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Chapter Text

Warm sunlight filtered through soft green, lending the wood a fire-fly glow, and under every branch and leaf, living things stirred. It was quite different from the dead, cold forests with their red and black snow that King Casimir had grown used to during the war. He smiled, tilting his face to the warmth, and let go of his horse’s reins to stretch out his hands as if he could catch the golden beams, feeling the thaw down to his very bones.

When he opened his eyes, there were ravens circling overhead.

He grasped the reins once more and took his crossbow off his back, eyes flickering over the brush. Iowca had her grey nose to the ground, and Casimir watched the faithful hound closely, waiting for the signals that had often been the difference between life and death to him in the past. Suddenly, the greyhound raised her head, then took off barking. Casimir spurred his horse into action after her, crossbow at the ready, and found her circling a tree, growling as the ravens swooped down. 

Casimir didn’t have to wait to see the sort of damage a flock of ravens could do and took aim quickly, then shot. The birds scattered, his quarrel smashed through the tree branches, and something in the tree moved. Casimir set another bolt in his bow and took aim. Was it a cat, a bear? During the war there had been people in the trees, waiting to ambush, and the anxious, battle-worn part of him told him to run or shoot before they could, but an unclear shot would only aggravate a large animal, and running would provoke a chase. 

Iowca was still growling, and he nudged his horse a little closer, trying to see through the thick pine needles. There was a scuffling, a flash of gold on black, then very human eyes in a human face peered down at him. His hand tensed, but he stopped himself just in time to realize it was a woman, and that the eyes were wide and terrified. That was when he noticed the smashed branches behind her head. 

He threw down the crossbow and leapt from the horse, running to the tree. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there. I didn’t shoot you did I? Please say you are unharmed.”

She shook her head.

“No you will not say, or no you are not unharmed?”

This produced a level of head shaking and nodding and gesturing fit to confound anyone.

“Nevermind. I’m coming up.” He unbuckled his sword belt to get it out of the way and scrambled up into the tree beside her. She was a lovely girl, golden haired with wide blue eyes, but draped in a black shawl as if in mourning.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “It was an accident, and I truly mean you no harm. Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I would never forgive myself did I inflict a single scratch upon you, my lady.”

She smiled very faintly.

“Please, may I help you down?”

She glanced anxiously at the ground, where Iowca still menaced. 

“Oh! That’s alright. She won’t hurt you.” He whistled sharply. “Iowca! Heel!”

The hound stopped barking and backed away from the tree a little.

“See? She’s a very well trained dog, and has saved my life on more than one occasion by her fierceness, though she doesn’t usually make a habit of treeing young maidens. Here, let me give you a hand.” As he spoke, he reached out to her, and she tentatively slipped her hand into his. Her palm was rough, grip strong as he carefully lowered her to the ground, clearly a woman well acquainted with work. Once she safely had both feet on the loam, he jumped down himself, landing in a crouch.

“There, that’s better.” He straightened his tunic as he stood. “Now, let’s start again properly, shall we? My name’s Cas. What’s yours?”

She swallowed, tapped her lips, then shook her head.

“Oh, oh I’m sorry. I ought to have realized. I thought you were only shy but… but of course you’re not. I, um…”

She patted his arm and smiled, more genuine than the first time.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’re very understanding. But are you alright wandering by yourself out here? Do you have family nearby? I could escort you home.”

Her face fell, and she turned forlorn eyes to the sky, where the whole unkindness of ravens still circled, cawing. 

“I see,” he said softly. “Was… was it recent?”

She nodded, blinking hard.

“Then are you all alone out here?”

She shrugged and tilted her hand from side to side, then looked up at the ravens again.

“Then… if there is no one here with you, would you like to come back with me? It cannot be safe nor healthy for you in this woodland isolation.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and took a step back.

“It’s alright. I know you have no reason to trust me, and I won’t force you, I only worry that harm will come to you in the wild without protection. In truth, my full name is Casimir, and I am king of this land. It would be a small matter for me to find you a place to live and some employment, and I give you my word of honor that I would protect you and cause you no ill.”

Still she hesitated. Overhead, the ravens screeched, then descended around her like a great black cloud. Casimir drew his sword, then paused, for they did not peck and scratch, tearing flesh from bone as he had seen so many carrion do before, but only gently latched onto the fabric of her sleeves and skirt, almost as if they were tugging her toward him. She let them urge her closer a few steps, then stopped and held out her hands. One of the ravens alighted on her open palms, and she studied the bird with a strange, sorrowful expression, almost like she could see into its soul, and in a rather bizarre, surreal moment, Casimir almost thought the raven looked back in mirrored sadness. She stroked the black feathers and cuddled the massive bird as if it were quite tame, then, raising her hands, she sent it soaring once more to the sky, and the rest of the flock followed. 

Casimir watched in amazement, his sword hanging limp by his side, when the girl stepped forward and brushed his hand. Once she had his attention, she smiled and nodded. It took him a moment to realize she was accepting his offer, and then he began to wish he could take it back, for the unnatural behavior of both ravens and maiden had frightened him. Was she a witch that such creatures answered her command, or was it the ravens who were some demon or wraithe in bird’s form, and she beholden to them? Neither possibility sat well with him, and yet he had already given her his word. 

She stared inquiringly up at him, and he forced a smile. “Come along, then. It’s some distance, so we’ll ride my horse.”

At his words, she eagerly approached the animal - too eagerly? - and let it sniff her hand before stroking the soft velvet nose. In anyone else he would have appreciated that she seemed comfortable and familiar with horses, but now that he had seen her with the ravens, he wondered horribly if it was the same hypnotic trick or spell. Still, if she had power over all animals, it would be odd for her to run from Iowca.

Casimir boosted her into the saddle, then mounted behind her, as much out of convenience as out of a desire to keep an eye on her, and the two rode back to the castle village with Iowca running before them, and the ravens trailing them over head.

It was dark by the time they reached the castle, and the girl was starting to drop off, her head bobbing occasionally against his chest. He smiled, for she looked very sweet and vulnerable and not a bit threatening in her sleepy state, so that if not for the cawing he might have entirely forgotten her strangeness. Once inside the castle gate, he entrusted his horse to a stable hand, and the girl to Mistress Ermegarde, the housekeeper. 

“She’s a mute,” he whispered, “but I am sure from her hands she can work, and she has recently lost her family. Be good to her.”

He did not add his own suspicions to the introduction, for newcomers were met with enough skepticism already without his adding fuel to the fire. Mistress Ermegarde assured him she would be taken care of, then ushered her quickly away, hopefully for a warm meal and a bed.

He took Iowca with him to find the same, but had not made it five steps into the main palace before he was accosted by his mother.

“Casimir! Has there been an invasion? A fire? A flood?”

Casimir braced himself. “No.”

“Then a message from a foreign ambassador you had to address immediately, or perhaps bandits, or a surprise inspection of our defenses?”

“No.”

“Then what could possibly have pulled the king away from his royal duties for the whole day?”

“I was hunting.”

“Hunting! Well, I didn't hear the horns, nor the dogs baying. I saw no gathering of knights and ladies set out this morning, and what have you caught, if you were gone a-hunting?”

“I went by myself, and caught no animal.”

“The king, riding alone? No one would believe something so foolish. Without his dogs and falconers, of course he has caught nothing. Just as he has frittered away the day and done nothing.”

“After a triumphant homecoming there is perhaps allowance for the restfulness of nothing.”

“When triumphant, yes, but I call not the prince who goes away a prince and returns a king with living enemies ‘triumphant.’”

Ah, there it was, and stung despite his being ready for it, and in the stinging he snapped, “just as I call not the mother who would rather her son had died than her husband a mother the son must answer to.”

“And perhaps it is that shiftless non-answering which makes her long for her husband, who had knowledge of how to work.”

Casimir clenched his fists, and beside him, Iowca growled. He forced himself to relax, giving Iowca a quick hand signal to let her know everything was alright, that there was no threat. 

“It does you ill, my son, to threaten me with your dog when your conscience is stirred.”

“Forgive me, Mother. She is too well trained for battle, as I am. I pray you would allow us to depart before we further offend your more courtly sensibilities.” With a slight bow, he managed to squirm his way past her and went straight to his room, not feeling very hungry any more.

Chapter Text

In the following days, Casimir flung himself into his work so that he nearly forgot about the mysterious girl and their odd meeting in the wood. In fact, it was many weeks before he thought of her again at all, and then it was only because she was right in front of him. As he was passing through the halls that would lead him to the outside, he heard the distinct sound of a smack , then a woman shouting,

“Answer me when I speak to you, thieving wretch!”

Normally he wouldn’t interfere too much in the affairs of servants (his valet assured him it was best to delegate that sort of thing), but then he heard another smack, and a thud, and more yelling, but no reply. He changed his course toward the scullery door and found the mysterious girl half-laying on the floor, with another maid standing over her, yelling.

“You sorry, stubborn, mule of a girl! I said, answer me!” She pulled back her hand to strike her again, but Casimir was on the scene in a moment and seized her wrist.

“She’s a mute,” he growled, “and because of her circumstances I gave explicit instructions that she was to be treated kindly.”

The maid went pale and dropped to her knees. “Y-your Majesty! I-I didn’t realize.”

“What is this about?” He asked cooly.

The maid swallowed, her fingertips scraping the floor stones. “Sh-she was stealing from the kitchens to feed the birds. I was asking her name so I could report her to Mistress Ermegarde, and I thought she was just ignoring me to keep from getting in trouble. I didn’t know.”

“I see. Theft is certainly serious, even if it is to feed birds, which is wasteful even if it is not entirely selfish.” He turned to the mute girl. “Do you have what she claims you took?”

The girl produced a carefully wrapped little sweet cake which was crumbling at the edges.

“I see. Did you buy it?”

She shook her head.

“Did you steal it?”

Another head shake.

“Then it was given to you?”

She nodded rapidly, her eyes wide and earnest.

“By someone inside the castle?”

Nod.

“On the serving staff?”

Nod.

“Was it Mistress Ermegarde?”

Again the rapid bobbing of her head up and down.

“Then I suppose all that needs doing to settle the matter is to ask her. Come with me, both of you.”

The ladies fell in obediently behind him, one still pale and shaking, one confident and undeterred, letting him know even before he asked what Mistress Ermegarde’s answer would be.

“Why yes, Your Majesty,” she said upon inquiry. “I did give her that little morsel. There was some to spare, and she’s been so forlorn and lonely this last week I thought it would cheer her.”

“Very good. Thank you, Mistress Ermegarde.” He turned back to the maid, who looked on the edge of collapse in her fright, as all bullies do when someone has the power to hurt them . “It seems,” he said quietly, “that you struck an innocent woman. Perhaps to be struck in turn would teach you to be certain before you take action.” He took a step toward her, and her knees gave out.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, please! Please, I didn’t know, I’m sorry!”

Suddenly, the mute girl was between them, her hands held out in a defending motion. 

Casimir stopped. “Do you not wish for her to be punished?”

The girl glanced back at her fellow servant, and her red-welted face softened with pity, real, genuine pity. She shook her head.

“Very well.” He gently moved her aside, glaring down at the terrified culprit. “You are spared this once, and only this once because of the mercy of the one you harmed. But know this: I do not tolerate cruelty in my house, and will not be so merciful again.”

“Y-yes. Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good. I’m glad we have an understanding.” He turned to Mistress Ermegarde and tilted his head back at the mute girl. “May I borrow our friend? I’d like to see how she’s getting on.”

“Of course, Your Majesty, but if I may, it might be more efficient and thorough for me to tell you myself.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather hear it from her.” He offered the girl his arm. “Walk with me?”

She glanced at Mistress Ermegarde, then tentatively took it, eyes cast to the ground. He led her out to a secluded little corner of the courtyard, still in public, so there would be no question of their activities, but also a place where none could overhear without coming quite near. 

“Are you badly hurt?” He asked her.

She shook her head, and he frowned. “Are you sure? You were on the ground when I came in, and I heard you fall.”

She felt her arms as if for bruises or breaks, then shrugged and smiled.

“Good. Falls can do more damage than people realize. I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” He reached for the red mark on her cheek, but dropped his hand before he touched her. “Weren’t hurt any worse, I mean.”

She reached out and touched his arm, gentle, like she had in the wood. ‘Understanding’ he had called her then. Now, after what he had seen, he would call it forgiving. 

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “When I brought you here I intended to protect you, not place you in harms way, and I fear I have neglected you.”

She fluttered a dismissive hand, only for a raven to alight upon it. Her eyes twinkled, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Two more ravens landed on the cobbles at her feet, cawing crossly at the first, and she bent over, almost as if in pain.

“Are you alright?” Casimir started forward, waving his hands at the ravens, but she caught his arm, and he saw she was smiling. Cautiously, reluctantly, he lowered his arms once more. When he had stepped back, she took out the sweet cake and began to divide it into portions. Several more ravens descended like black hail around her until they were surrounded by an entire unkindness, and she handed out the portions, one to each bird. Casimir watched the procedure with an uncomfortable, sort of sickened fascination.

“Could… could you answer something honestly for me?” he said.

She nodded, happily petting the ravens as they ate.

“Are you a witch?’

With the oneness of a marching army, the ravens left off their meals, lifted their heads, and looked at him. She shook her head, and he swallowed, wishing Iowca were with him.

“And… and do these ravens have magic which they use against you?” He laid a hand upon his sword. “You need not be afraid to confess it, if they do.”

She shook her head and hands both this time, coming forward to stand between him and the birds, much as she had between him and the maid earlier. His hand tightened on his sword hilt, but he only said softly, 

“I’ll believe you.”

She relaxed and went back to her ravens, kneeling among them and stroking their feathers as if to reassure them.

“I believe, but I do not understand.”

She peered quizzically up at him, and he sat delicately beside her, careful not to even accidentally brush one of the great black birds.

“Ravens are, well, they’re carrion. They mean death is near, at least they always have to me, and I sort of thought that after… well, that someone in your circumstances would care for them as little as I do, but you seem rather affectionate toward the creatures which is, beg your pardon, exceedingly odd to me.”

She plucked a small crocus which had grown up between the cobles, spinning it between her fingers

“I wish I could understand, that you could tell me why. Is it pity? Do you look upon those who must live through desecration of the dead and wish to offer them something better? Would you defend them even if they harmed you, as you did your fellow servant?” He shook his head, smiling wryly. “Or perhaps you simply like birds the same way I simply like dogs.”

She smiled, her eyes taking on that twinkling quality again, and some of the larger ravens squawked. One even hopped until it was positioned between them, like a child jealous of affection. Casimir knew that feeling well, and swallowed his revulsion to tentatively extend a hand. The bird peered at it, peered at him with keen black eyes, then ducked his head briefly under Casimir’s hand, like an introduction, or perhaps an agreement of truce, then fluttered back to his mistress. The feathers had been unexpectedly soft, the head strangely small against his palm. He’d never known a raven to be soft, before. When he looked up, the girl was studying him, her golden head tilted almost like the ravens’ black ones. Casimir cleared his throat. 

“Well, no matter why you like them, you must promise me that  you will not let yourself grow hungry to feed them. They can find other food, but I do not think the palace can support a girl who eats like a flock of ravens.”

She nodded quickly.

“Very good. There is, of course, one last matter to address concerning the events of today, and that is your name. We cannot simply continue to call you ‘girl’ or ‘you there’ can we?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again helplessly.

“I know. I know you must have one, and you cannot tell us. That name you shall keep for yourself, a precious secret, a final gift from your family. But I wonder if it would be alright for me to give you one for the practical purposes of common use.”

She turned her face from him, but nodded. The ravens closed in a little closer around her, and the largest ones spread their wings over her as if in an embrace, or a shield. Casimir’s heart twisted, not at all eased by the fact that this angle made the only distinguishing feature on her face a red mark.

“Laska,” he said softly, “that is the name I shall call you. And I shall let Mistress Ermegarde and all my guards know that if Laska wishes to see the king, he will receive her, always, and so she shall not again be overlooked or forgotten.”

She straightened as he spoke, then turned her face toward him, and he realized why she had first turned her head, for her cheeks were damp, but upon his pronouncement, she seized his hand in both of hers and shook it vigorously, grinning ear to ear. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he told her. “Now, I’m afraid I must return to my duties, and you to yours, but I will not forget to make your name known.”

And he kept that promise. Soon as he got the chance, he told Mistress Ermegarde, then Captain Imbrych, head of the castle guard, and before long the whole of the palace staff knew her name was Laska, and that she had an open invitation to see the king, though she did not use that privilege. Her lack of its use made any rumors quick to die out, and Casimir wondered if it was humility or wisdom which kept her away. Perhaps both. In any case, she was protected now, for even if the rumors were less, all were far more patient to a girl with the king’s ear available to her.

She also still fed the ravens. Casimir saw her from his window, going out to them with a treat now and then, but never with more than a treat, and it made his heart glad to know she was eating well. Still, he feared that her affinity for the ominous birds and his own attentions had singled her out and made her alone as she might have been in the forest. That had not been his intention, but he could think of no way to remedy it. His valet was married, but his wife did not work in the palace, so while she might see Laska on occasion in the village, it wouldn’t be often enough to form a true friendship. As for anyone else, it was hard to believe anyone ordered to be a friend would be a friend in truth, so he was left with waiting, hoping, and praying.

Whatever could be said of the war, it had taught him to pray well, and he loved no place more than that quiet Meeting Hall where the whole town gathered each week for that purpose. They didn’t have a proper church, since the one they’d had was torn down and looted by previous kings and they hadn’t yet had the resources to rebuild, but they had an old storehouse that hadn't been used in years, several wooden benches, and a pulpit, and that was enough to repurpose the building into something that could conceivably be called a hall and used as a church. They did have a proper priest who had been with them since Casimir's father's day, which was more important than the building anyway. 

They also had a Bible that their priest would give a message from, but it was the prayer which Casimir loved best, for it was there his heart had first found peace. When at prayer he was not a prince, nor a king, but only one among the many hundreds of thousands to whom God gave mercy and an ear. In short, it was when in communication with most High God that he felt most like a man, and that was good. 

On that particular Sunday, the whole of the castle, staff and all, were at the Hall with him, save for his mother. She, he knew, would be where she had been every Sunday up until the war: at his father’s side. When he was a child that had always been at the Hall. These days it was at the family graveyard.

He tried not to think about it, to focus rather on the message and his prayers, but it was difficult when they all sang, and he recalled his mother’s voice so vividly, the loudest and sweetest in a town-sized choir belting out thanks and devotion. And now… now he missed her more than he ever had under the threat of fire and death.

In his search for a distraction from the absence at his side, his eyes fell on Laska. She did not- could not -sing, but she listened with a rapturous smile and swayed with the music, her hands clasped together like a child in the throws of delight. Casimir found himself smiling as he watched her, for if God could give she, yes, even she who had endured so much such joy, surely he could also grant it to others. Imitating her example, he also closed his eyes and prayed the words of the songs, feeling them deep within his chest. With his focus so adjusted, he found again that same familiar peace, and in it was more earnestly grateful, and in the true thanks came a greater outpouring of that peace.

It was a beautiful, beautiful thing, but like so many beautiful things, it did not seem to last. Upon returning to the castle, he met his mother, and at once all the pain and bitter longing came knocking at his mind’s door. His every temptation was to deliver back the same passive aggressive questioning he had received in the weeks past, but prayer had strengthened him against anger’s temptations, and he only said,

“Hello, mother. Did you bring him flowers, today?”

“No. He never much cared for them, so it would be silly to keep him supplied with them now. How were services?”

“Nice. It was an excellent sermon on the prophet Amos, and the justice and righteousness of the Lord. We sang some of your favorite songs, too. You would have liked it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then won’t you come next week?”

“I’m afraid I’m busy.”

“Mother.” He took her hand. “Please. I'm worried about you. Services are important, and surely there are other times to-”

She wrenched her hand from his grasp. “Worried about me? Worried, merely because I do not go to service, as if you do not have your own sins to bother with!”

“I know I do. And I’m not trying to claim any superiority, I only think you should attend because it would help. With the grief.”

“And perhaps you ought not presume to tell others what they should or should not do when you are taking maidservants into your bed.”

“What?” He snapped.

“Oh, don’t play the fool. I heard all about her, that little mute girl you brought back from the forest the day you ‘caught no animal.’ I heard how you defended her, named her, and gave her an open invitation to the King’s presence. It was bad enough for you to neglect your father’s kingdom, but will you now tarnish it and your crown with an illegitimate heir?”

“Mother!” Casimir cried, “I would never- you raised me! You and Father both raised me on hard work and the sanctity of marriage, and I have always tried to follow those teachings. But now what have I done? What crime is there proof of that has made you think me capable of such evils?”

“All men are subject to temptation, my son.” She sighed, suddenly appearing very old and weary. “You have done nothing to shame your family nor your position, then?”

“No, Mother, nor to harm any maiden or disregard God, at least in that matter.”

“Good. Very good. But then why have you given her such free access to yourself?”

“Because she is defenseless, and may at times need someone to be her voice.”

The queen nodded thoughtfully. “Be careful, Casimir. There’s something unnatural about her, and some are not so defenseless as they seem.”

He smiled. “I will, Mother. But enough of this politics talk. Won’t you sing with me, just the two of us? It is your voice which I have missed.”

“Perhaps later. I am tired.”

His smile faltered. “Of course. I shall let you retire, then.”

He stepped back to let her pass, and as she disappeared around the corner, an emptiness entered him, the peace, anger, and small victory all drained away to nothingness. It was like the feeling after a battle, when all excitement and terror had died, and all movement became purposeless in comparison to the desperate charge. He braced himself, as he always had in those moments, and continued on his way.

Chapter Text

Some weeks later, a new rumor had started, this one about Captain Imbrych. People said he had several empty bottles in his room, that he would stop in the tavern during his shift to buy more. The soldiers were beginning to be insubordinate, to sneer. 

“Is it true?” Casimir asked him. It was hard questioning Imbrych like this when the pale reminder of how he had kept Casimir alive in the war still cut a slash through his beard. 

“I’m stone-cold sober on duty, Your Majesty.”

“You can’t let your men see you drunk, on or off duty.”

“Which is why I only drink in my room.”

Casimir rubbed his thumbs over one another, hating this, hating himself. “There is much required of  your position, Captain Imbrych. If there is an attack, a fire, anything, you would be needed, and may find yourself suddenly on duty.”

“I’m aware of my duties, Your Majesty. I thought I would have proven that to you by now.”

Casimir winced, eyes straying to the scar. “You have, and I love you for it, but I need my captain to be alert and ready for action. If you can’t be, I will have to give the position to someone else.”

"Some fancy knight, right, like Sir Bronisz? No vices on those pretty boys with their shiny armor."

"Please. Please don't do this to me, ImBrych."

Imbrych froze, then the hard line of his shoulders slumped, and he dragged a hand over his face. "Ah, I'm sorry, kid. You put that crown on and I get all insubordinate and ornery. It's just... I'm careful with it, really, I am, and no one else ever sees me."

"They still know."

"Does that matter?"

"It does when they decide they know better than their captain in the middle of a crisis."

He stared at his feet for a long while, bushy black brows furrowed. "Look, I'm not... I know I'm not anything, know you have every right to be rid of me and I try, I do, but I... I need it, Cas. For the... the nightmares. You remember the nightmares, right?"

"I still have them, some days."

“Then you know why. It’s only when I wake up from that, Cas, I swear, only then. But you're right, if the men don't obey, it's a liability to you. I understand that.”

“Then do better.”

Imbrych clapped his mouth shut, and Casimir softened. 

“I understand, I do, but I don't want to lose you. We're already short of men, and I don't think I'll find another captain I trust like I do you. Please, Imbrych, try, for me?"

He hesitated, then swallowed thickly and threw a crisp salute. "Yes, Your Majesty."

“Good.” He stepped around his desk to grip his friend’s shoulders. “I’ll help you, I promise. I will do everything I can to help you stop.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry, for snapping like I did. If you do have to make the hard decision in the end, I'll try to make it easy on you; I think there's still enough of a man in me to offer you that courtesy.”

“Don’t talk like you’re not going to succeed. I’ve seen you defeat far worse enemies.”

Imbrych smiled wryly. “Depends how you define worse, I suppose. But I’ll do my best. You can count on that.”

