To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing. -- Anne Carson

"I don't believe it!"

Five hundred years ago the royal household would have been alarmed to hear angry shouting issue from the Prince Royal's[1] palace. Unlike most of his family Prince Mirio had neither the inclination nor temperament for involving himself in court squabbles. In the past, shouting in his palace would have meant something was badly wrong somewhere. Now, however, the passing courtiers merely sighed and shook their heads. Inwardly they lamented that years of living in Seroyawa had still not taught Her Highness the Foreign Princess any discretion.

Mirio's palace was comparatively isolated. As the son of a concubine he had little chance of becoming emperor. As the son of a foreign concubine he had no chance at all. His mother was from Gengxin, and no self-respecting Seroyawan would allow someone with mixed blood to take the throne. An outsider would have assumed he was miserable and lonely. A reasonable assumption, but a completely wrong one.

It was hard for anyone to be lonely when their siblings decided their house was the perfect place to meet and talk without interruption.

Take today for example. Abihira paced back and forth across the room. Kiriyuki was too busy eating the sweets she'd brought to pay any attention to the others present. Mirio himself sat cross-legged on the floor, calmly drinking tea and pretending not to see the crumbs Kiriyuki dropped all around her. The two younger princes were out in the garden, holding a mock sword fight with twigs for swords and saucers for shields.

"Sit down and drink your tea," Mirio said as Abihira passed the table for the fifteenth time. "It will go cold."

Abihira sat down and muttered something in common Seroyawan[2]. "Is tea your answer to everything?"

Kiriyuki snorted, a display of unladylike behaviour that would have scandalised her parents. "Just drink the tea. He's like a mother hen. He'll never be happy until you do."

As she spoke she reached for another sweet. A small avalanche of sugar and crumbs fell from her clothes onto the floor. Mirio looked silently at the mess. His lips pursed ever so slightly and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Nearly two thousand years of growing up with him had left Kiriyuki able to read the smallest changes in his expression.

"Sorry," she said without much sincerity. "I'll sweep them up later."

"Thank you," Mirio said serenely, pouring Abihira a fresh cup of tea.

It was a strange -- and for their father, a rather unwelcome -- fact that Mirio, the son the emperor didn't exactly dislike but would prefer to forget about, the child of a diplomatic union with a foreign woman the emperor had no interest in, understood the unspoken rules of accepted conduct much better than his four half-siblings. Kiriyuki and her full brothers and sister were the children of the empress, the woman the emperor admired, respected, and even loved in his own way. Yet they frequently excited disapproving looks with their lack of tact, behaviour that wasn't quite impolite but certainly wasn't polite enough either, and being far too free with their real opinions.

Discretion and politeness were the most important things in the royal court. You could commit any sins you liked, be as corrupt as possible, and engage in backstabbing all day long, as long as you were discreet and polite while doing it. Abihira, as a foreigner, and Kiriyuki, as the Crown Princess, had some freedom to flout the court's customs without facing severe disapproval. Mirio had no such security. From earliest childhood he had learnt that he had to follow the rules to the letter. Only people who had known him all his life were able to tell what he truly thought about anything.

"You still haven't told us why you're angry," he said as he handed Abihira her teacup.

She drank the tea all in one go, wrinkling her nose slightly at the taste. Not even more than five hundred years in Seroyawa could give her a fondness for green tea. "It's that dratted letter." She would have used a stronger word than 'dratted', but she caught Mirio's eye in time. "My parents want me to go home next month. No reason, no warning, not even an apology for the short notice!"

"I'm sure they have good reason for it," Mirio said.

Abihira grimaced. "That's what I'm afraid of."

In the long lifespans of immortals a month passed by in an instant. Abihira was on her way to her parents' house before she knew it. Her arrival at Yaruael Palace was a confused blur. Time only slowed down again when her parents summoned her to her mother's study.

It was an open secret in the royal family that Princess Hartanna and her second husband were at best indifferent to each other. They avoided spending time together as much as possible to ensure their indifference did not turn to outright hostility. Years before marrying Abihira's father Hartanna had fallen in love with a commoner of no family or money. She had married him against her mother's orders. No one had ever told Abihira the full story of what happened next. All she knew was that her mother's first husband died, leaving her to raise their only child herself, until Grandmother arranged a marriage between Hartanna and one of her fifth cousins, Mihasrin Kiyalanilsilru. Abihira was the ninth of their children.

Seeing how coldly distant they were towards each other, she sometimes thought her very existence was a minor miracle.

Now she was faced with both her parents, apparently in agreement on some unknown subject. Abihira could have weaseled her way out of almost any situation if she was just dealing with her mother. She could have done the same, possibly with a bit more difficulty, if she was only in trouble with her father. But when confronted with both of them, with no idea what the problem was, she could only sit down and worry about why they were angry.

I know I kept my necromancy research well-hidden, she thought, unconsciously clenching part of her outer coat in her hands. Not even Kiriyuki knows about it.

"Rilluintiar," Hartanna said, using Abihira's kelros-name[3]. "We have something very serious to talk to you about."

Abihira's mind flew back to necromancy. Her grip on her coat tightened. She tried not to let her alarm show on her face. "What is it, Mother?"

"Your marriage."

Years of getting into trouble had taught Abihira to appear calm in almost any situation. She had a spiel of excuses ready for every sort of confrontation she could imagine. But nothing could have prepared her for that answer. She would have openly gaped if memories of Kiriyuki's etiquette lessons hadn't still lingered at the back of her mind.

