settled

by leukoplakiaa

Azel is good company - he babbles Su, su and shares everything he has. The nights are not as long as they were, though far more crowded than she expected. He holds his spoon without dropping it. He falls and comes running for hugs. He looks and points and has a curiosity she can't keep up with. All in all, things are good. [continuation of 'regret, remorse'; ao3 crosspost]

i.

Not much changed for Sunilda.

Azel - too little to be separated from her - found a new love for the plain wooden blocks given to him at six months (worth celebrating), and when he grew tired of stacking them for the day, they'd go for a walk through the manor. Once he found his steps, mostly steady on his flat feet, that was it, really: carried only when tired or hurt (usually more emotionally than physically from his tumbles), but he was good at holding onto her, staying where he should, one of his beloved blocks gripped in the other hand.

Content with his ability to walk, Azel took to babbling in what she thought were sentences. A clear beginning, a clear ending, but nothing coherent, finding new sounds, the furthest thing from words possible, but she smiled and told him she understood all the same. Not a lie, not really: she knew what he needed.

Much like Azel, Velthomer stood. She knew little of the actual work happening above her, but Lord Arvis gave her briefings while trying in vain to entertain Azel; yet like with her son, she nodded and smiled while he spoke. She knew what she needed to - Lord Arvis would remain as the duke thanks to mettling by Prince Kurth, and, she knew it silly, but while Lord Arvis stood in Velthomer, so did she and her boy.

Mettling meant the prince assuming custody of the boy - she'd asked Lord Arvis why he would do such a thing, and the boy shrugged (Cigyun's radiant smile). Sunilda, bit by bit, was starting to figure out the lord, and, like her, he did not always tell full-truths. Hopefully, Azel learned to always keep his truths full.

A month before Azel's first birthday (gods, had Cigyun really been gone that long?), Lord Arvis, comfortably eight since the middle of an unnaturally deep and cold winter for the duchy - which also made Lord Arvis gripe for very dukely reasons she did not pay much mind to - met them in the hall. His cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders, too tall for his own body. "Prince Kurth will be visiting in two mornings. Will you see that the villa is kept?" He looked much bigger without his tome under his arm.

Always shuffled, she recalled. Some visits, while Cigyun lived in Velthomer, Prince Kurth stayed in the manor, others the guest house. His most recent visit did not have the prince staying overnight, obviously flustered and on a tight schedule. "Of course, my lord," she said, and Azel poked his head out from behind her, rolling an rrrr sound on his little tongue.

"Hello, Azel."

"Bahgahah."

Lord Arvis nodded. "Thank you, Sunilda."

Azel babbled more, and she laid her hand atop his head, smiling down at him. "So much in that little mind of yours," she said softly, and Azel leaned into her hand, tugging at her skirts to be picked up.

She caught Lord Arvis staring while she scooped him up. "I have to go now," he quickly added.

"Good day, my lord," and Azel said his own goodbye, briefly allowed to pat Lord Arvis' face before he leaned away.

("And why does Prince Kurth come to visit?"

"Things he forgot to mention last time," Arvis offered, wiping his own sticky hands off with little success. "I would let you read his letter, but you cannot read."

"I know."

"And ask Azel to not scream at the company."

"It is happy yell.")

Lord Arvis got dressed under the light of the barely-there sun; it wasn't different than any other morning, buttoning his cuffs (one, two, three). "I brought you breakfast," she said, voice matching the hour: low, even. He'd slept in his own room, for appearance's sake, so she rose early, too, but did not mind it, really. His room, thankfully, was not the master for she did not think she could enter there—it sat empty, for now.

No different meant Lord Arvis looked at her with heavy eyes, trying to stay awake at an hour he wasn't accustomed to completely. If Velthomer had no company, he usually was comfortable with sleeping until Azel woke—who rose early on his own desire—if he'd claimed her bed for the night. "Nothing sweet," he replied.

"No, my lord," she promised (one, two, three). "Do you intend to get up early most of the prince's visit?" she asked.

"All of it." He stifled a yawn. "He is only here for three mornings. I can manage," with a nap on the third afternoon, she thought. "One of my tunics has a hole."

"I'll see to it. Azel and I will be outside, should you need anything." He grumbled I know, turning his wrist up; she tightened the cuff a little more. He seemed satisfied, and she pinned his cloak to his shoulder with the clasp. "Have a good day, Arvis."

They parted ways outside his door. Azel woke shortly after, and they went through their routine (gods, why did he have teeth?). Lord Arvis did not say as much, but she supposed they needed to stay out of his hair more than they already did. Princes were serious business, after all.

It must have been a lazy day, for Azel wanted carried. That was fine. Sunilda never saw a day she couldn't lift him, boy at home on her right hip, his hand patting her shoulder. "Su, su," whatever that meant.

Some mornings, Sunilda found herself utterly in love with him all at once, no matter the bites, the long nights, the way he came to be, the pulling, the tugging, the tears and the laughter and gods above, the tears. "Oh, you." He was easy to kiss, his chubby cheek ripe for it. A sweet laugh, caught in his throat, another chorus of Su, su. Always sweet, always worth it all, always never wrong.

Done crying, totally done crying. Dust irritated her eyes.

She'd taken care of her dwindling duties yesterday, and a maid saddled with bastard did not need to linger in sight. The den was something like theirs, scattered wooden horses and knights piled in a corner Azel rapidly claimed as his. (A set of toys she, in fact, did not buy, and feigned ignorance on where they came from, until the sender himself would say something.)

Azel did not play fake with them - he largely carried them, one by one, from one table to the other, plenty of hairs too short to see where he tossed them, blindly reaching to nearly immediately get them back down. Always, she wondered what happened in his mind. He was cheap entertainment, at least. Something ricketed in her.

Whatever made him happy. If his gums were not being ripped open he'd never have a reason to cry. She committed to it. She got the toys down he could not reach, that got stuck between whatever, it did not matter: he looked at her with something she did not deserve. His mouth always held a smile, or at least the markings of one, and she wondered how he smiled so much, how he looked at her and pried apart the pits of worry with carrots stuck between his teeth and tried to share whatever piece of meat he'd been chewing on.

He held up a horse (gnawed on at the back right hoof) and ahhh'd, showing it to her. Always thinking. "It's nice, sweetie." He shook it in her face, and she took it, holding it carefully, while he went off on his next adventure. She looked at the creature's eyes - dabbed with paint, far too meticulously made for a bastard of maid - and the love that rocked around her chest threatened to be swallowed whole. She sat the horse down, rubbing her wrist with her thumb.

He wanted to feed by noon, normal for him, his mouth slowly riddled with teeth. They'd have to stop soon. She couldn't keep biting her lip each time he bit her. But still, she couldn't imagine sharing him with a nurse. She wasn't noble, or busy, or had anything happening in the day that she couldn't. Half of Azel was hers. All the father gave was the shock of red. Half of him was hers. Half of him was poor. Hers. Her own baby.

Fix her dress, hand the horse back over. Less frequent naps meant more time together. He handed the horse back, shaking it a little, and so she held it again, avoiding its eye and its fine painted coat. She kept her jaw tight even if the urge to cry welled up inside of her. Stupid. Why couldn't she ever be steady? Why the urge to bawl?

"Su," and he pulled at her shoulders, climbing up her back. Never very heavy.

"What?" Her hands wrapped around his arms. He repeated the sound, and she hauled him over her; his legs flopped in her lap. His laugh loosened her jaw. "I'd prefer if you don't call me Sun, sweet." He twisted in her arms, head tilted back to stare at her. The color of his eyes belonged to Vic- Lord Arvis, but the shape, at least, she thought to be hers, the way he looked sad if they weren't playing.

He licked her cheek. She shrieked. There were kissing-licks and I-want-to-annoy-you-licks, and how he favored the latter just to drive her crazy. She was the only one who let him get away with it (not that he spent time with many). Carefully, for even her small hands covered his body with ease, she wrestled him and his kicking legs to the ground they were already so close to. His foot caught her stomach, too little to matter. His own shriek filled the air, shrill yet as she blew a raspberry on his skin.

"Su, su!" He tried to mimic, a little copycat, but his mouth didn't have the strength. Her knee ached against the hardwood floor. "Ah-gah!" He wiggled out from under her, trying to tickle her ribs, but it came out more as slaps, or a messy pet; she played along, no reason not to, rolling on her back.

He scrambled on top of her, the little king of her heart. Defeated by a baby! She laid her wrist across her eyes in shame, "Toppled by my sweet!" but the play seemed to be lost on him. He laid his head on her chest the way he did when he stole something from a drawer, a little whine ripe in his throat. His hair parted under her fingers. "A jest, heart."

"Su," he repeated, far more seriously. She laughed at his tone. "Ma. Su, ma." He lifted his head quickly, nearly clipping her chin, sorrow never long in the hearts of children. "Su...ma. Suma!" It was something. He claimed her stomach as his - really, it was his right, his first home - back to staring. She knew where he got the habit, unless all children shared it. Her own youth existed in a limbo, remembering scattered pieces, and her experience with children was...lacking; even children didn't like cry babies.

"Azel."

"Suma. Sumama. Susuma." He tripped on the last one. "Suuuu."

"Sweet."

He said nothing for a moment and smiled, bottom two teeth on proud display. Everything and more. Azel did not stay long on her stomach, kicking her when he scrambled off. She muffled her hiss; that one hurt. Sometimes it felt like she never healed right, like she still bled, but she'd be dead if she didn't.

One, two, three. She sat up, fixing her hair. Azel gathered a soldier and a horse, getting a little fussy when he couldn't fit a third in his hands. She watched; he remembered he had a chin, third toy tucked under it against his chest. Azel showed them off to her again.

"They're very nice, sweet. Make sure you tell him thank you." Azel stepped into her lap, flopping back against her. He ahhhh'd. "It's his kindness that keeps us here." They were on good terms, but all it would take was a single mistake (a mistimed comment about Lady Cigyun, the wrong breakfast, the wrong fold of his blankets - it wouldn't take much; who was she?). Azel needed a roof over his head.

His need to nap eventually caught up to him. She felt his fidgeting cease during his show and tell, so she looked down. His head flopped awkwardly. "Bee?" She didn't always have the mind for his name, but there'd yet to be a nickname that stuck on her tongue; the lord, of course, was above them.

He turned into her chest, thumb stuck between his fledgling teeth. Azel was far from heavy, but she was a little unsteady standing without disturbing him. One of his toys clattered to the floor. Alright. She fixed her arm under his bum, and while he was bigger, taller, he fit so easily against her yet, hooked on her hip, head against her shoulder. She never thought she was made for this, still didn't, but she understood the women who said they were.