“I will, Captain.”

And for a little more than a month, he was able to. There were two days when Captain Imbrych was “sick,” then no one saw him inside the tavern anymore, and there was not a note of anything even so innocent as communion wine on his breath.

Then came that night. The night Casimir woke to a pounding on his door, and Iowca growling at the foot of his bed. She stopped when he opened the door to reveal Captain Imbrych, slumped against the frame with a half empty bottle of something from the kitchen dangling loosely in his hand.

“‘Ello, Highness, ‘ve come to be fired,” he slurred.

Casimir seized his shoulder and dragged him into the room, glancing both ways to make sure no one else was in the hall. He shut the door, then turned to face his staggering friend. 

“Did anyone see you?” He asked.

“Saw no one. No one’s there, s’no tail, no ambush. Couldn’ have ‘n ambush goin’ a see the prince. No sir-ee. Doin’ my job. Keepin’ the prince safe.”

Casimir softened, his shoulders slumping in a sigh. “Alright. Let’s get you some sleep.”

With much more cajoling, stumbling, and muddled conversation, Casimir somehow managed to get his inebriated friend into bed, where he lay down beside him, and Iowca curled up between them, just as they had done many nights before with far less comfort. Come morning, his breakfast came earlier than usual, and his heart sank to see it was not borne by his usual valet, Elpin, for Elpin too had gone to war with them, and would have understood. Laska stood holding a tray with two coffee cups and two plates of warm food, no doubt sent up by Mistress Ermegarde or the cook after someone had spotted Imbrych in his inebriated state last night.

“I suppose everyone knows, then?”

She shook her head quickly and patted her chest.

“Only you?”

Her head dipped in answer.

The weight on his heart lifted a little, and he took the tray. “Good. Thank you for this. I’d ask you to keep it a secret, but, well…”

Eyes twinkling, she raised a finger to her lips, and he chuckled.

“Thank you. I can certainly appreciate the sentiment.”

She bobbed a curtsey, still smiling, and hurried away. Feeling a bit lighter, Casimir ducked back into the room, where Imbrych sat on the edge of the bed, a hand over his eyes. Casimir set the tray on the table beside the window where he did most of his work and handed him a cup of coffee.

The captain looked up as he took it, taking in the tray with a grimace. “It’s to be a last meal, then?”

“Oh, don’t be so dour,” Casimir told him, sitting at the table with his own cup. “It was one night, and it’s not as if anyone saw you.”

Imbrych glanced pointedly at the tray with the two plates. 

“Laska, the mute girl. From what I understand, she’s the only one who knows.”

“Convenient.”

“Perhaps, though I have it on good authority that she wouldn’t tell even if she could. She’s a lady of integrity.”

“Unlike some others of your employ. I understand that I broke our agreement, sire, and it would be well within your rights to dismiss me.”

“It would.”

“Let’s not drag it out, then.”

Casimir took a sip of his coffee. “Tell me what happened.”

“Does that matter?”

“Indulge me.”

“It was the same as the other times. Nightmare. Woke up. I was restless, so I went out for a walk and before I knew it I’d walked to the kitchen and from there…” he winced. “I suppose you know the rest.”

“I suppose I do.” Casimir looked out the window and found himself face to face with a large raven perched on the sill. He wondered if it was one of Laska’s, keeping an eye on him, holding him accountable. Or maybe it was there to comfort. He remembered how soft the feathers had been between his fingers, and briefly reached out to touch the cool, smooth glass. Finally, he turned back to the captain, who sat stiffly, braced as if for a blow.

“The next time you wake restless and feel the need to ‘take a walk,’ perhaps you could walk up here to check on me. I don’t think anyone could object to the captain of the guard taking extra care with his king’s safety, and it would certainly deter any ner duels if there were a chance of the great Captain Imbrych coming by at any time.”

Imbrych cleared his throat, his eyes filling. “Y-you shouldn’t. I… I’ll find a way to live, somehow, but you shouldn’t have to deal with this, kid. I shouldn’t have come here last night, I-”

“You got me through that war, Brych. I would have died a hundred times over, and had nightmares much worse if not for you. Let me get you through this, now.”

Imbrych hung his head and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sitting still there for a long time before he finally murmured a hoarse, “alright.”

“Very good. And Imbrych? Make sure to use the front door.”

He choked on a laugh and looked up. “Yes, Your Majesty, I think that would be wise.” And after he gripped Casimir’s hand tightly, the two of them spoke no more of it.

In the following months, the captain took him up on the offer several times. Sometimes he only stood outside the door, guarding as was his duty; some nights Casimir was awake with his own nightmares, and they talked, and on the worst nights, Casimir invited him to stay and sleep there. Laska always seemed to be well informed of their activities, and little extra amenities began to pop up. Pillows, blankets, even a little flint for the torch in the hall, and extra candles. Casimir knew it was Laska and always thanked her when he saw her, which became rather often, for it seemed she had nearly entirely taken over for his valet in bringing his breakfast, even when Captain Imbrych had not stayed the night.

He laughed one day, for the breakfast tray held a tower of scones. “The cook must think me very ravenous in the mornings,” he said.

Laska shook her head and pointed to herself. 

“Did… did you make these?”

She nodded.

“Then I am eager to try them. Here, the captain and I cannot eat all of this, and you must try the fruits of your labors. Take one, no, two. One for you, and one,” he winked, “for the ravens.”

She blushed, but did as he asked, and he hurried to the window to watch her divy out the little treat to her birds. When he turned around, Captain Imbrych was grinning.

“What?” he said.

“Oh, nothing. You used to hate ravens, that’s all.”

“So did you.” Casimir accused.

“I did. Amazing how a little kindness can make something abhorrent into something beautiful.”

“Yes, yes it is. It worked on you, anyway.”

Imbrych snorted at the playful jab. “I’m just saying, after the war, after everything, a little kindness could be what the kingdom needs just now.”

“Yes,” Casimir replied softly, looking back out the window, “it very well could be.”

Chapter Text

One cold night when Captain Imbrych came to Casimir’s door, it was not because of the nightmares. 

“Your Majesty!” He cried. “We’ve searched the whole castle, but no one can find your mother. She’s not on the grounds.”

Casimir leapt from his bed and strapped on his sword, beckoning Iowca to come with him. Soldiers and staff were all turned out, and several more dogs than Iowca were baying. The scent led them to the stable, but from there she had taken a horse, and became difficult for the hounds to track. Casimir’s only consolation was that it was likely she had left on her own and had not been kidnapped or captured.

They rode out, one party in this direction, another party in that, covering as much ground as possible, and Casimir went with the party headed in the direction of the graveyard. Upon reaching it, he made straight for his father’s grave, and the sight there chilled him to his very bones. The grave had been upended, the earth churned and dug out like an upset stomach, and the great coffin was gone.

He looked desperately about, for surely there ought to have been marks where such a heavy box had been drug, but the night was so dark and the earth so disturbed it was impossible to find any distinct trail. He breathed a hopeless, desperate prayer to the sky, and there with wings gleaming silver in the moonlight hovered a line of ravens, pointing away into the forest.

Casimir leapt onto his horse and spurred her toward the wood, following that line, trusting it. One of the great birds fluttered down and flew just ahead of him, staying where he could see as it led him deeper and deeper into the forest. 

Iowca leapt suddenly ahead of them as if on a scent, then skidded to a stop, hackles raised, and bared her teeth at two shadowed figures in the wood. One he could barely make out as his mother, and the other was a stranger, also a woman, and his father’s coffin lay between them. There was a horse and cart nearby, which was how it must have been transported without drag marks.

Casimir rode up on them just as Laska ran out of the trees from another direction.

“Hurry!” Cried the stranger, “hurry, or you shall not see him again!”

His mother thrust something at the other woman, but then Laska leapt forward and slammed into the stranger, knocking her away. The ravens came funneling down, pecking and clawing with their great beaks and talons, reminding him of every beastly thing he’d ever seen a raven do. The stranger shrieked, raising her hands to protect her eyes, then turned and sprang on the cart horse, slashing the bindings with a small knife to ride full speed away with the whole unkindness harrying behind her.

“No!” Mother screamed. “No! Come back! You promised!” But her furious cries had little effect. Casimir dismounted to approach her.

“Mother, what’s go-”

“You!” She rounded on Laska and struck her. “It’s all your fault! I knew you were nothing but trouble the moment I laid eyes on you! You and your ravens!”

“Mother!” Casimir caught her hand as she tried to strike again. “What is going on here?”

Her lip trembled, tears spilling clear and cold as snow over her cheeks. “She was going to bring him back. If it weren’t for that omen of death , we would have him back.”

Casimir’s blood turned to ice, and he let go of his mother’s hand like her skin had scorched him. “What?”

“I saw her. I saw her do it for a little bird that had fallen from its nest, and she told me, she said she would…”

“She was a witch?”

“A miracle worker! She-”

“What did you pay her, Mother?”

“I didn’t. That girl interfered before I could.”

Grabbing her closed fist, Casimir pried her fingers open and revealed his father’s- no, his signet ring. He took it, curling his own fist round the gleaming gold, his head so hot it seemed his ice-blood vaporized, spinning haphazard and dizzy about his mind.

“You would have given up the kingdom for this.”

She lifted her face, chin jutting out defiantly. “I love him.”

“Love him?” Casimir seized her shoulders and shook her, roaring, “love him? Do you have any idea what you might have done? What you tried to do? You nearly sold his kingdom away to create some monstrous witch’s imitation! You spat in the face of  his God, of his people, and of his child, and you will still have the audacity to say you love him?”

She gasped as if shot, her legs buckling, and slumped out of his grasp. “I-I on-only want-ted him b-back. I…”

Casimir closed his eyes and let out a long breath through his nose. “Enough of this. Get up.”

She didn’t move except to rock, sobbing, her hands clutched tight over her heart.

“Did you hear me? I said get up. We’re going home.”

“No!” she began crawling toward the coffin. “I’m not leaving him! I’m not leaving him!”

Casimir stepped into her path. “Mother, you will get up and get on the horse, or so help me I will-”

He cut off as Laska knelt beside the distraught woman and began rubbing soothing circles on her back. She looked up at him, the blood on her lip glittering, and with such solemn, stern sadness of countenance that his anger suddenly seemed uncouth and violent, justified though it may be. A deep breath. Then another. This was his mother, who had raised him and taught him and picked him up when he fell, and who had dug up his father’s bones to give them over to witchcraft along with the rest of the kingdom. His jaw clenched, but he forced it to relax.

“Mother,” he started gently, kneeling in front of her, “you can come see him again later. Right now we need to go home.”

She glared up at him. “No! Get away from me! Just get away! 

She shoved Laska onto the grass, then lunged forward and seized his sword from its scabbard. Staggering to her feet, she swung it about wildly, and might have killed Casimir did he not raise his arm over his head in time to block the blow. Iowca snarled, and he shouted, "no Iowca! Heel! Heel!" even as he turned the blade away on his forearm and seized her wrist. With a jerk, he yanked his mother close and held her fast in an iron embrace. She lurched and struggled and screamed, and in her thrashing, bashed her head on his. Casimir saw stars and blinked hard, trying to regain his presence of mind. He tightened his grip once more the moment he realized it had loosened, but there was no need. 

His mother was limp in his arms. 

Casimir leaned close, shuddering his relief when he heard her breathing. He hefted her up and went to his horse, glad to see her beginning to come to as he bundled her into the saddle. He mounted behind her, then waved for Laska to follow.

“Come! I must find her a physician at once.”

Laska shook her head and took a step back toward the coffin.

“Laska!” He barked. “We don’t have time for this! Haven’t I had enough insubordination for one night?”

She shook her head, then hunched over with a wicked grin, tapping her fanned fingertips together. Resuming her normal posture, she then held up her hands and looked around as if she had lost something, and lastly used two fingers to point at her eyes, then at the coffin.

“No! I am not leaving you all alone out here to guard a box full of dirt! He’s dead, you hear me? He’s dead and I’ll not have anyone else hurt on account of a man who couldn’t care less anymore, now let’s go!”

Laska stubbornly set her lips and sat down beside the coffin. Casimir was just about ready to jump down and drag her onto the horse as well when his mother clutched her head and whimpered.

“Fine!” He snapped. “Iowca! Stay, guard.” And with a pair of hand signals to ensure his commands were followed, (for the dog, at least, was obedient) he rode away as fast as the horse would carry them. His mother moaned, tossing against his chest as the motion jarred her head, and he clutched her tight, praying, praying, praying. 

When he arrived back in the village, Captain Imbrych came riding up alongside him. “You’re hurt, sire!”

“Nevermind that now. Send a physician to the castle, then go back the way I came, northeast into the wood. I left Laska there with Iowca. Bring them and my father’s body and make sure everyone gets back to where they’re supposed to be. Hurry!”

“As you command, sire.” Imbrych rushed off to find a physician, and Casimir continued his charge to the castle gate. He dismounted in the courtyard almost before his horse had stopped, his mother in his arms, and hurried inside. He carried her to her room and had her laid out on the bed just as the physician arrived.

Casimir stepped back to let the man do his work, oblivious to all else, even the blood trickling down his fingers, tarring his sleeve to his arm. The world seemed to have shrunk to the size of his mother’s pale face and fluttering eyelids, flickering in bursts as short as life, white as death.

And yet, even in all his terror and fear, there was a small, horrible voice inside him that whispered perhaps this was better. After watching her trade the kingdom to a witch for some necromantic spell, he couldn’t help but think that the woman who had raised him was already dead. Perhaps it would be better to lose her now, before she caused any more harm, and if she really was so miserable without his father, maybe she would find some peace, or perhaps this was God’s justice, to kill her for her sin. 

‘Please’ he prayed, silencing that voice, ‘please, Lord, do not enact your justice today. Please. She’s the only mother I have. Please, spare her.’

The doctor took her temperature and felt her pulse, she responded weakly and fitfully to his ministrations, and Casimir clenched his fists. A raven tapped on the window. In that moment, if Casimir had his bow, he would have killed it.

Something damp touched his hand, and he jerked away before he realized it was only Iowca, lapping at his bloody fingers. The world suddenly expanded again, and there were Laska and Captain Imbrych in the doorway. Laska came and clasped his uninjured hand, and the captain was close behind her.

“Go on and get cleaned up,” Imbrych said. “I’ll watch here, tell you if anything changes.”

Casimir pressed his lips together hard because yelling would disturb Mother. Laska squeezed his hand and gently touched his red stained arm, which still leaked into his shirt and the carpet. He let out a long, slow breath, then staggered back and sat down, suddenly dizzy. Neither Imbrych nor Laska insisted that he leave; Imbrych only took up guard by the door, and Laska skimmed her fingers over the buttons of his shirt, looking up questioningly.

“Just cut off the sleeve,” he told her, “it’s ruined anyway.”

Imbrych handed her his dagger, and she did as bidden. She cleaned up the arm with a rag until she found the cut, then wadded a cloth over it and pressed down hard. Pain lanced sharp and clear through him, but he took it quietly, used to such procedures. She held her hands clamped tight round the wound until the physician came to sew and wrap it, having finished his examination of Casimir’s mother.

“How is she?” Casimir demanded.

“I think she will live, but she needs plenty of rest. No bright lights, loud noises, or any extraneous mental activity.”

Casimir covered his face with his free hand, eyes aching. “Thank you. I’ll see to it she’s properly cared for.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The physician tied off the bandage. “Now, if I may, I believe you ought to rest as well.”

“Thank you, I will.”

Casimir allowed Imbrych to take him to his room, where he collapsed face first onto the bed and slept despite his troubled thoughts, for all energy had drained away with his blood.

Chapter Text

Casimir’s mother was asleep the next morning, but breathing well, and he went in search of Laska, finding her lighting the fires in the rooms.

“Come here and sit by me a moment,” he told her, settling down on a bench against the wall. She did as bidden, peering expectantly up at him, and he laced his fingers, spinning his thumbs one over the other.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday,” he said finally. “I was rough with you, and Mother, clearly more rough than I… than I should have been.”

She laid a soft hand over his, trusting as a child reaching for a parent’s hand.

“Did the witch come back while you were waiting?”

She shook her head.

“All the same, thank you. It would have been unwise to leave him with that foul creature about, and I know I scolded at the time, but I was worried about you and Mother and I just-”

Her fingers tightened around his, and her eyes were sincere and solemn as she nodded. 

“Thank you. For understanding.” He leaned back, his head smacking lightly against the wall. “I never thought my mother would…. I mean, she used to be so faithful. To God, to the kingdom, but then, perhaps it was only my father who was, in the end.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Have you ever heard how the war started?”

Laska shook her head. 

“It was a duel over my mother’s honor. A foreign noble accused her, but Father wouldn’t hear of it, so he dueled the man. It was a fair match, but to the death, and when my father lost, Mother couldn’t let it go, and declared war.” Casimir sighed heavily. “Three years I fought, hundreds, thousands dead, because a man would not hear slander against his wife, and a woman sought vengeance for her husband. Noble things in themselves, I suppose. I ended the war as soon as I came of age, but the damage had already been done.” He turned his hands over, examining his fingernails. The nails of his left hand were dark underneath, the blood from last night still lingering. “You know, it’s funny: as a child, I always sort of idolized my parents. I wanted a love just like theirs, someday, but now… now I know that if there is one thing I do not want, it is a love that destroys all else.”

Laska seized his hand once more and nodded rapidly, eyes wide.

“You understand that too, then?”

She dipped her head.

“Well, I hope you learned it in a less painful way than I did.”

Shrugging, she held up her hands as if weighing something, then shook her head and made a motion like dusting off those same hands.

“Hard to say more or less, isn’t it? And probably useless to compare, too.” He looked keenly at her, tilting his head. “I don't know why I feel so comfortable sharing so much of myself with you. I almost wonder if it’s because I know you can’t tell anyone. Is that awful?”

She smiled and shook her head, placing a finger to her lips.

“I believe that. I really do.” He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, then stopped himself. “Anyway, thank you. That’s what I meant to come here to say, and now I’ve said it I suppose I ought to stop bothering you with my problems.” He braced his hands on his knees and stood. “Take care, Laska.”

He left her then, but saw her often in the following days, for it seemed she had become his mother’s chief care taker. She changed linens and dressings, helped with meals and baths, and generally did everything in her power to nurse her back to health. It eased Casimir’s mind to know she was there, for while he of course trusted his mother’s regular attendants, none of them had run out into the woods and tackled a witch to save his parents from all that could go wrong with necromancy. 

So it was that his disappointment was all the greater when Mistress Ermegarde brought him a bad report.

“Sire, did you assign Laska to care for your mother?”

“No. I assumed you had.”

“I didn’t, and in point of fact, if you haven’t either, then I’m afraid she’s neglected her other duties, and it’s caused some jealousy and upset downstairs.”

“I see,” Casimir replied, heart sinking. “Rest assured, Mistress Ermegarde, if ever i assign special duties, I will inform you. But for now, send her to me and I will question her.”

“Very well, if you think you can interpret any sort of answer from her.”

So Laska was sent up and smiled at him when she entered, either suspecting nothing, or the best actress he had ever met, with the latter feeling all too likely in light of his own mother’s transformation. If even she could change, why couldn’t this sweet, innocent girl who it was so easy to confide in also have some ulterior motive? He recalled the initial discomfiture her ravens produced in him, and his mother’s earnest warning, and his heart cracked. He didn’t know if he could do this, could bear it, but he was king, so he had to. Thousands depended on his not being duped, and he wouldn’t be. 

“Laska, Mistress Ermegarde tells me you have been very dedicated in your care of my mother this week.”

She dipped her head shyly, or was it coquettishly? He hated this.

“She also tells me,” he pressed on gravely, “that you have been neglecting your other duties to do it.”

A strawberry flush speckled her cheeks, and her shoulders scrunched toward her ears. 

“I can only think of a few reasons you might do this, and since our communication is limited, I must be very blunt with you. I expect you to be just as forthcoming with your answers.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, then met her suddenly anxious gaze. “One of these reasons is that you wish to ingratiate yourself to me and my family. It is no secret that I have already been lenient with you, since I believe you need protection, but it is also no secret that this has allowed you to be nearer the crown than most, and a harmless appearance is ideal for one who wishes to have the king’s favor and is, perhaps, far from harmless.”

Her head snapped up, and she shook it vigorously.

“You answered honestly at the beginning, then? You are not a witch, seeking to entrap me?”

She blinked hard and shook her head, more subdued this time. Casimir studied her carefully. Her eyes were glossy, face red, lips set, but she held no anger in the lines of her face, but rather something of the serious determination and wild sorrow that had possessed her just before she charged the witch in the wood. 

“Very well,” he said finally, “then I can think of only one other reason you might show such devotion, and that is for love of myself and my mother. Is this so?”

She hesitated, biting her lip, then nodded.

Casimir frowned, leaning forward in his chair. “I thought I told you what I thought of love at the cost of all else, and that you understood my feelings on the matter.”

She tilted her head to the side a moment, then her eyes sprang wide and she clapped both hands over her mouth. Shaking her head, she dropped onto her knees and bowed forward. 

“Here now, no need for that.” He was quick to rush forward and raise her to her feet. “I know that was not your intention, but such things rarely are intentional, and caution must be taken to prevent them. You must not care for the queen anymore, but go and do your duties. Show me that you can love your fellow servant just as well, and perhaps we can revisit your demonstration of love for me and mine.”

She dipped a curtsey, nodding quickly.

“Very good. Run along, then. I’m sure Mistress Ermegarde has plenty for you to do.”

She departed, and he smiled at the ravens squawking and circling outside, a great weight floating from his chest. She had been earnest, he was sure. Time would truly tell, of course, but for now he was quite certain she meant no harm, and that at least was a blessing. Much was changing for the worse, but not her. Thank God, not her.

The downside to this was that he almost never saw her at all after their conversation. If she brought this breakfast, it was before he woke and she left it on the table just inside the door. Captain Imbrych commented that their little ‘night sunshine’ didn’t seem to come around anymore, and even his mother demanded to know where the pretty quiet girl had gone, “for she did everything just so, and didn’t hurt my head with needless prattle.”

Which brought Casimir to a new problem: his mother was getting better, and he had to decide what to do with her. No one knew exactly what had happened that night except for her, Laska, and himself. Stealing the king’s signet ring was treason, and punishable by any number of terrible sentences, the majority of them death. Thankfully, the chances of what she had done getting out were slim, so he could likely get away with not putting her on trial. 

If only he could be certain she wouldn’t do it again.

He could hardly forbid her from visiting his father’s grave, for that was more cruel than any other punishment he might have devised, and for all that he had been angry at the time, he did not wish to be cruel to the woman who raised him. He hated to have her followed about by guards like a prisoner, but he couldn’t be available all the time to watch her, and her maids had not stopped her before, so it seemed that was what he would have to do.

Of one thing he was certain: she would  be coming to services with him from here on out. He was almost sure that was when she had found the time to dig up the grave without anyone noticing, and even with an armed guard, he wasn’t going to give her that opportunity again.

She was less than thrilled when he gave her the news, trying everything from pretend faintness to outright yelling. She finally quieted when she realized he would not be swayed, and he promised to visit the grave with her after services. He hadn’t gone to the grave since the funeral (except that night, of course) so the concession pleased her.

She didn’t sing at the service, didn’t even bow her head for the prayer, but she was there at least, and that was something worth giving praise for. Another praise was Laska, grinning and walking out arm in arm with the very same maid who had tried to beat a name out of her in the early days. The girl was chatting incessantly, and both of them offered deep, silly bows to Elpin, Casimir’s valet, when he held the door for them, making his wife laugh. It seemed Laska was following his instructions well enough to foster good will among the other staff, and he was glad to at least not have to worry about her.

He and his mother went to the graveyard, as promised, and for all her claims at frailty and having a head which still ached, she strode rapidly ahead of him. They reached the grave, a brown wound in the grassy earth after its recent disturbance. She knelt in the mud, heedless of the stains, while Casimir stood dutifully behind her, hands clasped behind his back like a sentry.

He had never understood this, the way she thought she was nearer to him here, where his body was buried. Casimir had seen enough corpses in his time, and considered nothing to be more unlike the living, breathing person. His father was not in that box, under the gravestone. He was in the stamp of a signet ring, in the great throne, in the big chair before the fire where he and Mother used to talk while Casimir played on the floor. He was in the crown, in the loyalty of the guard, in greyhounds baying on a hunt, but somehow this little patch of earth spoke to his mother more than any of those things.

