welcome I get!”
Sasha just stared at him, sullenly. Her temper slowly cooling as she gazed up at her brother. Not all the Lenayin line were blessed with height—she was proof enough of that. But Damon was. A moderately tall young man, with a build that spoke more of speed and balance than brute strength. He would be very handsome indeed, she thought, if not for the occasionally petulant curl of his lip and the faintly childish whine in his tone whenever he felt events going against him.
He was the middle child of ten royal siblings, of whom nine now survived. With Krystoff dead, Koenyg was heir. Wylfred would be next, had he not found religion and committed to the Verenthane order instead, with their father's blessing. Then came Damon. Second-in-line now and struggling so very hard beneath the burden of expectation that came of one martyred brother who was already legend, and an overbearing stone-head of a surviving elder brother.
“I'm not a Verenthane, Damon,” Sasha told him, firmly. “I'll never be a Verenthane. You could cut my braid, stick me in a dress and feed me holy fables until my mind dissolves from the sheer boredom, and I'll still not be a Verenthane.”
“Well that's all fine, Sasha,” Damon said, exasperated. “You're not a Verenthane. Good for you. But you have a commitment to our father, and that commitment includes not making overt statements of loyalty toward the Goeren-yai.”
“Why the hells not?” Sasha fumed. “Goeren-yai are more than half of Lenayin last I looked! It's only you lordly types that converted, and the cities and bigger towns…most of Lenayin is just like this, Damon! Small villages and towns filled with decent, hard-working folk who ask nothing more than good rulers and the right to continue being who they are without some shaven-headed, black-robed idiot strolling into their lives and demanding their fealty.”
“Sasha, your last name is Lenayin!” Damon paused, to let the impact of that sink in. Wiser than to rise to her provocations. That was new. “The family of Lenayin is Verenthane! It has been for a century, since the Liberation! Now, whether your arrangement with Kessligh means that your title is officially ‘Princess’ or not, your family name remains Lenayin! And while that continues to be so, you shall not, under any circumstances, break with the continuity of the line of Lenayin!”
Sasha waved both hands in disgust and strode across the floor to lean against a window rim. Looking northeast up the valley, small lights burned from the windows of the houses that lined the road, then the dark, ragged edge of the upper treeline, separating the land from the vast expanse of stars. Hyathon the Warrior sat low on the horizon, and Sasha's eye traced the bright stars of shoulder, elbow and sword pommel raised in mid-stroke.
“Sasha.” Damon strolled to her previous spot, blocking the fire's warmth. “Master Jaryd speaks the truth. There have been rumours, since the call to Rathynal, of Krayliss courting your approval…”
“The nobility talks, Damon,” Sasha retorted, breath frosting upon the cold, dark glass. “Rumour is the obsession of the ruling class, everyone always talks of this or that development, who is in favour with whom, and never a care for the concerns of the people. That's all it is—talk.”
“Just who do you think you are, Sasha?” Damon said in exasperation. “A champion of the common people? Because I will tell you this, little sister—it's precisely that kind of talk that breeds rumours. Krayliss and his kind cannot be dismissed so easily, they do have a strong following amongst some of the people…”
“Vastly overstated,” Sasha countered, rounding on him. She folded her arms and leaned her backside against the stone windowsill. “The ruling Verenthanes simply don't understand their own people, Damon. And do you know why that is? It's because there are so few Goeren-yai among the ruling classes. Krayliss is the only provincial lord, and he's a maniac!”
“A maniac who claims ancestry with the line of Udalyn,” Damon said sharply. “You of all people should know what the Udalyn mean to Goeren-yai all across Lenayin. Such appeals cannot be taken lightly.”
“I of all people do know,” Sasha said darkly. “You're only quoting what Koenyg told you. And he knows nothing.”
Damon broke off his reply as the door rattled, held fast against the latch. Then an impatient hammering. Damon looked at first indignant, wondering who would dare such impetuosity against Lenay royalty. Then realisation, and he strode rapidly to the door, flung off the