They'd never be too distant for this (except, hopefully, when he grew to be tall and helpful; boys took after the father, and he did not need the added shame of being her size).

She kept to the wall. No one bothered her, but she did not want to risk it. Passing for a simple maid was harder with his little red head against her, but she knew the drill: eyes down, keep quiet, walk toe-first to not disturb the lurking lord.

His breath tickled her neck. It didn't disgust her like it used to. Why did she ever think he could disgust her? He was light itself.

The walk back to her room was long. His foot twitched. What came next? Walking, trying to talk: did it always go this fast? Her own childhood was too splintered for her to remember. Just her and her boy, bigger every day.

And, well, the present lord lurked just as much as the previous. Not quite anger in his eyes, but she wasn't suppose to meet them here anyway. "Sunilda." She knew it rude to look down on him, so she took a step back. "You said you would be outside." There was the twinge to his voice he practiced at night to keep out, complaining about his mother sending him away.

"I'm sorry, my lord." Azel didn't stir; he rarely did once out. "Did you need me?"

"No," he said quickly. "If you say you are going to be somewhere, be there. It is not that difficult. What if I had need of Azel?"

"What need could you have from a baby?"

"He is a lord of Velthomer," but his voice tightened again, another scratch. Lord Arvis did not elaborate.

She decided to smile later. "I will do better. What did you need from our lord?"

Lord Arvis seemed to take note of Azel's current state, softening around the eyes. "Will you walk with me? Prince Kurth takes lunch alone." Technically, in his own words, she could deny him. Her responsibility, foremost, was to Azel, since she was stubborn and refused help. Technically, she wasn't a maid but she also was, for her own stubbornness, and took no different orders than the rest of the residents.

Technically.

"I don't mind. Is Azel coming with?"

His brow furrowed. "Where else would he go?"

"I am just asking, my lord."

In a habit she knew well, he turned on his heel and expected to be followed. She did. They were public, and plainness only came in private, so she waited to be spoken to. There were exceptions, of course: when they were outside, as they promised to be, some of the barriers went down, duke on the ground beside his brother.

It was Azel's luck to be born in the hot months, to be big in the hot months: it was easier to keep a little one in the warmth than the cold. One whole year. Soon. Anything could happen, obviously, yet despite half of him being...her, he was strong, rarely burdened by sniffles and only aggravated by his teething slobber.

Lord Arvis did speak at some point, but she did not catch it all. If it mattered she'd be quizzed or reinformed at night. There was some argument to be made that she should listen to the lord at every moment, but it was...something else. Azel sighed, knee tight against her arm, notorious to those who mattered for his odd sleeping patterns, blissfully unaware (and likely, happy to held). His hair lightened under the sun, not nearly as rich as his brother's.

Lord Azel. Lord Arvis. Sunilda.

How odd.

She stopped just short of bumping into Lord Arvis. At some point in his talking, he'd taken them outside to the normal spot Azel harassed him in. "Isn't he heavy?" he asked. His fingers worked at the clasp on his cloak; black under the sun never went well, but he favored the color so.

Sunilda shrugged her unoccupied shoulder. "Not really. He weighs no more than your bath water."

"Ah." She wasn't suppose to meet them, but he did have good eyes, the brief look she got. "We haven't spoken since yestermorning."

Spoke was a questionable word, but she understood the intent. Azel's little nose aggravated her neck. "I'm sure he forgives you," if he remembered.

Yestermorning included: waking before she did, bruising his toe on something in the dark, startling Azel awake with his curse, and doing his best to shush him without waking her. It, of course, did not go over like that. Arvis and soothe did not exist together. Tired on her end and frustrated on his, he couldn't be rid of the resistant, crying Azel fast enough, and that was it on the boys interaction for the day.

Arvis—because she was nearly certain that was the reason for their location—nodded. "That is good." As if she were tall, he stood on his toes, face inclined to peer at Azel. His cape laid folded over his arm. "Do you think he can bear grudges?"

"At this age? No."

"I hope he stays that way. If the hour is right, will you send for me when he wakes?" After the prince retired, she knew. She did not see Azel sleeping that long, but, again, she knew the implication.

She bowed her head. "Of course."

Arvis corrected his posture after another minute of looking at Azel. He's tiny.

Azel shifted in her arms at some point, but she felt him stirring - his foot wiggled. If he woke now they'd be taking another nap; he got so easily fussy come dinner. Lord Arvis seemed to have said all he wanted to, silence comfortable between them, until what she assumed lunch ended. He bore the brunt of the day well; she tired under Azel and her own miniscule duties. (But if Victor had been duke and the duchy did not crumble, it couldn't be that hard.)

Lord Arvis touched her elbow, startling her out of her zoned thoughts. She jolted; Azel whined but did not wake. "Bow," he said, because, oh, they weren't alone. She did, deeply jealous of Azel's ability to sleep through this. "I apologize for her." It was very easy for her to not meet the prince's eyes, not that she was permitted to, eyes trained on the ground.

"I take no offense, Arvis. She and I have met before." She caught his shoulders tightening. He was easy to...upset wasn't fair, really, but he was easily disrupted. Some days it felt like she looked at him too long, then not long enough, or she talked too much at bed and then was too quiet. There was a balance she didn't know yet. "I would like to speak with her."

She's quiet. Don't worry.

Sunilda touched the spot between his shoulders. He loosened up some, one knot undone. "I suppose that is fair." Arvis did not budge.

"Alone." She did not know much about the prince. He did not seem to be a hard man, fear carving a settlement in her throat, but why was her silence a virtue if there was nothing to hide? "Just a moment."

Confident Arvis knew better to indulge in his lesser habits around the prince (the staring), she lifted her eyes, and barely, as her hand slid to his shoulder proper. "Lord Arvis, would you mind taking Azel? My arm grows weary." He nodded. Her feet shifted, kneeling to him, and Azel was likely to wake soon, too much excitement to miss out on. "Two hands, my lord," she reminded. Azel, growing he was, was still smallish, and Arvis was tallish. The boys fitted together. Her touch lingered on his elbow. "I'll come find you."

One, two, three. One, two three.

Admittedly, listening was not her best skill. She gave her attention to the lord when he moreso demanded it, but existing was her best trait, if she had one. She nodded when appropriate, bowed despite the ache in her stomach, told the prince she would consider his suggestions, and thanked him for the suggestions. She was dismissed, something she knew well, and kept her eyes where they were supposed to.

A maid (another maid) pointed her along at her request. Her hands shook, pressing them against her stomach. The boys were not far, stowed away in a sitting room. Lord Arvis wore that frown she feared so much, starting in the corner of his mouth, Azel laid down on the couch with his cloak as a barrier to stop any rolling. She took the risk of looking him in the eye.

"Does he always nap this long?" She heard it in his voice, somewhere between the even-keel adult who ruled Velthomer (with assistance) and the emotional boy that creeped out in her room.

She figured they were plain enough here, sitting beside Azel. "Depends on the day." He did not say anything in turn, but nodded. Azel's warm cheek held her palm so easily. "Some days he takes a long nap past lunch, and some he takes two shorter ones, between breakfast and lunch, and then just before dinner." She looked around, and cupped Azel's ear. A little bit of fun, if only to get that scowl off his face. Cigyun would hate to see it (assuming she wasn't acquainted with it already) ."Can you keep a secret, my lord?"

He blinked. Realizing there were no other (awake) lords in the room, he nodded again. "Sometimes I think he wants a nap just to be held."

"He's affectionate?"

"Overwhelmingly, some days. Keeps me warm."

Arvis' jaw worked; the smidge of a frown softened. "He's always asleep,"a hitch to his voice.

She smiled. "Well, that's how your schedules lineup. He'll be up all day soon, I think. He's getting bigger." She kept their boundaries in mind, lowering her head just a hair. "He forgives you."

The lord's shoulders hiked, another stiff little nod. He stared at Azel for a moment longer, face unreadable; she wondered if she'd ever get all the way inside his head, and if she even wanted to be there.

Azel, when he woke to her, did not remember his brother's grievance, and was allowed one awkward hug before the three of them went their separate ways. Azel enjoyed cleaning his toys up more than playing with them, it felt like, and the day passed in a blink of an eye. Arvis did not sleep in the master bedroom, much to the butler's agitation, but wherever the master slept was the bedroom, wasn't it? Who was she to push? He stiffly greeted her, and they fell into their easy patterns.

"How was your day?" Arvis didn't answer, tense when she pulled his hair out of the collar of his nightshirt. Would he cut it soon? It was getting long for a boy, but if he noticed he said nothing. "I mended your shirt, like you asked."

The floor hurt her knees, leaning back on the heels of her hands. "I think Azel was asking about you today. I think he's starting to understand you two are brothers, keeps trying to say 'Ar' when you're gone. I think. I don't speak baby, unfortunately." No response. She pursed her lips. They'd been doing so good. Was it just a bad night to be Lord Arvis? He looked happy enough during the day, emboldened by the promise of the academy and whatever that gave.

Sunilda, hesitant to touch him in any new way, shuffled on her knees to be in his front. He'd be taller one day, no longer needing her service. His eyes fixed on the floor, such an odd sight. She rebuttoned the nightshirt, noticing the error of a skipped one; they were loose, and she added it to her list. "He's oddly smart, which is something I did not expect, given who I am. But I suppose I've yet to meet a dumb Velthomer." His fist tightened in the corner of her eye, and he mumbled something too low for her to catch. "Come again?"

"You said you would consider it." Probably wasn't good for his growth with how tense he became.

"What?" She pulled back, trying to find his eyes.

"To Kurth. You said you would consider a nurse!" he spat. The second time he confessed to listening in on a conversation, she realized; they probably needed to have a talk about it, if it was even her place to say something. Prince Kurth was responsible for discipline, too, given Arvis' brief rundown of the meeting, but Prince Kurth did not spend the day with him. Prince Kurth, she idly thought, was nothing more than a pin to keep Arvis in a place Cigyun hated so much, but it was the place for him.

Sunilda sighed, but smiled. She touched his face, and he did not shy away; he hadn't since they came to an understanding that long night. "I said that to be polite, my lord. I cannot tell the prince no outright."

His eyes raised some, but did not meet hers. Where was that defiant tilt of his head? "Mother never needed a nurse."

"Neither do I," she promised. The tension left his jaw. "May I hug you?" Open to being touched, yes, but she tried to not spring things on him, certainly not with the way he acted now.

It took a moment, a moment of silence except for the fireplace lit for the night, but he nodded. She pulled him against her, temple on her shoulder. He did not return it, arms straight at his side, but the tension left him bit by bit. "Just you and I and Azel, Arvis. I promise." He did not cry, or sniffle, or relax, or anything childish like that, a tense child. "Why would I need a nurse? You are grown. You just want company," and he nodded again, head hidden against her neck, Velthomer's bright red against the stark white of his nightshirt and the simple brown of her day dress.

