Ivan

When the grave was filled, Ivan stood by Miles' side for a moment. Ekaterin was attending to one of the children and for a handbreadth of minutes they were alone. Ivan looked down at his little cousin. Uncharacteristically, almost scarily, Miles was quiet and still. His pale skin was tinged with a faint grayness and there was nothing to read in his eyes. Ivan shivered. Would he one day carry his cousin's coffin?

There had been no funeral for his first death, just absence. Ivan had cried for him in a dark garden, but had burnt no offering. Gods, or whatever held the universe together, willing Miles would die so old now that a cluster of sons would speak for him and burn their offerings while Ivan watched. And Mark, Mark would stand before him too. Some days it didn't sting that Miles had gained a brother while he became an onlier child, and some days… were different.

Miles shifted a little and looked up at Ivan, with eyes still empty. Ivan tried for words, banter. It dried on his lips. It was Miles who spoke.

"Stay with me." Flat, simple.

Ivan nodded. The faintest smile.

"The Count my cousin."