She ran her hands over the stone, like when she had used to smooth Father’s tunic over his shoulders, then she began to sing. It was a pretty, nostalgic tune that brought back swinging between his parents on the way to family picnics in the summer and winters where she would take Casimir’s small hands in hers and they would cavort about the room while she hummed, but she sang it low and lingering, like a funeral dirge. Her voice rolled over the grasses, swelling as if from the ground itself, beautiful and tender as Casimir remembered, and he wept. This was the woman. This was the woman who had loved him, present for a single moment in song, then dying away again with the last note. 

Casimir dashed away his tears, then knelt beside her and set a hand on her back. “That was a lovely song, Mom.”

She nodded and slumped against him. “He likes my voice, you know. He always has.”

“I know, Mom.”

They sat pressed together for a long while, then she winced and put a hand to her head.

“Is it hurting?” Casimir asked.

“A little.”

“Let’s go back, then.” He gently raised her to her feet, and it was a testament to her weariness that she came away easily. When they returned to the castle, she spoke to no one, and laid down to rest, leaving Casimir even more alone than before with an ache behind his breast.

Chapter Text

In the following weeks, Casimir visited the grave often with his mother, and while he enjoyed going, for he liked what his father brought out in her, the visits were becoming too frequent for him to attend them all. A king did have other duties, after all, but he was still nervous about giving her too much rein. 

He was contemplating this one morning as he looked out the window, waiting for his valet to finish laying out his clothes. Laska was below, drawing up water at the well, her ravens all gathered round her. She seemed to be carrying out her duties well, just as he had asked, and a sudden idea struck him. 

“Elpin?” He said to his valet.

“Yes, Sire?”

“What do you think of the girl there, Laska?”

Elpin glanced out the window a moment. “Oh, her. To be honest, I think she’s a headstrong bully, Sire.”

Casimir turned to him, bemused. “What makes you say that?”

“I mean that bringing your breakfast is my job but even after she resumed normal duties the cook still hands her the tray. You should have seen our little tiff when she first started doing that. I was worried she was trying to catch you in your nightshirt until I realized she was trying to protect Imbrych, as if I haven’t seen him do worse. I don’t know what you told her those weeks ago, but she’s been working downstairs with that same stubborn diligence. Mark my words, Sire, I’d hate to be the one standing in the way when she’s got it in her head to do something.”

“I see,” Casimir smiled. “She’s been working well, then?”

“Better than well. If I need something done, I ask her, because I know it will be done and efficiently too.”

“That’s quite a recommendation.”

Elpin shrugged. “She’s quite a girl. Gochna thinks she’s delightful.”

“Not a bully?”

“She’s never had to argue with her.”

“Still sore over losing to a mute?”

Elpin shoved Casimir’s tunic over his head. “Shut up, Sire.”

Casimir wriggled to get the tunic fully on, and Elpin tugged and smoothed and adjusted it over his shoulders. “So if Mother gave her an order that was, say, contrary to mine, do you think she would obey it?”

Elpin snorted. “I doubt it, Sire. Like I said, headstrong. Why? Has there been an incident?”

“Not aside from the one you all know something of.”

“I’m glad of that.”

“So am I, Elpin, so am I.”

Later that day Casimir called for Laska, and was pleased when he saw her, for she seemed healthier, more cheerful, and he wondered if it would be better to leave her where she was, but he was running out of options.

“Laska. You look well.”

The dazzling smile she offered him was confirmation enough of that.

“I’ve heard good reports from your fellow servants. Those I’ve talked to all seem to think you’ve more than made up for your little lapse, and I”ve been pleased to see some friendships growing.”

She ducked her head in the embarrassed manner than many have when they are really quite pleased.

“So, as I promised, I’ve decided to revisit your desire to serve my family more directly. Is that something you still want?”

She nodded a little slowly, and her eyes flickered down again.

“It’s alright. I know what I questioned you about before, but you gave me your answers, and I believe them.” His lips twitched. “Besides, if you’re volunteering to attend on my mother, you may have met your match.”

She cocked her head to the side, and he explained.

“My mother clearly needs watching after what you and I saw in the wood. I’ve been doing my best to be with her when I can, but a king has many duties. Since you were privy to that incident, you are the ideal candidate to take my place as her companion. I do not expect you to always be with her. Only when she goes out, especially to the grave. I don’t want her digging anything up or meeting with anyone she shouldn’t, if you take my meaning.”

Laska nodded again.

“You would still mostly be doing your regular duties, but whenever she leaves the castle grounds, go with her, as I described. You will have a guard with you as well, of course, but Mother has been known to slip away from or bully the rank and file, and Captain Imbrych himself cannot always be spared.” He smiled faintly. “I have it on good authority that she may find it more difficult to bully you.”

Laska smiled and held out a hand to Iowca, letting the dog smell it before she rumpled her ears. Casimir’s smile broadened, for the qualities Elpin had described to him were rather like that of a hound on a scent. 

“Very good. I’ll let Mistress Ermegarde and my mother know of the new arrangements.”

So Laska became companion to the queen. Casimir still went to the grave with her sometimes, but he did not feel he had to, and was able to focus on other aspects of his kingdom. The ravens and Laska would watch over his mother, and it eased him a little just to see the black shapes following the ladies like shadows.

What did not ease him was the question of food for the winter. The war had killed off most of their working young men, and the harvest was thin as a result. Outside of trade and treaties, there were very few options. The only question now was who to ally himself with. Each had their advantages and disadvantages, and Casimir churned these over in his head as he poured over the three letters, the three offers, laid out on his desk. 

While he was studying them, Laska tapped gently on the door and poked her head in, giving the hand signal he used to tell Iowca to stay. It was their agreed upon sign that his mother was in for the night. Mother would be furious if she found out they used the same signals for her as for the dog, but they had to communicate somehow.

“Thank you,” he told her, and she started to withdraw, but on impulse he said, “Wait.”

She paused, and he waved her inside.

“Come, tell me what you think of this. My advisors and I have debated it until we’re blue in the face, but a fresh perspective might help.”

She came in and stood dutifully before his desk, her hands clasped. He set out his inkwell to represent the first kingdom.

“This is Thelese. It is the largest kingdom, and stable. They would certainly be able to supply us with much grain at cheap prices, but they are also a proud kingdom, often caught in skirmishes, and if we rely too much on them they may expect us to return the favor the next time they pick a fight.” 

He set out his quill. “This is the kingdom of Nost. This one is the smallest, with a reputation for loyalty, and with a stable line of succession going back generations. However, because of their small landmass and population, their resources are more precious, and therefore more costly.”

Lastly, he laid out his letter opener. “This represents Chrostia. This kingdom is not so large, nor so small as the others. Their grain would be a decent price, and they are not so warlike that a trade alliance would bring us into a conflict we did not wish to be part of. However, they are unstable. The King and Queen are getting on in years, and all thirteen of their heirs have completely disappeared. Our situation with them could change at any time, and without a clear heir, we could have no assurance of a continued relationship with them.”

Casimir sat back in his chair. “So, which would you choose to trade with?”

She studied the three objects laid before her much as he had studied the three corresponding letters before, and her brow furrowed. Finally, she met his gaze and with a keen glint in her eyes, folded her hands and bent her head as if in prayer. Casimir burst out in a laugh. 

“That was my first thought too, and I have been, but no revelation yet.”

She raised her brows, then put her palms together and folded them back in imitation of a book.

“I haven’t tried that yet,” he admitted, “and honestly I wouldn’t know where to begin to find the advice I’m looking for.”

She glanced around the room.

“The only Bible in town is kept at the Hall, I’m afraid. I haven’t got one of my own.”

Her mouth opened in an “ O,” and he regarded her thoughtfully. Had her local lord had one? Surely her family did not have one of their own, not considering the price of such a book.

“Would you know where I ought to read?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug as she thought about it, then nodded.

“Well then, get your cloak and come with me. As King, I just so happen to have a key to the Hall.”

She lit up and rushed away, coming back still in the process of fastening her cloak. Casimir got his own cloak and the key, and soon they were on their way into the still night with Iowca lopping at their heels. Wings flapped overhead, but not too near; no doubt because of the greyhound, and they made it to the hall without meeting anyone else. It was sort of peaceful, fun. It reminded Casimir of getting bundled up and going out to search for falling stars with his father as a child, sneaking so that mother wouldn’t know they were up past bedtime. Thinking back, she probably knew exactly what they were up to, but it had been more exciting to pretend she didn’t.

He unlocked the door, then put a finger to his lips. “Father Nicodem sleeps in a little room off the main hall,” he whispered, “I don’t want to wake him.”

Laska’s eyes danced, and she pressed a hand over her mouth, raising her brows. Casimir smothered a laugh of his own.

“Right. Forgot who I was talking to.”

He ushered her in and went to the heavy wooden trunk at the front where they kept all the articles for services, including the Bible. He used another key to open this and carefully extracted the Bible, doing his best not to rattle the offering plates or communion trays. He looked back at the pews, dark even in what little moonlight was filtering through the window, and grabbed a candle as well. He would replace it later.

He gestured for Laska to sit on one of the benches and settled beside her, letting out a breath of relief when he set the enormous book on his lap. It was incredibly heavy, and probably worth more than the entire kingdom. His great grandfather had stolen it and anything else of value from a monastery he’d ransacked and burned down. Not his family’s proudest moment, certainly, but when his father had found it in the treasury, he’d given it to the priest, who had made good use of it. 

After several clumsy attempts, Casimir got the candle lit and scooted the massive Bible a little closer to Laska. “Show me,” he whispered.

Very carefully, she opened it and began to flip reverently through the pages, as delicate with them as if the bright pictures in the margins were still wet. Finally, she stopped at a place relatively near the beginning, with an image of a king on a horse on one side, and a man holding to the horns of an altar while another stood over him with a sword on the other. She smiled proudly and tapped the page. He leaned over it to read, then glanced at her with raised brows after the first few lines. She frowned and tilted her head to the side, so he read aloud,

“And King David waxed eld, and had full many days of age, and when he was covered with clothes he was not made hot. Therefor his servants said to him, ‘seek we to our Lord the King a young waxing virgin, and stand she before the king, and nurse she him, and sleep in his bosom, and make hot our Lord the King’”

She frantically shook her head and waved her hands, and he looked back at the text to hide his grin, humming suspiciously just to tease her. He read about David’s sons as they fought over the throne, of choosing sides, and executions, and in it he saw the kingdom of Chrostia, with no heir.

“Are you telling me not to make an alliance with the unstable kingdom?” He asked.

Laska raised her hands in a shrug, tilting her head from side to side, then pointed insistently back at the page. Upon continuing, Casimir read of Solomon taking the throne, and asking for wisdom. ‘That’s what I’m doing now,’ he thought, and continued to read, frowning as he tried to understand how the riddle of the two women and their baby would apply to his situation, then stopped a short time, his fingers skimming over one verse as he read it again.

‘And Judah and Israel dwelled without any dread, each man under his vine, and under his fig tree, from Dan unto Beersheba, in all the days of Solomon.’

‘Without dread,’ Casimir mused wistfully. He could hardly remember the last time he’d been without dread, truly at peace. There was always something to worry about, and the more he read the more he found himself becoming envious of Solomon, irritated that he could not provide that same peace and prosperity in his own kingdom. What was the lesson? What was she telling him? That it was easy? Just ask God for wisdom! See, it worked for this guy!

‘God, I have been asking, from the moment my father died, so why? Where are you?’

He continued to read, struggling to focus past the stirrings of anger deep in his gut, but slowed a little at the treaty of King Hiram and King Solomon, trading lumber for food and money.

“Are you telling I ought to trade lumber, perhaps with Thelese?” He asked Laska. “You could have just taken me to this part in the first place, you know.”

Laska rolled her eyes and gently took a chunk of pages between her fingers, gesturing to them.

“You want me to read that whole thing?”

She nodded and gestured more insistently.

“Why? Surely there’s something more specific.”

She flipped back to the page that they’d started on and pointed at the king on the horse, then at him, and gave him a very direct look.

“Alright, alright, I get the point. I’m a king so I should read about the kings. I dare say, when you give advice you don’t do it by halves.” He sighed and turned back to the page where he’d left off.

The tale led him through the building of the temple, then to the gods of the king’s wives, and a rebellion, and a golden calf. He read of strings of kings with short reigns, all evil, of one good king who let him breathe easier, until he read about the queen mother, the idols she worshiped, and how the good king had deposed her.

‘It’s not the same,’ he told himself. ‘It was just one incident. Mother’s not really like that.’

Still, his eyes kept skipping back to those verses, and he was glad to turn the page, even if it was only to encounter more evil kings. Finally, he came to a section about a prophet, and the raven which fed him in the wilderness.

“If only we could train your ravens to do that,” he said to Laska, “then I wouldn’t have to worry about this trade nonsense at all.”

She smiled apologetically, and he patted her hand. 

“I know. As it is, if this doesn’t work out I'm afraid they may have to get used to not having so many sweet cakes.”

She nodded, as if she had already thought of this, and come to think of it he hadn’t seen her with them nearly so much lately. He squeezed her hand like his heart squeezed at the thought, then kept reading. A widow, with faith she would be fed, and her dead boy brought back. A drought, and famine, and a contest of sacrifices.

Casimir winced as he read of the water being poured over the altar in such a dry time, then relaxed as he read of the rain clouds rolling in. Again he grimaced when a plough boy burned the plough to follow the Lord, and killed the oxen, destroying his livelihood. 

Then came the great battle, stated in the text so cleanly, so factually, and yet not clean, for the enemy king still lived, and Casimir wondered about his own war, if such vengeance had, perhaps, been warranted. Then more evil kings, save one who consulted the Lord, though he still made alliances with the murdering ones. Then death, and bloodshed. Another prophet, another evil king and a good one joined, another woman, another resurrected son, in the same pattern as before.

He was just reading about a foreign general who had been healed by God after receiving advice from a servant girl when Iowca suddenly stood and faced the side door from which Father Nicodem emerged a moment later, wielding a rolling pin.

“Who dares steal from- Your Majesty?” He lowered his weapon and blinked, taking in the scene.

“Ahem. Yes. I was just, I mean we were just… I mean, I was having difficulty with a decision so I came to, uh, consult.” He waved at the incriminating Bible still laying in his lap. “Laska thought I might find some insight. You know, here.”

“Which would normally be good advice,” the priest said, “though I would remind Your Majesty that the first action Adam took when he was found in the garden was also to blame his woman.”

Heat rushed into Casimir’s face, and Laska clapped a hand over her mouth, though without looking directly at her it was hard to tell if it was because of mortification or amusement. Father Nicodem’s answering smile made him lean toward the latter. 

“As I say, Your Majesty, it is good advice which you are quite welcome to follow during daylight hours, jut like anyone else wishing to read the holy writ.”

He held out his hands, and Casimir quickly hefted the Bible into them, standing. “Yes, sir. Sorry to wake you. We’ll, um, we’ll just be going, then. Have a good night.”

“You as well, Your Majesty.” His teasing half smile fell away a moment, and he clasped Casimir’s shoulder. “I’ll be praying for that decision of yours, whatever it may be.”

Casimir thanked him, then he and Laska departed quickly, closing the door just a bit too forcefully behind themselves. They walked in silence for several long, tense seconds, then Casimir suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed without pause, and Laska laughed with him, or at least, she covered her mouth with both hands while her shoulders convulsed and her eyes twinkled with merriment.

Finally, he straightened, brushing tears from the corners of his eyes. “I haven’t been caught out like that since I was a child! How silly we must have looked, bumbling and making excuses like we’d taken pies from the sill.”

Laska grinned.

Casimir looked up, taking a deep breath of the cool night air as they walked, and as his wits returned, something occurred to him. “Say, you can read, can’t you?”

Laska’s smile fell, and she shook her head.

“Then how did you know where in the Bible to look? You clearly had something specific in mind.”

She made a motion with her hands, like a box shape.

“I don’t understand.”

Stopping, she knelt and drew on the ground, in the dirt, a basic picture of a crown.

“The pictures!” he cried, “that’s how you knew. You were looking at the pictures.”

She nodded and stood, brushing off her skirt.

“I’m amazed the pictures were the same as what you’re used to. Whatever Bible you saw before might have come from the same monastery where we, er, got ours from.”

She shrugged, and he studied her with greater interest. Where had she been that they had been able to afford a full illuminated Bible like that? By this time, they had reached the castle doors, and he put his questions away in favor of politeness.

“Thank you, Laska, both for the good advice and the adventure, rash as it was on my part to do it so late at night.”

She smiled at the little self deprecation, and he returned the look. 

“Good night, Laska.”

She curtsied to him, then melted away into the servant’s halls, no doubt returning to her bed. He made his way up to his own, but did not sleep, instead looking at the letters again and contemplating all he had read that night. Wisdom, prophets, widows, kings, prophets, kings, widows, all jumbled together in his head. He thought of the general who travelled so far to be healed on nothing but the word of a slave girl. Of kings who made alliances with the ungodly, and suffered for it. Of women who gave their last morsel, and of prophets who poured water over an altar in a drought.

With a groan, he flopped back onto the bed and draped a hand over his eyes. “What would you have me do, Lord?”

Well, what had the good people in all the stories done? Last morsel, water in drought, let us first consult the Lord. He looked again at the letters, at the one from the small kingdom of Nost. They had little enough grain to spare as it was, and he really, truly couldn’t afford it. Then there was the Chrostia, with the unstable line, which could lead to much violence, as he had read, and yet…

‘Trust me.’

Of all his options, that one frightened him the most. If anything happened to their king, there would be civil war, and everything he worked for with them could fall through.

‘Trust me.’

He could possibly handle debt, could endure an alliance with a proud people, but…

‘Trust me.’

He snorted a mirthless laugh, holding the letter from Chrostia in both hands as he read it again. It had to be them, didn’t it? Still holding their letter, he reached for the one from the Thelese and placed them side by side to compare when an idea struck him. Yes, he could do most of his business with Chrostia, but no one ever said he had to put all his eggs in one basket. He could open a small amount of trade with the Thelese as well, and that way, if one deal fell through, his people still would not starve.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, he went to his desk and wrote two letters, sending both quickly before he could change his mind.

Chapter Text

The replies came back, and soon the whole castle was bustling as they prepared to host the ambassadors. Everything from the meals down to the color of the curtains in the rooms was seen to as they did everything in their power to make a good impression. It was a hectic few weeks, but everything was arranged by the time the first ambassador arrived.

He was from Chrostia, a thinning man in his forties or fifties whom some great sorrow or burden had made look even older, but he had shrewd eyes and a quick tongue, and Casimir knew he would have his work cut out for him. Indeed, they haggled back and forth for many days in long hours, and it was all Casimir could do to keep up with him. Had it been a battle plan they were discussing, he might have done better, for there he had practice, but with trade and economics he felt like a farm boy who’d never even seen a sword before on the dueling ground with a professional soldier.

It didn’t help that there had been a particular incident which made him dislike the man. He had been on his way to meet with him when he found him in the hall with Laska. She was looking away, almost as if frightened, and the ambassador was holding onto her arm.

“Please, miss, if you would just tell me your name-”

Casimir stepped in and grabbed the ambassador’s arm, yanking him off her. “She can’t. She’s mute.”

Laska hurried away as soon as she was free, rubbing her elbow, and the two men were left alone in the hall.

“I apologise, Your Majesty. I meant nothing untoward. It’s only that I could swear I've seen her before. Where did she come from?”

“The wood, about a day’s ride from here.”

“Alone?"

“Her family were all dead.” Casimir casually rested a hand on his sword hilt. “But it would be foolish to think her or any of those in my employ without protection.”

The ambassador raised his brows. “Think what you will of me, Your Majesty, but I am far from a fool, and certainly not foolish enough to blatantly insult the man from whom I have begged help.”

“To negotiate trade is hardly to beg help, especially when there are many options.”

“To negotiate trade is merely to save pride when one is in need, Your Majesty.” He bowed and gestured down the hall. “Now, shall we continue to discuss terms, or would you like to continue defending your manhood as well as your pride?"

Casimir set his jaw. “Better pride and manfulness which leads to good than to have nothing to be proud of.”

“In my experience, to be proud rarely leads to good, nor manfulness, if it comes to that. But come, since I see I will not change your mind on that, we must continue to discuss what might have been settled days ago.”

Casimir’s blood boiled as the ambassador walked away from  him, toward the room where they had been meeting the past week. If his plan had been to disorient by making Casimir angry, it was working. A raven tapped at the window, and he glanced over, then stepped closer. Looking out the window, he saw Laska below. She waved to him and smiled, and some of the tension left his shoulders at the reassurance she was alright. After waving back, he hurried down the hall, ready to face the ambassador once more.

Casimir had Captain Imbrych keep an eye on the ambassador for the duration of his stay, but there were no more incidents reported, either about Laska or any of the other maid servants. To Casimir’s relief, his mother also seemed to be on her best behaviour, so that when the ambassador finally left, he felt things had gone far better than they could have. No wars had been started, his household was safe, and a reasonable trade agreement was reached.

The ambassador from Thelese came soon after, and he could not have been more different. He was a plump, jolly sort of man, quick to laugh with all his jiggling belly, and far easier to negotiate with, for his easy manner extended to the terms of trade, and he was quick to come up with manageable compromises.

He also didn’t bother the servants, which endeared him more than Casimir would care to admit to himself. In the end, an agreement was reached on that front as well, and Casimir wondered if perhaps he should have simply gone with the larger kingdom to begin with.

He thought all was at peace with his house until about a week or so after the second ambassador left. Elpin brought one of the maids to see him, the very same one who had hurt Laska before, then laughed with her after the weekly meeting. She stood before him wringing her hands, eyes cast down.

“Go on,” Elpin encouraged, “tell His Majesty what you told me.”

Casimir braced himself for another accusation.

“It's about Laska. She’s, well, she’s been just exhausted lately, and I wondered if you could ease her workload a little.”

Casimir blinked. That wasn’t what he had been expecting. “Did you talk to Mistress Ermegarde about this?”

“I did, and she’s done what she can, but…” The girl bit her lip.

 “It’syour mother. She’s running her ragged,” Elpin said bluntly.

““Elaborate,”Casimir said.

"W-well at first I thought it was just because of the ambassadors,” the maid started. “I mean, we were all tired, and you were busy, so of course Her Majesty would need Laska more often, but she was still utterly exhausted after the ambassadors left, so I started to notice things.” She glanced at Elpin, who nodded for her to continue.

“L-like that the Queen would suddenly decide to visit the grave in the middle of the night, or that she’d go during meal times, so Laska hardly gets the chance to eat, and every time Mistress Ermegarde tries to give her more time by giving some of her work to the rest of us, the Queen will find a room that needs cleaning, or linens that need washing, or some dress that needs mending, and because she always happens to be with Laska when she notices such things, she always tells her to do them, and Mistress Ermegarde can do about an order from the Queen. Not that I’m accusing her, Your Majesty! I’m sure she’s not doing it on purpose.”

Elpin snorted. “I’m not.”

“Couldn’t you do something about it, Your Majesty?” The girl twisted her hands in her apron. “I know how we started out, but she has been so very good to me, even after I was horrible to her, and I only want her to be alright.”

Casimir’s posture softened, and the bitterness lodged in the corner of his heart for so long slipped away as easily as a branch floating downstream. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Halinka, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Halinka. I’m glad you brought this to my attention. I’ll talk to the Queen.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, thank you, Your Majesty!” She bobbed a quick curtsey, then Elpin ushered her away.

Casimir leaned back against his desk, glaring thoughtfully at the floor. The best thing to do, he decided, would be to catch his mother in the act. That would take care of proof and discussion at once.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he didn’t have to wait long.

He sat down to some late night paperwork at his desk, left his door open just a crack, and told Iowca to guard it. On the third night, Iowca lifted her head and barked once, and Casimir darted to the door, startling his mother as he flew out into the corridor.

“Oh, it’s only you, Mother,” he said. “What are you doing up this late?”

“I can’t sleep, so I’m going to visit my husband.”

“Alone?”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “No. Don’t worry, I shall take that girl with me. I’ve already sent a guard to fetch her.”

