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"This place, do I belong?" said one.
"Come here," said the other voice.
-Unknown
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Kirsya stood with Erenela near the door to the kitchen hall, their backs to the wall and hands clasped in front of them. The dining hall was a humble space, with a ceiling twice their height, painted white. Wooden beams crossed and spanned each other, supported by limestone brick columns two palms wide. A candle-lit brass chandelier hung low from the center of the room, below was the dining table. A long rectangular span made of Redwood and Narbita, ornate with brass at the table's edges. The emblem of the Niadir house made of gold, pinned on all four corners of the table. With three doors leading into the dining room—the first, the main door. A double door which leads out into the palace hallway. The second, a plain wooden door to the left, leads out into the eastern triangle's garden. The third, a door to the kitchens.
Footsteps came from the garden beyond the western entrance. Light and rapid, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of small feet skipping on stone pavers. "I told you," Potheine announced to no one in particular as she burst through the door, "I told you we would be first!" Her black hair had been brushed and ribboned with a red cloth lined with silver dust, and she wore a dress of pale blue that Asteria had probably spent ten minutes convincing her to put on. In one hand she carried a small leather pouch, empty and flapping.
Tallasa walked just behind her, wearing a face that expressed resignation. She had been chasing Potheine around the gardens and all the different rooms of the central palace—excuses to not study, escaping from her tutor. Her dress was green; it was plain but made from high quality threads. Her braids neat, her expression a careful blend of patience and exhaustion.
"So, I told her that fish live in the sea," Potheine started talking, "not in the garden, so why would they be in the garden?"
She kept talking, her voice already filling the room as she ran the length of the hall. "And she said 'because someone put them there,' and I said 'who would put fish in a garden,' and she said—"
"Potheine." Tallasa's voice was soft but firm. "We are in the dining hall now."
When she reached the far end she turned and ran back, Potheine veered toward the kitchen door, stood in front of Kirsya.
"Kirsya, Look!" She held up the empty pouch. "Do you know what this is for?"
Kirsya looked at the pouch. It was made of soft leather, for coins or sweets perhaps. "No," she said.
"It is a secret." Potheine's grin was wide. "I am collecting things."
"What things?"
"Secret things!" She darted away before Kirsya could ask more.
The side door opened again.
Kalos entered first. His hair was still damp from washing. He wore a dark coat which was simple but well-cut. Behind him came Dusak. He stood taller than his brother now and broader in the shoulders.
They were speaking as they walked, their voices low enough that Kirsya caught only fragments.
"—could have thrown you," Dusak was saying. "The horse. He had that look."
"Horses do not throw people for attitude," Kalos replied. "They throw people for fear."
"I was not afraid."
"Then it was not attitude. It was disagreement."
He pulled out his chair with a scrape that made Tallasa wince. Dusak's face expressed disagreement.
The faint smell of gunpowder reached Kirsya. She smelled it before—after long days at the range. Though it would fade by morning.
Potheine abandoned her marathon around the dining hall, and was now examining the sideboard where the serving dishes would soon be placed. She ran her finger along the edge of a platter then looked at her fingertip. She rubbed it on her dress.
"Potheine." Tallasa's voice became stern.
"I was looking," Potheine countered.
"You were touching."
"How do you know?" Potheine turned from the sideboard, her pouch now hanging from her belt.
The main door to the hallway opened.
Krysarion Niadir entered. The air of quiet authority hung around her, a woman who never needed to announce herself. The Lady was tall for a Nywa'nai, her black hair coiled at the nape of her neck. She wore a dress that bore deep crimson like the sun at dusk. Her face was Kalos's, though softened. Her eyes the same dark brown as her husband's. She moved through with elegance.
Kirsya stood at her post by the door and watched.
Potheine saw her and strode before anyone could react. She crossed the room in quick strides and threw her arms around her mother's waist. In her hand, she somehow acquired a wooden cup from the table and held up like an offering.
"Mother. Look. I have a cup!"
Krysarion took it from her hand and examined it, then handed it back. "So you do."