He released his own sigh. He still did not embrace her in kind, but he was there. "I know I readied you here, but would you care to spend the night with Azel and I?" she asked, and offered no excuse of storm or shadow for him to come. She briefly leaned her head against his, feeling him twitch for a second. Another nod, stronger than it was before, and he, most definitely, did not sniffle. "Alright. Fetch your things."

ii.

Azel could only stack his blocks so high.

Sitting with him in the den, he cried when he found no more blocks to stack. He tottered around the room looking for more: scaling the couch, looking over the back; cheek on the floor looking into various crannies and (with her help, with more fussing on his end), he peeled up the corner of the carpet, disappointed to find no more.

"Mm, mm," he said, and he knocked his tower over, starting again. What happened in his head? She never understood smaller babies—Tasha's collection of children made little sense to her, between crying and all the fist shaking and running around in circles. She was fond of them the older they got, the more they talked.

Azel was the exception on the yammering. They understood each other.

She sat herself on the floor, legs folded to the side, leaving her mending projects on the couch (hand-me-downs aplenty). "Can Momma show you something?" she asked, holding her hand out. He looked between a block he gripped and her out-stretched fingers, before slapping it down in her open palm. "Thank you, baby," and he grunted two sounds she accepted as thank you.

She stacked the wooden blocks - two, one, clunk - with Azel's bright red eyes on her the whole time (his eyes did not keep her awake at night like they used to). Instead of a boy-sized tower, she built a stout, jagged wall around his feet. She didn't know how Azel compared to other babies, but he felt small. Smaller than the last lord born here, Magda told her, but chattier.

He turned in his little jail. "Ah." He pushed a section out with his bare foot, oddly cautious for a year-old baby; he looked little like her—her thoughts still out on that—but some parts of him could be her.

Azel smiled at her. A few teeth showed. She smiled back, easier than she ever thought it would be. "Buhguh," he said sweetly.

"Buhguh." He giggled. He picked up the blocks, one in each little hand, carrying them from her building spot to a few feet to the right. She tried to assist, but he shook his head with a cry. Okay, alright; he got like this.

Sitting herself back on the couch, she kept an eye on him while he reconstructured her efforts, albeit increasingly sloppy. Both boys' clothes needed mending and hemming, but her skill wasn't what she thought it was, concentrating her effort on Azel's nightshirt, torn in the elbow.

Piece-by-piece, Azel rebuilt her wall three times. He grew bold on the last attempt—three-two-one instead of two-one—evidently proud of himself. He grabbed her hand and pointed at it, and she gave him her praises. He giggled, cheeks flushed.

Done, he crawled up onto the couch next to her, flopping against her side; she pricked herself with the needle as a result, cursing under her breath. "Rrrr," he offered. He sat still well, but his foot kicked idly against the cushion.

He stole a piece of clothing, smoothing it out over himself. "Sleepy?" she asked; he shook his head defiantly. "Good. We haven't had dinner," and he twisted against her. "No bath tonight. You're clean enough."

Pointing at the window, he rambled for a few more minutes, staring at her expectedly. She pulled the needle through the shirt, stitching up the hole. The line was jagged. For a baby it didn't matter. "I know, I know, but its been raining all day. No muddy babies for me." The rain was done since launch, admittedly, but it stuck in the air. "We'll go out tomorrow."

"Yah," Azel agreed, leaning his head against her arm.

She stuck the needle in, finger pressed on it. "Why don't we put these back in our room?" and always the little helper, he sprung up, sliding off the couch on his belly. He held his brother's tunic to his chest with a hard face of determination, but he was a little too soft beneath the eyes for her to be intimidated.

Step by step, he kept stride with her, moving through the halls. It felt odd to have other maids step aside for her; halfway between nurse and a lord's mother, she'd yet to understand her position within the manor. No one directed her anymore. No one told her what to do.

Azel ate dinner with vigor; not really a picky eater, but he skipped meals regularly. Stronger with a spoon, he did his best to try and feed her, too, and spilled some, but it was to be expected. She found laundry annoying but soothing, the repetitiveness of the motion working out one of the many kinks left in her. Azel enjoyed laundry as well despite his brother's complaints that she'd turn him into a girl (though Azel's eager helpfulness usually was the opposite).

"Rrrr," Azel trilled. She wiped his face off. "Rrv."

"Lord brother will be home long after you're in bed," the sun already set below the window. He blew air past his lips—either huffing or blowing on his soup. "We'll do a bedtime story tomorrow. We can look at the drawings tonight." He seemed satisfied, nodding, if he understood her at all (maybe they were going through the motions of conversation without ever having one).

He held her hand on the way back to their room, humming a little tune to himself. Too little to be separated, and she was a tad too in love to send him to the (empty) nursery at night. Plus, she'd figured out it was the boys that radiated warmth—the holy tome stayed on the nightstand anymore, and she sweated through the night.

"Buh."

"If you're good."

He knew his routine well; he toddled away from her as she shut the door, clicking the lock. He grabbed his book off the nightstand, slapping against his knees. Climbing onto the bed wasn't nearly as easy for him, but she gave him a little boost. "We have to dress first, Azel." He puffed out his cheeks, pointing at the dresser and then her. "Momma's not going to bed, remember?"

He tugged off his tall socks, and while he looked tired in the eyes, he had energy in his body. Infant clothing didn't vary much between night and day, an ankle-length nightshirt for his bedtime compared to the knee-length one he trapiesed around in during the day, some of which were hand-me-downs. Magda advised waiting another year before spicing up his wardrobe any, until his growth evened out (and with no one else for support, she took her word).

His hair was wavy and tight against his neck; it knotted easily, which irritated him, but being brushed also irritated him. Generally a happy boy, but he fumed, and her hope of avoiding hair-related pain wasn't going too well.

They laid together, Azel flipping through the pages and making little noises at the various drawings. "They're pretty drawings, aren't they?" she asked, and while she could not read to him, he did not seem to mind, content with his own mind for the moment. He knew what took place in the etchings. Why speak? "Make sure you tell him thank you for letting you borrow it."

Azel's little head slipped down her arm, and she held the book for him while he slid onto his back. He picked up an okay/questionable/'why' habit from his brother with the books in bed; she didn't care for it, waking up most nights with something digging into her back.

"Want your duck?" she asked, and he nodded, and she held him and his wooden duck until he dozed off (just as painful as the book, but less weird). His feet dug into her thigh; he sucked his thumb less now, but tonight wasn't one of those nights; would he break the habit himself? She hoped. She knew she didn't have the heart to break it. He moved her hand to rest on his chest, feeling his little heart beat softly in his thin ribs.

Kissing his temple, she carefully slipped out of bed, tucking him in tightly with the blanket. He fell out of bed less often. She snuffed the candle out; she wouldn't be gone long enough for him to get cold. Grabbing her mantle, she stepped outside, regretfully leaving the door unlocked. No one would bother him, right? The Velthomer lordling, right?

Trust.

She found Magda easily enough on her way out, conferencing with some of the other staff outside the kitchen, and Magda found her easily too, smiling. She excused herself from the group, and Sunilda did her best to smile too. "Need something, girl?" she asked.

Relying on someone that wasn't a child. What an odd feeling. "I have to go fetch the little duke. Do you mind sitting outside my room? Azel's asleep for the night, but I left the door unlocked if he needs anything."

Magda touched her shoulder. "I mean, I can, but are ya sure you don't want someone to come with? One of the other girls can sit with 'im. It's getting dark after all, and the duke might kill ya for calling him little."

"I didn't say that out loud," she added quickly, brushing her hand off. Kill was a strong word, but Lord Arvis certainly complained if she slipped up. "I'll be alright. It's not too dark yet, and I'll have the duke on my way back."

"Ya sure?"

"I'll be fine, Magda." She tugged at her collar. "The duke'll kill me if I'm late." So far he was the furthest thing from his father, to her, at least. It had nothing to do with his age or his stature or anything that could possibly insult him - he stood steady, spoke clearly, and bore Cigyun's smile on occasion.

Ridiculous, to find solace in a child's company, yet here she was. Ridiculous, to be allowed to indulge so.

Sunilda did not budge, and Magda broke first. "Alrigh', alright. I just worry 'bout ya. See ya when you get back."

It's not your place to worry. "Thank you for watching him. I'll be back before you must leave." She bowed her head to the woman who returned the gesture.

The butler - whose name she learned was Oran, and served as his father's butler, and the lord before that, essentially a steward in everything but title - gave her directions in the morning to the barracks, which rattled around her skull all day. (So very odd, to wake without the lord to tend to; it almost felt wrong, and she needed to remind herself he was not gone.)

The streets of Velthomer were empty enough, she figured, castle town heading to bed, but she kept to the wall anyway, hand gripped tightly where the hood of her mantle met the shoulders. She rarely left the manor if it was not painfully bright out, noon sun shining overhead, accompanied by a redheaded child or two (and depending on the amount of children at her hip, it meant carefully watched by various standing soldiers). No one paid her mind, just another plain maid trying to stay warm against the chill of the sunless night. Yied shared its chilly nights with the duchy.

Barracks were some part of Lord Arvis' ramblings, but she wasn't ashamed to admit she frequently zoned out. Something about expansion and soldiers and a few grumbles about needing outside help, because there were not enough books in the Velthomer library to answer all the questions he had, and while the knights belonged to Velthomer, they weren't his army (yet, always yet).

Sunilda had little experience with barracks, but she felt like she was let in too easily. Perhaps Lord Arvis said something, led to the open-air courtyard and told to stand off to the side. "It's not my fault if you get ran over," the soldier spoke curtly. "The squad of Rotten Ritter were spotted. They will doubtless be in."

"Thank you," she said.

Waiting. She could wait. She knew waiting. Horses neighed to the right of her, and she noted their smell. Courtyard to the stable, to probably a storehouse. Normal. She could handle that.

Could she?

Nerves made her tug her sleeves down, hearing the laughter of (mainly) men in what she presumed was a mess hall of some sort. Only a squad, the soldier said, hopefully someone important with the little lord. Lord Arvis' burning desire to ride with the Rotten Ritter as their duke was strong, and while he did not command them ("Yet," he tutted when she pointed this out), they were his soldiers.

A child with the powers of a duke. She'd asked him to reconsider, given all the aches he went through to even become duke officially, but he said Velthomer's territories were safe, for the time being, and would not be deterred. "Valflame will protect me," he promised the night he told her.

You can't use your tome, she thought, but kept quiet. Azel kept her mind off of worry throughout the day, but standing here, in the barracks with the celebration of men, it ate at her. Would she be released from the manor if something happened to him? She did not know the next Velthomer in line, but she doubted Victor's accepted bastard would stay long. Why Azel, out of all the bastards? Cigyun's word meant nothing anymore.