“Mother, don’t you think you’re wearing her out a bit?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean that between having no end of work in the day, and waking up in the night to attend y ou, the poor girl hasn’t any chance to rest.”

“Well I don’t know where you hear such rumors! Certainly not from her.”

“No. Laska would never complain.”

“I’m not really sure that’s such a virtue for someone with her limitations.”

Casimir pressed his palms hard against the sides of his legs. “She has her ways of making her opinions known. Still, as I said, it wasn’t her. The other servants noticed, and were worried.”

His mother narrowed her eyes. “It was Mistress Ermegarde, wasn’t it?”

Casimir neither confirmed nor denied. “Why does it seem such an affront to you that I know the goings on among my own servants? Do you believe you have done something that must be kept secret?”

“I don’t like being meddled and handled. First you say I must only go out with you, then you find a stand in and say I may only go out with her, and  now you need to decide how often I employ her services as well. I’m not a child that you can lord over me like this!”

“I know, and I don’t want to.”

“Oh, but you have to? I made one mistake and now I can’t be trusted with anything?”

“It was a mistake that could have cost the kingdom, and heresy besides, and if you were anyone but my mother I would have had you executed for it!”

She went white and gasped in a way that could have been either offended or frightened. Then she suddenly deflated and curled in on herself, trembling. “You… you were such a sweet little boy. You didn’t even want to hurt a grasshopper, but now…” she shook her head, reaching for him with shaking fingers. “Where is my little boy, and who is this soldier they have put in his place? I… I don’t know him. I don’t know my son.”

Casimir’s eyes and chest stung, and he took her hand, pressing it against his cheek. “I’m here, Mother. I’m right here.” The words sounded as hollow as they would have if she’d said them to him, and she drew away. Casimir wanted to reach for her, to draw her into an embrace and show her that they could still be mother and son, even if they hardly knew each other, but she looked so frightened, frightened of him, and his arms hung limp and helpless at his sides. Suddenly, her eyes softened, and she gently swiped the hair back from his forehead.

“You look so like him,” she murmured. “Practically all grown up.”

Casimir nodded, saying hoarsely, “It’s like seeing a ghost in the mirror, sometimes.”

“Yes,” his mother replied, and her fingertips were cold on his temple, “a ghost.” She dropped her hand, and Casimir shifted his weight toward her, but was abruptly drawn out of their reminisce by a raven’s caw, and black wings  at the window.

He settled his feet firmly once more, remembering his original purpose.
“I’ll miss him too,” he told her gently, “but one must not constantly be with the dead at the expense of the living.”

All tenderness abruptly passed from her countenance as she scowled. “It’s on your orders. Yours! I could mind my own business, but you must meddle in my affairs and it’s hardly my fault if the meddler you sent can’t keep up with me. Now go on! Go back to your ring and your pup and don’t bother me anymore.”

Casimir clenched his fist, the one with the heavy signet ring round his thumb, too cumbersome to wear before, but now too precious not to, and leaned toward her.
“That gentle boy you spoke of learned all he knew from a gentle woman. She noticed and bound a servant girl’s blistered hands, once, and that little boy was proud of his mum, wanted so much to be like her.” His anger fizzled  out before it truly even kindled, and his hand relaxed. “But I suppose she’s gone now, too.”

She stared at him a moment, then began shaking her head, lip curling. “No. No, you changed. You and your father, you both left, and I’m the only one. I’m the only one still here. It’s not me. You, you were the ones who became something you’re not while I was left behind.” She leaned into his face, eyes gleaming, lips stiff and shaking. “It’s. Not. Me. You hear?”She stared him down a moment longer, then spun on her heel and marched back to her bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her.

Casimir swallowed thickly and dashed surreptitiously at his cheek just as Laska and one of the guards came around the corner. He stepped forward to meet them, saying, “Thank you, but I don’t think my mother will actually be going out tonight. I’ll escort you back. It’s the least I can do after your trouble.” He nodded to the guard. “You may resume your post.”

The guard saluted, and Casimir offered Laska his arm. She took it with a tired smile, and he noted she leaned hard on him at times, her sunken eyes cast to the ground as if looking carefully for where to place her feet. No wonder her friend was worried.

“You don’t have to comply every time, you know,” he said. “She doesn’t need to visit the grave in the middle of the night, not when you haven’t had any rest.” he laid his hand over hers on his elbow. “I’d hate to see you waste away.”

She shrugged, and her fingers brushed softly over his signet ring.

“I can protect it well enough,” he assured her.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and serious, and that’s when she tripped and might have toppled down the stairs if not for his steadying arm. He shot out his other hand to grip her shoulder, holding her as tightly as his heart was wedged in his throat. He frowned, looking more closely under the hair falling into her eyes.

"You haven’t slept properly in a very long time, have you?”

She bit her lip and wouldn't meet his gaze, which was enough of an answer for him.

“My poor girl. I oughtn’t to have let such a thing go on, and I wish I’d noticed it sooner. Are you dizzy at all?”

She shook her head, then stopped and clutched tighter onto his arm, which was another answer good enough in itself.

“In that case, I mustn’t let you walk down these stairs on your own.” He crouched with his back to her. “Get on.”

Nothing happened, and he looked back over his shoulder to find her staring blankly at him.

“Come on, it’s alright. I don’t mind.”

She just kept staring.

“Didn’t your parents or siblings ever let you ride on their backs?” He teased, then regretted it immediately when her face fell. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up-”

She set a hand on his shoulder, then carefully slipped her arms around his neck. He wordlessly hooked her knees, then stood, lifting her on his back. She weas stiff at first, but in her sleepy state could hardly maintain her aloof distance, and soon slumped against him, her face pressed to the back of his neck. He leaned forward and tightened his grip a little so she wouldn’t fall, even if she did sleep, and smothered a little laugh as her hair tickled his chin.

“I’m sorry,” he said presently, not even sure if she was awake to hear him. “I wasn’t thinking when I mentioned  your family. I know that’s still a recent wound, and I’m normally more careful about such things.”

She patted his shoulder, a little clumsily, and he smiled.

“I wish you could tell me about them. If they were anything like you, I’m sure they were wonderful, kind people, but then, perhaps that’s really the most important thing about them anyway.”

Her cheek rubbed against his neck as she nodded.

“I’m glad. I wish… I wish I could give that to you, that kindness. That was my intention when I brought you here, but I’m afraid I and mine have done a poor job of it.”

She shook her head, hair scraping against his ear, and curled her fingers in his shirt.

“Then you are happy here?”

There was a pause- too long a pause- before she nodded.

“It’s been hard, hasn’t it?”

Another pause, another nod.

“Then I’ll do what I can to make it easier. I do want you to be happy, Laska.” And as he said it, he realized just how much he did want it; more than he wanted anything else, in that moment he wanted her to be happy, and to be happy here, because of what he had been able to give her.

Her arms tightened in a brief, gentle squeeze round his shoulders, then both were silent. He did not put her down at the bottom of the stairs, but rather carried her all the way to her bed chamber and laid her gently on the thin straw mattress. She was fast asleep by then, and didn’t even open her eyes when he set her down, only curled a little closer in round her pillow.

Softly, he moved the base of the mattress and unlaced her shoes, working them carefully off her feet. After he had placed them beside the bed, he draped a blanket over her, pulling it up cozy against her chin. Her breath whispered softly against his knuckles, and he brushed them over the rosy cheek, hooking a lock of spun gold hair behind her ear. She looked so peaceful like this, so sweet, completely relaxed.

"Lord, may this peace follow her also in her waking hours. Grant her rest, and give me the wisdom to intercede for her so she will not be wearied like this again," he murmured.

His hand still rested upon her head, her hair soft as the raven’s feather’s under his palm, and she even snored a little- the loudest sound he had ever heard her make- and affection shot through him like a breath of cold mountain air under a blue sky. That tender clarity lasted only a moment, however, and thunderclouds of incredulous doubt and self-disgust rolled in to close his lungs. He drew his hand back abruptly and left quickly as he could while still remaining quiet.

She was a servant girl under his command and protection. He couldn’t think about her that way, had been horrified by the very suggestion when his mother had accused him those months ago, and yet here he was, watching her while she slept, and longing for her. It was wrong. So very, very wrong, and yet, there was one thing which could make it right.
Which was where the incredulous doubt came in, because he couldn’t be seriously considering that, could he? He’d known her for less than a year, had found her conveniently wandering in the woods in a place where he'd never seen anyone in the past. Perhaps she was there on purpose to get close to him and seduce him, only… only if that was her aim she hadn’t done a very good job. She hadn’t taken advantage of any kindness or permission he’d given her, she hadn’t ever tried to be alone with him, and in fact he was the one who had always initiated being mostly alone with her. Even breaking into the Meeting Hall that night had been his idea, and thinking back on it, the only times he could remember her taking initiative was in being discreet for Captain Imbrych’s sake, and in caring for his mother. Everything else… that had all been him.

‘How long have I been in love with this girl?’
The thought occurred to him just as he reached his bedroom, and he darted inside, closing the door quickly enough to make himself jump and Iowca bark at the noise. No, that couldn’t be right. Not in love. But… if he was considering that with any seriousness, maybe he was.

He slid to the floor, and Iowca trotted over to him, licking his face in concern. He smiled and petted her, rubbing his face against her short fur as much to comfort himself as reassure her.

It was a ridiculous thought. He couldn’t. He was the king, and there was far more than his own feelings to consider, yet hadn’t she defended the kingdom and his family with a dedication that matched if not exceeded his own? And hadn’t she turned him to prayer and the Word when he had sought her advice? He spun th signet ring around his thumb, remembering how she had touched it, given it as the reason for her sleepless nights and weary limbs. All night he paced, and prayed, considered, remembered. He raked through every interaction, everything he had ever seen her do, searching for some indication of guile or ill intent. There were some things that might be interpreted as such, but he didn’t believe it. Or refused to believe it?

He was relieved when dawn came, and Elpin arrived to dress him, also bringing breakfast.

“Laska is still sleeping?” Casimir asked, noting the tray.

“I certainly hope so, Sire.”

“Good. Very good.”

The valet eyed his mussed hair and clothes skeptically. “You don’t look like you’ve slept a wink, Sire.”

“That’s because I haven’t. Call Captain Imbrych. I need to consult you both about something.”

Elpin raised his brows, but did as asked. He returned shortly with the captain, who said,

“This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, Your Majesty. ‘A King, his Captain, and his Valet walk into a bar…’ So, what terrible problem faces the kingdom today that the both of us would have the expertise to solve?”

Casimir opened his mouth, then closed it, realized he couldn’t face them when he said this, and turned around, drumming his fingers on the window sill. “I want to marry Laska,” he said.

Neither spoke.

“Well?” He whirled around. “You’re my friends, aren’t you? Talk me out of it!”

“That’s…hm. Somehow I expected the answer to make this sound less like a bad joke.”

“Yes, I stayed up all night in anticipation of playing a joke on you. Now would you please tell me what you think so I can get this over with.”

“I think,” Elpin replied, “that if you really wanted to be talked out of this, you would have told your mother.”

Casimir blanched. “No. No Mother would have insulted her, and I would have defended her, which would have only made these feelings worse.”

Imbrych frowned at him. “Why are you so opposed to this, exactly?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’d think my captain at least would understand the security risk.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“The security risk. I mean, how well do we really know her? What if she’s a plant, a spy come to seduce me and influence my decisions to the destruction of the kingdom?”

Imbrych gave him a very concerned look. “Sire, just how long have you been awake?”

“Too long.” Casimir slumped into a chair and dragged a hand over his face. “Come now, even if that’s an exaggeration, you both know it’s foolish. I can’t marry a peasant girl, much less one who works for me, and even less one I found less than a year ago in the forest.”

“Mmm, perhaps,” Elpin said, “but I think you can marry the girl who has been good to your friends, and helped and stood by your mother even on her worst days, who guarded your father’s coffin and whom you have entrusted with what is most precious to you in the past. As a matter of fact, I would encourage such a marriage. And if you doubt my judgment, you can just take a look at the three children I’ve successfully married off.”

Casimir glared at him. “I said talk me out of it, not into it.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but it sounds to me like you’ve been talking yourself out of a rather good thing all night.”

Casimir huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Sooo…” Imbrych started slowly, “if you don’t want to marry her, can I?”

Casimir shot to his feet, then checked himself at Imbrych’s smirk. “Oh, haha. You know, that was a bad joke, Captain.”

“So are you,” Imbrych replied flatly. “You clearly like her, all she’s ever done is be good and kind to you, she works hard, she’s loyal. Honestly, Sire, it seems the only real objections you have are that she’s a servant and we don’t know her lineage, and if that’s enough to stop you, maybe you don’t deserve her anyway.”

“I have more than myself to consider, otherwise it wouldn’t be a problem at all,” Casimir growled. “If I marry her, she’ll be queen. That’s an even bigger risk to take than most men when they marry.”

Imbrych and Elpin exchanged glances, then Elpin said softly, “you are right, my king, and it is a good thing to consider, but, well, there are worse queens to have.”

They discussed it a little longer, but all of Casimir’s objections were shot down, and finally, Imbrych said,
“Maybe before you make the decision entirely on your own, you should just ask the girl,” then went off to his post.

Elpin helped him dress, cleaned up the breakfast tray, then also left him. He sighed, leaning his elbows on the window sill, and there she was, walking beside his mother. He tensed, hoping Mother would not punish Laska for the conversation they’d had last night, but then, she seemed relaxed, and Mother was smiling, a genuine, happy smile of the sort he hadn't seen in a very long time.

‘Yes,’ Casimir mused with a private smile of his own, ‘I think I will just ask the girl.’

Chapter Text

The next Sunday, Casimir had some things prepared before they set out for the meeting hall. His mother was pleasant enough on his arm, not even complaining as she used to, but that didn’t stop his stomach from tying itself in knots, or his heart from thundering in his ears when he saw Laska walking alongside Halinka, both rosy-cheeked from the cold.

Once his decision had been made, he had swung between excited and utterly terrified like a hypnotist’s pendant, but here on the day he planned to ask her, it was terrified which his body clung to, his muscles tensed and ready in preparation to flee, but he had resolved to do this. He would do this.

He did his best to focus during the sermon, pushing his fears away to catch snatches of a tale of a foreign woman who found a place in Israel, beside a husband, just as all are invited to a place with God, and God draws them near under his shelter, if only they will trust enough to lay at his feet and let his cloak be spread over them. Casimir wrung his hands, his fingers turning white each time he caught a glimpse of Laska’s golden braid.

‘I’m trying to trust, Lord, I’m trying. Please, make your will clear to me. To her.’

Somehow trust had been easier on the battlefield under a hail of arrows, when the only choices were live and keep fighting or die and go to the arms of God. Here, his options were not so clear, the paths divulging in a thousand ‘what ifs’ which, of course, made trust that much more necessary, and that much more difficult to grasp.

He sang the worship mechanically, his thoughts tangled in a mess. His mother, as ever, was silent beside him. As the formal part of the service ended and people began to split off to speak with each other, he approached Laska where she was giving Halinka a playful shove, much to her amusement.

“Excuse me,” he interrupted. “I hate to intrude, but if you could come with my mother and I to the grave today, Laska, I would appreciate it. I know I don’t normally need you there when I can be with her, but I’d like to take the opportunity to discuss some important matters with you, if I could.”

Laska nodded and started to follow him, but Halinka laid a hand on her arm. “Are you sure, Laska? I can tell him you need to rest.”

Laska smiled and patted her hand reassuringly, then continued on her way. Casimir glanced carefully at her as she walked beside him. She seemed much better than before, but after recent events he wasn’t surprised by her friend’s concern, and was actually rather glad of it.

He waved for Captain Imbrych to join them as he passed, and the other guards already with him and his mother straightened a little. They never would have done that before, and Casimir looked down at Laska, his nerves slowly untangling at the memory of her standing outside his door with a breakfast for two and a finger to her lips, having come to them without being seen. Anyone else might have been trying to trap him, as Elpin had once suggested, but she had only ever been sympathetic, helpful. The knot in his chest loosened more and more as he continued to look at her and the memories ran free and clear.

Until she caught him and smiled, and his mind stuttered to a halt, his heartstrings squeezing tight. She’d never made him feel so out of sorts before, but then, he hadn’t ever been planning to ask her to marry him, before.

The little party made their way to the grave site- a well trod path by now- with the ravens circling overhead, and Casimir wished for Iowca to be lopping at his side, her usual reassuring self, but he didn’t bring her to services, so it seemed he would have to settle for the birds. When they reached the grave, his mother knelt in front of it as always, her knees falling into two crusted indents in the snow. She still grieved. After so much time, so many visits, she still grieved, and Casimir didn’t know how to feel a three year old pain.

Beside him, Laska started forward as if to comfort her, then stopped and looked at him. Right. If anyone was to comfort his own mother, it ought to be him. He took her cue and went to kneel beside his mother in a second pair of well worn dents in the snow, wondering with some self reproof how many times Laska had done this. With her to care for his mother, he had taken to hardly coming here at all except for times like now, when he absolutely had to, and he thought perhaps that was part of the reason his mother had been so desperate for Laska’s company: because the one she really wanted, really needed, was her son.

She reached out and warmed the frost from the inscription with her bare hand, polishing it away as a child might polish the fog from a window to look out on a chill winter morning.

‘King Chwalimir, wise in his ruling, righteous of sword, faithful in love, beloved by all.’

So few words, and yet so much to live up to. His mother drew her hands back, blowing on her red fingers, and he took them between his own to warm them, earning himself a sort of smile that flickered into something gut wrenching as she looked away.

“He was always so good to us, wasn’t he?” Casimir murmured.

“Yes.” She swallowed thickly.

“How did you know?”
She tilted her head at him. “Know he was good?”

“No. I mean, sort of. That is, how did you know you wanted to marry him? How did you decide?”

“Hmm.” She looked off into the distance thoughtfully. “Well, we knew each other, of course, had seen each other at the balls, and he was always courteous. Generous. Then we started courting, and of course only a very silly girl would turn down a prince, but I suppose, if I had to pick an exact moment… it would probably be when we got the news of his older brother’s death and he became the heir to the throne.”

Casimir gaped at her a moment, aghast, and she burst out in a sudden laugh, real and loud and clear like when the three of them used to chase each other around snow forts with mounds of frozen ammunition in their mittened hands. Casimir sighed and rolled his eyes at her as she turned to the gravestone and said,

“See? What did I tell you? No matter how much he’s grown, he’s as easy to tease as ever.” After a moment, she sobered and laid her head on his shoulder. “But really, truthfully, I did know he was a good man, from watching him, from being near him, seeing what he did, even when he was frustrated or upset. So when he expressed a desire to court me, of course I accepted. He was the prince, but more than that, I trusted him. Yes, I suppose that must have been it. I really, truly trusted him. I still remember the first time I got into a difficult situation and found myself wishing for him, rather than my father. The fact of it is that I st…. That I still wish…”

Tears spilled over her cheeks, slipping along her lips like a paste that sealed up her words. Casimir pulled her close, gently hugging her against his chest.

“It’s alright, Mum. I’m here. I’m still here to take care of you, and I shall. I promise.”
But she pulled abruptly away from him, shaking her head, and buried her face in her hands. Casimir watched helplessly, his arms hovering open, chest turning cold, before he finally laid a careful hand on her back. To his surprise, she pressed into his touch so that he was nearly embracing her once more.

“Mo-”

“Hush! Don’t speak. Please, my dear, don’t speak.”

So he didn’t. Laska and the guards still stood behind them, no doubt growing cold in the snow and the chll wind, but he didn’t move, couldn’t move, as if his mother were an ice shelf over a river, and her love was on the opposite shore.

Eventually, when his legs were numb from cold and stillness, she looked up from her shield of hands, and all her tears were dry.

“It’s cold,” he murmured, “you ought to head back.”

“I?” She frowned at him. “Are you staying?”

“Laska and I have something to discuss. We’ll follow you shortly.”

She narrowed her eyes. “More plotting behind my back?”

“Hardly. Why? Are you afraid she’ll tell all your terrible secrets?” He smiled teasingly at her, and she sighed and rolled her eyes in an imitation of his own actions earlier. “Don’t worry,” he told her more seriously, “I’ll send the guards with you, but Captain Imbrych will stay with Laska and I, so we’ll be safe.”

The Queen’s eyes hardened, flicking to Laska briefly. “Safe from most dangers, anyway. You ought to be more careful of the rumors, Casimir.”

“That’s also what the Captain is here for.”

“Hmm, yes. You know, if you had been having trysts, he would have been witness to most of them, and his own reputation is… unsavory, to say the least, all of which hardly qualifies him to be a good chaperone. Did I not know my son, I would believe you were taking advantage of a girl who could tell no one and using a man who owes you his life and career as a cover up.”

Casimir winced. “But you do know your son.”

She regarded him a moment, then said softly, “not all people do.”

“I know. I’ll be careful not to stay out long.”

“It’s not only your reputation you carry with you, you know. It’s that of the Crown. His crown. His legacy.”

The signet ring was cold on Casimir’s finger, the vein in his neck hot and throbbing. “Just as you also carry it,” he said tightly, “I know.”

Her lips went white briefly. “If you could have stopped me, I’m sure you would have.”

“As I recall it, I did.”

“And as I recall it, she did. Perhaps we shall be so lucky again.”

“That is my hope.”

The Queen looked on a moment longer, then nodded slowly and departed.

Casimir groaned as he rose and the blood rushed back into his numb legs. He stood a moment with one hand on his father’s grave to support himself while he waited for the pain to be manageable, then went to Laska and offered her his arm.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. She took longer than usual, today.”

Laska shrugged and took his arm, using her other hand to touch her lips, then gesture outward, almost as if she were blowing a kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, “I didn’t quite understand that last bit.”

She tapped her thumb against the rest of her fingers in an imitation of a mouth opening and closing, and it dawned on him.

“Oh! You’re asking what I wanted to talk about.”

A nod.

“Ah, well, I shall get to that, of course, but let’s get a little away from here. I’d rather not discuss it over my father’s grave.”

Her hand tightened briefly on his arm, and he led her toward the woods on almost the same path he had followed that horrible night. It was also very nearly the same path that would lead to the place where he had found her, though he didn’t think they’d go that far today, romantic as it would be. Given the nature of their current relationship as master and servant, a short walk was as close as the bounds of society and his own conscience would allow him to get to romantic.

Once inside the trees, they were mostly out of the wind, and he stopped in a place the sun still came through the branches to build a small, sheltered hollow in the snow and laid his cloak out in it. He’d worn his gigantic, thick wool cloak that had seen him through much of the war, and worked nicely to protect them from the chill of the icy ground. He helped Laska to sit and settled beside her while Captain Imbrych seemed to take a very deep interest in one of the nearby trees; far enough away to give them some privacy, but not too much.

“The truth is,” Casimir began the speech he’d practiced a thousand times, “I’d like to get to know you a little better, and I believe I”ve come up with a nice, fun way for us to do that.”

He drew a pouch of candied nuts from one pocket and set it between them, then took a flask of cordial from his belt.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, opening the flask and holding it out for her to smell, “it’s nothing strong, and it would no doubt take more than is in this flask to make us even tipsy.”

She sniffed it cautiously, then nodded, and he set it down alongside the pouch.

“So, I thought I could ask questions, and then we could both answer, perhaps food for yes, and drink for no, that is, if you would like to?”

She regarded him a long moment, head tilted to the side so that her eyes were like a pair of scales, and he wondered desperately if they would find him honest or wanting.

“We don’t have to,” he told her quickly. “If you’re uncomfortable, Imbrych can walk us both ba-”

She set a finger on his lips, the bright blue scales leveled, and she plucked a nut from the bag, popping it into her mouth. Casimir’s shoulders slumped with relief. She trusted him. But did he trust her? He wanted to, with all his heart, he wanted to, and he thought maybe he did, but that didn’t change the utter terror buzzing in his blood.

She was waiting expectantly, so he scrambled to regain his wits and remember the first question he intended to ask her.

“Are you cold?” Is what came out of his mouth instead, and he mentally banged his head on the nearest tree. In fact, if his peripheral vision was anything to judge by, Captain Imbrych was doing it for him by proxy.