Every Saoridhin noble had an arranged marriage. Not every marriage went ahead. Sometimes one future spouse died. Sometimes scandal led to a match being broken off. Sometimes the betrothed people didn't like each other and mutually agreed to call the marriage off. Still, the vast majority of betrothals ended in marriage, and the vast majority of marriages were fairly happy. Abihira knew this as well as she knew her own names. She also knew she was betrothed to a minor nobleman, and she knew her future husband fairly well.

Some families believed it was best not to let a betrothed couple meet until shortly before the wedding. The Sinistrahs, the royal family of Saoridhin, had always believed this was nonsense. Abihira and Irímé had played together as children, visited each other as adolescents, and exchanged letters as adults. They knew each other well enough. Perhaps they weren't each other's best friends, and they never fell head-over-heels in love, but Abihira could think of many worse men to marry.

They also weren't meant to marry until they were both over three thousand years old.

Unless Abihira had hit her head and slept through more than one thousand five hundred years, this was much too early to talk about her marriage.

Not to mention the reason she viewed marriage to anyone as a necessary evil. She could never love Irímé the way spouses were supposed to love each other. She would always find marital duties a burden. It didn't matter who she was betrothed to. She had never desired anyone, man or woman. Romantic love was something she was simply incapable of.

Abruptly Abihira realised she was expected to say something.

"My what," she said blankly.

"Your marriage." Her father shook his head and frowned, looking as if he thought she was very stupid.

Her mother nodded. "We've decided to... Well, it will happen sooner than we expected."

Abihira tried frantically to think of something to say. She failed. Her mind had gone completely blank.

"How much sooner?" she gasped after what felt like hours.

"Sit down and let us explain," her father said.

Abihira hadn't even realised she'd stood up. She sat down again and waited, feeling as baffled as if she'd just been told snow was black.

"There are two main reasons for our decision," Hartanna began, falling into the lecturing tone she used when called upon to explain something to people less intelligent than she was. "First, politics."

I might have known, Abihira thought sourly. Politics was used to justify every sort of insanity imaginable.

"Kumolnea-anfalen is," Hartanna paused and looked shamefaced, "not to put to fine a point on it -- an incompetent fool. She has no intention of standing down until her son is married. And her people are increasingly unhappy with her misrule. Rumour has it a rebellion is imminent."

Serves Kumolnea right, Abihira thought. "So you want me to get married quickly so she'll finally stand down."

Her parents nodded approvingly.

"Exactly," Mihasrin said. "Preferably before there is any unpleasantness. So your marriage will have to be... within the next five years."

Very few people cope well with the news that an event they thought distant is suddenly looming over them. Immortals are no exception. Abihira could hardly have been more astonished if the sun fell out of the sky.

Good grief, she thought, clutching the arm of the chair to steady herself. "I-- I see." She took a deep breath and tried to think clearly. "You said there were two reasons."

Her parents exchanged a look.

"Yes." Mihasrin frowned. "We've heard some very strange rumours about you. Meddling with dark magic and digging up graves."

"It was only one grave," Abihira corrected without thinking. "And there was no one in it. I was testing--" She stopped abruptly when she remembered what she'd been testing. "Er-- I mean, I wanted to see what being in a grave was like."

As excuses went that was an utterly terrible one. But she could hardly tell her parents that she had been searching for a vampire's grave. There were certain skeletons it was better to leave in closets. The existence of vampires was one of those skeletons.

Hartanna pursed her lips. "That's exactly the sort of morbid fantasy we've been told you're prone to. It has to stop. We don't want certain rumours to start."

"So you want me at home to keep an eye on me," Abihira finished for her.

Raivíth Kiwarinsvóeln had been Empress of Saoridhin for the better part of twenty thousand years. She was old even by the standards of immortals. Very few people dared come into her presence without showing her the proper respect.

And yet here was her cousin's son, dressed in the bizarre fashions of the province he ruled, greeting her with only the most perfunctory bow. Worst of all he was wearing green[4].

The colour of misfortune, Raivíth thought with distaste. No sane, civilised person would ever wear green.

Such disrespect simply could not be tolerated!

"Ilaran Khíralsilru," she greeted him in a frosty tone. "How nice to see you accepted our invitation. You were barely two hundred when I last saw you. I must hope you are wiser now."

Her nephew held himself with the sort of stiffness that suggested he was ready for an attack. "I thought you knew, Aunt. My name is Ilaran Illessilru now."

The temperature in the throne room plummeted. Raivíth contemplated trying to reason with him. At last she decided this was the wrong time. There would be other opportunities.

"It has been many years since you last visited us," she said with forced politeness. "I daresay you'll find many things have changed."

Prince Ilaran gave her an equally forced smile. His tone was as frosty as hers. "In some things, Aunt, I'm sure I will find no changes."

If he had been anyone else he would have been thrown out of the palace for his insolence. Unfortunately he was the son of Raivíth's much-mourned cousin. It was too late to help poor Aderthril. Now all Raivíth could do was try to tolerate her son's presence. He wouldn't be here long. He was only here for the celebration of the Day of Comets. It was less than a month away. She was sure no one could cause much trouble in a month.

"If you'll excuse me, Aunt." The prince bowed abruptly. "I want to visit my uncle."

He turned and stalked out without waiting to be dismissed. The courtiers gasped and muttered among themselves.

Raivíth watched him leave with an ominous sense of foreboding.