The next knock that came at the door had Brytha wiping her eyes, blowing her nose and putting a resolute look on her face. She dusted off her dress, unlike his other sisters she was wearing a dress, and had carefully arranged her hair.

"Mother," she said, when she opened the door to find Diase staring sternly back.

Diase had always looked stern, Nikolas thought, everything about her was neat and orderly. Even when their entire family had woken up in the nightdress Diase looked as if she was ready to go on one of her many assignments. It used to be reassuring, seeing her buckling on her belt and adjusting her sash, but not now. His mother was at home, she should not be in uniform and looking so… cold at them.

"We are having dinner," said Diase firmly, "we are having dinner and you too should get ready."

"We were told—" Brytha began.

"I do not care what the doddering woman has to say!" They both flinched as her fist met the wooden door. "I don't care!" A deep shuddering breath and when she turned to look at them she wore the same smile Aldeim had given them earlier.

Nikolas gulped and stepped back.

"Come, Brytha, Nikolas, make yourself presentable, we will go have dinner now."

She strode away after that, and Nikolas could hear his mother walking up the stairs.

"Father said we were supposed to—" He began, turning to Brytha with what he knew was a look that begged her to explain what was going on, for it was beyond him why his mother would want them to have dinner now.

"Since when did she ever care what Father wanted?" Brytha took several shuddering breaths, and to Nikolas's astonishment, walked towards Richan's dresser and began rummaging through it for the powder that Richan sparingly used to conceal the 'disgusting pimples'.

"Why would you do what she says then?" He knew it was why they fought sometimes, it was always about her promises or the other, but they were always happy afterwards, were they not? And sometimes people argue, his father had explained, it was just the way things were. So why did Brytha sound so venomous and angry?

"Nikolas, sometimes," Brytha had a brush in her hand and as she ran it under her eyes the blotchiness faded away. Only temporary, Nikolas knew, it was one of those witches' powders that lasted until midnight. "Sometimes you have to play along."

He stood up to block the door when she made to leave. "I want to know what's going on! Why are you playing along? You said that—" he lowered his voice, "you meant to say something! What is it? Why won't you tell me?"

For the second time that day some emotion passed across Brytha's face that he couldn't quite place. She crossed her arms, tapped her foot then said in hushed tones, "She's cheating on Father."

"Cheating?" He knew card games, but from the way Brytha said it, and with that look on her face it couldn't be what she meant. He held out both hands, palms up, in a question, she needed to explain more, and raised an eyebrow, which meant that she could spare his feelings on the matter, he could handle the truth.

"They say it's an affair, as if it makes it any better!" Brytha nodded resolutely. "She's away for so long, of course she would—" Brytha paused, biting her lip, and settled on the word, "look at other men! And they are men, they all fling themselves at her because she's so high up, so they can also be higher up as well!"

"Is that why Father's mad?"

"Well yes, wouldn't you be?" Brytha said matter-of-factly. "You did everything right and your wife goes off and takes the hand of the first lad that falls into her lap, of course he'll be mad! And not to mention—" she stopped, chest heaving. "Never mind, here, I'll help you put on your tunic properly. She said we're supposed to come down then we'll come down."

"But that was against what Father said to us!"

"I already told you Nikolas, she never listens to what he wants!"

They glared at each other, and Nikolas was glad that she was not wearing her riding boots with those unfairly high heels. Then to his surprise Brytha backed down.

"I won't fight you on this. Fine. Fine. I'll tell you why it's a secret and I'm playing along if you promise to not say anything to Mother. Will you do that? You're old enough aren't you, and I told you she's never kept any promise of hers to Father."

There was a look on her face that usually came when she was thinking deeply and Nikolas nodded, happy to be included in whatever plan it was.

"You can't really go and petition for a divorce, not when your wife's a Voevoda," said Brytha. "But no one looks when I walk into the office and have a quick gander. The older women there were most informative."

So Brytha said something smart, and now she knew which hand to give the coin to and which stamp to get. Why was she so clever?

"Then why are we playing along?"

"Oh Nikolas," she patted his head, and leaned in to whisper, her voice was sharp and cutting, "we're going to give Mother the most delightful surprise."

It didn't sound delightful to Nikolas, but surely if he played along then Aldeim would be happier and less stern while tutoring Nikolas. Though now he thought of it, his father was always snappish whenever his Mother was about to return. Has that always been so? He tried to dig through his memories to remember but all he could come up with was the blankness that came to his mind when he was given a book to read. Aldeim might even help him there, Nikolas thought, instead of giving him a sigh of disappointment or a barely concealed huff when Nikolas recited his sister's passage instead.

'That was not learning,' his father had said.