Laska’s lips twitched up, and she gathered her thick cloak around herself, picking out a candied nut. After eating it, she raised her brows at him. He sighed and took a gulp from the flask.

“Don’nt worry, it’s not that bad yet, I just got my knees a bit damp earlier when we were at the grave.”

But she was already scooting closer until they sat shoulder to shoulder, and she draped the corner of her cloak over him.

“I think I’m the one who’s supposed to do that,” he joked.

She looked sharply up at him, and it took his foolish, stuttering brain two seconds too long to forget about general chivalry and remember what the sermon had been about that morning.

“Oh! No, not like- I mean because I’m the man, so I ought to look after ladies, is all.”
She smiled and ran her hand over his own cloak where it lay beneath them, and he relaxed once more.

“I know. But I’m also the silly one who brought us all the way out in the cold in the first place.”

She shrugged and took another candied nut, making him laugh.

“Alright, I’ll try to be quick. Let’s see… Have you been getting more sleep, now? I talked with my mother.”

Another candy went from the pouch to her mouth.

"Good. I’m glad. I actually have some ideas about that, but we’ll talk more about that in a bit. Do you-”

He paused when she held up a hand and gestured at the food and drink. Not understanding, he frowned his confusion to her, and she pointed at him, then gestured again.

“Oh! Right, I said I would answer, but it’s not like I haven’t been sleeping well.”

She ran a finger under each of her eyes and mimed a yawn, then pointed at him again.

“Oh alright, but it doesn’t have anything to do with that." And he took a swallow from the flask. Her brows furrowed, and she peered inquisitively at him.

“It’s… it’s you,” he confessed.

She drew back a little, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Yes, you. I’ve been thinking about you, worrying about you.” This wasn’t going at all as he had planned, and he floundered for safer waters. “Because of how my mother’s been acting, you know. You have to understand, losing my father and going through the war changed her deeply, and I know she can be hard to deal with, so I really appreciate your dedication." He took a deep breath, bracing himself. “Before you said it was for love of my family, so I suppose I wanted to ask you, do you love her?”

She froze like a hare who has seen the hunter, then very slowly placed a candied nut in her mouth and washed it down with the cordial.

“I can certainly understand that,” Casimir laughed, eating one of the candies himself even as his heart thumped in his head at the implication. “But if you did not do it for love of her, was it… was it for love of me?”

He felt each of her rapid breaths where their shoulders were pressed together, but if not for that he might have though she was made of stone. He stood upon the precipice, waiting for her answer, tipping closer to the edge as mist puffed from her red lips. Finally, carefully, she reached into the bag.

Casimir didn’t even let her get the candy to her mouth before he kissed her, leaping off the edge into that spinning, beautiful mist, only to realize there were sharp rocks at the bottom when she jerked away from him, falling against the snow.
Ravens descended, cawing their furious screeches as they cascaded down in a black wall between him and Laska. Behind him, he heard Captain Imbrych swear and draw a weapon, but held up his hand to stop him, for the ravens did not attack, only assembled in ranks between him and the woman who had fed them.

“I’m sorry!” He said quickly. “Laska, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- that was foolish. I’m supposed to protect you, not harm you, and I shouldn’t have done that, but I’m not trying to take advantage. I swear to you, I would never do that, I just got flipped around and foolish and did things backwards but I meant to ask you to marry me before I did, you know, any of that.”

Her eyes went impossibly wider, and a few of the largest ravens squawked, flapping their big black wings. Casimir stood and started to pace, staying well on his side of the raven wall as he gestured wildly at nothing and everything.

“I know it’s sudden and you probably think I’ve gone mad, but given our positions I can hardly pay you proper court, especially if we ever broke things off it would absolutely ruin your reputation so really it’s all or nothing which is why I’ve been so anxious about this hence the inappropriate kissing and I understand if you want to get away from me entirely and find a new job and I’d certainly give you a good reference. I mean, I do still want to marry you but I know that’s asking a lot and between myself and my mother, well, you’ve seen what being queen has done to her and that’s what I’d be asking you to be so I really don’t expect you to accept if you don’t want to and honestly I… just…”

He cut off his rambling stream when he noticed her hunched over with both hands pressed to her mouth, shoulders shaking.

“Oh Laska. Please, it’s alright. I didn’t mean to distress you. Come, let’s go back now and I won’t speak of it again.” He started toward her, hand extended, but then there were the ravens to contend with, so he stood, helplessly watching her cry and debating how badly the ravens would hurt him if he approached her and if he should approach her at all. Then she looked up.

And her eyes danced as though she were laughing.

He stared at her a moment, dumbstruck by this new development, and before he could fully process it, she rose and traversed the sea of ravens to throw her arms around his neck and kissed him. His body responded more quickly than his mind, and he pressed into the kiss, his hands on her back, her shoulders, sliding even to her hair as he drew her in. When she drew back, languid and easy this time, he blinked at her in a sort of daze.

“Does… does that mean you want to marry me?”

She stepped back, grinning and still holding his hand, and bent down to the bag of treats, coming up with two candies. One she placed in her mouth, and the other offered to him. Laughing faintly, he ate from her hand, then kissed her again before the sugar sweet taste was gone from their lips. Wind spun around them as the ravens all took to the air at once, and he held her under her cloak this time, the fabric billowing to sirround both of them as his palms rested on the elegant curve of her waist. This time he let himself truly enjoy the sensation, breathing in her warmth, her scent, and only very reluctantly breaking the kiss when he remembered that Imbrych was standing nearby.

He rested his forehead on hers. “I love you, by the way. I think I should make that clear.”

She smiled, stroking her knuckles softly over his cheek, and he leaned into the tender touch, letting himself relax against  her hand.

“But I’m also… sort of terrified.”

Her fingers still brushed lightly on his face, encouraging him to go on.

“All my life I thought I’d be marrying for politics, making an alliance, doing something for the kingdom, but this… this I know I want, but a king must consider more than what he wants. You’re wonderful, Laska. You’re beautiful and kind and determined and loyal, which is why I love you, but there’s a part of me that thinks that I’m, well,” he paused and turned his head to kiss her palm, then bundled both her hands between his own. “I’m afraid I’m making the same mistake as my parents, loving a person more than the kingdom I serve. I’m sorry. That’s horrible, calling you a mistake, but I suppose this whole proposal has been full of me doing and saying horrible things. Like I said, I’m just… scared.”

She stepped back from him, and his heart keened, but he knew she was right. Even if they both wanted this, one of them had to be the smart one, have the strength to walk away. It ought to have been him, but he still had too much of his parents’ weakness.

Laska stopped, then knelt before him, right there in the snow.

“What are you…?”

He trailed off as she drew his hand to her lips and pressed a sweet, tender kiss to the signet ring on his thumb. She looked up, he breath still warm over his skin, eyes stern and earnest. Casimir dropped to the snow and embraced her, clutching tight.

“Surely God sent you,” he murmured. “You are far too perfect for me.”

Her arms tightened round his chest, and it was so solid and tender at once that for the first time in years he felt like maybe the world was a safe place to exist in. He could have stayed there for hours, holding her, talking, nibbling away at the candies he’d brought, but they weren’t married yet, and they’d made Captain Imbrych wait out here for too long already.

“It’s settled, then?” He whispered, looking her in the eyes. 

She nodded and kissed him again.

“Good. He grinned and raised her to her feet, rubbing her arms. “Come, let’s get you out of this cold.”

She nodded again, keeping hold of his hand even as he gathered up the pouch, the flask, and his cloak. It was a bit cumbersome to do one handed, but he found that he didn’t mind. They collected Captain Imbrych, who congratulated them profusely, and the walk back was full of pleasant joking and laughter. Casimir held Laska’s hand right up to the castle gate, where he squeezed gently before he let go.

“We’ll keep it quiet for a little, at least until I can tell Mother and consult with Mistress Ermegarde on the best way to break the news to the servants. Oh! Elpin knows I was going to ask you, so you may tell him anything you like.”

Laska dipped a graceful curtsey, then spun away with a glimpse of a beaming smile, bouncing through the gate.

“She can tell Elpin?” Imbrych smirked.

“Oh shut up,” Casimir replied without venom. He too was practically skipping as he entered the castle grounds. Tomorrow he would have to figure out what to do, and tell his mother, but for today, Laska wanted to marry him, and everything was perfect.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Casimir told Mistress Ermegarde before anyone else. Mother might cause a scene, and he wanted to handle the situation delicately given all the factors involved, so Mistress Ermegarde it was. She took the news with quiet severity, but very little surprise, pursing her lips sourly when he asked for recommendations on how to tell the rest of the staff.

“There will be jealousies and it will cause unrest downstairs. That cant be helped. Several will assume she’s pregnant.”

“She’s not,” Casimir said quickly.

“I know, child.” Mistress Ermegarde’s expression softened. “I am only warning what rumors will arise. This one reflects poorly on you, but when there is no baby, they will say she lied to entrap you, which reflects poorly on her. I know you want this to have as little incident as possible, but the fact of it is that it is an incident in and of itself. Most of our people will be generous, but it is unprecedented, and no one likes breaking tradition.”

“I know. I’d like to do what we can to shield Laska from the worst of it.”

“Well, I know who not to assign to serve her directly. I recommend we prepare a room for her upstairs to get her away from anyone who might be driven to do something foolish. I can assign her friends to serve her initially, and gradually let the others get used to the idea.”

“Will her friends still be her friends?”

"Halinka will. Ever since that day when Laska stood between the two of you she’s been unerringly loyal. The girl has an overdeveloped sense of justice, and a tendency to take charge where it’s not her place, but she’s true as steel and won’t waver.”

“You know your staff best. Very well, see it done, but quietly as may be. I want Mother to hear it from me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Mistress Ermegarde curtsied, then departed. Soon as she was gone, Casimir set out to find his mother and speak to her privately. She was in her chambers, her attendants with her, including Laska, who was hanging up a cloak in her wardrobe, no doubt after already having been to the grave that morning. He drifted near her, murmuring,

“Do you want to stay while I tell her?”She thought about it a moment, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles, then subtly nodded.

Casimir stepped away from her toward his mother saying aloud, “I’d like to speak to you privately, if I could.”

“Very well,” Mother agreed. “You are all dismissed.”

Casimir waited until most of the attendants were out the door before he added, “Laska, you may stay.”

She dipped her head and stood just to the side of the door, closing it once the room had emptied. Even when it was only the three of them, she maintained her subservient position, waiting on his signal, and he straightened his shoulders, disregarding his squirming insides. She was counting on him, so he had to get through this, one way or another.

“Well?” his mother asked, glancing between the two of them.

“Mother. I have something to tell you.”

“Which is?”

“Yes. The, ah, the thing I have to tell you is that I am, well, I’m going to be married.”

“Married!” She shot to her feet. “But I never even heard you were-” her eyes snapped to Laska and narrowed. “You.”

“Yes, Mother.” Casimir held out his hand, and Laska came to him, taking it, but Casimir draped his arm over her shoulders, pressing her securely to his side so there could be no doubt. “I’m marrying Laska.”

“But that’s… why on earth would you…” Her furrowed brow carved deep between her eyes. “Is she pregnant?”

Casimir almost laughed at Mistress Ermegarde’s prediction coming true so quickly and would have if it weren’t so sad hearing it come from his own mother. “I hope not,” he said, “because if she is, it’s not mine.”

Laska elbowed him, and then he did laugh.

“Stop that! Stop that at once! This is no jesting matter. Casimir, you can’t be serious!”

“But I am. As you said, this is no jesting matter.”

“And you are truly willing to give over your kingdom to this girl from who knows where, a peasant not even able to read or write, much less manage so much as a barnyard? She can’t even talk, Casimir! How is she to act as queen? You may like her well enough, but you can’t set her over the whole kingdom for a childish infatuation.”

“I love her, Mother, and I’d much rather give her the kingdom than a witch.”

Laska elbowed him again, more sharply this time, and he winced.

“I’m sorry. That was-”

“She may very well be a witch! She and her ravens. You’ve seen them, seen how she commands them, how they hover about and report back to her with all our little movements and activities. There’s twelve of them, you know, the same twelve always circling about her, no doubt under some magic spell.”

Casimir had not actually noticed that there were always twelve, but he found that didn’t bother him. So she had pet ravens. His father had a whole kennel full of dogs before he was killed, and no one thought that was an odd hobby. “No, I never counted them,” he said, “but I’ve seen her at the Meeting Hall each week. I’ve seen her pray, seen her smile and sway to the worship songs, and seen her know the Word well enough to give kingly advice. No witch could bear to face the God whom Laska so clearly loves, and I will not hear you accuse her again.”

“Foolish boy! What does a child know of such things? You think because she acts pure and pious that she is? It’s a show, an act! Because she wants you, and if you let her have you she will one day be revealed for the liar she is, and your downfall will be swift.”

“I’m not a child,” he said softly, “and I think I’ve learned to tell when someone is acting.”

“And yet it seems you’re still too young for wisdom.”

“And old enough to go to war.”

That gave his mother pause, and her lip trembled. “That’s different. It’s one thing to be a soldier. It’s another to be a king. And this…” she gestured vaguely at the two of them, “this is not the action a wise king would take.”

Laska laid her hand on Casimir’s back, warm and steady, like a shield bearer, defending him as he fought. 

“I will not debate the wisdom, for I have done enough of that on my own these last days,” Casimir admitted, “but it is good. That I know. As my feelings are now, I must marry her, or never see her again, and since I have already vowed to protect her, we will marry.”

The Queen went red, then white, and slumped into the chair before her vanity once more. “You are resolved, then.”

“We are.”

She looked up, trying very hard to muster a smile, then held out her hands to them, beckoning them closer. After checking with Laska, Casimir stepped forward, and she took one of their hands in each of hers.

"I only want the best for you, my son, and I'm not sure this is it, but if she can make you happy…” she choked, cleared her throat, then looked at Laska. “He’s the last thing I have left in this world. Do not bring him to ruin.”

Laska nodded fervently, then ducked out from under Casimir’s arm to hug her.

"There now, that’s enough. I’m alright. You go along now. You have a royal wedding to plan. I won’t interfere at all, so you can have things just the way you like them.”

Laska drew back, and the Queen gently patted her cheek, smiling more genuinely as Laska tucked herself against Casimir’s side once more. Casimir held her tight there, and did not smile.

“Well, you’ve made your announcement, and I’ve tried to be happy, so go and let me finish my morning preparations.”

"Yes. Thank you, Mother.” He quickly led Laska away, reluctantly removing his arm as they stepped out into the hall where the other attendants waited. They went in to serve their mistress, and the moment the hall was empty, Laska flung her arms around Casimir’s neck and kissed him soundly.

“What was that for?” He grinned.
She made the sign of the cross, pointed to him, then herself, and hugged him again.

“I only said what was true. What I saw.

With a happy little sigh, she kissed his shoulder where her cheek lay. He let himself hold her for a moment, just a moment, before he gently pushed her back, trying to be at least somewhat discreet.

“Mother wasn’t being kind, you know, about the wedding. She’ll make you plan the whole thing yourself because she thinks you’ll fail.”

Laska waved a dismissive hand.

“You’ll be alright, then? It’s a big event, and I’ll help you where I can, but-”

She pressed her fingers to his lips and smiled.

"Very well, I’ll trust you.” He kissed her hand before drawing it from his mouth. “I’ve had Mistress Ermegarde prepare a room for you, up here. We thought it would be better for you to have some distance after making the announcement. Is that alright?”
  

She nodded quickly, then tilted her head and made a motion like the shape of a wave with her arm and hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Her frown cleared, and she made a don’t worry about it gesture.

“Are you sure? If you need something, you can show me.”

She perked up and latched onto his sleeve, towing him through the halls. They traversed corridors he’d never been in before, and all along them servants stopped and stared or fumbled to bow until they made it to the downstairs. Laska quickly located Mistress Ermegarde and dragged Casimir over to her.

“Your Majesty! Mistress Ermegarde pulled them both away behind a closed door. “I thought we were avoiding incident!”

“We were, but Laska had something to show me.”

Laska glanced around as if looking for something, then made the same wave motion with her hand.

"She’s upstairs, making up your room,” Mistress Ermegarde said.

Laska’s lips formed an ‘O’ shape, and she held out one hand as if asking for something, or perhaps offering something.

"If you are to be queen, my dear, you cannot go about helping the servants,” Mistress Ermegarde said softly.

Laska clasped her hands under her chin and fluttered her eyelashes, making Mistress Ermegarde sigh and relent. “Oh, very well, just this once. I’ve told her the news, but I suspect she’ll want to hear it from you.”

Laska clapped her hands and spun to the door, but was arrested by Mistress Ermegarde’s voice.

"And take the main corridor this time. I don’t need the King causing a fuss in my servant’s hallways.”

“We will,” Casimir agreed sheepishly, then he and his betrothed ran off again. Eventually, it was Casimir who had to lead since he knew where the room was, and he held the door for her when they reached it. Halinka was inside, making up the bed with new sheets, and squealed and rushed to Laska when she saw her.

“Laska! I just heard! Is it true?”

Laska nodded vigorously, and the two girls clasped hands and jumped up and down, Halinka making happy exclamations. Casimir watched them with a smile, leaning leisurely against the doorframe.

“Congratulations!” Halinka cried. “You’ll let me be your lady’s maid, won’t you? Oh, say you will!”

Laska hugged her tight, then seemed to remember Casimir was there and towed her friend over. She pointed at her, then made the wave motion again.

“I’m sorry. I still don’t understand,” he said.

“Oh, that’s how she says my name,” Halinka filled in. “Patting her head is Mistress Ermegarde, like that lace cap she wears, 3 fingers behind her head like a crown is the Queen, nose in the air and hands on hips is your valet, Elpin, and pretending to draw a sword is Captain Imbrych.” As she spoke, Laska performed the motions, allowing him to see them clearly.

"Very clever,” he said, “though I wonder if I should be offended that I don’t have one.”

“Oh, but you do.”

“I do? What is it?”

Laska flushed, then made the same hand signal he used to tell Iowca to guard.

“Ah, I’m your guard dog, am I?” He laughed, drawing her close.

She pressed her lips to his, and for a moment he forgot they were not alone. When they broke, she patted his chest and skipped off to help her friend, who was sighing dreamily.

Casimir escaped before he got himself into any more trouble. By the end of the day, the whole palace knew the King was to be married, and to whom. As Mistress Ermegarde had predicted, some took it better than others, but none dared say anything outright against the king’s betrothed.

Chapter Text

It was odd, having her in limbo, living as a noblewoman, but not as his wife, so they set the wedding for the very beginning of the next year, far enough after Christmas that the two events would not interfere with each other. The nearness of the date led to more rumors, but Halinka was a loyal protector, and Elpin and Imbrych bore enough weight downstairs that all speculation came to nothing. Casimir’s chief concern was that she would not have enough time time to plan an event so big as a royal wedding, but she always assured him with pats of his hand and secretive winks that it was time enough.

Casimir’s mother, still the Queen until they were married, was in charge of the Christmas celebration planning, and seemed determined to make it nearly as big as a royal wedding. Even within the budget he had given her, she seemed to manage a vast appearance of extravagance, and invited not only nobles, but kings and princes from the neighboring kingdoms. Those living so far would not wish to make two trips, especially in the winter, and it was likely they would stay until the wedding, if they planned to attend. This also pushed up Laska’s timeline to get the invitations out if she wanted to invite and make the announcement to those same guests before they came for Christmas.

Casimir began to wish they had left off until the spring, no matter what gossip it caused, but the matter was settled, and he could only hope it all went well, and help Laska where he could.

One of these ways was to hire a dressmaker and give her a sum of money that ought to have been good for three extravagant gowns. A Christmas eve, a Christmas day, and of course, the wedding dress. Other day dresses could be made in house, but as for those three, he knew his guests would expect something professionally done for his future bride.

Laska lit up when he gave her the money and told her what it was for. Her eyes were damp as she flung her arms around him, and his heart swelled. If this was what it was like to give her gifts, he could give her the whole kingdom. In that moment, he felt he truly understood his father for the first time, and it terrified him as much as it soothed a small, weeping wound within him which had always cried, ‘Why?’ 

The week of Christmas came. The palace was full of people and bedecked with garlands of evergreen, holly, and winterberries. Delicious smells came from the kitchen, and the people filling the halls chatted and hollered and hummed carols.

Casimir was on his best behaviour. Every moment was a chance for some prince or noble to find a flaw, to exploit a weakness, and often it seemed their wolfish intentions fell upon Laska. She was a fascinating, and, in their eyes, very obvious flaw, and much of his time was spent in shielding her from barbed comments and unwanted propositions.
It was one of the most exhausting Christmas celebrations he’d ever been to, but also the most rewarding. Laska made it so when she shared her gratitude in small moments of privacy, by embraces, by kisses, or even just by drawing his head down upon her shoulder and letting him rest there, forgetting the outside world. 

At last, Christmas eve came. They had a service in the great hall where Father Nicodem read to them the account of the Christ Child coming into the world. Casimir looked down at Laska, who practical glowed in her lovely red gown, which was embroidered round the neckline, cuffs, and hem with bright white doves and yellow and green branches of olive and ivy. There was no gold in it, no jewels, but the work was wondrously detailed, and the fabric flowed easily over her curves.

He squeezed her hand as Father Nicodem read of Mary, saying ‘thy will be done,’ to her terrifying task, of Joseph, afraid of scandal, but trusting and obeying the word of God. His heart skipped as he thought of having children of their own, maybe even by this time next year, and the heavy responsibility that would come with that. It somehow seemed even more daunting than the task of ruling the kingdom, and he marvelled at the faith of Mary and Joseph.

After the service, there was a ball for all the nobility and visiting royalty. On Christmas day, all in the village would celebrate, but for tonight those with quiet homes went to them, spending the time with their families. Casimir found himself envying them, but his own trial was forgotten in sympathy for the servants who had to work the ball, and he made a note to himself to do something kind for them.

The ball began much as the week had gone, with mingling and conversing and generally trying very hard not to offend anyone, but then the musicians came out and tuned their strings, and the young ladies and young men began to pair off. Before they started to play and dance, the queen clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“A Merry Christmas to you all!” She called, ringing and clear, just she had so many years in the past, and the crowd responded with a hearty, 

“Merry Christmas!”

“I am pleased to welcome all of you here to celebrate the coming of our most holy Lord, and also to make an announcement. As many of you may have heard, my son, King Casimir, is soon to be married to the maiden, Laska.”

This was met by extremely polite clapping and Casimir stood stiffly, praying she wouldn't say anything to shame them. 

“On such a joyous occasion I think it only right that the happy couple ought to open the dance.” 

Casimir plastered on a smile even as he struggled to grasp an excuse to get them out of it. He hadn't had time to teach Laska how to dance, and like a fool hadn't thought to hire her a tutor. But before his mind could sort through to a good excuse, Laska was walking forward and taking him with her, for she had been on his arm all night. She posed with a quiet confidence, placing her hands precisely where they ought to be, and his worry faded to curiosity. Had she done this before? In her face there was a gleam that bordered upon mischievous, and he let himself relax for whatever happened next. She was not caught unprepared.

The music started, and Casimir began to lead Laska through the steps which she followed perfectly, without hesitation or mistake as though she had done it a hundred times before. Casimir stared at her, completely enraptured by her grace, by the way she pressed her hands to his so that each shift of his weight flowed seamlessly into her limbs. Not a beat, not a step was missed. He had learned to dance as a child, but it had never been like this, and he realized with a dawning delight that she was better at it than he.

She made it look effortless, floating over the floor in radiant gold and red, and were there not so many people he would have kissed them both senseless. As it was, he settled for beaming at her and basking in her beauty. They danced till both their feet were so sore they had to stop, their faces shimmering red and chests heaving for breath. Casimir was suddenly very happy the wedding was set for a near date and kept his kiss before they parted separate rooms and beds that night brief.

The next day was Christmas, and all joined together in the village for the festivities. Vendors set up booths selling hot drinks and cookies, children ran about throwing snow at each other, and a great roaring bonfire flared, lighting and warming the entire square. There were musicians, tumblers, jugglers, and even a miracle play about the Christmas story. In the past, they had also held small contests in fears of arms, but what men were left were only the very old or the very young, and Casimir didn't care to risk any of them in a game. All the same, it was a beautiful celebration and Casimir spent it towing Laska about to all the activities and shows he had most enjoyed as a child.

