Anissina was showing me a new creation of some sort. It seemed like a very elaborate net for catching large game. She told me very solemnly that it ran on ground-up walrus skulls, which struck me as just slightly odd. Slightly. Then the machine exploded and I woke up to my head pounding and the horribly tender, constant pain of a lot of burns.

I was in my bed. It was dim, with a flickering lamp over the bed and nothing much else. My ears were ringing and I was hit with a wave of dizziness the moment I tried to sit up, but at least I could see after a moment of adjustment. My room was pretty crowded. Wolfram and Giesela were asleep in my chair, the former clinging to his toy ermine. A woman I faintly recognized as Ermtraud Von Gyllenhaal was standing near the bed, looming over and quietly scolding Mother and Gunter.

My body was telling me in no uncertain terms that if I tried to move I'd regret it, but I didn't feel like listening. I got as tight a grip as I could on the windowsill and hauled myself up, glad I hadn't yet gotten around to moving the bed so the sun wouldn't be directly in my face every morning. Yes, very bad idea. My head throbbed and most of the rest of me complained. My chest felt like it had been pounded with a couple of good-sized mallets and my mouth still tasted of smoke and blood. I hadn't noticed many burns while I was getting the children clear of the fire, but there were plenty. My arms and legs were particularly bad. I didn't even want to move any limbs. Looking down at my hands, I was more than a little disturbed by the blisters beginning to form already.

"Gwendal!" Mother and Gunter turned together, clearly about to descend on me with concern. Lady Ermtraud beat them both to it.

"Don't be stupid." Her voice was pleasantly sweet and soft, but definitely firm. "You're probably out of danger, but the state you're in is still nasty. And some idiot let a concussion victim go right to sleep." She shot a look at Gunter. I was angry on his behalf, though, really, it had been pretty stupid. He looked very contrite, though, and I'd never be able to blame him. In fact, I wanted to walk over and comfort him.

"It can't be that bad." I was horrified to hear my speech come out a little slurred. That candle holder had whacked me harder than I'd thought.

"Lie down." She was smiling, but smiling in a way only venerable dowagers can. I obeyed. "We should be able to take care of the worst of the burns by morning, and at least close up that gash in your head. But you'll still have to get back on your feet on your own."

There was a limit to what magic could do, of course. I'd have nodded, but didn't feel the need to tempt fate quite that brazenly. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"There were a few burns." Mother seemed to have recovered from the shock of being brushed aside. "And bruises and I think one broken toe. But you're the worst by far. Poor Gwen." She very gently ran her fingers over my forehead. "You're such a good boy."

Mother wasn't always the best at expressing herself. I wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to get across, but I could be sure the general message was sweet and grateful, so I smiled at her and let it go. She really did mean well.

"Ermtraud says you'll be alright, so I'm going to go and check on the others. And what a nightmare this will be to deal with in the morning." Mother looked rather pained, and I was willing to bet it was more at the thought of coping with the aftermath than at the evening's casualties. "I might just have to bully Stoffel and Evert into it, hmm? Anyway, I'll see you in the morning, Gwendal." She left, and Ermtraud went with her, sending me one last admonishing glance.

Oh, for heaven's sake, she was already willing to let them take over her duties? This was going from bad to worse. Would the coronation still go forward in the morning? With half the guests nursing burns, a probable traitor in our midst, and an investigation into the blatant and very effective attack on us, it seemed like a bad day for a party. Then again, caving in and canceling the affair might well be exactly what the saboteurs were after. I was inclined to immediately suspect the Rocheforts, but there was no hope of proof if the family had half a brain between them. And one couldn't discount the threat of some of our old enemies on the human side of the border having orchestrated or at least assisted in the assault.

We needed a meeting set up right away with all Mother's advisors, or at least all the ones we could trust. I'd reluctantly include my uncle and stepfather, but having Gunter's and Anissina's input would be more valuable. Our tenuous conquests of the Grantz and Wincott families might be useful but shouldn't be relied upon. A full examination of whatever was left of the room was in order, as well as a visit to the local priestesses in hopes of a decent divination. And we'd need spies placed.

I really ought to get on that now. Without thinking about it too much (busier thinking about how I might get the world saved in time for Mother's enthronement), I started to sit up again. Bad idea. I reeled and fell back on the pillow, biting my tongue as I tried to keep from cursing loudly. In three battles I'd never been injured this badly, and the helplessness was as bad as the pain.