He held out his hand to his sister, and they shook on it, a merchant's promise. It wasn't as magical as a witches' nor was it properly written down, but it would have to do. As they left the door Brytha took in a deep breath.

"Not long now," she muttered.

They were the first to be seated at the table, which was laid with dishes from the larder. They were not Warada's dishes, Nikolas knew that much. Warada sometimes used magic in her kitchen, a little bit there, a dash here, but this, this was overpowering. The woman seated at the table, in his mother's seat was no doubt the Voevoda from earlier. She had taken off her cloak, but she still wore the fancy robes of the court, all golden thread and her dress depicted scenes of animals that seemed to move from one panel to the next. Her graying hair was pulled back into an elaborate bun and the ivory pins that held it there were glinting in the sunlight. The Voevoda had her head in her hands when they entered but when Brytha pulled a chair out and motioned for Nikolas to sit down she abruptly sat up.

"Abandon your plan for now, little girl." Her face was so lined that Nikolas had to hold himself back from flinching.

He'd never met anyone that old.

The chair scraped against the wooden floor with a screech but Brytha's voice was as smooth as silk when she spoke, "I beg your pardon, Voevoda?"

"Your mother's problem is not her loyalty to your father," said the Voeveda, and she gave Brytha look one gives while soothing a kicked puppy. "That she was always true. No. Look deeper, girl, and you'll see." Then her eyes, an odd blue-violet, met Nikolas's and she shook her head, "And you! Well. We'll just have to see with you won't we?" She pushed her chair back and got to her feet, "Tell Diase I won't participate in her little pity circus." A pause, "Tell Aldeim—"

Two years ago his father had taken them all to a summer festival, and there had been a stage and a play. It was set at night, so that the shadows could be casted behind the screen and everyone could see the little shadow puppets and people. But this one was a magical troupe, so they had magical puppets, and the actresses and actors were free to roam the stage, and free to add more voices to the performance. Nikolas did not know the play, and he didn't want to recall it, because the puppets had been of giant birds, death birds like the masks the lěkarka wore. All he knew was that they'd snatched up a little puppet girl, and the actress had run across the stage, crying out for her. For the first time he'd reached for his father's hand, and he remembered clearly, Aldeim had returned with a comforting hand on his back.

'It's just a story,' Aldeim had said.

This was not midsummer, and he was not at a play watching some puppet birds snatching the puppet girl. The noise echoing through the house, an unearthly wailing was no story and all too real.

"No!" Brytha was on her feet, and Nikolas was running after her, and they both headed to the same place, the room where Richan was laying in.

They found chaos, Nikolas caught a glimpse of Warada dabbing at her eyes, the lěkarka rushing out of the room, ushering their apprentices out. There was maybe his mother, still in her regalia in the corner. But what he could see, amid the frantic pushing and shoving, was his father kneeling in front of Richan's bed. Then his eyes were on Richan, and what he saw before the sheets were hastily pulled over his brother's face was not Richan. It was like a failed oil painting, like someone had tried to draw his brother's features but smudged them over, out of malice or stupidity. What kind of illness was this? It had only been one day! And Richan was supposed to…

"What did you do!" Brytha wailed, throwing herself at Diase and pushing her out of the room, "What did you do what did you do what—"

He thought it had been horrible enough to see Richan but to see his father slowly get to his feet and pull Brytha off, hugging her to his chest.

"So it begins," said the Voeveda solemnly, squeezing his shoulder, "so it begins Nikolas."

He felt his vision go blurry, and arms were around him, before he was lifted up. He smelled paper and ink, and the herbal spices of the lěkarka, before Aldeim whispered soothingly in his ear, rubbing his back, "Come, Nikolas, you're going to stay in your room with Brytha and I'll come fetch you. Don't open the door to anyone."

When the bedroom door closed again, it felt like a stone dropped in his stomach, he looked at Brytha who had sat herself on Richan's bed, eyes very wide and mouth slack. She looked lost for words, for the first time since he knew her, and when she saw him, strangely, she beckoned him to sit next to her. Then her arms were around his as the very familiar sounds of an argument started outside their door.

"I am so sorry—"

"You are sorry."

"Aldeim—"

"Your words mean nothing to me."

"Aldeim—"

"Who—" it sounded like someone bit back a scream, "do you even know your son? You—How do you give eulogies to a stranger?"

"Aldeim— Aldeim, you have to believe me, I did not intend for this to happen! I never—"

"You lied. You lied to me when you promised…"

"Cover your ears Nikolas," said Brytha suddenly, and when Nikolas didn't, she clapped her own hands over his ears.

But she didn't have magical earmuffs and he heard the words, "... never said yes."