Ice and Fire

Burdens

Much to Felix's dismay, there are no drugs. But there are cakes and cookies and tea and all manner of midmorning delicacies arrayed in sumptuous display, as befits the overgrand parlor of my family's Agean estate. And they are served by a princess on dainty glass plates filigreed with silver eagles, no less.

My niece Amarantha is wearing her favorite gown, a lilac and ivory delight of chiffon and silk, complemented by matching gloves and glittering diamond jewelry, complete with a diadem inset with blue sapphires and immaculately coiffed hair done in the Regency style. Loose tendrils of lustrous curls frame her delicate heartface, expressive and doelike eyes, button nose, and faintly–tinted lips, ever curved into a radiant smile.

It's a bit much, especially for nine in the morning. And it is downright jarring to see her beside her twin brother Hyacinthus who, quite literally, has dirt smeared across his prominent cheekbone. He spent the last hour or so doing his absolute favorite thing: feeding the ducks that live in the nearby lake frozen peas, frolicking about in the mud as he does it. His rumpled navy highCollar, perennially ill–fitting due to his inclination towards random growth spurts, is covered with streaks of dried grass.

"These are very sweet," Amarantha warns, referencing the strawberry–cream tarts. "So don't have too many. Or you'll get sick like Cissy."

Her younger sister, Narcissa, does, indeed, look violently ill on the velvet juniper chaise behind us. Amarantha frowns disapprovingly.

Their father, Valerius, tuts. "I told her to pace herself. To save room for later. But she snuck into the pantry in the dead of night and ate them behind my back. She is quite devious for only three. Her mother's daughter." His lips quirk at that. "The Yellow's fetching her an emetic."

"They are meant to be eaten between sips," Amarantha continues. "Just a little bit. Not too much."

"Thank you, dear cousin, for that invaluable instruction," Killian says, offering her a charming smile. "We would surely descend into gluttony without your guidance."

Felix looks eager to do just that. He is gazing fondly at the stack of cakes like a long–lost lover. But after Killian shoots him a scathing look, he leaves them be, suitably abashed.

Amarantha hums happily as she takes a bite of her lemon cake, posture flawless as she crosses her legs, smooths an imperceptible crease in her gown, and takes an infinitesimal sip of her tea. Elated as she is, you would think she's entertaining the Sovereign herself.

My older brother leans against the archway that opens into the commodious entry hall of our estate, watching us with barely dampened amusement—as always, he looks bone–tired, as if he's suffered many sleepless nights, yet on the verge of a laugh. Nearly as handsome as me—with a prominent brow and a woundingly sharp jawline that even I cannot help but envy—and arguably the keenest strategist in our family, Valerius was once the darling of Olympia and favored to become an Imperator in his own right. After the bitter disappointment of Karnus, who still refuses to find a respectable profession, Father was all too happy to saddle him—the spare to Karnus' heir and barely a year younger—with the responsibility of legacy and the burden of inheritance.

But Valerius utterly lacks ambition or verve—for professional pursuits, that is. He has never wanted to be anything but a husband and father. (And a Hellenophile, to appease our Uncle Cornelius, who has a peculiar fascination with him.) Still, his decision to leave the Sixth—and Eagle Rest—was more than a little scandalous, if only because no one, including me, believes he did it solely to spend time with his children. It shocked us all, especially his indulgent wife, who was crestfallen to find herself no longer married to a Praetor or living on the outskirts of Olympia.