"Gwendal." Gunter's fingers brushed my cheek again and I saw the gentle green glow that meant his healing powers were flowing. I'd been healed by maryoku before for small things, a badly sprained ankle, a nasty cut from a sword that fell off its rusted hook, a bout of influenza. It had always felt awkward and… invasive. I'd be healthier at the end of that, but not feel much better. But most who had this power didn't bother to hone it, preferring flashier, more combat-oriented magic. It was a skill usually wielded more awkwardly than my own adolescent attempts at swordsmanship.

Gunter, however, healed with the same gentleness and grace he did everything else. Rather than a hot, prickly sensation being forced through whatever of me was suffering, I could have been standing in a spring breeze. Around the head wound and my various burns, even in my overstressed lungs, I felt a sort of electric tingle, the kind of shiver I sometimes got when a huge storm rolled in a moment before the rain started.

"I'm sorry I let you go to sleep. I wasn't thinking clearly, and you seemed to need it." He pulled his hand away. I wished he'd put it back, whether or not he went on patching up my burns. "Here, this is for the pain."

Kind of him. I usually preferred to avoid such aids, but burns hurt in a unique way that I knew would drive me mad all night, and my headache was no picnic, either. I drank the dark liquid from the flask he proffered. It tasted like mud, but good-tasting medicine contradicts some law of nature.

"Better?" I said yes, though it hadn't even begun to kick in so soon. "Gwendal, I don't know how to thank you."

I was confused for a moment before I remembered I'd—sort of—rescued Giesela. I shook my head the tiniest bit. It still hurt a lot, though it wasn't quite as bad. "Wolfram did most of the work," I said weakly. He'd kept us all alive. All I'd added was telling him which way to walk and some help with the barrier. Well, and made sure the candle sconce fell on my head and not one of their fragile little skulls. If it hadn't been for Wolfram's incredible skill we'd all be burnt to a crisp by now.

"I'll be sure to thank him as well, then." He sniffed, and I realized his eyes were glimmering in the lamplight. "You saved my baby, Gwendal."

Protesting further that I hadn't helped much would change nothing. And it had been insensitive of me to protest in the first place. He was a father and his child had been in mortal danger. Of course he was fragile right now. It stung, but I moved my hand to cover his. I'd glory in helping to comfort him for now and leave praise where it was due for later.

"I was… I was near the door. And it's common sense to get outside quickly. She's a sensible girl. I thought she'd be right behind me. By the time I realized she wasn't outside, the fire was too high… I did try to go in after her, but no one would… would let me." He pulled out a fragile white handkerchief and held it to his eyes. Despite the pain I squeezed his hand gently.

He had such perfectly smooth fingers. By contrast, there were calluses on his palm from all his swordwork. It gave his grip a little more texture and made the silken skin seem all the more delicate in comparison. I felt a deep indent on his wrist that I guessed was a scar from a blade slipping past the guard on his sword. His knuckles were very thin and bony, the first two a bit larger, which suggested he was a bit of a boxer as well as a swordsman. Such a strange mix of delicate and solid, strong and brittle. His hands had such personality. I forgot the sting of my burns in learning the contours of my love's beautiful hand.

But didn't quite let myself forget I was trying to comfort him, not feel him up. "It wasn't your fault. Rushing in would have meant you were both in danger. If it hadn't been for Wolfram…" My power over the earth was practically useless in a room full of burning manmade artifacts. A more skilled sorcerer than I could manipulate, at least a little, anything that sprang from the earth, stone, wood, refined metals… but not me.

"Better that than leaving her…" He sniffed, and I realized he wasn't just being a bit sentimental. He was crying.

I couldn't let that go on, though I was a bit confused. She was safe, after all, and though he hadn't saved her himself… I recalled our conversation the night before. Gunter seemed to worry a lot that he might be considered a coward. Was that it?

I sat up. Painful, but necessary, and I got to take his other hand. I refused to let myself be lost in that touch, though. "No. No, it wouldn't be. She'd want you to go on living, as would we all. But seeing as she's—"

He cut me off. "How many times have I been told that? It may be true, but it doesn't change much of anything, does it?"