Lord Arvis did not have a grave plot.

Her foot bounced. No counting. She was past counting. She was better, now, and needed to have the vaguest of faith in the Rotten Ritter. It was not wrong to have faith. Faith kept people going; faith told her to be angry to be at peace. Lord Arvis would be home.

Sunilda folded her hands in front of her. They were all okay. Waiting: Azel, Arvis, Cigyun.

The sound of steps and hooves filled her nervous ears. She stepped back against a pillar; she did not shake externally, much to her joy, shoulders straight, chin high. Her internal struggle was hers. The horses came first, tall and strong, followed by the droves of mages in Veltomer's employ; she counted sixteen total, tilted towards the mages.

Her ears barely caught the barked order, but she caught the tone and blanched. Dismissed for the day, if the dropped shoulders and back-clapping said anything, mages dispersing, most of the horses heading towards the stable. Where was her lord? A tall boy, but amongst a sea of adults and horses she struggled to spot him.

Oh. Watched. Why did she not notice sooner? She was slipping. Her heel scraped against the pillar. "You must be Sunilda," he said, voice deep. His face - tight, hard, older, something twisting in her soul. He donned the black and red of Velthomer's many (all of Lord Arvis' cloaks, and Azel's future ones he promised, carried the fine embroidery expected of his position), sword on his hip, brown hair streaked with grey. "I am Fintan of the Rotten Ritter. I have the duke."

Lord Arvis.

Sunilda stepped forward, wincing as the general hopped off his steed. A boy slumped on the back of the horse, hood pulled up with his cheek on the beast's neck. She closed the gap at that, ignoring Fintan, to look at her boy. The boy. The duke. His breath ruffled the horse's mane, leaning close still to listen. Fintan laughed, and despite the tenor of his voice, it felt warm. "He's al'ight. Long day for a boy," he assured, and the tone he'd first addressed her in disappeared.

She pulled the hood back, resting her wrist on the exposed part of his forehead. "Stayed up till the end. I think he got a little burnt riding near the desert," he said. "Would you like an escort?"

She sighed; no affections in public, no plainness in public. Traveling with a man after dark. "I'll manage."

Fintan laughed. "And how're you gonna manage that, girlie?"

"He's not heavy. I'll carry him." Lord Arvis, usually easily woken, stirred not a hair. He'd be sore come morning. Sunilda tugged the hood back over his head. "If I may be bold, Fint'n, the duke stayed up the whole time. He did not fall asleep," she said.

"The duke rode back to Velthomer bushy-tailed," he agreed. She smiled faintly. "He is my lord. I will not say anything to besmirch his image," and quieter, "I've grandsons his age. I know the idea. Now, would you like some help?"

Help. Being touched by a man. Sleeping boy. "I would appreciate it," she said.

The man easily lifted the boy off of his horse's back, and after a bit of maneuvering, they got Lord Arvis on her back, tome stored in a bag over his shoulder. Lighter than she thought, actually, and he woke a little, tightening his legs around her a small bit, but not awake enough to complain. Get him home, get him in bed, let him wonder in the morning. "Have him?" Fintan asked. "I don't mind taking you back to the manor. He's my duke and all."

Sunilda shook her head again. "I do have him. We aren't far."

Fintan raised a brow. "If ya say so, girlie. Will I be seeing you around?"

"If the duke asks it of me."

"I hope the duke asks." Fintan bowed twice. Oh. Perhaps he was mistaken on who she was. It could happen, hanging around the duke. Sunilda said her polite goodbyes.

The streets of Velthomer fizzled out while she was in the barracks, lights in windows dampening with the encroachment of night. Lord Arvis walked around at night with a flame in his hand, but she could not do that. Some taverns lit the way, but she stayed away from them.

Did Magda need to be home already? Damn. Did she slip there? Oops. Magda could yell at her, if she were the type, or look at her with disappointment if that's how she operated. Time slipped away if she didn't pay attention.

In the streets of Velthomer, no one paid her any mind, not even with the boy settled on her back. Sunilda never minded not being known. It was preferable.

Her plan of depositing Lord Arvis in bed before being found out did not come to fruition, of course. He stirred, chin on her shoulder. "Mother's arms are twigs," he said and she felt him yawn. Cigyun was never very strong in these manners, she knew, and Sunilda was strong enough to do what was needed. "'m sorry," he added oh-so quietly.

She stopped briefly while he squirmed, feeling one of his arms let go of her. "For what, Lord Arvis?"

He carried some of his own weight now. "I only see you before bed or something similar. I am never with you at my best." His head went back down on her shoulder, and she waited for the day Azel grew more coordinated so they could share this.

"You are a busy little man," she offered carefully. He smiled, much to her relief. Sunilda felt it, his forehead pressed against her neck. "You are welcomed to join Azel and I whenever you please. Do you want down?"

"...no one is around?"

"No, my lord."

"Mother hasn't lifted me since I was little," he said, and she gave his ankle a squeeze before they started walking again. Something returned to his voice, softness gone. "Now, open your ears. I have a stupid problem, and I know no one better."

She sighed. "Thanks, my lord."

Lord Arvis gripped her shoulder. "You can keep a secret." A statement, not a question.

Another confessional? "What troubles you?" she asked, and Lord Arvis' ability to whisper was better, but not great.

"One of the Ritter raised his voice to shout a command, and I flinched." Sunilda waited for more, until she understood the issue. Dukes did not flinch; she let this confession air out between them. "The last time," part of her wanted it to be the last time, "Prince Kurth visited, he issued a command to one of his Ritter, and I flinched, from Prince Kurth out of all men, and he looked at me with such pity." He'd gone to bed pissy during the prince's visit, even after their own understanding; she'd assumed it was his normal gripes. "Svan: when will I stop being dumb?" he asked, in all seriousness.

Father is gone. Why weep?

Oh, Arvis.

When would things get better? She avoided being alone with men if she could help it. Her hair grew longer, but if Azel pulled on it playing, she cried on the inside. Sometimes she felt better: After the boys went to bed, she'd creep down to the kitchen to visit Telor, who'd given her smatherings of advice on raising Azel; some nights, she could not ignore how loud he was, how big he was compared to her, how no one would hear her scream from the kitchen, and she shook. Never think too much. It's always right there. It never left her. "I don't know, Arvis. I really don't."

He leaned forward, cheek near hers. "No musings from priests?"

Useless, the lot of them. "'Well, if you aren't angry, you're probably in denial, so we have to move through that first,'" she relayed, eyes rolling, and Arvis huffed. Someone needed to rinse their mouth. "What I can muse on is: you're a strong boy, Arvis, already stronger than I'll ever be. I do not think flinching twice dooms you to a life of being dumb."

"Of course I'm stronger than you. You're a woman," he said, as if he weren't being carried by a woman through the streets. If they weren't having a moment of vulnerability, she'd ask the lord to give her a ride back to the manor, but it felt cruel.

"Most days I feel like a girl." Someone nodded at her in the way strangers did, and she returned it. Polite, and all that, and not following the customs was more of a headache than anything.

"What's the difference?"

She bit her cheek. "I'll tell you when you're older."

"Oh," and Arvis, always, knew more than his years entailed. Perhaps she wasn't what she used to be, the boy growing heavy, but she'd bare it.

Only until Cigyun came home. "You hold your chin high and go be my favorite duke," she told him.

She was starting to know him, nose crinkled judging by the tone of his voice. "How many dukes have you known to favorite?"

"That I've wanted to? One." Lord Arvis was Velthomer's duke, disputed but now official, no matter whatever he was at the end of the day with her. Duke, she reminded herself, with everyone in Velthomer under his thumb, herself included. Various members of the Velthomer nobility gave him issue, complaints about discipline, but it was quiet dissent; who would raise issue with Prince Kurth over an orphan (legally, she reminded herself; Cigyun lived in her heart until proof otherwise)?

("...it's me, right?" tucked into his own bed; he'd feel the horse ride, she'd feel the boy.

"Yes, Arvis.")

iii.

Azel's first word was spoon.

Lunch together with his brother, Azel stood on the seat to better see the table, and pointed at him. Arvis, a boy who did not tolerate interruptions, stared at him, and Azel, somewhere between a year and two, blabbered, "Spoon."

Sunilda blinked, and Arvis looked at her. "Spoon," Azel repeated; Arvis handed his over, and like a little tyrant, Azel stole hers too, hoarding them in a tiny hand. He did not use the additional spoons, nor did he give them back. They'd have to talk about sharing, huh? Normally willing to share, it felt odd.

From spoon, he spoke next shirt while watching his brother get ready in the morning, and from shirt it went to curtain ('curain' but he made his point known with, well, pointing), and he spiraled from there; he named whatever he saw throughout the day with her. He did not speak them in sentences, but as his second birthday approached, he blathered as much as his brother.

"Sun," he cooed one afternoon, pointing at her over the book situated on his brother's lap. Another habit from their lord (or Magda; Lord Arvis spent life too formal to call her anything but Sunilda if he did not need something).

"Momma," she stressed, touching her chest, and Azel repeated the first syllable of her name. "Momma!" she repeated.

Azel pointed at himself. "Momma."

"I'm momma." Azel giggled, mouth full of teeth now. Startling, how quick they grew in, and how fast Lord Arvis' grew back too. One of hers needed knocked out, painful to the touch, but time without company was slim.

"Sun," he repeated, and while she could not see Lord Arvis' face, she heard him snicker; it was enough to turn Azel's attention to his, pulling the book away from his face. They'd talk about the pointing later, before the wrong person found it rude. "Ahvis."

"Arvis."

"Ahvis."

"You do this to annoy me." He tugged the book back, shifting away, but Azel stuck close.

She sighed. "He's a baby, Arvis." Azel echoed baby, and she wondered when the words would become sentences, when he knew his numbers in order. He'd be far past her soon. Sunilda and Arvis talked about Azel's future in speculative terms, winter always around the corner, and tutors were years away, but Azel was guaranteed the same education his brother got ("And you could learn to read, too").

Arvis glared at her. It wasn't the stare, but a stare anyway. Sunilda did not wither. "I do not come here to spend my limited free time being mocked by a thumb-sucker," he complained, shutting his book. "I am due elsewhere," he said, and when he stood, Azel did too, feet on the couch, hugging him in the awkward way he did. His arms did not reach around. Arvis softened, touching the back of the thumb-sucker's head. Her heart skipped a beat. "I will see you later, yes."

"Be safe," she cautioned. She knew his schedule more now that he started spending time with her during the day hours, and while most of the day was spent as duke, he would not learn to use Valflame from behind a desk. She didn't know a lot about magic, admittedly, but he boasted his proficiencies, acknowledged his own talent.

