Law of the Broken Earth(28)

Mienthe tilted her head. “Well, your father shouldn’t have pushed us to make common cause, then, if he had such strong opinions on the matter.”

“No,” Erich growled, with rather more force than Mienthe had expected. “He should not have. To be fair, he did not expect any such outcome because no one in Casmantium would think to make that alliance.”

“We don’t have your bad history with griffins,” Mienthe suggested.

Erich nodded. “Yes. The bad history. Your lord cousin, he has a good history with the griffins, is that so?”

“Yes, I think he does,” Mienthe said, guardedly, because she could not quite see where the Casmantian prince was going with this.

“He said so. I hope so,” Erich said. He looked at Mienthe for a long moment, the expression in his dark eyes very sober. “But you should remember, you should always remember, a creature of earth should not trust a creature of fire. You will remember this, Mie? If the griffin your cousin says is his friend comes here again to speak to you?”

Mienthe was astonished. “I can’t imagine why he would. He doesn’t know me—he’s not my friend.”

“He made a human girl into a fire mage. Your honored cousin said so. He spoke of it, he and the Safiad.”

By the Safiad he meant King Iaor, as the Arobern meant the King of Casmantium. Even after six years in Feierabiand, Erich liked to use the occasional Casmantian turn of phrase. He might do this to deliberately set himself apart; the prince was not above reminding others that he was Casmantian and royal. But Mienthe thought he simply wished to remind himself of his true heritage and nationality, in moments when he felt himself in danger of forgetting. She wondered what tricks a girl might use to remember her heritage after a griffin turned her into a fire mage. And how well those tricks would work. And for how long.

She said slowly, “I knew that, I think. I had forgotten. And I did not know it was that griffin who did it. Bertaud—” She stopped, not wanting to say out loud, My cousin did not tell me that; he never talks even to me about what happened six years ago.

“That griffin, he saw you when he came to speak to your honored cousin. Maybe he might come back. He took that other girl, before. Maybe he will come here to look for you.”

That seemed very unlikely.

“If he does,” Erich said, taking her hand in both of his—her fingers vanished entirely between his enormous hands. He looked intently into her face, “If he does, Mie, remember that a creature of earth should never make common cause with a creature of fire. Never. Promise me you will remember.”

“Of course I’ll remember,” Mienthe assured him, an easy promise to make as she knew very well nothing of the kind would come about. “I’ll be careful—truly, Erich. But you’ll be the one in danger, which is why you’ll get to do all the brave exploits. All I’ll get to do here is attend the queen and the little princesses and wait for you to send me news.”

The prince’s mouth crooked. “Attending those little girls is a brave exploit.” He stood up and stood for a moment gazing down at her. His eyes held a question, but Mienthe did not know what question she saw there.

But the arrival of the little princesses in person, brought in quickly to make their farewells to their father, interrupted Erich before he could speak, if he meant to.

The older of the princesses was called Karianes Nataviad Merimne Safiad. She was nearly five years old, plump, pretty, cheerful, and kindhearted; everyone said she was very like Niethe’s mother. The littler princess was Anlin Nataviad Merimne Safiad, a child who already, at three, showed her father’s strong will and determined temper. Both little girls ran to say good-bye to Erich after speaking to their father. He had been at the Feierabianden court all their lives and, not having a clear idea about just what a hostage was, they thought he was their brother. Erich called them his little sisters once removed and let them tease him into the most impossible mischief.

Erich threw Anlin up into the air and then caught her again, repeating the procedure at once with her older sister. “Oof!” he said, pretending he might not be able to lift the five-year-old. “Have you grown more just over these few days?”

Karianes laughed, but then pouted. “Do you have to go?”

“I have to, yes, but Mie will be here.”

The little girls gazed at Mienthe with doubtful expressions. A year was a long time to such small children, and they were clearly uncertain whether they should like to trade Erich for Mienthe. Then Anlin said, “You gave me a kitten.”

Mienthe smiled, surprised the child had remembered; the last time the princesses had visited the Delta, Anlin had been only just talking. Even surrounded by her nurses and her mother’s ladies, she had seemed somehow alone to Mienthe. And one of the stable cats had had kittens the right age. “Yes,” she agreed. “A black one with white feet and a white nose.”