How many times? Giesela hadn't been in such a desperate situation before, had she? Or maybe she'd been ill? I was completely confused. He seemed to realize this a moment later and lowered his handkerchief, looking over at me. He was pale and there was a burn on his cheek that had gone completely untended. "My older brother and my fathers died defending me. And that was all anyone could ever say to me. They'd have wanted me to go on. Of course they would have. That didn't change that they were gone, that I'd lost them to senseless, stupid power struggles, ignorant humans and violent traitors…"

Oh, by Shinou… My grip tightened. It hurt, but I didn't care. Such sufferings. And he must have been so young. He'd told me when we first met he'd taken his title at sixteen. He'd been younger than Wolfram. A quick mental calculation placed that at the end of another of the last maou's wars. And Rochefort spite would have taken his daughter from him as well. No wonder he was so shaken. "Gunter, I'm sorry." My voice was rather stilted. There wasn't a right thing to say in such a circumstance.

He closed his eyes for a long moment. "I shouldn't be so touchy. It's over and done, and Giesela doesn't have a mark on her, thanks to you." I didn't deny it. "You'll have to help me investigate this horror. But only once you've recovered. And don't try to rush that. I'll see you later, and try to at least help the headache."

More of his flawless, delicate healing? Divine. On a sudden whim, I raised my hand to his cheek. I handled medical magic with nothing like his aplomb, but I knew it was hard to use such powers on oneself, even for a master healer like Gunter. And I wasn't feeling that exhausted, thanks to his foolish decision to let me sleep. I was quite willing to forget the danger it might have been.

It was only a superficial burn, and I had the deep satisfaction of seeing it fade to almost nothing in the few seconds before he gently pulled my hand away. "Gwendal, it's sweet of you, but don't. You… need all your strength." He sighed, then smiled. "You're too good. My hero." He stood and let go of my hand. I tried not to feel abandoned. "I'll let you sleep. The, er, little ones were going to wait until you woke up and I'm afraid it went on too long." He nodded at Wolfram and Giesela. "I don't want to move them."

"Don't. They're no trouble." Wolfram might well have been found there in the morning anyway. I didn't get the impression he liked his new room at all. "I'll see you in the morning."

"I hope not. By all rights you'll be asleep for all that's left of it." His eyes darted out the window, and I noticed a slight silver sheen to the horizon. I must have been asleep a long time. Ah, more guilt. I'd kept Gunter up so late.

He smiled and waved. As he stepped into the more brightly lit hallway, I noticed the scorch marks all over his robes, some crinkling at the tips of the loose portion of his hair. I winced. Poor Gunter.

Come to think of it… Before I stretched back out on the bed I felt around for my own hair. My braid had half burned off. Fortunately there was enough left to keep tying back. With short hair I looked younger and much gawkier. Not much in the grand scheme of things, but one final irritation to top off this terrible evening.

But it wasn't really so terrible as all that, was it? The draught Gunter had given me was beginning to take effect, and none of the pain was so bad. I felt sleepy, not just exhausted. And I had the night's sweet memories to hold onto. The nightmarish flames threatening my baby brother and my soul mate's daughter would probably sneak their way into a few night terrors, but…

Gunter's hands. The smell of his hair, the incredible feeling of being held against him, feeling his heartbeat and his breathing, the perfect smoothness of his steps, gliding, ever-shifting equilibrium to match every movement I made, the two of us moving as one, for a moment becoming one, close enough to breathe one another's breath. I wasn't sure when I slipped from imagining to dreaming. Between trauma, exhaustion, painkillers, and an ample dose of love, I didn't care for once that I was being so horribly lascivious.

I dreamed of him, just once, without shame, of his hands and his hair as I'd come to know them tonight, of leaving behind a room full of unwelcome onlookers and walking the halls hand in hand. Of undressing him in my bed the way I'd always want to.

Morning came, or at least some time with light came. I was faintly aware of whispering Wolfram and giggling Giesela (Mother would like those for flower names) leaving an offering of candy and a rather battered handful of blossoms from the garden. I think I muttered some appreciation, but I wasn't really aware. Mother visited, and even Stoffel. I managed to wake up just a little for Gunter.

And thoroughly embarrass myself. Even through a haze of mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion, I blushed when I realized he was there. And when his hands rested above me and on me, I suspect I may have sighed a little. I know I reached for him. Caught myself, but probably not in time. I hoped he'd put it away to fever, but I fell asleep with him still tending to me (idiot!).

The first person I was really, properly aware of was Anissina. That just wasn't fair. I sat up feeling lead-limbed and groggy, and definitely in pain, but generally much better. She was knitting away at a bird of some point and grinned wickedly at me when I sat up. "Oh, good. You've improved."