"I always am." Azel jumped off the couch (assisted with a hand) with a thud, shook his foot out, and tottered over to her. Arvis and her made eye contact, his jaw tight for a moment. Just as Azel had an entire world inside his head, so did his brother (and she could read him even less). She smiled, in some effort to placate him. "Request squash for dinner."

"Yes, my lord."

"Will you come fetch me when it's time?" he asked, tense in the jaw.

She smiled. "No issue."

One more moment of staring before he turned on his heel. If it mattered she'd hear about, so she resigned to not push. "Come on, Azel. We've got our own nonsense to get up to."

"Ahvis!"

"Later. Your lord-brother's busy." In an act of defiance she did not take personally, he refused to hold her hand (he did, thankfully, take her hand when they crossed up the stairs, too short to reach the rail). A stop by the kitchen to spread the lord's desire. Azel stole a roll (but allowed to - lordling, or something like that; she did not always listen).

Azel, like the good child he was, did not touch anything in Cigyun's room, sat on the sill of the window. She did not spend long here anymore, because Azel did have his limits, playing with her apron to entertain himself (if she wore it), trying to tie it around himself.

Change the sheets every month, haul and beat the curtains (another enjoyable past-time for Azel, a fourth the size of the broom), contemplate buying flowers over trying to keep the current ones alive (barely, at that). Cigyun could be home any day, but Cigyun was an understanding person; she could live with needing a night or two for things to settle. Keep her dresses fresh, sweep away the cobwebs, light the fire to keep the chill out of the wood.

Azel did not know, nor did he have the desire to ask, who's room it was. Would he? Could she speak on her? He deserved to know the woman responsible for the stability he was born into. She got away with more than most, but if Lord Arvis did not start a conversation about her, then she did not either. The new lord did not touch women, but he certainly grew short with them; some of her worries subsided, but it always nagged in the back of her mind that this home was not hers, and one wrong word would have her out. Things for the future, another private conversation between lord and maid.

Cigyun, too, could always meet the boy.

(The unthinkable.)

"Momma." His foot thumped against the wall. Shoes were a ways off; she did not mind the hand-me-downs, used to them from her own youth, but she'd buy him his own shoes (and clothes, if he ever asked, really).

"Azel." He repeated Momma a few times to himself, stumbling on his own tongue in the process. She smiled. "Take your time."

"Momma," again; she turned to look at him, bright eyes fixed on the fireplace, pointing. "Momma. What?"

His As made her wonder. "Hearth." He shook his head, finger looping in a circle. Jumping down from the window, he walked across the room with a purpose (only tripping once), and she intercepted him when he stood too close to the open flames.

More pointing. "Thaaaaa," he continued, doing the tell-tale grabby motion. Absolutely not.

"Fire?" she asked. His eyes widened. They slept with a lit hearth every night. "Fire, yes. It keeps us warm, lets us cook food." More pointing, half a step towards it, and she gently touched his shoulder to stop the advance; he let out a cry, but he did not throw a tantrum (nor did he normally, more used to kicking his feet and brewing quietly).

"Fie-" rolling it on his tongue, finger pointing and waiting. "Ire."

She nodded, squatting to look at him better. "Fire. It's in Velthomer. It's in you. It's in lord-brother," she said, touching his cheek - red from heat, hair red from birth, her chest red from his teeth (red from-)

"Ahvis."

"Lord-brother, yes." His brow furrowed, something brewing inside of him again. He grew so much everyday; no longer a loaf tucked into her arms, but a strong boy who made it to her hip and pieced the world together in his mind, steady with a spoon and confident in his steps. What came next? They could speak one day in full, and she wanted to tell him so much.

Azel put himself down and refused to move; she gave him another stern warning about getting too close, a rough jerk of the head on his part to say he'd heard, and she listened to him stumble on fire the rest of the visit to Cigyun's room. Rs, despite his early affinity for the sound, did not come easily to him; she wished she remembered more about her youth to see if it was her fault.

Nothing was his fault. Nothing.

So much red.

From the window, it creeped in. Time to gather her lords. Full on bread, prone to grazing, Azel held her hand this time, over whatever one-sided quarrel they previously found themselves in, eyes transfixed on his feet. Yied shared many things on the wind: its heat, its bugs, its chilly nights, and depending on whatever storm hovered above it, some of its sand made it too, clinging to the bottom of her skirts and the soles of his feet.

The piece of the Velthomer castle Lord Arvis called home was meant for more than two sole boys, meant for a lord and their partner and gaggles of children. Victor's family did not linger since Prince Kurth's interjections, and, much as she hated to think it, the rotating mistresses kept Velthomer lively. More space than the three of them knew what to do with - the two of them, if Lord Arvis did not permit himself to be included in her count - she could show Azel a new room everyday if she chose to, and today she exposed him to the familial training grounds (unfortunately, she was a creature of habit).

Sunilda did not watch Lord Arvis practice most days for her own lack of interest. Magic meant nothing to her, and even if it did mean something, Lord Arvis typically kept her out of his embarrassing parts of the day—voice slip-ups, an untied shoe, unkempt hair from running a hand through it, hands too small to wrap around a cup (as if she did not ready him for bed every other night).

Today, though, she got to spy a scene: holy Valflame off to the side, a generic red tome clutched in his hands, a quake in his shoulders while his company stamped out the flames. The anger in him, young and small - small, as if he wouldn't be taller than her by years' end - etched worry into her heart. She knew of it, heard of it when his face fell, but she did not see it. His eyes snapped over to them, almost anger, almost that stare, and she forced herself to smile, leading to him looking away.

Azel sat himself down on the edge of where the walkway ended and the yard began, still beneath the overhang, heels bouncing; she did not have the chance to sit beside him before he stood up, sat down, stood up, and she resigned herself to standing. "Ahvis," and she shushed him, barely heard over the commotion of Lord Arvis, flame quick in his hand.

She covered Azel's eyes, his disappointment marked by a whine, and she shut her own. One, two, three, cracking them back open; could he crack his own teeth with that tight jaw of his?

Lord Arvis snapped the tome shut, loose and coming apart at the binding. "Tend to this. Dismissed," and she heard the clack of heels, Ritter-clad soldiers stepping around the two of them. Azel hid behind her leg, cheek on her thigh, eyes towards the smouldering practice dummy. "Are we alone?"

"Yes, my lord." One, two, three. He tugged off his vest, undid the buttons on his wrist. One, two, three. Training always doubled the laundry by the end of the month; the boy hated sweat-crusted clothes, and she did not blame him. One, two, three. He sat down, dragging Valflame closer to him. "Good day?" she asked.

Azel gripped her dress, pointing. "A day." A series of looks between the three, and Arvis sighed. "You may approach," and she gave him a gentle push. Azel gladly stumbled his way over to his brother, sat beside him, and tried to mimic his posture. "Bath tonight," he said; not permitted to assist him bathe, but he was more than willing to let her draw and heat his water.

"Of course, my lord." She kept an eye on the two of them. "May I ask how it goes?"

He drew in on himself, arms beneath his knees. "I am getting there," he said, low. "I can open it." He sighed once more, head against his leg. She tried to not frown. "It is mine. I feel it, but it evades me. What sort of duke am I that I cannot use my own blooded tome?"

It was one thing to make his bed every morning. She did not have the words for blooded drama. Did she? What did priests blather on about?

Nothing.

"Give it time, my lord. You have years ahead of you." He grumbled, a habit he'd been getting out of mostly.

Azel, never one for reading a room, tugged on Arvis' shoulder; the lord hummed. "Ahvis." A breeze passed through. It was improper, as were so many aspects of their relationship, as she sat beside Azel, arms beneath her own knees.

"Arvis," he corrected, stern for a child, loose for a duke. "Lord-brother. Brother."

Sunilda saw the words turning in Azel's head, comfortable between Arvis and her. He looked at both of them; she almost saw herself in him sometimes, beneath Velthomer's red and his dot of a nose. He almost had her eyes, in the shape, and maybe her ears. Maybe, maybe. Maybe he solely belonged to Velthomer. Maybe it was a long dream.

Almost, she wanted it to be a dream. Maybe she wanted it to be real.

Azel pointed at the tome, back to babbling sounds. "You cannot use it," Arvis said. More babbling. "I am the holy marked child, not you." More babbling, his feet pushing against the ground; she gripped her wrists, back cracking.

"Ahvis," Azel continued. He slapped his open palm on the cover of Valflame, and Arvis tugged it away, Azel whining. She perked up, ready to intervene, but the boys resolved themselves quickly. The boy touched his own face. "Ahvis. 'ire. Ah-zel."

Arvis' brow furrowed, old in the face. She didn't expect that many words. "Oh. How will you be a mage if you cannot read?" he asked. "Read first, and then I will teach you in the ways of Velthomer."

Azel. A mage.

"Bahgah?"

Azel's future education, spoken only in vague details. Velthomer bred mages, she reminded herself, and Azel, already, was strong. He couldn't stay and hold her hand forever.

"Valflame is mine. Patience, brother. You will be a mage in time." Brother. It rolled off his tongue, and Azel took his turn in the conversation. "What else would you be? You are from-" Arvis' jaw snapped shut; she winced at the sound of teeth on teeth. "You are a baby. I am wasting my words. I take dinner alone."

Rude to stare, rude to point, but she did almost stare at Lord Arvis as he left.

Arvis had his look, but Azel had his own, eyes downcast as he fell back against her; not much a crier (unless teeth were involved), but he showed his dissatisfaction with silence. One more little ahgah; she leaned down to his ear. "Momma always has time for your words," she promised.

He mumbled something, hand awkwardly patting her arm. "I know. Can Momma have a smile?" He shook his head no, and she tutted. Rotten, sweet boy. Her fingers crept up his side, and he squirmed, a laugh bubbling. "You have no reason to ever frown, little Azel. I promise."

iv.

To Sunilda's genuine surprise, Lord Arvis was willing to play with Azel, carving out time in his schedule for him. It started as soon as he could sit (with a bit of help), laid out on the ground in front of him, pointing at pages in the book together. Azel started crawling, and the lord let himself be used as a pillow for his stumbles, a wall for when Azel wanted to stand in place on his wobbly knees and try to stomp his feet. On the floor together, horses trapped in meticulously tended to block pastures, she almost thought him child.

(She pretended to not notice the way Lord Arvis scrubbed his eyes sometimes).

Azel, too, had a rough streak, new to having hands, that Arvis accepted in stride. She didn't mind the break.

"Your turn."

"Turn." Azel squatted. His fingertips touched the rug, eyes narrowed at the gameboard. She thought him too young for anything formal, blocks scattered around his feet alongside a stuffed rabbit doll, but he'd been diligent, always eager for his brother's attention.

