Chapter 11

Attar ran ahead of his father to fall in with his cousins as they began their walk to school. "What's that Drachman kid like?" he asked eagerly.

"He's okay," Mattas replied. "Except he gets the room I was gonna get!"

Scar gave his son a mildly severe look. "I'm getting very tired of that, lahaat."

"Yeah!" Winry gave her twin a shove. "Stop complaining! You're lucky to have a home and a family! Mitya doesn't!"

"Yeah, I know," Mattas conceded grudgingly. Then he brightened. "He could share with Turyan! Then he'd really feel like he had a family!"

"It's okay," Turyan piped up. "I can share."

Scar shot Mattas another look and tousled his younger son's hair. "We'll discuss it later."

Miles fell in with them. "Hey, there, birthday girl!" he said to Danika. "Getting excited?"

Danika let out a little breath. She was probably getting tired of everyone asking her that, but she smiled graciously. "I sure am!"

"Yeah!" Mattas chimed in with a look that heralded what he thought was a clever remark. "And then she's gonna have a bunch of soooters!"

"Mattas!" Scar warned.

Danika just rolled her eyes and Winry looked disgusted. "That's dumb, Mattas! Nobody gets married when they're just fifteen!"

"Baata-Zulee did!" Attar remarked eagerly. "My mom told me!"

The twins stared at him then turned wide eyes to Miles. "Is that true, Uncle Miles?" Winry demanded.

Miles nodded. "That's right." Since Zulema was well into her nineties and got around in Havoc's old wheelchair, the kids might have a very hard time picturing her as young, let alone a young bride. Miles didn't have that problem. "She once told me that there was a lot of competition for her hand."

"Yeah, but…" Winry looked doubtful. "Fifteen? I mean, didn't she even go to school?"

"That was a different time, laleh," Scar replied. "Education was prized, but not above survival. And what may have been considered appropriate then is not so now."

Winry scoffed. "Mattas just wants Danika to hurry up and get married so he can have her room."

"I do not!"

"Speaking of education," Scar put in firmly. "We need to get going." He looked at Miles. "Are you on your way to the fort?"

"Not yet," Miles replied. "I wanted to have a few words with Dmitri. I want—"

"We call him Mitya!" Mattas cut in. "He likes that better!"

"Mattas!" Scar said sharply. "When did I tell you it was all right to interrupt people?"

The boy's shoulders slumped. "If the house is on fire," he muttered.

"Is it?"

"No."

Scar nodded to Miles to continue. "I just want to have a few words with him."

"What sort of words?" Scar asked. His tone was outwardly casual, but Miles could hear the underlying suspicion.

"I just want to see how he's getting on," Miles replied, adding with a half grin, "without your son butting in."

The children had already started moving on. "Come on, Papa," Danika called back.

Scar nodded. "Fine," he said to Miles. "Just don't terrorize him."

Miles let out an impatient huff. "Don't terrorize your students."

"Hm!" Scar headed after the children. "They need it."


Miles fended off K'shushi's advances on one side and picked up Timothy, who was toddling past on his other side. He lifted Timothy into the air. "How's it going, little guy?"

Timothy gurgled back complacently.

Rada stepped out of the kitchen. "Can I get you something, Miles?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine," Miles replied. "I'm just stopping in for a minute." He set Timothy back on his feet and looked around the front room. "Where's Dmitri?"

Rada pointed behind her toward the kitchen. "He's just putting his plate in the sink." She moved closer to Miles and spoke quickly in a low voice. "I want you to know that I don't like this! I understand why it has to be done, I suppose, but I don't have to like it!"

Miles smiled at her, a little wearily. He had gotten a very similar lecture from his own wife just the night before. "That's the thing about duty, Rada," he said. "A lot of the time it involves doing things we don't like. That's why it's called duty."

"Hm!" Rada frowned. "When I think of duty, I think of a moral obligation. Is that what this is?"

Miles almost laughed, but he didn't dare do so. "You sound an awful lot like your husband."

"Good!" Rada shot back. Then her features softened into a smile. "I'm sorry, Miles. I just had to get that off my chest."

Miles clicked his heels and gave a little bow, which he meant with complete sincerity. "Ma'am, your remarks are duly noted!" He gave her a shrewd look. "But you and Andakar didn't really have to involve yourselves."

"Oh, I know that," Rada replied easily. "I guess you'd say we're doing our duty." She sighed. "I'll grow fond of him and then he'll be gone to do whatever he's called upon to do and I'll probably never see him again." She lifted her shoulders. "But I'll feel better letting him go with the thought that somebody somewhere cares about him."