"It hardly feels like it." My head was just so heavy. I looked out the window. Dusk. "Have I really slept all day?"

"Try four days." She let me sputter for a moment. "It seems Gunter didn't think you'd ever rest properly left to your own devices, so he slipped you some powerful concoction. He's really got some flair for academic sorts of sorcery, slogging through old alchemical texts and such. I'll have to ask to borrow his notes."

"What?" There was a brief moment in which I was angry at Gunter. It broke my heart, and I redirected I all at Anissina. She was right there, after all. "And who was there to take responsibility for what I missed?"

"I hate to break this to you, Gwen, but you're not really all that indispensable. Your responsibilities are all handy fabrications." She calmly purled and I seethed. She was right. She was entirely, reprehensibly right. "Your Mother's Coronation went off without a hitch."

"Really?" Pride aside, that was worth something.

"Nope. I lied. But it was a minor hitch, in comparison. The stableboy caught a human who was about to leave a bunch of nasty esoteric traps lying around the throne room under the guise of adding some more gold trim. It was a good idea, too. With your mom's concepts of decorating, no one would have noticed more gold trim."

Good point. "Has he been properly commended?" I shook my head. The ache was dull and deep and throbbing. I decided not to do that again. "The… stableboy, I mean."

"Oh, yes, Gwendal, I thought you wanted me to commend the saboteur." She rolled her eyes at me and began to cast off. "Yes. He's about Conrart's age, name of Dakaskos. Pat him on the head if you see him around. Otherwise it's been quiet."

"Except for some Rochefort hired human vermin setting fire to the throne room?"

"Reception hall." Anissina calmly watched me pale and grinned. "I lied. But you do look better, finally. I'll let him know it was certainly for the best." She was just trying to provoke me now. And it was working. "He's been moping all along, you know, afraid he did you an injustice. He mopes easily, doesn't he?"

"You don't even know him!" I wasn't sure what I was even defending him from, but… well, she wasn't being kind, and Gunter deserved only kindness.

"For Heaven's sake, you lovesick kitten." She rolled her eyes as though I were being wholly unreasonable. I was, to be fair. "I should think that bit of sensitivity would be part of why you find him so entrancing." And she was right again. This was a very bad day for my pride. "And doesn't he have the right to mope, anyway? Given what the poor thing's been through?"

"You mean what happened to the rest of the Von Christs? Do you know the details?" I'd meant not to go behind his back, but I couldn't ask him. Not when even mentioning that part of his past made him cry.

"You might, too, if you minded a few bits of history that aren't exactly of prime tactical importance. I mean, they're one of the Great Families. One of the oldest, aside from those that made up Shinou's personal guard. Decimation is going to make the books."

"Oh." Damn it, why was she always, always, always right? "Could you… cite me to such a book?"

"I'll bring it to you, if you like. Reading is nice and restful. If it'll keep you quiet a while longer." She smiled and left her knitting on the arm of her chair. Within ten minutes of disappearing she was back with a rather plain tome that looked fairly new. I enjoyed a moment of that crisp, sandalwood-y smell that comes of opening a fairly fresh book and then flipped to the index.

It took some searching to find what I was after. My first impulse was to look for "Gunter," but of course that was barely shy of madness. He'd been a child, and children tend to become historical footnotes pretty easily. I eventually tracked down the name of a Von Christ summer home and began to read.

In the autumn of the Twenty-Fifth Maou's seventieth year of reign, eight years into the War of the Kamari Shore, a ceasefire was being considered and hostilities had died down. There was a general relaxation of the border guard and general corps which proved a misstep. The victims of this error were the current inhabitants of Fallonhold, a short journey south from the capital in the Von Christ province.

Lord Hartwin Von Christ had received a near-fatal injury in the War of the Cape one-hundred and twelve years previously, and as a result was too crippled to enter the conflict. His husband, Odell Karbelnikoff, had a weak heart and was also unfit for service. The two chose a retreat to their peaceful country seat with their young sons to avoid the war they were unable to take part in, which was to be a fatal mistake.

The precise details of the attack on Fallonhold are unknown, due to a dearth of survivors. Soldiers belonging to a unit of Lord Florian Von Voltaire's came upon the slaughter two days later. The servants and retainers of the household had all been killed, mainly from a distance. The attack came quickly and without warning, for Lord Von Christ and his husband were discovered gruesomely murdered in their dining room with food still on the table. The mutilated bodies were carved with the sigils of several human nations.