She wore the same gown as she had the night before, only with a green underdress peeking out through the slashed sleeves instead of yellow. Casimir wondered what had happened to the money he gave her for another gown, but when he asked she only gave him that same mischievous little smirk she had just before they danced. Trusting she had her reasons, he put it out of his mind and simply enjoyed himself. Imbrych stood at his post with a steaming cup of soft cider, Elpin and his wife danced reels like they were hail and young again, Mother sat bundled in furs before her favorite musicians, and Casimir was content with Laska's hand in his and Iowca treading happily beside him.

But the day could not last forever, and all too soon it was time for the nobility to go back to the castle for the grand feast. As they began to gather, Laska tugged him out of the flow of nobles and royalty to stand in front of the bonfire. Imbrych seemed to take this as a signal, for he hurried to her side and also waved over a young herald. Laska handed a scroll to the herald, and somewhere a trumpeter trilled the crowd to silence. The herald opened the scroll, cleared his throat, and declared, 

“We, the royal King Casimir and his betrothed, are honored and delighted to celebrate this Christmas holiday with you. It is the first after a long and wearying time of sorrow, but here the joy and strength of our people are evident. You have given your hearts and your love to this Kingdom, and now we give our love to you in the example of the Christ whom we worship here today. We pray this gift will bless you, and may you have joy through these winter months. Merry Christmas!”

As he spoke, wagons began pouring out of the castle gate, and in them were baskets and baskets of fresh fruit. Not only apples, which kept well in the cellars, but peaches and plums, little round orange fruits with thick skins, oblong yellowish fruits, oval greenish red fruits, and fruits with spiked leaves poking out the top. The people rushed to the wagons, and a group of maids and guards led by Halinka began handing out as much as everyone could carry. Children whooped with juice dribbling down their chins, mothers with full aprons came to kiss Laska's cheeks, and grateful fathers waited for a chance to shake Casimir’s hand as they all enjoyed the rich delights. Casimir kept glancing at Laska in wide eyed wonderment and finally got the chance to ask, 

“How… it's the middle of winter! I mean, how did… where did… this must have all cost…I don't understand.”

“She used the trade agreement you made with Chrostia.” 

Casimir turned and saw the priest standing beside them, grinning.

“They have fruit like this there?”

“Apparently they were attacked by an island of pirates in the South and soundly trounced them in retaliation. The residents of that island still pay them tribute.”

“But the money, that must have cost a fortune.”

Laska smiled and tugged at her gown, the one that was the same as before, and his jaw dropped. 

“You got all of this for the price of one gown?”

She tillted her head side to side and shrugged. 

“What does that mean? did you still order a wedding dress?”

She nodded and pointed at Halinka, then herself, and traced a finger over the embroidery 

“The two of you did this yourselves?”

She nodded again. 

“From what I understand,” Father Nicodem clarified, “she bought the material and had the dressmaker do it up, but she and her maid servant did the embroidery themselves when they had the time, making it cost less, and anything extra went into the buying of the fruit. She had me help her with all the negotiations, reading her letters and writing replies.” He set a hand on her shoulder. “I was happy to help, of course, but if I may, Your Majesty, it might be beneficial to get her a dedicated scribe.”

“Yes, yes of course.” Casimir swept her into his arms and spun her about. “Anything you like, my dear, anything at all.”

They went in even before the contents of all the carts were distributed, for it looked as though it was going to take a long time. In the feast hall, the food was already all laid out on the long tables, and the pretty fresh fruits featured prominently here as well. They all sat, and Casimir’s mother called the room to order, then Casimir asked the priest to pray over it and all dug into the food. Laska seemed as eager to introduce him to the strange exotic fruits as he had been to introduce her to his favorite parts of the Christmas festival, and put a little of each one on his plate. She even offered him some choice slices from her hand, which made him hesitate, but in the end he decided he didn't care about propriety in this case and soon came to accept them without a second thought. The only odd part of the day was when he glanced at his mother and caught a glimpse of her face all twisted up almost as if she were on the verge of tears.

“What's wrong?” He asked her, but the look was gone as quickly as it had come, and she plastered on a smile as she told him nothing was wrong at all. In the evening when all were worn from the festivities and retiring to their own rooms, she came to him.

“Casimir, my son, may I speak to you alone?”

He left Laska to entertain a small group of four nobility, quite confident now that she could, and allowed his mother to draw him off to the side.

“Casimir,” she said lowly, “where did Laska get the money for that stunt in the village?”

“She used what I gave her to make a gown. You see that she wears the same one as yesterday.

“A gown! Heaven's child, how much did you give her?”

“Not so much as you fear,” Casimir told her. “I know, I was worried about the same thing. I thought perhaps she had taken from the treasury without asking, but Father Nicodem told me the whole story. Isn't she amazing?”

His mother did not smile. “If she bought that much fruit at that price, then she promised them something other than money, and you had better find out what it was before anyone demands you fulfill it.”

“Mother, I'm sure she wouldn't-"

“Trust me, Casimir, you may have fought that war, but I supplied it, and no one gives up that kind of food without getting either a very nice sum or a very nice favor in return. Find out what that favor was.”

Casimir didn't want to believe it. He wanted to lash out and remind her of her own recent uncomplementary attempts at trade, to spit that he and his men had gone unsupplied too often to trust her judgment on the matter, but all he did was clench his jaw shut. The irritating truth was that there was a good chance she was right, and that stung more than anything. He tried to be cheerful when he returned to Laska, but he thought she still noticed his discomfiture. The very next day, he went straight to Father Nicodem to sort things out.

“I don't know that we promised any favors,” the priest said. “I would have certainly told you if she tried anything like that.”

“Then how did she do it? please, Father, it's vitally important that I know.”

“She sent them a necklace.”

“A necklace?”

“That's right, and the name of a village on their borders, and a date. They wrote back pretty angry, since the necklace apparently belonged to their lost princess and they wanted to know how we got it. They thought maybe we kidnapped her.”

Casimir’s face went ashen.

“Don't worry, Your Majesty, through some pantomime and good guesses I was able to find out that she had been in the village at the same time as the princess, and that the necklace was a gift. I explained in my letter that Laska was a mute, but there might be more in the village who had been witnesses. They looked into it, and it turned out the princess had indeed been there. The fruit was as much a thank you as anything, I think.”

“She met the Lost Princess?”

“It seems so, your majesty.”

“I wish I could ask her what she saw. If this is their response to a tip, imagine if we could find the girl for them, not to mention the added security it would give our allies.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, though to return a girl to her parents is, perhaps, reason enough.”

“Of course,” Casimir said, looking down sheepishly.

Father Nicodem sighed, shaking his head. “In any case, I have been trying to think of ways to increase Laska’s ability to communicate, and I think any scribe you hire ought to be a tutor as well, to teach her to read and write.”

“Yes, I was planning on that. I wish she could learn from Fiebron as I did, but…”

Father Nicodem laid a hand on his shoulder. “I miss him too." Both were silent for a time, then the father said gently, "There are some monasteries and universities I could write to in order to request someone. The people I know can be trusted and are of sound judgment.”

Casimir’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Would you? I wouldn't have any idea where to start.”

“Of course. The correspondence will take some time, so they may not get here before the wedding but I'll continue to help her until then.”

Casimir thanked him and went away satisfied that Laska had done nothing to warrant mistrust, curious about what she knew concerning the lost princess, and hopeful that she would soon have a tutor.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, the time it took for Father Nicodem to write his letters was probably a good thing, since introducing a new element to the bustling chaos of the palace while they prepared for the wedding might have been unwise.  All were busy with the preparations, the servants and vendors running to and fro, interfered with by the guests who lingered underfoot and arrived in greater number each day. Laska was in the thick of the whirlwind, thriving like a fish in a storm where Casimir would have certainly drowned.

The day of the wedding drew nigh, and the day before, Imbrych joined Casimir and Elpin in his bedtime preparations. Casimir raised his brows, glancing between the two of them.

“What matter is it which requires the expertise of both my valet and my captain?” He teased.

“Tonight we're just your friends,” Imbrych replied with a smile.

“One last hurrah for the boys before I'm married off?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, come on in and get comfortable, then.” Casimir sat on the bed, pulling his legs up under him, and Iowca jumped up beside him to curl up with her head in his lap.

Imbrych had seen him do this many times before, but for some reason this time he hesitated before he sat on the bed, and Elpin pulled up the desk chair to sit across from them, the room suddenly feeling very serious and solemn.

“The truth is,” Imbrych started, “we got to talking and we weren't so certain that you were at the age where your father would have, ah…”

“We thought he might not have told you what to expect on a wedding night,” Elpin finished.

Casimir grinned at Imbrych. “And this was your back up? I didn't think you'd ever had a wedding night, Brych. What makes you such an expert?”

Imbrych looked very much like he had on the day they'd first met, when Elpin had pulled an arrow out of his leg, and he clenched his hands like he often did when he desperately wanted a drink.  “Let's just say it's because I'm older, shall we?”

“Did your father ever tell you anything about it?” Elpin asked.

Casimir shook his head, and the other two exchanged glances. Together, they talked him through some of the details, and between them they managed to give him a basic understanding that had him both more excited and more nervous than before. He patted Iowca and rubbed his cheek on her soft fur, trying not to think about it.

“Are you alright?” Imbrych said.

“Yes. It's only… a lot. This whole wedding is a lot. And the marriage. I don't doubt my choice in wife anymore, not after Christmas, but I'm still scared, and I don't know how that makes any sense.”

Elpin snorted. “Of course you're scared. You're going to be responsible for another person and trust that they will be responsible for you for the rest of your lives, with a vow before God. That's all terrifying.” He leaned forward, meeting Casimir’s eyes. “But it's also wonderful. Absolutely, indescribably wonderful. With the right woman, trust me, that leap of faith is worth it.”

“And,” Imbrych put in, “I think we've already determined that Laska is the right woman, so you'll be alright.”

Casimir’s smile was faint and fleeting, and he curled his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees. “Do you think I'll make her happy?” He asked in a very small voice.

“Of course you will!” Imbrych said, almost as if offended by the question, but Elpin held up a hand to stop him.

“Trust in God, son, and He will.”

They stayed with him a little longer, then both retired to let him at least try to sleep before the big day. He didn't sleep, much, but he still felt better in the morning, for the time spent not sleeping was spent in prayer. A sort of calm settled over him, like the calm on the eve of battle, only this held not the silence of doomed dread, but that of hopeful anticipation.

The wedding was held in the meeting hall, but it had been done up and decorated so beautifully that for a moment it almost looked like a real church. There were candles upon candles everywhere, and fabric and garlands of evergreen draped artfully to hide the rough wooden ceiling beams, and an arbor at the front which held more candles amidst the branches, lighting the place where Casimir stood with a halo glow.

Even the nobility seemed impressed, looking about in amazement at the transformation, but it was nothing to compare to Laska when she stepped through the doors. She was replendant in a blue that lit her eyes and brightened her golden hair, which glowed like yet another candle in that twinkling room. No wreath of flowers graced her brow, for this was to be a coronation as much as a wedding, but she wore a garland of ivy and bright holly about her arms, matching her bright red underdress.

Since she had no family, Casimir’s mother and their attendants walked with her, bright dashes of color that flickered in her light like moths about a lantern. And this vision, this beauty, came to him, to Casimir, and placed her hand in his. It was almost to much to be borne, and his vows came out hoarse and ragged at first, then firm and certain as he regained his voice, and Laska’s nod to confirm her vows was just as determined. Love, honor, obey. There was no doubt she would be faithful to that promise, and Casimir prayed she would be equally certain of his love, his protection, his honor.

The ring he presented to her was gold, formed in the shape of a bird, wings outstretched, the wingtips bleeding into the band round her finger. She also gave him a gold ring, with a single, small blue stone in a nest of yellow. It gleamed pure and bright upon his third finger, fitting better than the signet ring ever had, yet somehow that same heavy ring on his thumb seemed less bulky with something so pretty and delicate beside it.

Then Casimir kissed his bride, and it was alright to kiss her here in the sight of many, for no longer was she a servant and he her master, but she was his wife, and he her husband, and so there could be no scandal. The next part of the ceremony affirmed this position, and hers, for next came the coronation.

Casimir released his wife’s hands to face her and lay forth the second set of vows. Father Nicodem had done the same for him, a little less than a year ago, but it was the King's place to crown his Queen. Laska knelt before him, and his mother beside her, and he wondered what it had been like that day when his father had stood there, and given Mother the golden circlet round her brow. He hadn't heard much about it, since it happened nearly a year after their wedding, and no event so mundane as receiving governance of a kingdom could compare to that in his parent's stories.

“Laska, wife of the King,” he began, and the words sent a small thrill through him,

“Do you swear to faithfully serve this kingdom, to seek always the good of its people, and dedicate all your energy and talents to seeing them prosper?”

She nodded as solemnly as he had spoken on the day he made the same vows.

“And do you swear to faithfully uphold the law of the land, to be firm in judgment and wise in mercy, and to treat all as equals under the law?”

Again that firm nod, her eyes locked with his as firmly as two blades in combat.

“And do you swear to be faithful to God, to follow his word and the priests to whom he has given the authority to deliver it, and to accept his leading as the firstborn king of all kings, to who. We look for direction and purpose in our conduct?”

The last vow had been added in his grandfather's day after the devouring hedonism which had come before, but it seemed the one Laska was most excited to take, for some of her rigedness fell away, and there was an almost smile in the upturned face. It was a far different feeling than Casimir had when he had made it, his hands as full of questions as they were of blood, with Father Nicodem speaking the words softly, gentle as a shepherd coaxing a lost lamb close enough that he might carry it back to the flock. He was grateful now, so very, very grateful, that the words were comfort to her, rather than turmoil, and that somewhere along the way, they had become comfort to him as well. 

“Then with these vows, I name you Queen Laska.” He turned to his mother. “Well has Queen Katarzyna served us, but may she now have rest. Faithful she has been to her vows, and may she have her reward, freely she releases this burden, and may you now bear it well.”

His mother looked up at him briefly, and there were tears in her eyes, not sad, nor happy, something more… more like pride, perhaps. Casimir set his lips to keep them from trembling, and his fingertips stroked softly over the silvering hair as he slipped the circlet from her head. Gently, reverent ly, he settled it upon it's new throne of gold, then held out a hand to each woman to raise them to their feet.

“Hail, Queen Laska!” He declared. “Long may you reign!”

“Hail, Queen Laska!” Imbrych shouted, and clapped his fist to his chest in a sharp salute, then knelt on the step before her. The other guards followed suit, echoing his cry and his actions, and the crowd also chanted the same. Casimir stood basking in the cries as if it were his name they shouted and raised their intertwined fists in victory, just as Sir Broniz had done for him the day of the first battle they'd won. For better or worse, Laska was his queen, now, his wife, and the thrill of his first victory could hardly compare to the dizzy exhilaration of this one.

He still had enough sense not to stand there forever, and tucked Laska’s arm safely round his own. The two paced down the center aisle together amidst the polite clapping of the nobility and the genuine cheering and whistling of the guards and most of the staff. 

When they stepped outside to greet the villagers, the roar was deafening. Casimir’s own coronation had been a very solemn affair, but here in the early spring where the snow still lay on the ground, it was almost like a second Christmas celebration with everyone turned out in their bright cloaks and scarves. He and Laska stood waving on the steps of the meeting hall for some time, then Laska tugged him in among the crowd to shake hands and accept congratulations. Casimir hesitated, for he had not worn his sword, and it would be hard for the guards to keep track of them in the middle of so many people, but at her insistence, he relented. These were his people, after all, and they all loved Laska.

Just as he was beginning to grow weary of giving thanks for well wishes, and most of the nobility and staff had found their way out of the meeting hall, a great wind rose, driven by black wings. Laska’s ravens soared overhead, dropping miriad colors of magnificent cloth streamers over the crowd. Many gasped at the beautiful display, then someone gave a cry, and another a shout, and soon everyone was running about gathering or catching the streamers as the ravens passed again and again overhead. 

Wondering at the commotion, Casimir caught one of the falling lengths of fabric, and found a small, perfect knot of white bread bound inside it. A child ran by, trailing orange, his cheeks stuffed with candied nuts as he fled from a gaggle of laughing siblings, and Casimir gaped, staring in wonder at his bride as she clapped her hands and twirled among the bountiful ribbons of color.

“You did it,” he whispered.

Her beaming eyes turned to him at the sound of his voice, soft as it had been amid the shouts, and his heart clenched.

“You actually did it. You taught your ravens to bring us bread.”

She tilted her head side to side, still smiling, and with a sudden laugh, he caught her around the waist and spun her. She gasped, then steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders until he set her down, and then she was kissing him, and the air was full of delighted cries and his hands and mouth were full of her.

“You wonderful, beautiful, magnificent woman,” he murmured. “I don't know how I managed without you.” And then, just as she had done for him on that cold, snowy day in the wood, he took her hand and pressed her wedding ring to his lips.

The festivities continued with singing and dancing, and many a toast to the happy couple and their long and prosperous reign. Casimir had his first dance with his wife, and she threw her head back to grin at the great birds still watching overhead, though they dropped no more gifts. The party lasted into the evening, and Laska and Casimir retired before most of their guests.

They did not part in the hall as usual, rather Casimir led her to his bed chamber, his heart quickening. He had to remind himself that it was alright, that she was his wife, and there was nothing to hide from, nor be ashamed of.

He ushered her in, then softly closed the door behind them with shaking hands, taking his time before he turned to face her. She stood in front of his bed, cheeks still flushed from dancing, and he worked his fingers in and out of fists, unsure of what to do. Elpin and Imbrych’s advice helped, but did she want to talk first, or was she maybe too tired? He knew he should ask, should say something, anything, but he was paralyzed by the question of what.

Then she untied the knot holding the laces of her dress tight and guided his hands to the soft braided cords. His nerves untangled with the laces, leaving only warmth as he gently guided her to his bed and admired her body with kisses. The curtains stayed closed that night, and there were no ravens at the window.

Chapter Text

The morning after his wedding, Casimir woke to his wife’s clear blue eyes studying him, and her gentle fingers stroking the contours of his face. She drew back sheepishly, but he caught her hand and kissed first her fingertips, then her palm, then her wrist. Sliding his cheek up her arm, his lips also found her shoulder, neck, jaw, and finally her lips, and she breathed a happy sigh into his mouth. Casimir hummed appreciativly, for he had very much come to like this sort of non verbal communication the night before, and was just reaching out to draw her closer when there was a knock on the door.

Casimir growled his frustration, and Laska turned her face into his shoulder, but not before he saw her amused smile.

“Your Majesties? May I come in?”

"That's Elpin,” Casimir sighed. “Shall we allow him?”

Laska gathered the sheets around herself and nodded.

“Yes, Elpin, you may come in,” Casimir called.

Elpin entered bearing a breakfast tray, which he set down very firmly on the bedside table. “I belive this is most certainly my job now,” he said with a twinkle in his wrinkled old eyes.

Laska grinned mischievously back, then Iowca came bounding in. Casimir had left her with Elpin for the night to prevent any disturbances, but now she leapt onto the bed and nearly knocked the breath out of Casimir as she lunged up to lick his face.

“Alright alright, easy girl. It was only one night.”

“I certainly hope not,” Elpin mumbled, and Laska clapped a hand over her mouth, blushing bright pink even as her eyes crinkled.

Casimir shook his head at the both of them. “Is that all, Elpin?”

The valet raised his brows. “Is such dismissal all the thanks I get for my service?”

Laska dipped her head graciously to him, but Casimir smirked and said, “Yes. Go away.”

Elpin snorted a laugh. “Very well. Shall I come back to dress you later, then?”

“Much later.” Casimir waved a shooing hand at him, and he left with a knowing smile. With him gone, there was only the dog to deal with. Casimir pushed her out of his face, but she was far too excited to see her master again for such a simple action to deter her, and she spun in happy circles, yapping and trying to battle past his shoving hands.

“Iowca! Sit!”

She did. Right between him and Laska, her front paws draped over his lap, and her tongue out as she panted happily.

Casimir gave Laska a very dry look. “This is why I left her with Elpin.”

Laska didn't seem to mind, scratching behind Iowca’s ears and cuddling around the animal's neck.

“Well,” Casimir said, resigning himself, “I suppose that since the bed is full, we'll just have to eat breakfast.”

Thus was the beginning of many happy days for Casimir and his household. It seemed some of the graveyard smell had left the must stones of the place, everything brighter and more cheerful with a queen who was not herself ever in mourning. She still attended his mother and kept her company more often even than before, but without the added duties of a maidservant, she was less weary. If ever she did have any late nights, Casimir was intimately aware of it, and both tended to get more sleep the next morning.

That's not to say either we're idle. Casimir took to his own duties with renewed vigor and purpose, the weight of responsibility heavier, yet settled more comfortably upon his shoulders. The way Laska looked at him day by day made him feel like a man, like someone strong who could be relied upon, and the way he loved her made it that much more important that he not only feel capable, but be capable. The vows he had made as King became more clear in the light of that love as he remembered for the first time in many years what it was like for love to be a joy more than a burden.

Laska took to the directing of the household like a bird to flight. She worked generously and humbly with Mistress Ermegarde, and while quick to receive advice, was also adamant when she had to be. Halinka and Father Nicodem both did much to help translate her gestures and write letters for her, but both had other responsibilities, so Laska had to manage in her own far more than Casimir liked.

The solution to this came in the form of a young scholar sent from one of the monasteries Father Nicodem had written to.

“His name is Jazon. He has not yet taken his monastic vows, and the Father there as much as told me he doesn't think he's suited to the life,” Father Nicodem said with a smile behind his eyes, “but by all accounts he's a decent fellow, and he took a vow of silence before, so he may be able to better understand Laska’s situation, even if he apparently broke his vow by laughing after one of the brothers accidentally walked into a wall. Aside from that small incident, I hear he's usually very true to his word and precise with copying script.”

Both Casimir and Laska agreed to have him on as her scribe, though when he arrived, Casimir began to wish they had someone who had taken monastic vows. It wasn't that he was a bad scribe, or even that he was too terribly wild. The fact of it was that Jazon was incredibly congenial, kind, and handsome besides, and what with reading all of Laska’s letters for her and helping her write replies, he spent as much if not more time with her than Casimir did.

Casimir didn't think Laska would be unfaithful. He had seen her stubborn commitment, and had her love not been reason enough for peace of mind that certainly would have put all fears to rest. All the same, he couldn't help being terribly jealous of her time, especially time spent with someone so funny and easy on the eyes as Jazon the scribe. His jealousy, however, became a small matter when he noticed Laska starting to avoid the fellow.

She would come to Casimir for help with missive, or to read little notes. At first Casimir thought she was trying to be careful with confidential information, but then much of the time she brought him simple things to read, like ledgers. When he resized this, he thought she had noticed his jealousy and was doing her best to assuage it in her own way. That theory was shot down when he saw her bringing papers to Father Nicodem, and he realized that the problem must be Jazon.

Casimir questioned her about it one morning as he ran a brush through her long, gleaming locks.

“Laska, darling, do you like the new scribe?”

She bit her lip and tilted her hand side to side.

“Is he unkind to you?”

She shook her head.

“Demanding? Controlling? Does he not write what you want him to?”

Again her head shook, the tresses tangling in the brush. Casimir carefully combed out the snarl this caused, then kept the brush well away for his next question.

“Has he hurt you?”

It was well the brush was not near her hair, for her head shake was vigorous this time.

“You are certain?” Setting the brush down, he knelt before her chair and took both her hands. “You know that if he has, you need not be afraid to tell me.”

She nodded and leaned forward to kiss his brow.

“I'm glad. But if not that, then I don't understand why you've been avoiding him.”

She looked down, and Casimir leaned forward to meet her eyes.

“I know you have been, so I know something is wrong, but I don't know what. Are you afraid of him for some reason?”

Her head snapped up, and he squeezed her hands tight, speaking again before any other response.

“That's it, isn't it? You're afraid of him. Can you show me why?”

She frowned thoughtfully a moment, then broke into a smile and bounced her shoulders as if laughing.

“He makes fun of you?” Casimir said sharply.

She frowned and pursed her lips, shaking her head.

“Alright, does it have to do with laughing at all?”

