The gardens were a protracted maze of hedgerows and flower beds blossoming in the onset of spring. He found them sheltering from the sun under a maple tree. The princess was as lovely as ever, smiling radiantly and tossing her red-gold hair as she listened to the earnest youth on the bench beside her reading aloud from a small book. Vaelin saw only the faintest resemblance to his brother in Alucius Al Hestian, a thin boy of fifteen years or so, his youthful features delicate, almost feminine, topped by a main of black curls that cascaded over his shoulders. He wore black in mourning. Vaelin took a firm grip on the scabbard of the longsword he carried, drew in a deep draught of air and strode forward with all the confidence he could muster. As he drew nearer he could hear the lilting refrain of the boy’s words: “I pray you weep no more my love, let no tears fall for my demise, lift your face to the sky above, and let the sun dry your eyes…”

He fell silent as Vaelin’s shadow fell upon them.

“My Lord Al Sorna!” Alucius rose to greet him, offering his hand without regard to the lordly formalities Vaelin was finding so irksome. “This is indeed an honour. My brother’s letters spoke so highly of you.”

Vaelin’s confidence withered and drifted away with the wind. “Your brother was an overly generous man at times, sir.” He shook the boy’s hand, and offered a short bow to Princess Lyrna. “Highness.”

She inclined her head. “A pleasure to see you again, brother. Or do you prefer ‘my lord’ these days?”

He met her gaze, a mounting rage threatening to spill unwise words from his lips. “Whatever pleases you, Highness.”

She made a show of contemplation, stroking her chin, her nails were painted pale blue and adorned with inlaid jewels that glittered in the sun. “I think I’ll keep calling you ‘brother’. It seems more… seemly.”

There was a barely perceptible edge to her voice. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, still smarting over his rejection, or simply mocking a man she thought a fool for passing up the chance to share in the power she craved.

“A fine verse, sir,” he turned to Alucius, seeking escape. “One of the classics?”

“Hardly.” The boy seemed a little embarrassed and quickly put aside the small book he was holding. “Merely a trifle.”

“Oh don’t be so modest, Alucius,” the princess chided him. “Brother Vaelin, you are honoured to witness a reading by one of the Realm’s most promising poets. I’m sure it will be a proud boast in years to come.”

Alucius gave sheepish shrug. “Lyrna flatters me.” His gaze fell on the longsword in Vaelin’s hand, sorrow clouding his face in recognition. “Is that for me?”

“Your brother wanted you to have it.” Vaelin held the sword out to him. “He asked that you leave it sheathed.”

The boy took the sword after a moment’s hesitation, gripping the hilt tightly, his expression suddenly fierce. “He was always more forgiving than I. Those who killed him will pay. I vow it.”

Boy’s words, Vaelin thought feeling very old. Words from a story, or a poem. “The man who killed your brother is dead, sir. There is no vengeance to seek.”

“The Cumbraelins sent their warriors into the Martishe did they not? Even now they plot against us. My father has heard word of it. The Cumbraelin Fief Lord sent the heretics who slew Linden.”

Word flies fast from the palace indeed. “The matter is in the King’s hands. I’m sure he will steer the Realm on the correct course.”

“The course to war is the only course I will follow.” The boy’s sincerity was intense, tears gleaming in his eyes.

“Alucius,” Princess Lyrna laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, her tone soothing. “I know Linden would never have wanted your heart to be burdened with hatred. Listen to Brother Vaelin’s words; there is no vengeance to be had. Cherish Linden’s memory and leave his sword in its sheath, as he wished.”

Her concern sounded so genuine Vaelin almost forgot his anger, but the vivid image of Linden’s marble white face as he pressed the knife against his neck dispelled any regard. However, her words seemed to have a calming effect on the boy, the anger draining from his face, although his tears continued.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord,” he stammered. “I must be alone now. I should… I should like to speak to you again, about my brother and your time with him.”

“You can find me at the House of the Sixth Order, sir. I would be glad to answer any questions you have.”

Alucius nodded, turned to press a brief kiss against the princess’s cheek and walked back to the house, still weeping.

“Poor Alucius,” the princess sighed. “He does feel things so, ever since we were children. You realise he intends to ask for a commission in your regiment?”

Vaelin turned to her, finding her smile gone, her flawless face serious and intent. “I had not.”

“There are rumours of war. He has visions of following you to the Cumbraelin capital where together you will visit justice upon the Fief Lord. It would please me greatly if you were to refuse him. He is just a boy, and even as a man I doubt he would ever be much of a soldier, just a pretty corpse.”

“There are no pretty corpses. If he asks I will refuse him.”

Her face softened, rosebud lips curving in a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t accept if I wanted to. My Aspect has decided all the officers in the regiment will be brothers of the Order.”

“I see.” Her smile became rueful, acknowledging his refusal to engage with her game of favours. “Will there be war do you think? With the Cumbraelins?”

“The King thinks not.”

“What do you think, brother?”

“I think we should trust the King’s judgement.” He bowed stiffly and turned to go.

“Recently I had the good fortune to meet a friend of yours,” she went on, making him pause. “Sister Sherin is it not? She runs a healing house for the Fifth Order in Warnsclave. I went to make a gift of alms on behalf my father. Sweet girl, though terribly dedicated. I mentioned that we had become friends and she asked to be remembered to you. Although, she seemed to think you may have forgotten her.”

Say nothing, he told himself. Tell her nothing. Knowledge is her weapon.

“Do you have no reply for her?” she pressed. “I could have the King’s Messenger carry it. I do so hate to see friendships end needlessly.”

Her smile was bright now, the same smile he remembered from their talk in her private garden, the smile that told of an unassailable confidence and knowledge far beyond her years. The smile that told him she thought she knew his mind.

“I’m glad fate has brought us together once more,” she continued when he didn’t answer. “I’ve been thinking recently, pondering a problem which may interest you.”

He said nothing, meeting her gaze and refusing to play whatever game she had in mind.

“Puzzles are a hobby of mine,” she went on, “I once solved a mathematical riddle which had confounded the Third Order for over a century. I never told anyone of course, it doesn’t do for a princess to outshine brilliant men.” Her voice had changed again, taking on a bitter edge.

“Your keenness of mind does you credit, Highness,” he said.

She inclined her head, apparently deaf to the emptiness of the compliment. “But what has puzzled me lately is an event in which you were closely involved; the Aspect massacre, although why it’s called that when only two of them died I can’t imagine.”

“Why should such an unpleasant event concern you, Highness?”