Miles had to admit that he hadn't looked at it that way. Looking over Rada's head he saw Dmitri come out of the kitchen. He paused when he saw Miles and gave a nod. "Good morning."

Miles raised an eyebrow at the boy's nearly flawless Amestrian. "That was fast!"

"He's only picked up a little," Rada explained. "But you're right, it was fast."

"How are you this morning, Dmitri Ivanovich?" Miles asked him in Drachmani.

The boy looked up at him, looking almost startled to hear his native tongue. "I'm all right," he replied. He seemed a little cautious, but that might have been because of the uniform.

"Better than staying at the fort?"

Dmitri actually smiled a little. "Yes. I like it here."

Miles felt a twinge of his conscience. Don't get too fond of it, kid.

"And you don't have to be formal. You can call me Mitya, uh…" Dmitri frowned slightly. "How do I address you? As Colonel or as Zhaarad?"

"Colonel will do. In Amestrian it's pronounced ker-nal."

Mitya nodded, registering the new information. Timothy waddled up to him and gripped his pant leg, looking up with a baby-toothed smile.

"How do you say his name?" Mitya asked. "I would say Timofey, but that isn't quite right."

"Timothy?"

"Yes." Mitya looked up at him intently. "How do you make that sound? I want to do it right."

Miles thought for a moment. "Uh…thhh," he uttered experimentally. "You touch the tip of your tongue against the edge of your front teeth and you sort of breathe out."

Mitya frowned a little, then the tip of his tongue appeared between his teeth. "Thhh…thhh."

Miles nodded. He knew that particular sound was sometimes hard for non-Amestrian speakers. "That's pretty good."

Mitya twisted around to look at the toddler, who was cruising around behind him. "Timo…Timothy!"

The little boy pointed at Mitya. "Ggglplh!"

"Timothy likes him so much already," Rada said with a smile as she picked up her youngest. She turned to Miles. "Could you ask Mitya if he'd like to come to the marketplace with me? I know it was a little overwhelming for him yesterday. I'd like to buy him some new clothes. The ones he brought with him are a bit threadbare."

Miles relayed Rada's question to Mitya, who agreed eagerly. The boy turned to Rada and said, "Thhank you!" He gave her an earnest look and added, "Za vsye!"

"For everything," Miles translated with a smile.


"Ah, welcome, Sister!" Alex boomed, spreading his arms wide. "And Brother!" He seemed much more pleased at seeing Shua. Having a brother, if only as an in-law, meant a lot to him. Catherine's young lieutenant was a worthy, not to mention strapping fellow, but Shua was a lot more fun.

"Hello, Alex!" Shua greeted him back, returning the crushing hug. "How's the dig going?"

"Splendid! I was so very honored to be asked to participate!" He turned to Olivier. "You must both come out and see the work everyone is doing. Father and I were just on our way."

Olivier frowned a little. "They've got Father sketching, too? Don't the university types have their own people to do that?"

"Oh, yes, to be sure," Alex replied grandly. "But the project is being headed by Uncle Sebastian, after all. And even the academics recognize the artistic talent passed down from generation to generation of the Armstrong family!"

"Oh, yeah. That." Olivier sneered a little. It didn't get passed down to her. "And I suppose the fact that the Armstrong family is helping fund the project has no influence at all, huh?"

"Don't be silly, Olivier!" Philip Armstrong strode up to them, his sketch pad, easel, and satchel under his arms. "Of course it does! They're college boys! They know exactly how to keep funding people happy! That being said," he added with an arched eyebrow, "we are rather good. Hello, you young scamp!" he greeted Shua. "Keeping out of the scandal rags?" He chuckled, leaning toward Shua conspiratorially. "You know, next time we're both in Central, the two of us should go out on the razzle, eh? Give the newspaper johnnies something to write about!"

Shua just smiled, catching the don't you dare look Olivier gave him. "I don't think I could keep up with you, Phil."

Philip let out a booming laugh. "Ah, well, spending time with all these youngsters has put a bit of spring back in my step! Ah, good! 'Morning, Salar!" he called to the puller who had just dropped Olivier and Shua off. "Mind if we appropriate your rickshaw?" He moved on toward the road with Alex falling in alongside him. "Mother's inside at breakfast," he called back over his shoulder. "Do spend some time with her."

Olivier sighed resignedly. "That's why I'm here, Father."