She nodded rapidly and pointed to herself.

“You laughing?”

Another swift nod.

“You…” Casimir’s brow furrowed. “You're afraid of him because he's funny?”

Laska lit up and gave a single, firm nod. Casimir stared blankly at her, wondering if he had misunderstood, but her actions seemed clear.

“I… I don't understand. Why would that… I suppose I could speak with him and ask him to be less, er, funny?”

Laska beamed and wrapped her arms round his neck, hugging him tight. For some reason, the prospect pleased her, and Casimir was still baffled as to why. In the next days, he questioned Father Nicodem, Halinka, and even his mother to see if there was some nuance he had missed.

“I've noticed she seems more stern with him than she ever is with anyone else,” Father Nicodem noted, “but it is a very important thing to convey her words, and perhaps she feels he does not take his task seriously.”

That could have some merrit, certainly, and Casimir kept it in mind.

“Oh no, he's terribly funny,” Halinka said, “but he's always very careful with his writing, and always reads it aloud to her and will make as many changes as needed to get it right. He even has me look over his shoulder whenever he can. It is odd, though, now that you mention it.”

“What is?”

“Well, as I said, he very much likes to laugh, and make others laugh, and I've never met a more pleasant man, but Laska is solemn as a funeral around him. I don't think I've even seen her smile with him since their first meeting.”

The first meeting was further back on the time line than Casimir had expected, and it made him more confident that she hadn't been hurt, for such a thing would have been hard to do so early.

Mother sniffed disdainfully. “He's altogether too flighty, and it's no wonder the monastery wanted to get rid of him. He would never be a very good monk. I think, my son, that Laska perhaps simply finds him and his flippant attitude annoying. I know I certainly do. I have a whole list of reliable scholars if you want something better than that poppinjay.”

“I’ll ask Laska,” Casimir said. Of all explanations, that one made the most sense to him, though that was perhaps because he partially shared the sentiment.

“You know, things would be easier if she would just learn to read and write,” His mother went on. “Then she wouldn't have to have anyone follow her about with a quill, annoying or otherwise.”

“I know. That's another thing I've been meaning to discuss with her.”

Mother raised her brows. “I see no reason to put it off.”

“Just getting her the right teacher first, that's all,” Casimir said, and excused himself from the conversation.

This unfortunate lack of answers led to him staring across his desk at a flaxwn haired man in rough brown robes who smiled broadly despite the awkward silence that stretched between them while Casimir figured out how to broach the subject.

“Do you like it here, Jazon?”

“Oh yes, it's a fine place, full of exquisite company, and your wife is a delight to work for, if you don't mind my saying.”

Casimir did mind, but that wasn't important at the moment. “She's told me you do a good job, but there's…” he winced internally. “There's something that's been bothering her.”

“It's my startling good looks, isn't it? Wait, no, that's what's bothering you. Let's see, what could…” he stopped suddenly and leaned forward to whisper, “I know what the allegations are, Your Majesty, but I swear to you, no matter what she told you, I would never ever make sound effects when writing with my quill.”

“What? That's not- no. She doesn't… You're dangerous. To her.”

Jazon leaned back, raising a brow. “Is that what she thinks or what you think?”

“What she thinks. She says you're too, ah, funny.”

Any solemnity the scribe had adopted vanished in a moment, and he laughed. “Is that all?”

“Anything that causes my wife alarm is very important, and I ask that you would treat it with the proper reverence.”

“Alright alright, Your Majesty, you've had your little joke, now--”

“It wasn't a joke!” Casimir stood abruptly, and Jazon took a step back, his smile falling. Casimir realized his hand rested on his sword and lowered it to his side, hoping Jazon hadn't noticed.

“Sorry. I'm sorry. It's just… She's been avoiding you. Surely you've noticed? Well, no matter, she has been, and that worried me, so I asked her about it and the best conclusion I could come up with is that she's afraid of you being funny. I don't know why this scares her, but it does, so if you could be a tad less silly and a bit more professional when working with her, I think it would make her more comfortable.”

Jazon studied him critically for a long moment, then said, “Has she taken a vow of silence?”

“What? Why do you ask?”

“I've been wondering about it, since the only mute person I know is at least able to make some sounds, grunts and the like, but I've never heard Laska do more than gasp, and even that as little as she can help it. No one mentioned anything, so I thought I must have been wrong, but it would explain why funny is worrying to her.” He smiled wryly. “I of all people ought to know how dangerous laughter is to vows of silence.”

“I… I don't actually know,” Casimir said. “I always just assumed she was mute.”

Jazon shrugged. “It's worth asking. In the meantime, I'll try to be less my charming self. She's so terribly stalwart that I'd hate to be the one to make her break.”

Casimir thanked and dismissed him, but thought about what he had said for the rest of the day. It would explain so many things, like how she always covered her mouth when she looked about to laugh, or that she didn't make any noise at all, not even when he had nearly shot her when they first met. He liked to think she would have told him, but then again, maybe she had, and he had misinterpreted it.

The revelation shocked him at first, and it disturbed him to think how much else he might not know about her if it were true, but in the end decided that it didn't change how he felt about her. Vow or no, she could not speak and therefor had needed his protection when he offered it. There was nothing he would have done differently knowing it was a vow except perhaps to be more careful not to tempt her to speak. Still, it was something he wanted to have settled, so he asked her about it that night

“I talked to Jazon today,” he said, tucking her close against his side. (Iowca had learned by now to sleep at the end of the bed, or on the rug).

Laska traced her hand over his arm.

“He agreed to try to be less funny, though I personally don't see that he was all that humorous to begin with.”

She smirked and tilted her chin up to press a kiss to his jaw, and he smiled, stroking her hair.

“I know I know. I'll be good.” He lay there quietly a moment, enjoying the sensation of her feather light hair under his fingertips, then presently said, “you know, it's odd, when I mentioned it to him, he thought you might have taken a vow of silence.”

She stiffened, then quickly relaxed again, but it was too late for him not to take notice.

“Have you?” He asked sharply.

She didn't move for a long while, so he added more gently,

“I'll understand if you have, and it doesn't matter why, I won't try to make you speak.”

Her eyes welled, and she rolled practically on top of him to press her lips to his. Her warmth and fervor distracted him for a moment, until he tasted salt on his tongue.

“Laska?” He drew back. “Have you-”

She shook her head and kissed him again, and he let her, even though it felt for the first time like she was lying to him.

“I believe you,” he whispered. 

Chapter Text

Casimir soon called Jazon the scribe to him again.

“The Queen tells me she has not taken a vow,” Casimir said.

Jazon waited, his keen eyes for once bereft of their usual mischievous gleam. “But?”

“But I think… I think we should still treat her as if she has.”

“You don't believe her, then?”

“No! I do. I do, only, there's something about the whole situation I don't know, and either she won't tell me or can't, so I think it prudent to be a bit cautious.”

“As my King wishes.”

“Oh, and Jazon, one more thing: I want you to start teaching her to read and write so she can be more independent. I haven't discussed it with her yet, but I'm sure she'll agree it's a good idea.”

Jazon opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again.

“What?”

“Nothing, Your Majesty. Nothing at all.” That irritating half smirk he always wore was back on his lips as he bowed and left the room.

Casimir found out why when he tried to discuss it with Laska and she very much did not agree.

“What do you mean? Wouldn't it be more convenient to be able to read everything for yourself?”

She nodded.

“Well, then you need to learn how.”

She shook her head.

Casimir huffed in exasperation. “Laska. You have to learn sometime. It does no good to put it off.”

She crossed her arms and set her lips.

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then shook her head.

“Oh, don't give me that. Being mute doesn't mean you're blind. You can learn to read.”

She shook her head more vigorously.

“You can!” He snapped. “Have you even tried before?”

She nodded shortly.

“Look, I know it's hard, but it's not going to come to you right away. It doesn't come to anyone right away. You just have to work at it.”

Her jaw dropped, and she seized his hand to rub their palms together, rough callouses scraping hard against one another.

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know you can work and I'm not saying you're lazy but-”

She planted her fists on her hips and raised her eyebrows.

“I'm not. But I don't understand why you won't even try! It would help you communicate better, help us communicate better. Don't you want to be able to give me your words?”

Her fists shifted, shoved straight down at her sides like pillars that could hold her up, and her eyes welled. She opened her mouth for a moment, just a moment, before black wings flapped at the window, and she clapped it shut again, staring up at the ceiling as she struggled for control.

“I didn't mean to upset you,” Casimir went on more gently, “but this is very important. You are queen now. I warned you that you would be when I proposed, and I thought you understood what that meant.” He twisted his signet ring around his thumb. “I don't know what has happened to make you so opposed to reading and writing, but it can't matter now. Being a ruler means you have to give up what you want sometimes for-”

Her head snapped down, and her glare came upon him so feircly that his own mouth clapped shut. They stood in stiff, heavy silence, unmoving, for a long while. Too long. Finally, Laska’s gaze turned from him and he could breathe properly again, though he still did not dare to speak. She went to his desk and took some papers from it, then laid them out in a neat row. First, she pointed at his eyes with two fingers and gestured across the row, then she scrambled the papers all out of order, pointed to her own eyes, and gestured again.

“I know it's confusing at first, but if you would only let someone show you the pattern, you could see the words and understand.”

Laska threw up her hands and spun away from him, and his already simmering temper bubbled over in a flash at the dismissive motion.

“Fine!” He snarled, “Be stubborn, then. But Jazon will start lessons with you tomorrow and I expect you to do your best to learn them. Do I make myself clear?”

Laska remained facing away from him, back stiff as a board. Casimir spun away from her in his turn and stalked around to his side of the bed, though by the time he undressed and climbed in, his anger had cooled a little, and when she slipped in on the other side, he regretted his harsh words. He reached for her shoulder, but she sat up abruptly, leaving his hand behind, and patted the bed. Iowca perked up, and Laska beckoned to her, patting the bed between them again. The oblivious hound leapt happily to the much coveted place, and Casimir wife settled with her back to him, a wall of dog securely between them. Setting his jaw, Casimir also turned his back and pretended to sleep while he seethed.

Now Laska was avoiding him. He almost never saw her durring the day, and at night there was always something else to absorb her interest: the dog, her clothes, the ravens at the window. Those same ravens surrounded her more often than usual, even trailing her along the outside while she walked the halls, and Casimir had the very nasty thought that they should have bird pies for supper. He knew they were her pets as much as Iowca was his, but that didn't stop his resentment when she turned away from any reconciliation and sought comfort under their wings.

Casimir checked often with Jazon to see how their lessons were going, but Jazon only ever winced and told him, “slowly.” He tried to breach the subject with Laska a few times, but this only made her more frustratingly stubborn, and his patience was wearing thin.

As the snows were just beginning to thaw, Casimir heard yelling as he walked down the hall, and one of the voices sounded like Mother’s. He upped his pace and came to the little office like room which Laska and Jazon had been using for their studies. Inside, Laska sat at the desk, her face in her hands while Mother stood beside it with Jazon between them, and both Jazon and Mother were yelling.

“A month! A whole month you've been teaching her and she can't even write one word! Either you're an imbecile or she is, though this conversation leads me to believe it might be both!”

“Her Majesty just needs time! Not everyone grew up learning how to read, Your Highness.”

“Growing up with it or not, she has been abnormally slow and either stubbornly refuses to learn or is dull as a fence post!”

Casimir stalked into the room. “What is going on here?”

Jazon and Mother both froze, then both turned toward him with stubborn set shoulders and expressions. Laska raised her head, something between hope and despair in her swollen eyes. All the frustration of the past few weeks was forgotten in one look at that poor distressed face, and he strode to her side, forcing both Mother and Jazon further away.

“Well?” He demanded, glaring between them.

“The esteemed Queen Mother decided to take the Queen's writing lessons under her own jurisdiction,” Jazon gritted, “but she and I had a bit of a disagreement about her methods.”

“Oh?” Casimir looked at his mother.

“Clearly someone had to intervene if we were to avoid total embarrassment. A whole moth has gone by and still this foolish child cannot manage a single word. I warned you when she first came that she was no good, and I have been warning you ever since, but you didn't listen, and now you have an idiot for a wife.”

Casimir jaw tightened. “If you wish to sound the reasonable party, perhaps you ought to refrain from calling your queen names.”

“I've only said what is true. Just look at what she's done, if you need proof.”

Casimir looked down at the desk, where a parchment with several ink stains and scribbles lay. He recognized some of the scribbles as letters, and one repeating pattern.

L… O… E… Lev… Levo….

Above her own parchment was the word “Love” in Jazon’s clear print.

“That was the first word she wanted to learn, Your Majesty,” he said. “I know we haven't gotten far, but she can copy the letters individually now, and I think she's almost there.”

“You've been working on this all month?” Casimir asked softly, picking up the parchment.

Laska hid her face in her hands once more while Jazon nodded like it hurt him and Mother sneered. Casimir’s eyes stung, blurring the already hard to read letters, and he bent his head over Laska’s to whisper,

“I am so proud of you, my love.”

She looked up, and tears fell gleaming down her cheeks before she flung her arms around him and hid against his waist.

“Proud of her?” Mother snapped. “Proud of her? When all she can manage is that piddling nonsense? It will take forever for her to learn at this rate!”

“Then we shall keep a scribe on forever if that's what it takes!” Casimir shot back.

“But-”

“But nothing. It was without reading or writing that she brought us fresh fruit in the winter, without reading or writing that she rained bread on our people, and those are far greater feats that require far more intelligence than anything you or I have ever done in our positions. So, she will continue her lessons with Jazon, and you will not interfere nor insult her again!”

Casimir panted a little after his outburst, his mother glared, and Jazon grinned.

“Well, Your Highness, it seems I shall be sticking around a while.”

Mother paid him no mind, eyes fixed on Casimir as she pressed her lips together until they turned white. Finally, she spun on her heel and swished away without another word. Jazon took one look at Casimir and Laska, gave Casimir a nod, and followed her out.

Once they were alone, Casimir sank to his knees and gently cupped Laska’s face in his hands. “Shh, it's alright now, it's alright.” He stroked soft fingers over the dear flushed cheeks. “I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't realize how hard this would be for you when you tried to tell me. And I am so, so grateful to you for keeping at it, for trying to give me your words.” He took the parchment full of scribbles and folded it, then tucked it into his breast pocket. “Can you ever forgive me for being so harsh to you?”

In answer, she embraced him and dropped her head on his shoulder, quietly crying against his neck. He felt an absolute beast, but was glad he finally understood why she had been upset, and that it had not been petty after all. It was worse that he ought to have known all along, and would have if he had trusted her as her character demanded, but it was over now, and he knew better.

Casimir knew his wife had truly forgiven him when Iowca slept on the floor that night, and she slept tucked up against his side once more, laying trustfully in his arms. 

Chapter Text

The next weeks were better. Laska still worked hard at her lessons, but without the fear of Casimir’s disapproval they did not distress her so much as before. She still grew frustrated sometimes, but that frustration did not so often come between them, and he was able to comfort her. 

Casimir was also more cautious of leaving her alone with his mother. While Laska insisted on remaining his mother's chief companion in an attempt to mend the relationship, or perhaps prove herself, he took steps to ensure there were others around them whenever others could be spared. Jazon, Halinka, or Imbrych were often hovering nearby, and he had the word of Elpin’s wife, Gochna, that she would check on them whenever they went out.

Mother noticed the shadows and flippantly dismissed Casimir’s worries. “Honestly, child, I'm not going to hurt the poor girl. It's not her fault she is the way she is, and if she does become an embarrassment to the kingdom, the one it will reflect most on is the king.”

“Indeed,” Casimir replied, and they spoke no more of it. He was growing more used to her censure, and was only glad to have it directed at himself rather than his wife, for that was more easily and graciously endured. It surprised him to realize this, for once his mother's displeasure would have torn up his insides, but now, so long as Laska was alright, it was endurable.

Though Laska had fully forgiven him and they were close once more, he still wanted to do something kind for her, some grand gesture to perhaps in some small way make up for his mistake. So it was that one night, before they undressed for bed, he draped a cloak round her shoulders and led her out under the stars as he had those few months ago, before they had been married. This time there were candles already burning in the meeting hall, and a little nest of blankets and pillows in the corner.

“I asked Father Nicodem, and he said it would be alright,” Casimir told her as he drew forth the massive Bible. “We don't exactly have much time during the day, but I wanted to read to you. I'm sure someone has before, and I thought it would be nice for you to have that again, to hear your favorite parts.”

Laska lit up and threw her arms around him, hugging him tight.

“I'm glad you like it. Now come, let us sit.”

He got them settled in the little nest and lay the Bible on their blanketed laps. “You choose where,” he told her.

She flipped through until she came to a page with a depiction of children all sitting round a teacher on one side, and a blind man and one covered in bandages on the other.  Not knowing which part was her favorite, Casimir started reading at the top of the left page.

“If a brother hath sinned against thee, blame him; and if he do penance, forgive him…” He went on to read of a repeated offense, repentance, and forgiveness, and of a servant doing as was commanded of him, and thus taking no pride in his deeds. Next came a story of ten lepers, all healed, but with only one foreigner to give thanks to God. Then were questions about the future, about the end. Casimir paused, lingering over one verse.

“They answer, and say to him, ‘where, Lord?’ Which said to them, ‘wherever the body shall be, thither shall be gathered together also the eagles.”

He thought of carrion, of ravens, vultures, and crows circling overhead on the eve of battle like those who have smelled supper in the oven and linger near the kitchen.

Laska’s hand slipped over his, and he cleared his throat. 

“Sorry. Lost my spot a moment. I'll keep going.” He opened his mouth to continue, but before he could, she set her hand against his cheek and turned him to face her so he could see the concern carved into her expression.

“I'm alright,” he told her, kissing her temple. “I was surprised by such a macabre metaphor, is all. Father Nicodem tells us to look forward to the coming of the Lord but this makes it sound like some terrible doom.”

Laska held up two fingers and nodded. He frowned and tilted his head before it dawned on him.

“You think it's both?”

Another nod.

“Yes, yes maybe it is. We love the goodness of God very much, until we get to see it, then perhaps it is only terrifying.” He pulled her tighter against his side, his arm over her shoulders. “But enough about that. It looks like we're starting a new chapter now.”

Laska bounced a little and leaned forward, and Casimir smiled, for they must be drawing nearer to her favorite passage.

He read a tale of a widow who bothered a city official so much she had her own way, and he grinned, for it reminded him very much of a certain someone. She, no doubt guessing his thoughts, elbowed him in the ribs. The next story was not so funny, for it was one of solemn humility, of tax collectors and pharisies. They came then to the tale of the children depicted on the side, then one about a rich man who would not give up all for the sake of God. Casimir’s voice shook around the words:

“Truly I say to you, there is no man that shall forsake his house, or father and mother, or brethren, or wife, or children, or fields, for the realm of God, and shall not receive many more things in this time, and in the world to come everlasting life.”

He remembered telling Laska that he wanted no such love, the sort which abandoned all else, and there it stared him in the face, blatantly demanded by his God, and he was terrified.

‘Please,’ he begged in his heart, his fingers curling in the fabric of Laska’s cloak, ‘Please don't ask such a thing of me.’

The next words fortold death, fortold God's abandonment of all for man, and Casimir nearly closed the Bible, but Laska’s eyes were shining, and he knew her favorite part must be next.

Swallowing his own feelings and prayers, he kept reading.

It was a quaint tale, not so different from that of the lepers or anyone else Jesus had healed, about a blind man who cried out, "Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me." Those in the crowd tried to make him be silent, but he kept calling like the widow in the parable before, and Jesus heard him and gave his sight back. Laska ran her hand over the page with a soft, happy sigh, and Casimir leaned his head over hers.

“Would you like me to read it again?” He murmured.

She nodded, and he did, this time more slowly to give her more time to enjoy it. There was such contentment in her face at hearing it, such ease and delight that he wished she could tell him why it was so dear to her. He could guess: perhaps it was wistfull longing for her own ailment to be healed, or perhaps the beggars persistence reminded her of herself, or maybe… maybe it was that phrase, "have mercy on me." That was what he had named her, after all.

In any case, she seemed happy with it, so he was content, his other concerns pushed back like the hair tucked away from her pretty red cheeks, turned apple round by a smile.

Father Nicodem found them the next morning, asleep on each other's shoulders with the big Bible still in their laps. 

Chapter Text

The days grew steadily warmer, flowers springing up in the muddy earth, and soon it would be time for the planting. It was during this time that Casimir’s mother sought out both him and Laska in one of the rare moments they were able to be together during the day. She carried a large picnic basket, but set it down to embrace her son, saying enthusiastically,

“Happy birthday, my Casimir!”

Laska looked up sharply, shocked, and Casimir blinked. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten his own birthday, exactly, he just wasn’t used to it being important. Well, except for last year, but that was more the coronation being important than anything, and Mother hadn’t really been happy about it. 

She drew back and gestured at the basket. “I thought, since it is a special day, it would be alright to go out for a little while. I know you don’t care for big parties, but you always liked going on picnics as a family when you were small, so I thought we could celebrate with one today, as a family.” She included Laska in her glance, and Casimir broke into a sudden smile.

“Do you know, Mother, I think that’s an excellent idea.”

So the three departed from the palace, Mother with a picnic basket on her arm, and Casimir with Laska on his. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when she led them to the graveyard, since she had said the whole family, but it still felt odd to lay out a celebratory picnic with that great, grim stone glowering beside them. 

Nevertheless, the food was good, and the company managed to be fairly pleasant. Iowca frolicked a little ways off, chasing the ravens as they baited and teased her, darting about in play. Casimir, a little to his own surprise, felt no trepidation as he watched them. It was so different from when he and Iowca had first encountered the great birds, though he sensed that even the easy familiarity of play did not keep his mother from shuddering a little when she looked at them. She had busied herself pulling weeds around the headstone, being sure to leave nothing but the fresh green grass which was finally beginning to grow over the disturbed plot once more. Laska took the prettiest of the discarded weeds+ and wove them into a long chain, which she wound in a crown round Casimir’s head where it lay in her lap.

It was soft, warm, peaceful, almost like a dream, if he ever had good dreams. It’s what he’d thought everything would be like when he came home, with Mother as gentle as she used to be and something full, tender, and comforting at his back. The crown of flowers was light upon his brow, and something tickled his cheek. When he opened his eyes, Laska was leaning over him with concern, thumbing his tears away.

“I’m alright,” he murmured, turning his head to kiss her fingers. “I just… I wish things could always be this way, with all of us together, and happy.”

“Not all of us,” Mother said, and Laska looked wistfully at the ravens, carding her fingers through Casimir’s dark curls.

“Well, then at least my two favorite women in the world.” He took Laska’s hand, pressing it to his cheek, and extended the other to his mother, who seized on and held tight, like one or the other of them was slipping over a cliff. Casimir passed a thumb over her knuckles, making her relax a little, then closed his eyes and sighed, enjoying the warmth on his face and in his palms. 

Eventually, Laska tapped his shoulder, and he opened his eyes again to listen to her. She pointed at the sun, made an arc or circle with her hand, then held up one finger, she repeated the motion, then held up two fingers, and again a third time with three fingers. Then she pointed at him and held up her hands in a shrug, head tilted quizzically. Casimir frowned a moment as he tried to work it out.

“You’re talking about days, right? Days… time…” A sudden realization struck him. “You’re asking how old I am, aren’t you?”

Mother’s brows shot up. “You married him without even knowing that?”

“I never thought to ask her either, Mother.”

“Yes, but I think we all know how much thought you put into this marriage.”

Casimir let go of her hand, but otherwise decided to ignore the criticism, addressing Laska instead. “I’m eighteen, now. I came of age last year, at seventeen, and was crowned king just a month or so before I met you.  Mother was regent until then.”

Laska put a hand to her mouth and looked so distressed that it made Casimir sit up.

“What? What’s wrong? Are you much older than I am? Certainly you can’t be so very much younger.”

She shook her head and flashed ten fingers, then seven.

“If you’re seventeen, what’s wrong with my age?”

She reached out and brushed a hand along the sword he always wore, even in peace, and bit her trembling lip. He knew instantly what she meant, for it was the same thing which had haunted him for years, but he always forced himself to forget it, to not think about it, because if he thought too hard, he would hate the other woman who sat on the grass beside them. And he couldn’t bear to hate her, not even now that he had Laska as well.