"And I have a pouch for important things! Erenela gave me a stone from the beach where she was born."
"Did she?"
"Yes! It is very smooth. I will show you later."
The Lady's hand came to rest on her daughter's head, then she moved toward her chair.
Waryad entered through the main door and took his place at the head of the table without ceremony. His arrival was signaled by the sound of his footsteps before he appeared. When he entered, the conversation faltered then resumed. Potheine already climbed back onto her chair. Kirsya moved quietly to her side, helping to settle her properly while adjusting the napkin that had become tangled in her lap. The room seemed to exhale. They began their dinner with a great number of dishes prepared at the table.
"The King has announced a review of the Vigilance Mandate." Waryad started.
Kalos looked up from his plate. "A review?"
"He wishes to see if the coastal defenses are adequate. Whether the budget allocated twelve years ago is still sufficient." His voice was neutral, but his eyes were sharp. "He is committing to his father's policies without change."
The Lady set down her fork. "That is not entirely accurate. The language reform is a change."
"A superficial one," Kalos retorted.
"Is it?" She turned to Kalos. "You have read the proposal. What do you think?"
Kalos considered. "The unification of Raha and Rakyat… it has been discussed for years. The practical difficulties are considerable."
"The political difficulties are the point." Krysarion's voice was calm, measured. "The King wants to dissolve the distinction between the dialects. One language for one people and one set of customs. He believes it will strengthen the kingdom against external threats."
"Or," Waryad said, "it will alienate the old families who see Tiaveka Rakyat as their inheritance."
"The old families," Krysarion replied, "are not the ones who will decide the future."
The table was quiet. Tallasa looked between her parents, her expression carefully blank. Dusak continued eating as though nothing had been said. Potheine had found a piece of bread and was tearing it into small pieces, arranging them in a pattern on her plate.
Kalos picked up his wine glass. "The unification will take years to implement. If it happens at all. There is no need to decide tonight. More presently, the sovereign is continuing the expansion."
"The same budget and the same targets with the same timeline. His father's plan is unchanged." Waryad's voice was flat, neither approving nor disapproving. "The question is whether it is wisdom or caution."
"Caution would be to wait," the Lady replied. She had not looked up from her plate, but her voice carried. "To see what the Ingreans do with their new colony before committing more men to the walls. Wisdom would be to prepare regardless of what they do."
"And which is this?"
She met his eyes. "It is both. That is the cleverness of it. He continues the policy without change, so he cannot be accused of weakness. But he also does not hasten it, so he cannot be accused of panic."
"You approve." Waryad returned her gaze back.
"Neither. I have no strong opinion." She replied.
Waryad nodded slowly, his eyes travelled to Kirsya and Erenela at the door, then back to the table. "It is not of immediate concern. Tonight, we eat."
The tension eased, but it did not disappear. It settled into the corners of the room, waiting.
"What about fish?" said Potheine as she looked up from her bread. The particular attention of a child, short and transient.
Lady Krysarion turned to her. "What about fish?"
"For eating. The fish book has pictures of fish, but I want to eat one. A real one. With teeth."
"Fish with teeth are not for eating," Dusak said flatly.
"Why not?"
"Because they eat you first."
Potheine's eyes widened. "Do they?"
"No," Tallasa said quickly. "Dusak is being stupid."
"I am not being stupid. There are fish with teeth that attack boats. I read about them."
"In what book?"
"In—" He stopped. "There is a book."
"There is no book."
"There is a book in the library. The one that fell."
Tallasa looked at Kirsya. "Is there?"
Kirsya kept her face neutral. "I do not know the contents of every book."
She looked at Kalos. "You said you would show me the book. The one with the pictures. But it went to the city."
Kalos's expression softened, just slightly. "It will come back."
"When?"
"When it is fixed."
"That is what everyone says!" Potheine slumped in her chair, her earlier excitement draining away. "I want to see the teeth."
"You can see one tomorrow. If you eat your vegetables."