Her head rested against the arm of the couch. It'd been a long day of chasing Azel and trying to keep him out of people's ways. No stitching tonight, convinced it was a lost cause, and Azel hadn't gotten any wider in a moon. Lunch, rancid on her tongue upon arrival, sat just below her throat. Perhaps a night on the floor would right her.

She watched, always. Azel wore so much love on his little sleeves. "I dunno."

"Don't know," Arvis corrected. "Think."

"Think."

"Must you be a mimic?"

Azel giggled. He bit one of his knuckles. She'd sat through one game, head scratched, before the lord confirmed for her she was as stupid as she looked. It sounded like an invitation to leave the game. She did. It couldn't have been a hard game, given that Azel kept up with it, but, well, she was herself. "There." He moved something, and immediately shrunk back. She could only see the lord's back, but Azel's body spoke enough. "There."

"You went out of turn."

"There."

"You-"

"Me."

She waved, catching Azel's attention. "Be nice, sweet." He pointed at the board, a jumble of pieces. "I see. Play fair." He huffed—no one in his little corner. He sat back on his butt, picking at the ears of his rabbit. Poor thing was balding.

The game was set up again. The lord only had an hour today to give Azel, and it was a slow moving process as Azel learned. She saw him giving up in about ten minutes, turning away and conspiring with his toys. She'd patched the two of them back together at bedtime so they could do it again tomorrow.

Three more turns before Azel stopped picking at the stuffed doll, laying it on his lap. He'd yet to name it. His foot bounced. She'd no clue if he was doing better, given no clue from his brother, but he petted his toy, which was always better than picking. Some naps he picked at her dress until he dozed off. She tried to not worry about his worry—he was a happy (fed) boy for the most part. Having a day wasn't bad.

She crossed her ankles. While she had her duties, still a maid, they were light, given her constant company. Having a life with this much leisure time bubbled in her chest—Azel would be older before she knew it; maybe she could return to what she knew. The boys were good company, at least. Azel took more words everyday.

Almost, if she wanted to cut herself out further, her only company.

Nothing, really, to be upset over.

"There," Azel said again. A flush sat beneath his eyes.

"Sufficient." Azel, doll and all, moved back from the board, grubby hands settled on his blocks once more. She sat up a little to see over him the best she could; it was a board. It meant something. If it was anything like when they played cards ('played'; Azel made houses out of them), he hid nothing on his face. Too open, and horrible at lying, even the little ones.

A butler of some variety dipped in to speak to the lord. Azel gathered his goodies, stepped around his brother, and scrambled onto the couch beside her. Sunilda fixed her posture to accommodate for him. He didn't chew on his toys anymore, thankfully, so no spittle to worry over. She opened her palm, and he sat a block in it, paint rubbed off one of the faces. He wouldn't look her in the eyes.

She touched his hand, small and soft. They pressed the block between them, and he shifted onto his knees. Never sad for long (today it was acceptable—that last tooth of his was squeezing in). They were alone again, together again, soon enough. Arvis picked at a stack of papers in his lap.

Somewhere between happy and brooding, they shared that staring habit yet. Arvis was getting better about it, but so many parts of him got sloppy when they were alone together. It tickled her. "Do you need something, my lord?" she asked.

"No." He took a breath, correcting the inflection in his voice. Well mannered, of course, even with his slips. "Azel is my one brother. Do you understand?"

Azel repeated brother absently, stacking another block, pale blue, on the one in her hand. "There are others, aren't there?" she asked. Did Azel understand? He seemed dedicated to his blocks again.

He did not immediately answer her, which, well, he didn't have to. Who was she to demand it? The lord stood, folding his letters. "A few scattered about, yes, some hidden right under my nose. I always found it...odd, how few of us there are, given Victor's habits. Azel is the only one I recognize, for what it is worth." The others. The two Cigyun had told her about, and...the rest.

She had her own to worry about. She let the blocks fall off her hand. It was ridiculous to think there'd only be two of them. Victor kept Velthomer and kept in other castles. Duke Arvis and the lord of her heart were recognized. Her heart, a maid with no discernible qualities besides bad luck. Not any other bastard.

Here with the boys. She dabbed at her eyes. Done crying.

Azel glanced at Arvis. Nothing too concerning on his soft face. "Hug?" he offered.

"No," he replied curtly. Azel's shoulders shrank. "...no, not right now. Be good to your mother. I will see you later."

"Okay," they said in tandem. Azel laughed; she got the hug he'd offered to his brother. Her heart sat in her throat during it, joining her lunch (maybe just a drink with dinner), feeling his weight dig into her front. She hugged him back tightly. It could've been them cast out, but it wasn't.

Her boy. Her happy, kept son.

Goodness, Cigyun.

He slipped off of her just as quickly as he laid there. "What are you up to?" she asked. He settled before the board again, stomach pressed against the floor, his rabbit sat beside him. She was certifiably useless, but she itched to be by him, mimicking his posture. Lunch was evil today.

Azel set the pieces up again. His foot thumped against the floor. "Prack-" his nose scrunched. "Prackt- practice," he managed. His tongue stumbled again. "Sa-fishing."

Sunilda cocked her head. He moved the pieces forwards, shook his head, and moved it back. Looking at it, it didn't look like a game to practice. "Sufficient?" she echoed.

He nodded; the rabbit's ear bent beneath his fingers. "Ahvis. Sa-fishing."

Hopefully he'd have his sentences soon. The one words, while cute, did not do much for their conversations. "I think you're good, Azel," she promised. He looked at her, still flushed under his eyes. "Really."

v.

"You look like a drowned rat, my lord."

Arvis sneezed.

Azel, balanced on his heels, reached his arm out into the rain, little grabby fingers honing in on a squirming worm. "Rat," he echoed, sharp on the last sound.

"Watch your mouths," Arvis said, trying to sound harsh, but his throat didn't make it. She pushed his hair back from his face, heavy with water. He glowered at her. If not for being a drowned rat, she'd shake. "It's raining," he carried on plainly.

"Raining!" their chorus supplied. Quite a bit of it too, a downpour from the sky above, perhaps a gift from the gods. A reprieve from the heavy, hot air that normally accompanied Azel's birthday. Between the season and the boys, Sunilda was surprised she hadn't melted away in her sleep.

Arvis took his gaze off of her. "What is my name?"

Azel nearly tumbled out into the rain, a worm living in his hands now, steady on his flat feet. "Brother. Ahvis."

"You do this on purpose, you-" Azel blinked up, offering his worm. She felt tall for once.

Before they could stare or scream, whoever cracked first, she tugged Azel back by the collar and let Arvis' hair shroud his eyes. "Inside, the two of you. Don't need either of you sick." A sick Azel meant him crying again, because try as she did to keep him happy, tears were his first response to many things. A sick Arvis probably came with its own irritations. And, unfortunately, there was always the unthinkable for both of them. What would happen to them without Arvis? What would happen to her without Azel?

There are...things in the works to ensure his place here.

Azel babbled something to his worm. "Last I was sick, I was six," Arvis stated plainly. Oh, that's a pretty sentence. Last I was sick, I was six. She tucked it away.

She made sure Azel freed the worm, set delicately in the grass once more (bye-bye, be back), grimacing as his muddy, slimy hand found hers. Very nice; at least he still wanted to hold hands. "You don't want to risk it, do you? We've kept Azel pretty healthy."

The lord looked out across the courtyard. One, two, three. "I suppose not. Come."

She followed, as was her place in things. Servants hiding from the rain, eyes on the floor, parted for the rain sodden lord—he'd been out doing something lordly (she was getting better at listening) when the rain started again. What was it? A meeting with the rest of the nobility, wasn't it? Bad enough we must live in the same duchy, I do not want them under the roof I sleep.

Right. Managing Velthomer and the family. What had he said? Quite a bit. The family itself wasn't under his supervision, because even when Victor lived, he and his mother were estranged from them.

Something like that. He talked at length when he was in the mood.

In Arvis' room, she discovered his cloak needed proofed again, soaked beneath it and he grouchy to boot, wet layers on the floor and quickly stuffed into a fresh tunic. Lingering in soaked clothes did no good.

Azel promised to be good, sitting on the edge of a window, feet kicking—he did not come in there often. The lord seemed shorter as she dried his hair. "Big rain. Big rain, so the noise is big" he remarked sagely, hand squished against the glass, and she took a mental note to leave the door unlocked. The lord had a key, officially, but he did not use it—something small, but it kept her heart at peace.

"We are in need of a big rain," he almost sounded fond, shoulders flinching as her brush went through his hair quickly; the day was not over, but this was a break. "The reports on my desk are dreary."

"It's the way of things," she said absently. She knew this, still, caring for the boys. It was her way of things. "Head forward, my lord."

He complied, shoulders hiked. Azel took his turn staring, pretty eyes fixed on her face. So bright against the overcast sky clouding the window, somehow so pretty despite having her as a mother. "What have I said about that?"

"Head forward, Arvis."

One, two, three. Braiding was left for nights he tossed and turned, decreasingly less and only ever in private. A clash of big noise echoed outside, stealing Azel's attention back. Out of all the things he cried over, she was surprised noise wasn't on the list.

"You're starting to fuss more," Arvis said suddenly.

Spluttering for a moment, something he loathed, she found her response. "Would you like me to stop?" Fuss. She was a maid (no, not really—his maid? Cigyun's, most certainly). It was her duty to fuss. Fuss: make a bed, draw some water, keep him clothed and fed.

He'd told her his to-do list for the day. Dukely things. Probably needed dry shoulders for that. "I didn't say that." No scold, not nearly as short as he could be.

She tucked it away. Whatever she felt was hers.

He was out again by lunch ("Bye-bye, Ahvis" "I know-"). Azel took his first lunch all week, mouth crammed with rabbit sandwich, thankfully out of the habit of speaking with his mouth full. "I wanna-" pause, bite, little jaw working steadily. "The worms, Momma."

"We can go out when the rain breaks." He nodded, trying to wipe something off her cheek, her little helper. "Fair enough?" He nodded.

Unfortunately for him, the rain carried on. He sat pouting in the window for the rest of the day, not even distracted by the offer of a needle (no longer mending clothes, but embroidery, because she needed something to do besides clean and chase Azel). He pouted through dinner to the point that Lord Arvis noticed—with a scold to get his chin off of the table—and pouted all the way to bed. "My worm," he complained. "He's gonna be gone." She offered his doll as compensation, and he tucked it under his chin and rolled away to sleep on his own side of the bed.

She sat up a while longer. The big noise had her convinced they'd have company. The soft click of the door confirmed it.

