...After communion, like usual, he went to see his mother.

" Haven't I told you not to come back?" she hissed at him, lines of disgust etched onto her face.

" Mother, Diurn wouldn't have succeeded in retaking Esha from the DASS without me," he said. " You need me, don't you?"

" Leave!" she yelled, nails digging into her throne's armrests.

Oh, well. That was fine. Her answer wouldn't change. She knew she needed him.

He passed Fausta on the way out. His imperial uncle was starting to show his age. Grey flecked the front of his hair. He did not acknowledge him either.

That was fine.

He called over Ardnand, and had her run a bath for him.

" What news is there of the palace? Has Mother borne Lyeha yet?" he asked, soaking in hot water.

Ardnand, her head bowed, answered as she combed through his hair.

" Queen Mother had tried to bear a daughter with Imperial Commander Bellam, but instead issued forth a son," she said to him. " She dislikes him to the point she refused to name him. Lorn is fond of him since he is very clever, and bade me have my own son accompany him."

Ah, right. Ardnand had had a son while he was away. She was no longer the small and impressionable young girl that had tailed after Kalidhe. Now she had started to bear the same weathered countenance as her mother.

Even Irdat had grown to look older. When he was a child, she had still been fairly young herself- slim, maidenly.

It was a problem that they lacked Lyeha. He couldn't have a legitimate succession without one.

There was still plenty of time, he supposed.

After a while, Ardnand helped him to dress, and he went to return to his room. He had to review the battle logs of his last engagement.

He passed by a child in the hallway. Was he the new one? What a shame.

" Y... your hair is pretty," the child said.

He looked back at him, smiling.

" Oh, thank you, little kitten. What's your name? It seems Mother had you while I was away."

This was something Ardnand had forgotten to tell him; it wasn't especially important, but he wondered who had named him. Most likely Lorn, if it was true that Lorn favored him.

The child still looked hesitant to speak, as though surprised he'd really received a reply, and answered shyly, head bowed down.

" Nova," he said. " What's yours? You're another brother of mine, aren't you?"

He wondered if Nova would cringe away from him upon hearing his name, if he was used as a scary bedtime story by the ungrateful maids.

" Yes, I am. My name's Ifrit. I've been away since I was reinforcing the front lines," he told him. No recognition showed on the young boy's face. His open, innocent expression made Ifrit almost uncomfortable.

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that.

He realized that maybe no one had ever looked at him like that at all.

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