The two sons were presumed dead or captured for some time until one private thought to search the upper floors more carefully. The youngest son, Gunter, was discovered hidden in a wardrobe in the tower. He suffered mildly from hunger and exposure and more severely from emotional trauma. He had been hidden by his older brother. Arianwyn Von Christ's body was never discovered. It can be assumed he met a similar fate to his parents'.

Named the new heir at only six years of age, Gunter Von Christ was entrusted first to the Spitzberg family. There was some consideration of honoring his older brother's marriage contract to Lady Cecile Spitzberg, but due to the greater difference in age this was abandoned. The new Lord Von Christ took the family title officially the day he turned sixteen and immediately entered military service.

I snapped the book shut. My poor, sweet Gunter! Why did fate always single out the truly good to torment?

But fate… almost seemed to have more in mind than misery. My father's men had saved him, my mother's family taken him in… He was even related to Anissina, though that was barely worth noting. With intermarriages as encouraged as they were, most of the great families were related one way or another. I was Anissina's third cousin myself. One couldn't rightly hold that against a man.

Did my parents' eventual marriage have anything to do with the rescue? I really doubted it, honestly, but it was sort of sweet to think of. Better than thinking about the possibility that Mother could have married… Oh, that was just gruesome. And I'd never have been born, but the more traumatic aspect was definitely the part where Mother married Gunter.

"You're right. He has every right." I set the book on the table and sighed. And what was I to that? What hope had awkward, ignorant, hopeless young Gwendal of beginning to heal his myriad wounds? His family gone in a single fell swoop, his title pressed upon him as little more than a child (for however much was made of coming of age, everyone knew it was an archaic and emptily symbolic gesture), his choices reduced to living as a ward of a wealthier family or joining the army almost before he was strong enough to hold a sword… My poor Gunter.

I lay back down and buried my face in the pillow. Nothing. There was nothing I could do to help him. Anissina patted my back and I didn't even have the energy to snap at her. I went back to sleep. Must have been a bit of the drug left in my system. My dreams were confused and ugly.

When I woke again I was alone and it was as dark as the castle got. The ever-present lanterns of the patrolling guards and twinkling in the city was disconcerting. I was used to real darkness. Deep, solid darkness that could swallow you if you weren't careful, but which was really more amenable to thought, especially given my black mood.

There was no one to stop me, so I carefully eased out of bed. The ache was there, but the healers had done their work well, and, after all, I was young and fairly strong. It wasn't comfortable, but I could walk. I tugged off the burnt, filthy pants I'd been left with. In the mirror I saw shimmery burns not quite healed, a heavy, slightly askew bandage, and an expression baleful even for me. I found a pair of scissors in my knitting bag and trimmed off the burnt hair. Moving carefully, I dug proper clothes out of my wardrobe. It was silly to dress in what was likely the middle of the night, but it made me feel a little more myself.

I couldn't put boots on. The worst burns were on my legs where the flames had licked largely unchecked. I could walk. Carefully, tenderly, on tiptoe, but I could walk. I found a pair of bedroom slippers and ducked out into the hallway.

It was quiet. I tried standing on the nearest balcony a while, but it had too good a view of the burned-out hall across the courtyard and I found no comfort in just being outside. Gingerly I picked my way down the stairs and slipped out to the stable to visit the horses.

It was almost properly dark inside. One couldn't leave any lit flame around so much hay. It'd be sheer madness. I let my eyes adjust and walked up to Gunter's pretty mare. She was sleepy but affectionate, and in petting her nose for a few minutes I found my spirits lifting a little. I was tired again and turned to head back to bed.

On the other side of the stable, a door was opened. Strange. Did someone else use horses for comfort? I was still in shadow and kept still, not really wanting any conversation from anything on two legs. Maybe I'd go unnoticed.

Silhouetted in the light from the yard were two figures, one a tall, solid young man and a very petite girl in a full skirt. Oh, I supposed that could be a use for the stable, too. I swallowed, feeling myself blush, and took a slow step back, wanting a quick escape.

Then I realized the girl was struggling. His hand must have been over her mouth, or she was too frightened to scream. Hard to make out in the dim light, but she surely wasn't glad to be here. Straining, I could make out muffled, whispered pleas to let her go. Her companion was clearly having none of it.