His petulance left his lord brother between them when he inevitably joined them, stiff in his spot. Normally, Azel slept between them in anymore to prevent midnight bumps and cries. She did not know which was worse, truthfully. Arvis was a bony child that made her ribs ache, but Azel kicked like a man possessed. Some nights she threw her arm around Azel to keep him still (some nights, she found the spot already occupied, red buried in red). Azel mumbled his hello, still awake by some margin.

"Must you pout?" Azel did not dignify an answer.

Satisfied that her concerns were where they were suppose to be, she tucked herself in, back to her stomach sleeping ways. (She'd be dead if she hadn't healed, she often reminded herself, and that wretched midwife was gone from the castle.)

She almost considered him a child when he hovered his finger above Azel's cheek without touching him. She sighed, hoping they could resolve themselves. "Stop," Azel mumbled.

"Stop what?"

"Stop."

"It's a worm."

"Stop," and he shrieked, and by time she'd lifted her head, he'd shoved his under his pillow.

Arvis sighed, curling on his side (with a preference to Azel). "Such a sensitive little baby," he said, and she heard enough fondness to not scold him outright, yet she shushed them both through her teeth. "It's a worm, Svan."

She tugged her blanket up—the quilt wasn't big enough for the three of them, and the boys shared their own most nights. Always exceptions. "I'm glad he worries over stupid things, Arvis. Better a worm than food." His elbow dug into her rib. "Goodnight, my lord," and his evil elbow dug deeper in what she took as an apology. The closet she usually got to one.

(The Azel in her dream develops an unfortunate taste for wax.)

She'd somehow slept through Lord Arvis leaving the bed but caught him on the return. She shrunk back into her pillow when he glared at her under the low light of the dwindling fireplace. Unless she'd slept an entire day, his early morning return meant he'd been borrowed throughout the night. "Not only did I leave here in a woman's cloak— '' oh, goody, "—it was not proofed either, and for the second time in a single sun I come back soaked."

Ignoring that, "Why were you out at this hour, Arvis?" It sounded a little too accusatory, but he did not scold her for it, stacking a log in the fire.

Sunilda, convinced her scolding wouldn't come now (if only not to wake Azel), sat up properly. Azel rolled in his sleep as the bed changed, nose pressed against her thigh, doll forgotten. "Oran called for me. One of the stables flooded." He settled on the floor, a little too close to the fire for her tastes. "The garden has been thoroughly trashed, half the chickens have dropped from fright," poor things, "and I take lunch with the rest of the visiting family tomorrow." He sounded bored by the end of the list. Rain tatted at the window.

She gathered her quilt, propped Azel in one spot with a pillow, and crossed without stubbing her toe on anything. "You can take my other cloak, if you like. It's proofed." She settled the quilt around his shoulders; he glared through his lashes. "What?"

Expectations: I own multiple cloaks (she knew—she tended to his laundry still); You'll grieve for mice but not chickens?; Why must women always change the conversation? "You have multiples?" he asked.

Sunilda sat, leg folded under her. Her thigh burned at the stretch. "There is the one I brought with me, and the one you gave me for the year's turn," she reminded.

His brow furrowed. He pulled the quilt around his shoulders tighter with a cross of his arms. "Why do you not wear the one I gave you?"

"I'm not ungrateful, Arvis," she quickly stumbled, "but, well, it's a bit too nice for me, I think. I keep it pretty in my chest."

He looked past her, to the foot of her bed, undoubtedly, where her chest full of her and Azel's clothes sat. She had more than she ever had before, really, a dress without patches even and a pin for her hair to boot, but compared to her son and her lord, it was not much. Arvis responded, with that air she could almost place, wedged between duke and mother's scared of storms: "I would not have gotten it for you if that was the case."

"Butlers make errors, my lord."

"I picked it out myself, Svan." Heat took her face; she scratched her jaw. Well, that was right awkward. She needed to think just a bit more before making comments, huh? Too comfortable, and she'd fall out of his good graces and lose whatever she had here. "But you do wear the clasp I got you," he said quietly, and it must've been the fire that reddened his cheeks.

He scrubbed his face. Sunilda scooted closer, feeling the heat lick her back. "I leave again with the sun. Fond of him I may be, if I'm to spend the day with Dalton and his brood I'd like a breakfast without Azel's antics. I need breakfast to finalize things anyway. I take no offense if you and Azel hole yourselves away for the rest of the day."

His brood. Dalton—the uncle, wasn't it? "I understand." She knew better, or so she told herself, and so she kept quiet when he laid his head against her. Again, she knew he was not hers to feel for, but her traitorous heart always did otherwise. The sun, gone with the rain, was perhaps not the best metric to leave by, but she knew the hour, knew him under their own plainness.

"Are the rocks under your bed Azel's?"

"Yes."

"Such an odd boy."

She thought him quite normal. She didn't know many children to compare him to.

The heel of her hand ached where it sat against the floor. Arvis did not budge from his spot against her. She was strong enough for it, and had to be. Just until Cigyun returned to keep her own odd boy (not that she'd ever say it outloud) company. Hopefully she liked Azel. (How could she not? Cigyun cared for him before he was born, bastard or not.)

Arvis settled more weight on her. "Svan?" She'd hoped he dozed off. She knew zilch about ruling, but she did know Arvis, at least adjacently. He needed his rest. Some days it felt like pulling teeth to get him to just eat at meals. Azel's well-meaning interruptions did not help, and on the days they annoyed him, they were only granted a quick dinner with him. Sunilda did not take it personally—they always reunited at some point.

She hummed. Her eyes swam. Thankfully, Azel had not outgrown daytime naps. "Yes?"

He was not a heavy boy. She wondered what kind of man he'd be. Better than the last duke already, but that was a low bar to clear. "I don't like priests either." She blinked. Where had that come from? A disappointing weekly, perhaps.

"I don't talk to them much anymore," she admitted. Anger had no place in her heart. She knew it. Her fear sat rotten in the ground, and she knew, somewhere in her, that her and Azel were not entirely alone in the castle. (Taller for the time being, but he was easy to hide behind.) She lifted her arm, barely; Arvis let himself fall just barely closer, tense as ever. "Rest a little. I'll wake you when it's time to go."

He was stiff when he finally got up from the floor. Too old for it too.

Holing away from the rest of the family meant Lord Arvis offered to have breakfast sent to her room, which she accepted, fingers pressed to his wrist, but she knew Azel was too active to be squirrelled away in their room all day. He could not read on his own, but they could entertain themselves in the library, she was fairly certain. He was even worse at cards than her.

And, well, maybe a little bit of mud wouldn't kill him.

They did eat in her room; Azel was slow to wake, eyes a little puffy from his trifle before bed. "Morning, Azel," his face hidden against her shoulder for a morning hug, his fingers drumming against her back. He cried a little when he spilled milk on the carpet, so she shushed him and showed him how to lift the stain. He patted diligently alongside her.

He got dressed all by himself, because he needed her help only on some things. "Still raining," he said with a pout. "Stupid."

"Azel." A few bad habits from his brother. He helped her make the bed, a little sloppy but full of heart.

"Stupid," he repeated, tucking his doll in beneath his blanket, then smoothing the quilt over it. Children grew in such odd ways, and his hands were much steadier doing this than when he got the brilliant idea to brush her hair (as payback, she was certain). "Rain stupid. Rain is stupid."

He peeked under the bed. "Weather it a little longer, heart," she said. "I'm sure there'll be a day where you want it to rain."

"Nah."

She hummed. "But without the rain, where are your worms?"

(Azel was scolded a week later for sneaking away and digging a hole in the gardens.)

vi.

There were, of course, the little things they didn't talk about.

Lord Arvis eventually grew to tolerate the taste of squash; Azel himself was fond of it, and Sunilda was just happy to eat. His mother's fear of storms eventually passed. His interest in the knight brigade never declined. He was proficient in more than just fire tomes, and let Azel watch. He did not mind Azel's overly affectionate self (in private), even if he remained stiff-shouldered during the hugs. She tried to not dwell on how he curled against her back some nights, more tired than usual.

Maid and lord, she reminded herself.

Sunilda started off as a lady's assistant (and somewhere along the way, became friends in the loosest sense of the word). Women were easy. She was one, or had the body of one. Put a dress on like this, pull hair back like this, fold sheets like this. It was easy, and her mistress wasn't overly fussy. Even with the terror, things were deceptively easy some nights.

Dressing Lord Arvis came almost as easily; dressing Azel didn't carry the same weight of duty. He knew what he wanted, despite her initial thoughts of him, and buttons were buttons. It was an easy pattern to get into, for years at a time. Some mornings, if she went to him, he might have been partially dressed already, or the older he got, fully dressed, but wanting company. He was too old, she knew, but she didn't want to break the habit either.

And he was getting older. More nights than not, he'd read Azel his bedtime story (after Azel proudly recited the fact that he could read too and went through his alphabet in order), say goodnight, and they'd part until the morning. Some nights he did stay, of course, his bony elbow carving a niche in her side, but it was less frequent; plus, he so often complained, Azel kicked in his sleep.

So here they were, almost something like a pattern; his willingness to sleep in till Azel woke disappeared some time around his tenth birthday. Anymore if she wanted to help him ready - which she did - she had to wake at an hour that felt comfortable, before the sun.

This morning, he still laid in his bed as she opened the door. Partially dress, so it went. "Up late again?" she asked.

His glare was...well, worsening wasn't fair, but he wore it far more often. She knew to not take it to heart. "What of it?"

"Just a question, Arvis."

He sat up, hiding a yawn behind his hand. "Some of the nobility will be here until lunch, should you choose to hide away." He offered his arm. She rolled his cuff back, knowing what today was, almost twelve and emboldened by his rightful tome. One, two, three. She still tried to avoid watching him use it, despite his invitations, because it only encouraged Azel to grow up a little too fast for her tastes. He could already read, mouthing along with his brother, but not steadily enough to bother with magic, the lord promised. Years before any of that; the lord's rapid education, he said while showing Azel how to write his name, was almost an anomaly due to the state of things.

"Well, I kept Azel up late, too. He's determined to be better at stitching than me."

"That's woman's work."

"It's a bit of fun." Arvis presented his other arm. Roll and button. One, two, three.

Sternly, "He is my brother, Sunilda, not my sister." She looked up, for the moment, and there was not a trace of a smile on his face. Right. She and Azel would have their secrets, it seemed. Secrets were only lies once they got out. "One of my cousins is getting married."

Tall but slim. Her hands touch his neck, straightening his collar. For all his power, he was a boy, not even a man (though most days, it still felt like he was more grown than her). Could her hands fit around his throat? "I didn't know you had cousins." He nodded, and she avoided a scold for her blatant ignorance. He just mentioned the nobility. She idled to draw their time out. "Are you attending?"

