what happened and wants Daeran to confess. He's not stupid. She never believed him, and she's making him think of poor Aubergine starving as punishment for lying.
Best get it over with. "Fine. Fine.It was me. I sat on it wrong, and its stupid horse head popped off. I threw it in the lake."
Mother's eyebrows rise on her forehead. "Is that so? Thank you for telling the truth, Dae." Her voice is even and gentle. "Go to your room, please. Once we have everything sorted out with the servants, you're going to help them get the head. I'm sure you can be of assistance reattaching it somehow. And--Sofie and Vell, please go with him and pack away his toys. Daeran, you can have them back after a week. I imagine the revered Nestrin will want to assign lines as well, so you can do those to occupy your time."
"What?" Daeran screeches. "Why? I told the truth--and it was an accident!"
"It still happened, and before you told the truth you lied about it. Actions have consequences."
No matter Daeran's wheedling at the unfairness of it all, Mother remains firm. Eventually, he stomps after Sofie and Vell, who enter his playroom and start packing up the dolls, blocks, and even the rocking horse in silence.
He's not stupid, he knows they're mad. When he gets in trouble and his toys get taken away, they usually offer sympathetic smiles or tell him that it will only be for a little while, but this time they're silent.
Did they think Mother was going to actually fire Aubergine, or are they just angry that he almost let it happen? The thought twists in his stomach, getting worse with each second they don't look at him, focused on their task.
He doesn't need to be here, watching them put away all his things so that his playroom can be empty and boring. Turning on his feet, Daeran stalks into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Even with the servants out of sight, the painful cramping continues, and his chest feels tight. Eventually, he throws himself on his bed, burying his head into his pillow to scream.
It's not fair! He was just bored and alone like he always is, because Mother's too busy with her stupid city friends and Nestrin is such a wet rag he could make learning to fly a chore. If Nestrin hadn't threatened him he wouldn't have lied anyway! He's pretty sure, at least. It's not his fault that great-Grandmother's statue was so ugly and fragile, or that Nestrin is an old codger who hates Daeran.
Everyone hates him now. All the servants do for risking Aubergine's job, and Mother does too for letting the lie go on for so long and--and--it was an accident! If they don't want him around, they can just say so! He'll pack a bag and go to Kenabres and join a circus. Maybe they'd all like him better if he was gone.
Sniffling and rubbing his face against the silk pillow, Daeran rises and grabs his adventuring pack from the chest under his bed. It's not very big, made for carrying lunches when he decides to go exploring through the endless gardens of Heaven's Edge, but Kenabres isn't that far, and he'll be able to get more in the city. Kenabres has everything, he just needs to get there.
He gets the essentials--a spare set of clothes, his toothbrush and hairbrush, some wrapped cakes that Reann made for him earlier in the day, and old Tanny, the one doll no one's allowed to take from him because Papa gave it when he was a baby--and opens the window next to his bed. Heaven's Edge is just one floor with no stairs except to the basement, and Daeran's able climb over the sill and drop down. He uses the window all the time when he wants to go out; no one's realized that the lock hasn't worked for ages because he knows how to close it just right so that it's impossible to tell.
They'll figure it out now that he's going to go away. They'll regret it, and being mean to him, too. The thought gives him a little bit of comfort and he walks around the edge of the house, making sure to creep so he's not easily spotted. He's not totally sure where Kenabres is--he never paid a lot of attention during the carriage rides unless Mother made the trip into one of her song-games--but he knows it's just on the road, and there's only one road, really, leading from the front of the estate. It shouldn't be that hard to find.
He's near the front of the house when he passes by an open window. There are figures moving behind the sheer curtains--it's Mother's office, which means that must be Mother. Daeran creeps even more slowly, trying to be silent and invisible.
"--severe lack of discipline," Nestrin's voice floats through the ajar window. Daeran freezes. "You allowed him to lie extensively about what he did and then let him off without any kind of proper punishment."
"Is that so? I'm sure you have very specific ideas of what proper punishment entails, of course." Mother's voice is--different. Strangely light, almost amused, but with the same kind of edge that she only takes on when she's about to go walk into an empty room and scream in a pillow. Daeran's only ever heard her use it when she's trying to argue down pricing for whatever boring household details she always needs to hash out with the servants, or when she's lost her patience with him. She's never turned it on someone so honorable and above reproach as Nestrin.
Running away can always happen later. Daeran creeps closer, pressing against the wall and crouching down under the window's sill, so that he can hear the rest of the conversation clearly.