Bastard. As he dragged her down the corridor, probably in search of an empty stall, I readied myself. He was twice her size easily. It would be unconscionable to let him get away with this. I was in no condition to fight, but with the darkness on my side, I'd be alright with proper timing.

I punched his jaw. Not the most sportsmanlike, but I figured that in harassing tiny women in too many skirts to run, he quite forfeited all right to be treated in a gentlemanlike manner.

He punched back, but he wasn't very good at it and his eyes weren't as adjusted to the dark as mine. He only grazed my cheek. Painful, but only due to the burn there. Not that I was very good at it either. My next swing went a bit wide. But it was enough to let the girl bolt away.

My adversary spun around and lunged after her, but she was fast enough to dodge out of his way. As she darted outside, I recognized her as the maid who'd served my coffee in Lord Von Grantz's room. The man I was fighting I didn't know by sight. I had a vague idea I'd seen him about the palace, but in what capacity and under what circumstances I had no idea.

He glared and hit me. This time it worked. He cursed at me a bit, too, but I was reeling from the smack in the jaw and didn't quite catch the diatribe before he stormed away.

I stumbled outside. The girl had fled. Sensible of her. Now my chin was a bit bruised on top of everything else, but at least I'd saved the poor maid and worked off some of my restless distress. I made my way back to bed, undressed with no care at all, leaving my clothes for some poor housemaid, and proceeded to sleep again for another ten hours or so.

I'd probably have slept longer, but I could smell lunch cooking and the spicy sausage called to me through my dreams. When I sat up, with almost no dizziness and not too much pain, I realized I was once more not alone. It wasn't my attentive caretaker or teasing friend, but instead my uncle. And he was glowering. Stoffel had an amiable, cheery sort of face. He could be pompous, foolish, overbearing, and interfering, but I'd rarely seen him actually angry. He just wasn't built to glare, speaking as an expert myself.

"And you're the one who was carrying on about patching it up with the other side." I didn't think I'd even brought it up in his presence, actually, but let him accuse as he might. I was just confused, and at this point I didn't think I could blame the drugs any longer.

"Uncle, I have a headache. Would you mind cutting to the chase?"

"Would you mind telling me why you sprained the Rochefort heir's jaw?"

"Oh." So he'd looked pretty familiar for a reason. I didn't regret the action. What he'd been blithely inflicting on that poor girl was against any and every moral code. "He was harassing a woman half his size." Maybe I could have talked him out of it, but frankly, I doubted that. He was quite a bit bigger than me, in retrospect, both taller and wider. If I hadn't darted at him from the shadows the evening probably would have ended with both the maid and me regretting far more.

"Harassing?"

"Intending to rape." It had been quite obvious. Stoffel was being dense on purpose.

"And who was this woman?"

"I don't know. A servant." Did that matter? It was the duty of the aristocracy to protect our underlings, not exploit them. Commoners, even those not dwelling in my province, were mine to defend as a natural ruler. Abusing them made a lord into a criminal.

Sometimes I was as naïve as Gunter. But it should be true. And perhaps if more of us lived as though it were, truth would come.

"For some scullery maid you increased their animosity tenfold?"

"Their open animosity, maybe. I guess I gave them an excuse to say openly what was clear!" They'd attacked us, for Shinou's sake! Nearly killed me and my baby brother and sweet little Giesela. "Or didn't you notice the bombs going off?" My voice was oddly cold. Even I could hear it. Officious, cool, and commanding. That was… strange.

"While you were sleeping off your bump on the head we captured a couple of human agents in town who still had the makings of those firebombs with them."

Oh, that was rich. "Captured… by Rochefort men?" I expected him to tell me not to be stupid. That should have been going too far. But my uncle was silent. I whacked my palm against my forehead. "They were, weren't they?"

"Oh, clever boy. Do you think it's any secret, you young fool?" That stung a bit. I had to admit, I'd been feeling clever for my deduction, but it was pretty worthless. "You've made a delicate situation even more volatile."

"They almost killed two of your nephews. What delicacy is left in this situation?"

He raised his hand to backhand me. I wasn't feeling well enough to dodge, and he was fast. I resigned myself to being knocked over in the split second I realized it was coming. My eyes closed and I bit back a fury as cold as my words. But the impact never came.

I opened my eyes to see my uncle's hand neatly twisted back behind his head, a beatifically smiling Gunter holding it at a very odd angle which clearly would hurt to even try to struggle against. Such finesse. "I believe you may have overstepped your welcome with my patient, Lord Von Spitzberg."