Potheine looked at her plate and fixed her attention at the small pile of pickled vegetables she had been ignoring, then began eating them.
On the other side of the table, Tallasa turned to Dusak. "Is the black horse still limping? I asked Thallos to check her hoof, but he said she was fine."
"She is fine. She just does not like the farrier." Dusak cut another piece of salmon and chewed. "Your horse has opinions."
"All horses have opinions. You said yours gave you attitude this morning.
"That was different. That was disrespect."
"Horses cannot be disrespectful."
"This one can."
Tallasa laughed—quickly stifled but real. Kirsya saw the way her face changed when she laughed. The child she still was surfacing for a moment before she remembered where she was and smoothed her expression back into something more appropriate.
Potheine finished her vegetables. She pushed her plate away and looked at her mother, then at Kirsya, then at the empty space beside her chair. Then she patted the chair beside her. "Kirsya," she said.
Kirsya's attention sharpened. "Yes, Young Lady."
"Sit beside me."
The words dropped into the conversation like a stone into still water. Kirsya did not move. She could feel Erenela's presence beside her, still, waiting.
"I cannot," Kirsya said.
"Kalos." Potheine turned to her brother, her voice rising. "Tell her she can sit with me."
Kalos looked at Kirsya, his father, then back at his sister. "She is working."
"You can work sitting down," said Potheine as she turned towards Kirsya.
"It is not my place." She explained.
Potheine's face crumpled into a particular expression. "But you always stand. You always stand and watch. And you never eat. I saw you this morning. You ate late because you were working. Now you are working again and you will eat late again and that is not fair."
The table had gone quiet. Tallasa was looking at her plate. Dusak was looking at Kalos. Kalos was looking at Kirsya.
"She is not wrong," he said.
Kirsya's breath caught. She did not let it show.
Kalos's voice was even, measured. "You have been on your feet since morning. The room is prepared. The dinner is served. There is nothing that can't wait a quarter hour." He looked at his father. "If it is permitted."
Waryad's expression did not change. He looked at Kirsya then back at his plate. "There is room."
Potheine pulled the vacant chair out and Kirsya lowered herself onto it. The wood was hard and the seat was lower than what she was used to. The table rose before her like a wall. She did not know where to put her hands, instead she folded them in her lap and kept her eyes on the plate in front of her, which was empty and not hers.
Potheine leaned against her shoulder, warm and solid. "There," she said. "That's better."
No one said anything. The dinner continued. Kirsya sat and listened, but she did not eat. The plate before her remained empty and no one offered to fill it. That was fine. It was more than fine. She was sitting at the family table and Potheine's shoulder was warm against hers. The candles flickered in their silver holders, and the sea was somewhere beyond the windows, dark and waiting.
The conversation resumed. Waryad and Kalos returning to the king's policies, Dusak and Tallasa to the horses. Potheine chattered beside her, asking about the book and the binder in the city, whether the fish with teeth would be afraid if they saw her. Kirsya answered when answering was required and felt the weight of the chair beneath her. The strange and unfamiliar sensation of being seated at a table instead of standing against a wall.
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The meal ended, Kirsya rose after the others had left. Her hands collected the plates and carried them to the kitchen. Vizna was there, her hands deep in soapy water, her humming filling the space.
"You sat with them," Vizna said.
Kirsya set the plates on the counter. "The princess insisted."
"The princess." Vizna's mouth curved. "And the prince allowed it."
Kirsya said nothing.
Vizna pulled her hands from the water, dried them on her apron, and looked at Kirsya with those pale blue eyes that had seen too much to be surprised by anything. "You have worked in this house since you were a child. You have stood in that doorway a thousand nights. And tonight, someone said 'there is room.'" She nodded slowly. "It is a small thing. But sometimes small things are the ones that matter."
Kirsya looked down at her hands. There was dishwater on her fingers, and something else—a smear of gold perhaps, from the painted rim of a plate.
She did not know what to say so she said nothing. Vizna did not press, and the kitchen continued working. She turned her head toward the dining hall, it settled into darkness.
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