"What happened today is not an isolated incident." Nestrin has calmed down, his tone distant and a little disapproving. Daeran's lip curls up into a sneer just listening to it. "The young lord has shown a consistent lack of consideration to his duties and his station. He refuses to pay attention to lessons or follow the instructions of his elders. His times rampaging through your gardens show little sense of decorum or decency. He makes paper boats of out of holy texts, draws caricatures in the margins of his notes, and frequently speaks below his station. He's wild. Impetuous. Defiant beyond reason--"
"He's a brat," Mother says, voice flat with exhaustion. Daeran jerks at the word, but before he can feel more than the initial shock--a bit like a slap in the face, but without the pain--she continues. "He's also eight. Everyone's a brat at eight! He's allowed to be wild and silly and impetuous and whatever else you said. He's still growing, it's expected. He's allowed to be all of those things without adults haranguing him for not being a perfect little noble yet."
"I was certainly not half so wild at his age," Nestrin scoffs.
Mother laughs her special laugh, the one that lets the other person knows she doesn't think he's even slightly funny. "Of course not. And I'm sure you're a perfectly impartial judge of how you were as a child."
"Fine, if you must. You were not anything like your son at his age. And I can be an impartial judge on that, considering I taught you."
There is a long, telling pause. Daeran almost doesn't even hear her response. "And I was raised so well, wasn't I? Not a single person can object to how I acted during my childhood."
Even outside, the air is thick with a thousand unsaid things. It takes all of Daeran's meager self-control not to peek up and look through the window, to see the expressions on both grown-ups faces, to find out what makes a silence that tense.
Finally, Nestrin breaks it. "He lied. He tried to blame a servant for his own faults and your reaction is only to take away his toys. How is he going to learn?"
"He told the truth once he realized how lying could hurt Aubergine. He cared about the fact that his actions would hurt a servant, and that's more than I can say about half of the better-behaved lord's sons you can find in Nerosyan. He's going to be there when we fish out the statue head and he's going to help fix Grandmother's statue. He also is going to do any lines you decide to assign him, though know I will find out how much you give and if I find it excessive, I will intervene. Now, I'm sure you can speak of what 'proper punishment' entails until you are blue in the face, but I personally think that that is more than sufficient, and if you disagree you can recall that I am the countess and lady of this house."
Nestrin says something else, but it's lost as they move away from the window. Daeran shrinks away from the wall and, silently, creeps back to his bedroom, climbing back in and putting away his things. Running to Kenabres no longer feels like an adventure with Mother and Nestrin's argument pinging around his head.
Mother was wrong, is the thing. He hadn't confessed because of how it would hurt Aubergine, or any other servant. He'd done it because of how disappointed Mother had looked, when it seemed like he wouldn't say anything. It's the worst feeling in the world, her disappointment, and it's a better punishment than anything Nestrin could do to him.
If everyone's a brat at eight, did that mean Daeran will change into someone Nestrin approves of when he gets older? He's not sure he wants to do that. But then, he also doesn't want to be someone who keeps disappointing Mother, either. Maybe he can find some middle ground. Or maybe changing will be so invisible he won't even notice.
Daeran crawls into bed and goes to sleep. When he wakes up, he will soak his pantaloons going into the lake to help fish out the head he'd rolled in, and will see how they reattach it. He will write lines until his hand cramps. He will move on and remember the entire incident with some amount of humor, as an amusing little anecdote of his youthful follies.
But some things of the day will scratch and remain, though he will not recall them with purpose. The thunderous expression on his tutor's face and his comment about Daeran going to the Abyss. The still, awful look his mother wore when she walked in; how it softened into that even worse disappointment. And that exhausted, flatly spoken sentence: everyone is a brat at eight.
Daeran is never fully sure that his mother told the truth.
#
Daeran's fourteenth birthday begins with an argument.
The party hasn't even started yet, not really. Not that Daeran's looking forward to it--it's just going to be family, the extensive list of aunts and uncles and cousins and cousin's spouses, all Iomadaean priests and Crusaders and nobles, and maybe even the queen too. They're going to turn the entire event--one that's supposed to be for him--into yet another hours-long diatribe about the Forever War against the demons.
"For the last time, Dae, it is still your birthday. It's still a party." Mother reaches over to adjust one of the many flower arrangements littered at the entrance of Heaven’s Edge, where the servants are setting up for the outside luncheon. Daeran could understand if someone walked onto the grounds and assumed the place is decorated for a funeral and not a birthday party, with how many vases packed with blooms filled every corner, as if sent as condolences by a population the size of a small city. "There's going to be cake and musicians and games, and your cousins will be around."
"Titanea is the only one of them even close to me in age and she's still three years older. None of them ever want to do anything with me and you know it." Daeran kicks the ground, hot and frustrated. Nestrin told him he's leading the birthday announcements which means they will take forever, and his new shoes pinch, and the fact that the day looks to be dull and miserable is an intolerable fact when it's his birthday!
Nestrin might have a lovely time talking about the grace of Iomadae and meeting the queen or what-have-you, but Daeran is going to be stuck at the table all alone because the day that's supposed to be about him has turned into another Official Meeting for Adults.