She and Shua went up to the house. By Armstrong standards, it was tiny. By Ishvalan standards, it was ostentatious. But they were respectful of the local inhabitants and customs, not to mention generous, and they had been accepted. Plus, their way had been somewhat already paved by being connected to Shua and Dejan's family, thereby connecting them to the family of the khorovar. These things mattered.

The household staff was miniscule and fairly informal compared to the mansion in Central, but the veteran butler, Jeffers, still announced their arrival.

"Miss Olivier and Master Shua, ma'am."

Sophia peered over her reading glasses as her eldest daughter and her son-in-law entered the dining room.

"Ah, there you are!" she said. "So glad you dropped by without me having to beg you."

"You wouldn't have to beg me!" Shua replied cheerfully, heading for the sideboard and lifting the lids on the chafing dishes. "Ooh! Kedgeree!"

Sophia smiled affectionately at him. "Help yourself, dear. Coffee?"

"Love some!"

Sophie looked across the table as Olivier sat down. "Watching your figure, darling?"

Olivier gave a little roll of her eyes. "We already had breakfast."

"Just coffee for Olivier, then, Jeffers. Thank you." Sophia turned back to the project she had spread out before her. "I hope you don't mind if I continue with this."

Olivier glanced at the small pile of correspondence and the open notebook in front of her mother. "Don't you have a secretary or something to do that?"

Sophia waved her hand. "Normally, yes, I would. But I'm rather having fun with this." She smiled. "This is not quite on the same scale as Catherine's wedding, of course. Even with a secretary, that was quite an undertaking, and one that I'm very glad is over with, bless their hearts."

"Mm," Olivier agreed. Catherine and Galahad's wedding had everything to put the most spectacular circus to shame, with the possible exception of elephants crapping in the aisle.

"This time, of course, I only had to send invitations to people outside of Ishval," Sophia went on. "And then only to close friends and family."

"All the family?" Olivier asked suspiciously.

"Yes, dear. All of them. They are not obliged to come. Your aunt Boudicca certainly won't, but I sent her an invitation because she expects to receive one. Your uncle Hamilcar is more like to be insulted by receiving an invitation, but that's a risk I'm entirely prepared to take," Sophia said with a small, triumphant smile.

Shua dropped into one of the chairs at the table with a laden plate. He winked at Sophia. "That's my girl!"

"Well, we can assume that those who we want to see will come, and those we don't, won't. Sebastian and Dorothea are already here, of course. Isabella and Simonedes will be coming out at the end of the week. The Armstrong-Zimmermans have responded, of course." Sophia considered her notebook and arched an eyebrow. "Not to steal away any of dear Mika's glory as the bride, but this event is beginning to shape up as the first Armstrong family reunion held in Ishval. The tradition will have to be passed on to the next generation sometime, after all."

Olivier looked back at her narrowly. "Why can't we just let it die out?"

"Oh, I don't know," Shua said between mouthfuls. "Sounds like fun. Whoever doesn't come will just have to miss out! My grandbaby's loads better than their brats anyway."

"Yes, she is a very sweet girl," Sophie agreed. "And Stoyan is a very gifted young man. There is also the matter of celebrating Danika's fifteenth birthday on the same day. If this was taking place in Central, it would raise any number of eyebrows. But being Ishval, it's simply good economy and good sense. Most of the same people would be invited and one may as well feed them once rather than twice." She sat back in her chair with a contented sigh and a pleased smile. "It's all going to be quite lovely! If this were an official family reunion, I think it would top them all."

Olivier regarded her mother over the rim of her coffee cup, a little surprised. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I am, dear. An elaborate social event, like a debutante ball or a wedding, if done well, is an accomplishment you can take pride in. But as you get older, your priorities change. No." Sophia thought for a moment. "That's not quite right. I mean to say that you come to recognize what your priorities ought to be. As you know, it has always been terribly important to your father to keep close to his family, for good or ill. But I've since come to realize-and he has too, I think-that your family are those people who love you, whether or not you are related to them. That's real kinship. Those are the people whom you must gather together and cherish. And if you strip away all the social standing and the wealth and the influence, if you still have your family, that family, you're quite rich, indeed."

Olivier stared at her mother. "Wow," she murmured.

"I mean, when you boil it all down," Sophia continued, "as fun as all these social games can be, they really are just bullshit."

Olivier spattered her mouthful of coffee back into her cup. Shua leaned back in his chair and laughed.

Sophia tutted. "Use your napkin, dear."