"No." The rest of the nobility existed. The collar was awfully threadbare and did not lie against his skin the way it was suppose to. "Do you have an interest in marriage?" he asked.

Did she ever? "No. I don't-" know anyone who would want me now. She lacked in all of the important categories for marriage, namely worth. Plus, well, she had a boy out of marriage. "I don't think I could leave Azel or you," which was a truth in its own right, because she didn't lie. Where else could she be?

He nodded, chin bumping one of her knuckles. Marriage. How much did he want to know? She'd never had the desire anyway. The soapwort used to wash his clothes left him red. He didn't push. She could, a little, "Would you let me marry?"

"No." He was strong with that word, no, nearly immediate with it.

Warmth spread in her chest, crackling like his flame. "It's a gift to be in agreement with you."

There it was, Cigyun's smile without the comfort. He sat up a little straighter, and she tried to tuck an unruly bang behind his ear, but it did not reach. He'd yet to make any motion to trim his hair. She kept Azel's short for her own management, same for hers. "Azel begins tutoring soon. I will handle finding a tutor, lest you suddenly have the mind for it."

Fair from it. She was slowly getting out of the habit of worrying her cheek. Dumb herself but always listening, thinking of Azel's little hands and his stalk thin wrists, "I don't want him struck."

His jaw worked. "Neither do I."

It is a gift.

"I've never struck him."

"Neither have I." They both nodded, nearly insync, and it embarrassed her. The warmth lived in her still. His face may have been flat, but his eyes shone with a little softness. "You could learn to read. I do not forbid it. I encourage it."

Her palm sweated. She put it in her lap. "I could." No promises, no lies.

"Have a good day, Sunilda."

"You as well, my lord."

Azel slept in.

Without her in the bed, he sprawled everywhere, a limb here, a limb there. An absolute bedhog with the elbows to defend it. He technically had his own room now, with his own bed (wasn't that a novelty!), but they were slow to part. Things lurked in the shadows. Nothing tapped at the windows. She was not much, yet he thought her enough to protect him against the world, fingers knitted in her dress: who was she to deny him?

His yawn she could not place. It stretched his little jaw. Some parts of him were bound to just be himself, she knew, but it was fun to look and spot the small pieces of others he stole, a patched skirt hem to cling to her legs.

He didn't speak immediately, still waking; she cracked the curtains. Nobility was normal, she supposed, in how they dressed their children, stuffed into the same daily tunics and loose pants the rest of them wore during winter, rifling through their shared chest. Azel did not have anywhere important to be (yet), so anything nicer was a ways off. She could keep being his un-nice mother. His nurse, even. Wasn't he too old for one, period? Would he ever be too old for her?

Hopefully not. (But if they were, for whatever reason and she finally wore down her lord's patience, her love could stretch.)

"Momma." He'd called her mother once, and it felt so disastrous on his tongue, far too formal, and she'd begged him not to, nearly in tears. "Did I miss breakfast."

"No, sweet."

"Do I have to wear shoes."

"Yes, sweet."

He sighed, defeated so quickly. "Darn it." He slept shirtless even in the depth of winter. She thought about it in the summer, but had far too much expected-unexpected company. She hadn't done it since before Tasha (Tasha) had her horde; she hadn't felt safe, and despite the hassle to get him, to have him, Azel was security. Her thumb-sucking. "Can we go up again? I can almost see the water." She was fairly certain, in all of her aged wisdom, that squinting did not let him see further, but it kept him happy. He was done with new teeth, a clacky mouthful of white, so there was no reason for him to ever be upset.

She nodded. "Get dressed." Too early to tell if it was permanent, but he was small like her. He'd get big one day. She'd been the tallest of her cousins for years, and now here she was, usurped by an eleven year old as things often went.

Nice as he looked in red (maybe a bit much with the hair), not everything was dyed it, and he could sport faded blues, too. Help him stuff his pants in his boots, unfurl the awkward roll of a sleeve, pin his cloak (still handed down) with a gifted clasp (not handed down), keep the lordling alive for another winter, laugh a little when he tried to pin hers, fingers uncoordinated. His cheeks were a hair too fat to pass, she thought.

"Momma." Hm. "Is Brother busy?"

"You know he is."

"Okay."

He grabbed a curled up map off the bed, a section of the continent at large, and held it against his heart. It was what inspired his insistence that he could spy the water from the top of Velthomer, perched beside his brother and looking at a full sized map of Judgral. She'd never seen it in full (or seen many maps, really), and the lord indulged her own childish desires to look, pointing out names for her and Azel alike. She shooed him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Will I stop seeing if I keep squinting?"

The door locked as easily as ever. She kept the lock as she kept the children. "Where did you hear that?"

She could go for breakfast herself. Last night's dinner had been rancid on her tongue. "Oran."

"Never known someone to go blind from squinting," she promised, and it soothed him.

He nodded, chin strong. "Cool." The gap in his most front teeth disappeared when he got more crammed in there. "So I can squint."

"All you want."

"Cool." Slowly waking up, his voice hitching.

He smeared jam on his cheek during breakfast, kneeling on the chair, and wiped it himself; the Edda jam ran out years ago, but Velthomer's were not horrible. She wished he ate just a little more, prone to declining lunch, but he ate, and could whenever he wanted, and that was enough for her. Fed, homed, and happy. How did she ever consider leaving him, leaving here? She couldn't give that herself.

The walls of the castle were tall, this she knew, and little Azel was born with enough authority to do as he pleased, not that he used it. His warm hand in hers, he led her up with him, and it was him that let her get away with anything - she'd taken note of the smatterings of remaining Velthomer nobility, and she certainly did not look the part. Did it matter?

She didn't sense the weather with her knees like half the grown women claimed to, but it felt like the start of another deep winter. The wet air matted her hair to her temples. Keep the lordling through winter.

Odd, how easy he was. He needed a moment to find his breath, little chest hiccuping, and she rubbed her hand between his shoulder blades. His eyes went wide, wider; the noisy breathing caught him if he wasn't careful. The doctor had no answer for it.

Once better, Azel oriented himself. She left him to do so. She didn't know much about map reading or not getting lost, but she was near confident he was wrong. While she didn't have the right to say much, Lord Arvis took no issue in correcting him. Lord Arvis was bound to shake him of the silly belief of seeing the sea if he found out. Fables were for bed only.

His brow furrowed, crouching, map spread out. Wrinkle young, wouldn't he? Sunilda knew spying the water was nigh impossible - green stretched beneath them, and at her best she could see trees. All a farce, a bit of play, but he was happy.

Wind nipped her ears. Wispy clouds mocked her. Would this winter have snow? The desert to the...east, and a kingdom of snow to the north. They'd been lucky. "How goes it, sweet?" she asked, squatting beside him.

He glanced at her, concerned but loving. "It goes." He bit his thumb, laying the none-spittled one on the paper. She pretended to be equally deep in thought. He didn't always let her into his head, but she didn't always let him in hers. His heels bounced under him. She tried to mimic it, recognizing the habit, but her knees protested a little too much. One swipe of the thumb.

He held his hand out, and she gave it; he dragged her thumb down to press against the speck that represented Velthomer, and hers almost reached the water. He compared his against hers, hummed, wiped his spit off on his leg, and laid his thumbs out to Belhalla, until they reached. Another hum.

"I can't see Bel'alla from here."

"Neither can I."

Azel nodded. "And I can't see the water. And Bel'alla's a few days away. The water's one of your thumbs away. Bel'alla's a bunch of mine. Oh-kay."

She waited for the follow-up. He laid his thumbs out to Yied. "Do you think Brother would let me go?" he asked, eyes on her thumb. The paper irritated her skin; the flat part of her thumb that met her wrist dipped in the water.

Azel leaving Velthomer. "When you're a little older, sure."

"Older, or big?"

Looking at him, "…bigger." He huffed. It was just his luck, undoubtedly inherited from her, to be small. She only had the lord's hand-downs to go off of, but so far things weren't looking good. He was young. There was hope.

He brushed her hand away. She picked an errant hair from his shoulder. "We live in Velthomer." His thumbs fell dreadfully short, but he reached to a smaller speck in the desert eventually. "That's...Pheenora." Close enough. Squiggles sat under the dot. Who was she to correct him? So much light shined in his eyes and lit her heart. Realizing his fingers were longer than his thumbs, he used his pointer finger (they were working on that) to count from Phinora to Belhalla. "That's Dozel," and he pointed at another speck. "Wait. That's Friege." He pointed at yet another dot, this one more south than the last one had been. "That's Dozel."

None of it made much sense to her. Lines, dots, squiggles. One, two, three. "You're very bright, sweet."

Cheeks flushed, his fingers crawling through a green shape (longer than a circle but still round), "I'm not as smart as Brother."

I doubt most are. "He's older."

Briefly, his fingers stopped, staring at them. He counted by tapping the right to the left, and when he ran out, he folded them over. "By…" one, two, three. "Seven years! Normally. Birthdays are funny."

"Very good!" He didn't count like she did—which she was eternally grateful for; it caused enough grief in her own youth—but he could count.

His head bobbed. A corner of the map curled up against the wind. "How old are you?" he asked.

She gestured for his hands, and he held them up for her. "Don't tell Arvis, okay?"

"We're not supposed to keep secrets," he said seriously, but his voice didn't carry the weight. She'd include him in the game one day.

"Secrets vary in severity," she promised. "I am…" she counted on his fingers, folded them over, and unfolded six. He followed excited. "I am twenty-six; birthdays are funny."

His brow furrowed again. "So you're…" he took his fingers, folded and unfolded them, "birthdays not counted, fifteen years older than brother?" More counting. Where did he learn that? It must've been his brother. They occasionally spent time together without her. "And twenty and two older than me."

"...yeah." Time slipped by, huh? Twenty-six. No mistress. A duke. A lord from her own thighs. Three meals a day and sweets if she wanted. A soft bed. A clothed and fed son. Work that didn't break her. It was all there.

"Cool!" He shifted on his feet, and she was getting too stiff to be down long term. Standing, Azel plodded along his map again, naming territories that he confused with others. So bright. Her heart.

Maybe he could wait to get bigger.

"And that's Chal- no, that's Yngvi." His brow creased. "If that's Yngvi then that's Edda. But that's Edda." His finger lifted. "I'm lost."

She smiled. "You can ask someone who knows," she said, and he gave another little nod, pushing back his sleeves. He didn't get cold, but his flesh tinged red from the air.

Something caught both of their attentions. Azel must've known it more intimately, for his excitement made him sloppily fold the map, hidden against his heart again. He scrambled up, too short to see, so she lifted him under the pits, then held him at the waist so he could stand upon the wall itself.

What sort of duke couldn't use his tome?