"Your cousins will want to spend time with you," Mother tells him, voice firm, which is even worse because that means she's going to drop hints when they come in that Daeran is lonely and pathetic and needs someone to pity-talk to. "I know you're sad you can't see your friends, but we'll be going to Kenabres in two weeks, and we'll do a second celebration then. Today is for family."
"Oh, good. I get to go sailing with Arty and Glenn," Daeran says, "the two people in Kenabres who are my friends. If they still are! I haven't seen them since Abadius and they stopped responding to my letters, and even if I do see them, it'll still be till next year before I see them again. I don't have anyone here, not even enough people to invite to a birthday party." Daeran pauses, his voice turning wheedling. "If I was just able to see people more often, I wouldn't care so much about my party being commandeered by my family--"
Mother's face pinches, the same way it has for the past six months whenever Daeran brings up the subject. "No."
Daeran stomps his foot, heated. "I don't have anyone here! The only people in Kenabres who even like me only do because their parents are your friends. Everyone who's anyone started going to a proper school ages ago, if not in Nerosyan then at least Kenabres, and they all think I'm an eccentric recluse because I haven't joined them and still deal with Nestrin!"
"You have other friends," Mother says, exasperated. "Para and Fayne go riding with you all the time, don't pretend like you're completely isolated here."
"Para and Fayne are servants, you know that's different. They have to like me."
"Listen, the Arendae family--no, don't put that there," Mother points to a servant carrying the carefully-painted bust of some ancient ancestor Daeran doesn't care about, her voice sharp with stress. "That needs to be in the banquet hall, who told you to take it outside? The sun will make the paint fade. Yes, next to the far wall with the rest of those decorations. Heavens."
She turns back to Daeran, gesturing at him to follow her back into the house, dodging the movement of the staff preparing for the day. "We are the oldest family in Mendev. Our line is as noble as the queen's. That's a great distinction, but also a burden. The world sees us as separate from them, and your status means that you need a different kind of education than most of your peers."
"I don't care how many times you or Nestrin tell me that, it is still the stupidest excuse in the world. Aunt Luverne would get lost walking down a straight hallway and half my cousins can't even ride a horse! How is anyone going to look at them and think they're special because they're Arendaes?"
"It is stupid," Mother agrees. They’ve stopped near the back of the house, next to the kitchen entrance, and her voice lowers. "But that doesn't change how we're seen. What being an Arendae means. Daeran, I know you want to go to a school with others but being alone for months? You're too young. It can be dangerous on your own...I'd hate to think I let you go just for something awful to happen to you."
"So you want me to rot away in Heaven's Edge my entire life instead?"
Daeran stops when Reann turns the corner, her two daughters both carrying a large birthday cake with bright white frosting. As they pass, he reaches out and slides his finger against one of the blue flowers, destroying its shape and pulling back a glob of the sugar; the cook doesn't even notice, directing the girls on to wherever Mother has insisted the cake be placed. Before he puts it in his mouth, though, Mother grabs his hand, her grip gentle but firm. She swipes the icing clean off his finger and puts it in her mouth instead. Daeran scowls.
"You are being dramatic," Mother says. "I'm not locking you in a cellar and throwing away the key, I'm telling you that you can wait until you are fifteen, just like I've said since you first broached the topic. When Nestrin and your other tutors will have finished their main curriculum, then you can go to school. You'll have plenty of time to get a sub-par education in Kenabres, or Neroysan, or wherever else you would like to go, and plenty of time to make as many friends as you like. I promise you'll be the most popular person wherever you go, for your name if not for your charming personality."
Daeran sticks out his tongue and Mother tweaks his nose like he's still twelve. "Guaranteed, you won't even like it that much when you go. You'll see when you get there that it's not all that it's cracked up to be. Heaven's Edge has more than enough for us."
"Easy for you to say," Daeran spits, still stung. "You've already got all the friends in the world."
"Dae...” she sighs. “One day you're going to understand what I mean when I say this: you are never lonelier than when you're surrounded by people who are all there because they want to be near you. I might have a thousand friends, but I only have one son, and one home." Her gaze softens and she reaches up to cup his cheek--it's always startling, the realization that he is now taller than her. "Just one more year, my boy. Then you can go off and fill up every room in Kenabres with your presence, and learn what it means to be lonely in a crowd. One more year at Heaven's Edge won't kill you."
"Ma'am?" Mother turns to Aubergine. If the servant finds their place half-hidden near one of the back entrances strange, she doesn't show it. "The guests are arriving."
"Well, looks like it's time to go." Mother places a hand--still healthy, still whole, unblemished by disease--on Daeran's shoulder. "The party's about to start. You wouldn't want to miss it."