He glared at us both with fierce malice and stormed from the room. Gunter sighed and sat on the bed beside me.

He'd defended me. For a moment I considered pretending to be more distraught than I was in hopes of some tender comfort, but that was a low stratagem I would not lower myself to, and I'd look even more childishly helpless. I couldn't help a slightly sheepish, warm smile. I was still irritated about his drugging me for a few days, but it had clearly helped, and… there was something I liked about being so mastered. I liked to think of him taking care of me, though for the most part I was determined to do that for him.

"Thank you," was all I could say.

"Your uncle is threatening to pass from nuisance to real problem." He buried his face in his hands for a moment. "He was pretending there was no problem until the bombs went off. I think therein lies the rub."

"He never liked being wrong." I was really starting to see my uncle with new eyes, and I didn't like what I saw. Stoffel was officious and liked to be in charge of things. I'd never seen much harm in his ambitions and controlling nature. He'd been a help with my duties when I was younger, and while overbearing had not forced his hand. I wished he'd stay out of Voltaire business, but I'd always been able to deal with it. He'd always been kind to me, even if he felt himself to be a perfectly acceptable father figure and warder decades after I'd needed the help.

The kind man who'd helped to raise me wasn't gone. He was acting in our best interests as he saw them. But his ambition and his pride were threatening to bury my mother's bumbling older brother. He'd never have thought of hitting any one of us. I sighed. "He'll come around." I hoped.

Gunter didn't answer. Ah, now came my just desserts. Stoffel had reacted badly, but that didn't put me in the clear. I'd practically handed the opposing faction an excuse to act openly against us. I wouldn't be surprised at a challenge to a duel, and I'd probably lose it. Most were better with a sword than I. And refusing would lose face I could be no means afford.

"Do you think a formal apology would do any good?"

"If you phrase it properly." I couldn't read his voice, and he looked away from me. "What happened?"

There was a gentle expectation in his voice. None of the accusation I'd heard from my uncle. He trusted me to have a good reason. "There was a girl. A young maid, tiny little thing, clearly with no combat training at all. He was going to rape her."

He did look at me then, with a sad little smile. "You did right, Gwendal."

"I know." Though it meant a world to me to hear it.

"It's the world that's wrong." He rested his hand on my shoulder. He was using no power, but I still felt warmed and healed. And also just a little dizzy, but I blamed the half a week of sleep and medicine for that. Mostly. "We'll find a way to fix it. In fact, this could be a blessing in disguise. If we patch this conflict up well, then they'll have to reach a very public truce with us."

"It should be in my hands. I'm the one who made the… Who caused the incident." It hadn't been a mistake!

"Ideally. And it's admirable. But Gwendal, you're not quite the born diplomat. And if we do all get involved, then we can use this as an open ceasefire. Between Lord Von Voltaire and the heir of Von Rochefort it's only a personal matter."

He had a point. I nodded. "However we can use it."

"And keep in mind why the Rocheforts are powerful. You may not have any official position as the maou's son, but the world knows you'll be wielding a lot more power and influence than you would have had you simply been the son of Cecilie Spitzberg."

"Hardly fair."

"It never is. The whole of Shin Makoku will know you as a powerful piece of this equation. You'll just need to be sure you're a player and not a pawn."

I'd gladly be Gunter's pawn, and I practically was. I smiled at him. He was kind and wise and gentle, and although it didn't erase the damage I'd done, his approbation made me at least hope that reparations could be made. "Right. So we've got… workable suspects for the attack on Mother's party?"

"They were clearly involved. It's simply a matter of proving who hired them. And you can imagine how well that will go. I'm glad you're back on your feet. Anissina's been some help, but hers is… an exceptional sort of assistance."

"Try her on interrogations." It seemed the perfect use for her talents. Though she'd probably need to invent something first, just to make herself feel complete.

"Good idea. Care for some lunch?"

"How long has it been since I've eaten?" I was just being cranky, as playfully as I knew how, but… He blushed. The color bloomed slowly and brightly on his perfectly pale cheeks, creeping down to where it vanished under his high collar. I'd bet anything it kept going, but had to stop myself picturing it. A deeply flushed Gunter had associations for me that I'd guard from him forever.

"I apologize for that, but you were already being so stubborn."

"You drugged me."

"I'm sorry!"

I smiled. "Fine." His blush crept away as slowly as it had come and we headed downstairs to see what world awaited us.