“The war is over now,” he told Laska, pulling her into a hug. “It’s all over, and I’m alright.”

Laska peered incredulously up at him, and he tucked her head under his chin to hide the expression, repeating,

“I’m alright.”

Mother laid a gentle hand on her back, saying softly, “I think you will learn, my dear, that such a sacrifice is only one among many that those who wear the crown must make.”

Casimir wanted to shove her hand off, to curl away and snarl like Iowca did whenever she sensed danger. “Don’t say that to her! Don’t make my wife like you!” he wanted to scream, but he didn’t do either of those things, because she made a picnic for his birthday and remembered all his favorite foods and his childhood dislike of big parties. Besides, hadn’t he himself told Laska the same, that a crown came with duties, and that she would have to be willing to make sacrifices?

She drew away from him, looking at his mother with an unreadable expression which neither confirmed nor denied the statement. Finally, she tugged Casimir back down onto her lap and continued to work on the flower chain. Casimir thought she was using the mundane activity to end the conversation and changed the topic, but when they rose to leave nearly an hour later, he realized she had wound no more flowers round his brow, but rather circled them over her own with one long strand connecting their two crowns.

Casimir held her hand and briefly, discreetly, passed his signet ring onto her finger before slipping it back onto his thumb. She squeezed his hand and kissed his temple, right where the circlet met his skin, and Mother became the one with the unreadable expression as she hefted the picnic basket for the walk back to the castle.

Chapter Text

Scarcely a week passed before the Easter season arrived, beginning with ash Wednesday. While Casimir was able to convince his mother to attend the extra services, he noted that she did not take part in the fasting. He heard from Elpin that the servants had also noticed and though it odd, but he didn’t say anything to her. After watching her nearly starve herself to death in the month after his father’s death, he wasn’t ever going to demand that she eat less. Besides, if Father Nicodem was to be believed, sacrifices weren’t worth much of anything if they were forced upon a person. 

Casimir was also concerned about the odd behavior of Laska and her ravens. On ash Wednesday, after the service, she brought some ashes out to the birds and drew a cross on each of their heads as well, and from what Casimir could tell, the birds were also keeping the fast. He even tested it once, throwing out a small strip of salt pork to them. Any other carrion would have been on it in a moment, but these didn’t even look twice, and the rather uncomfortable inkling that the birds were far more intelligent than one might think twisted once more in his gut.

His mother noticed the odd behavior as well, and was quick to point it out to him. “Look at that! It’s heathenish, like what they used to do before your grandfather converted and re established the churches.”

“She’s not hurting anyone, Mother.”

“You say that now, but these innocent little things always start small. First she’s involving animals in holy rites, the next thing you know we have pagan altars and witchcraft and a priestess drinking human blood.”

“That would be a problem, if it happened, but nothing I’ve seen of Laska’s values and behavior leads me to believe it will.”

And he would hear no more on the subject, though he did wonder. He had marched past the sites of some of those old pagan altars his mother had been so concerned about, and remembered the sick feeling that had still lingered in the place, like the musty smell of a moth-eaten coat. If the accusations were true, it was a very serious problem indeed, but then, his mother was the one he had to drag to services, and Laska was the one who knew all the stories in the big Bible. The person to ask about any potential heresy would be Father Nicodem, but then, wouldn’t he be the one who had given Laska the ashes in the first place? Casimir convinced himself so, and decided to leave the matter be. Even if it was a heresy, he didn’t think he wanted to know, not about her.

Planting season began in the midst of this, and the palace soldiers and even Casimir took it in turns to go out and prepare the nearby fields. There were precious few men left after the war, so what men there were had to be put to good use. Jazon had apparently grown up on a farm before going to the monastery and took quickly to re-learning his childhood skill. Even Laska’s ravens helped the women scatter the seeds, which freed them up to rotate out more often on the plough, when no men were available. Casimir had never used a plough before, but Imbrych was surprisingly proficient, and taught him much as he had taught him to fight in the old days. That is to say, he gave him enough instruction to get by, then thrust him into the thick of it with some supervision, and only took over when Casimir was about ready to drop. 

Though Casimir’s hands were hard from the sword, they still developed new blisters, and his feet reminded him how much they disliked long forced marches. As a matter of fact, his entire body ached most of the time, and the morning fasting didn’t help. But he was used to work and hunger both, and this was good work, work that he could be proud of at the end of the day, even if Laska sometimes had to nudge him to keep him awake during the evening services. 

Finally, Holy Week came, and the work, though far from done, slowed. There were multiple masses to go to, and no one was going to use any iron tools or nails on Good Friday if they could help it. While Palm Sunday was tolerable, Casimir found the rest of the week to be uncomfortably familiar. The people all dressed in black, the mourning, the snuffed candles, it all reminded him far too much of his father’s funeral those three years ago. He once glanced at his mother to see if she thought the same, but her face was stone. Perhaps it had been at his father’s funeral as well, but she had been wearing a veil then, and he hadn’t been able to read her at all, save when he heard her crying, once.

He had never liked funerals, not that he had much experience with them. On the battlefield, they rarely had time to bury the men unless they won, and then they didn’t always have time to separate all their bodies from the enemy’s, so they wound up burying them all at once as often as not, and then they would say a few words, and move on. What made his father’s death so special, that he got his own grave, his own funeral? 

Casimir didn’t dare think this about Christ, even as they sat in the dark, watching one candle flicker. Jesus was far more like his soldiers than his father, even if he had been laid in a tomb. He had become shame and sin and death, had knelt in the dirt and sweated blood because he knew he would die, crawled through the mud, tasted iron and acid together in his throat and on his lips. A man who washed his disciples feet wouldn’t have gotten himself killed for something so silly as honor, but a man who carried the cross would have charged into lines of steel death at his side, just as Elpin, Imbrych, Fiebron, and Broniz had. 

Perhaps that was why it seemed odd for the services to feel so much like a funeral. All the best men Casimir knew had never received so lengthy a mourning, but maybe they should have. Maybe that was why they did so much to mourn Christ’s sacrifice each year. It put him in the mind of building a marker, some monument to remember the fallen, but then he thought of his mother sitting at his father’s grave, and immediately decided against it. Neither Broniz nor Fiebron would ever ask that of him.

‘And does God not ask this of us?’ A small voice in the back of his mind whispered. ‘Is he somehow lesser because he asks for remembrance, and does so great an act not demand recognition in and of itself?’

Casimir didn’t know what to make of those thoughts, and tried to focus on the service instead.

Easter morning arrived. Laska was already dressed and ready save for needing the laces on the back of her dress done up when Casimir woke, and bounced excitedly on her toes as he rolled out of bed. Chuckling, he went to her and tightened her laces, fumbling a little in the pre-dawn darkness, though even in the bare light he could see she was in her wedding attire, with a short sleeved underdress instead of long this time. She had refused a new dress when he offered, and he suspected she was glad of the chance to get to wear this one again. 

“I see you didn’t wait for Halinka,” he said, and she grinned mischievously, then ran to the window to lean out and look over the courtyard below, where a few were stirring and creeping about in the quiet. Apparently seeing what she was looking for, she quickly went to the wardrobe and took out a cloth wrapped package, then made for the door.

“Wait!” Casimir also went to the wardrobe and reached into the back, taking out a fine white scarf. It was edged in a gold ribbon, embroidered with black ravens, and bore on it the image of a red tree and scepter under a golden sun. He wrapped it over her head so that the bright symbol was displayed, tucking the ends under to try to make it stay.

“Can’t go without that,” he smiled.

Laska grinned and kissed him, adjusting the edges of her new scarf with loving fingers when she drew away. 

“Go on now,” he smiled. “I see you have your own gifts to deliver.”

With a final kiss to his cheek, she hurried away. Casimir waited for Elpin, who came to him and helped him dress in his finest tunic and robe, the same he had worn for his coronation, Christmas, and his wedding. Elpin himself wore a fine tunic which Casimir’s father had given him, emblazoned with the same symbol that was on Laska’s veil, sans the scepter, since only the royal family was technically supposed to wear that. Casimir had debated having it included in his own gift, but eventually decided against it. As much as he thought of Elpin as family, he didn’t think such a thing would be taken kindly by the nobility or even by the other servants.

Elpin accepted the tunic Casimir had prepared for him with a smile, despite the fact that it looked very much like the ones he already wore. “It’s a fine gift, Your Majesty. My old ones are starting to get a bit thin.”

“Well I can’t have my valet going about in rags. It would make me look bad.”

Casimir expected him to laugh at the little joke, but instead he gripped Casimir’s shoulder and looked directly at him. “I have the greatest confidence that I shall never have to be concerned with such a thing for as long as you sit on this throne.”

On impulse, Casimir grasped him in a quick hug, then stepped back, clearing his throat. “Thank you. That means… Thank you.”

“It is quite honestly my pleasure, Your Majesty.” Elpin offered him a deep bow, then departed. 

Casimir closed his eyes briefly, offering a grateful prayer for such a friend, then took two more garments from the wardrobe. All the other new clothing would be delivered to the servants by other hands, but these two he needed to deliver personally. The first was a dress, fairly simple, but in a bold scarlet and edged in golden yellow. It had been a gamble to have such a colorful dress made for a woman who had only worn black for the past four years, but he had to hope she would be willing to come out of her mourning, even if for only one day.

He knocked on his mother’s door, and she answered it with bleary eyes, still in her dressing robe. 

“What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“No, everything’s fine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you banging on my door at this hour of the morning?”

“Because it’s Easter, and I have something for you.” He presented the dress, and she just stared at it, but he decided to believe this was because she was tired after being foisted from bed so early. 

“Take it. Your attendants can help you into it later, but services will start at sunrise, you know.”

“Yes yes. Just one more torture the church has to bestow upon us in order that we can celebrate the fact that all our tortures and sins have been removed.” She snatched the dress and ducked back into her room, closing the door behind herself a little too forcefully. Casimir smiled, for it had actually gone better than he had expected. After all, she had taken the dress, and morning grumpiness was something she’d always had. It was something they had shared before he’d lost all sense of what time of day was for sleeping in during the war, and also gained the ability to wake up at a moment’s notice. 

The next garment he took to the barracks, where he knocked on Captain Imbrych’s door. He heard muffled swearing, then something breaking, and then a loud thump. A few more grunted curses reached him, then footsteps, and the door opened. 

“Report soldie-” Imbrych’s barked command cut off when he saw Casimir, and he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind himself. “Is something wrong, Your Majesty?”

Casimir snorted and rolled his eyes. “Aside from the fact that you sound like my mother, no, nothing’s wrong. It’s Easter, which means mass is at sunrise.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” Imbrych growled darkly.

“That mass is at sunrise? I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that fact.”

Imbrych sighed, shaking his head. “Nevermind. Came to make sure I got up, I take it?”

“Only partially.” Casimir handed him a tunic much like Elpin’s, with the house crest emblazoned on the front. “Happy Easter, Imbrych.”

Imbrych froze, staring at the red and yellow fabric under his fingertips. “Sire, Cas, you can’t…” 

“What? Have you wear my colors? You’ve fought under them for the past four years.” He reached out and squeezed Imbrych’s arm. “You’re not just a wandering soldier anymore, Brych. You’re a part of this household. I hoped you would know that by now.”

Imbrych kept staring like he’d never seen the symbol before, as if he hadn’t borne a shield with the same symbol for years and worn a patch of it on his shoulder ever since he'd sewn Fiebron's old one to his tunic when he'd first met them. Finally, he folded it to his chest. 

“I’ll wear it well, Your Majesty.”

“Of that I’ve no doubt. I trust I’ll see you at services?”

“You will.”

Casimir pressed his arm one last time, then departed. In a little time, the dark began to lighten, and all came to the meeting hall, where Father Nicodem had propped the doors wide open that they might see the coming dawn. The air was chill, but with everyone in the village and the castle packed inside, they managed to keep warm. Mistress Ermegarde and Halinka were there, both dressed in new finery which bore motifs of ravens, and his mother had elected to wear the new red dress, for which Casimir breathed out a grateful prayer, even if he could tell she clearly wasn’t enjoying the switch from her usual black.

They greeted the dawn with singing and delighted exclamations of, “He is risen!” and “He is risen indeed!” As the light crept pure and bright over the floor, Father Nicodem rose to read the holy scriptures. His voice was full of a weighty, eager joy as he spoke the words of Luke, of the empty tomb, and of Jesus himself greeting the women and his disciples in his risen glory. 

Casimir’s heart trembled at “Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” and reached out hopefully at, “peace be with you.” He smiled at the great joy and disbelief of the disciples, for he could hardly imagine what it would be like to get back even one of the dead, and yet he knew they all would return someday, and so Father Nicodem reminded them, proclaiming that all would return at the resurrection, just as their Lord had returned, that they had the same joy of the disciples because of the great and holy act of their God. 

Casimir’s eyes welled as they prayed, then began to sing again. “Where, oh death, is thy victory? Where, oh death, is thy sting?” It brought to mind the sting of deaths suffered, but with it the knowledge that these would not last, and that was a comfort to a deep wound kept long hidden.

After the service, they all spilled out into the courtyard, and there was a whole bustle and laughter as they pulled tables from the castle and began to fill them with all manner of delicious foods that all of them had not eaten for many days. Beef, lamb, and all manner of poultry, sweet breads full of nuts and raisins with milk and butter, and of course, baskets and baskets of beautiful painted eggs. 

It was all supplied from the royal coffers, and his mother commented sourly that if they kept throwing such extravagant celebrations for the whole village, they were likely to run out of money before the year’s end, but Casimir paid her little mind. These people paid taxes all year, and had paid with their young men and fathers besides, and he was glad of the opportunity to give something back. 

All dug into the food with gusto, the children in particular taking delight in the optional table manners. The whole courtyard was a swell of color as the people chatted and ate and played in their new finery, and the bright blue sky smiled back at the pretty sight. Even Laska’s ravens had each been given a little red ribbon which she had tied in a bow around their necks, and Casimir laughed when he saw them, not begrudging them the scraps from the table. 

People began to slow down by afternoon, and Casimir sat against a hay bale, Laska leaning back to his chest with a happy sigh. 

“Happy Easter, dear,” he murmured.

Laska smiled and pulled his arms around herself, serenely watching the celebration with a settled contentment.

Chapter Text

Casimir thought the Easter celebrations were over in the evening when the leftover food and the tables were all cleared away, but the next morning, he woke to Laska and Halinka both grinning at him from beside the bed.

“What are you-” he started, and that’s when they sprang. Halinka grabbed his feet and wound a sheet around them, while Laska tackled him round his waist and used another sheet to pin his arms to his sides. Casimir almost lashed out by instinct, but forced himself to remain still, reminding himself that whatever was going on, this was Laska, and she wasn’t going to hurt him. The ladies stood back and smiled at each other, apparently very pleased with their work, and Casimir worked to keep his voice level as he said,

“Why, may I ask, have I been taken captive?”

Laska glanced at Halinka, who giggled and answered for her in a teasing almost sing-song. “It’s hock Monday. We won’t let you go without a kiss or a donation to the church.”

Casimir raised his brows. He had heard of hock Monday, but mostly from the foreign mercenaries during the war, and that in the bawdiest of terms. He’d never seen it celebrated before, and wasn’t so certain he liked it. “This is a game then?”

“What, did you think I’d agree to help capture the King for real? I value my life, thank you very much,” Halinka said, then added a belated, “Your Majesty.”

Laska leaned toward him with a mischievous smirk, tilting his face up with a hand under his chin, but stopped before her lips reached his and raised her brows. In reply, he raised himself up as much as he could and kissed her. Lips still locked with his, she slid her hands down his arms and undid the sheet holding them tight to his sides. She drew back, then undid his feet as well, and Casimir leapt from the bed. 

Halinka squeaked in alarm and both girls turned and ran away, their feet pattering across the carpeted halls. Casimir chuckled, deciding with a thought back to his wife’s kiss that he did rather like this holiday after all. Elpin came to dress him, and Casimir asked if he had been similarly accosted.

“No indeed. Gochna and I are getting far too old for such games, besides the fact, I think they’re technically illegal.”

 “What?”

“Your father outlawed the hock Monday and Tuesday practices.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

Elpin frowned. “Well, on Monday the ladies capture the men, but on Tuesday the men capture the ladies. It’s a fun game when friends who trust each other participate, but those aren’t the only people who will, if you take my meaning.”

“I see.” Casimir’s brow furrowed. “I wondered why I’d never seen it practiced before. Do you think I ought to stop them?”

“That’s up to you, Your Majesty. There’s not much wrong with girls having some fun with their friends, but one of those girls is the queen, which means she can tend to set traditions in the kingdom. I know many of the countries around us do it, and it does tend to build a little revenue for the church.”

“Thank you, Elpin. I’ll think about it.”

Casimir’s mother was far less gracious when she discovered what Laska was doing. She and Casimir were taking lunch together when Imbrych came running in the doors with Laska and Halinka hot on his heels and flung himself at Casimir’s feet. 

“Save me, Your Majesty!” He cried, but Laska and Halinka had already tackled him. Laska grinned triumphantly, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and she and Halinka bounced back up. 

Imbrych opened his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by mother crying, 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Laska and Halinka both looked over sharply in surprise, then Halinka bent her head and smoothed out her skirt. 

“Celebrating hock Monday, Your Highness,” she answered for both of them.

“Shame on you! I thought you were a respectable girl, though now I see I was sorely mistaken. And you! You are supposed to set an example as the queen of this realm! How dare you participate in such lewd and unseemly practices. Would you lead the entire nation astray? Both of you, go get cleaned up and cease this nonsense at once! And you .” Her narrowed eyes fixed on Imbrych, her lip curling. “I wish I was surprised. I suppose you were hoping to be caught, and use it as an excuse to have both on the morrow, though I shouldn’t wonder if it wasn’t the first time. I suppose one maid’s skirt is as good as the next, even if one managed to weasel her way into a crown.”

Casimir’s jaw dropped, and he shot to his feet. “Don’t you ever say such things about my wife, her ladies, or my captain again!”

“I don’t believe I said anything untrue,” Mother replied primly.

Imbrych started forward, but Casimir raised a hand, his tone low and dangerous. “Halinka, Imbrych, you are dismissed. Laska, you may do as you will, though I would like to have you beside me in this, if you are willing to endure the presence of a woman who has so deeply insulted you.”

Halinka and Imbrych both bowed, then Halinka fled, and Imbrych very reluctantly stepped from the room and closed the door, though Casimir was certain he was standing guard just outside it. Laska came up beside him and looped her arm through his.

“Do you really, earnestly believe any of what you said?” Casimir demanded.

Mother shrugged. “Perhaps. I was maybe a tad harsh on the ladies, but it’s hardly proper for them to be throwing themselves about like common hussies. There’s a reason your father outlawed such games, you know. What is innocent today may leave someone hurt tomorrow, especially with all the pet mercenaries you brought back with you.”

“Those mercenaries,” Casimir growled, “were willing to give their lives to defend this crown. They are good men.”

“They are career soldiers, the largest advantage of which is the spoils. You have seen a village or two plundered, haven’t you? Men turn into beasts in the thrill of victory, and the sort of men who choose such a beastly life as a career can hardly be trusted. Especially when she ,” Mother nodded at Laska, “introduces boorish games that give them an excuse to participate in such behaviors.”

“What behaviors, exactly, Mother?” Casimir’s voice had dropped several degrees, and Laska squeezed his arm tighter, whether in support or because it was his sword arm and she thought he needed to be contained he didn’t know. “And before you answer, perhaps you ought to consider that I am one of those soldiers, and fought that war the same as the rest of them.”

Mother fluttered a hand at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You were fighting because it was your duty to avenge your father, though I dare say you missed on that count. They fight for money, have no loyalties, and are used to taking what they want by force. I am certain even your Captain Imbrych has taken many women in the past, though for the sake of my own sanity I try not to think of how many were willing.”

Laska’s fingers dug into his arm so hard it was painful, and when he spared her a glance, he realized it wasn’t him she was holding back, but herself, for the glare with which she fixed his mother could have ground steel.

“Captain Imbrych is a good man, and you will not slander him without proof,” Casimir said sternly. 

“Fine. You want an accusation with proof? Just look at his room. I’m sure you’ll find all manner of old bottles stuffed under the bed. If nothing else he’s a drunkard, and that fact can hardly be disputed.”

“He promised me he wouldn’t, and I trust him.”

“Trust him? Honestly, Casimir. After seeing all the things you have, I don’t know how you can trust such horrid people.”

“You don’t know because you weren’t there!” Casimir shouted. He stepped forward, though Laska anchored his arm, preventing him from going any closer. “Do you know who held me, on the cold nights when the blood spray was frozen to my face and the tears hurt my cheeks while I cried out for you? I’ll tell you who: Elpin, Fiebron, Broniz, and Imbrych. I know he’s a good man because he took one look at a wounded, terrified little boy who’d just lost his father and decided to protect him with his life, which is more than I can say about you .”

Mother’s cool temper snapped, and she shot to her feet. “I gave you life, you selfish boy!”

“And I suppose that gave you the right to gamble with it!”

They glared daggers at each other for a long, aching moment, then Laska slipped between them, her hands held out in a stopping motion. As they broke eye contact to look at her, she turned to Casimir and clasped her hands under her chin, eyes wide and imploring.

“No, darling, don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, tucking her against his side. 

His mother snorted. “At least until tomorrow when some girl gets dragged away to some scoundrel’s bed. There’s a reason your father did away with this practice, and I’ll have you know that Father Nicodem agreed with him.”

“Whatever the case may be, I will make the edicts I wish, and will correct my staff and my wife as I wish, or have faith in their goodness as I wish. It is not your place to speak so to any of them, and in the future, if you have a grievance, you may bring it to me.”

“Of course, my child. I forget sometimes that you are a king now, more than my son, so it is so good of you to remind me. You can understand how my distress over your father’s wishes being thwarted might have frustrated me, but then, perhaps you wouldn’t.”

“I do. Just as you can understand my frustration with being undermined.”

Mother gave him a wry smile, “more and more every day,” and marched from the room.

Casimir let out a very long breath. “I’m sorry, Laska. That was… I thought she was getting better about accepting all of this, and I thought I was getting better at handling it. I didn’t frighten you, did I?”

She shook her head and hugged him tight.

“If it’s any consolation,” He tilted her chin up and kissed her, “I enjoyed your little game very much.”

A smile lit up her face.

“However, I would still like to talk to Father Nicodem about his objections, if that’s alright with you.”

The smile faded a little, but she still nodded. 

“Would you like to come with me?”

She seized his hand, and he kissed her forehead, then led her away. As he had suspected, Captain Imbrych was standing just on the other side of the door.

“Your Majesty,” he said.

“Captain Imbrych. You know, the reason I asked you and Halinka to leave was to keep family matters private. Eavesdropping defeats the purpose.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was guarding.” Imbrych gently bounced a fist off Casimir’s shoulder. “It’s part of my protective nature, after all.”

Casimir snorted. “Sure.”

“Cas… thank you. For what you said, about me being… well, for believing in me. Haven’t had many do that, over the years.”

“I only said what was true, old friend.” Casimir clapped him on the back, and Imbrych pressed his lips together into something that was almost a smile. Laska suddenly let go of Casimir’s hand to hug round Imbrych’s waist, squeezing tight, then let go and returned to Casimir’s side.

“See?” Casimir laughed. “I’m not the only one who appreciates you.” He raised a hand in farewell as he and Laska started down the corridor again. “Take care, Brych.”

They made their way down to the meeting hall, and entered just as Jazon was coming out.

“Paying your own ransom, are you?” He said with a wink.

“What? Didn’t you pay with a kiss?” Casimir replied. “Last I heard, my wife had a young, pretty, unmarried partner in crime.”

Jazon held a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. “A gentleman never tells. But I thought it would be nice to make a donation in either case. The church has done a lot for me in the past, and it’s only right that I give something back now that I’m bringing in revenue. I left some for Father Nicodem, and asked him to send some along to the monastery. Lord knows the poor Abbot ought to have some reward for putting up with me.”

“Where’s our reward, then?”

Jazon smirked. “Sorry, Your Majesty, but you’re the one who hired me. That’s volunteering to put up with me.”

Casimir rolled his eyes and waved Jazon along, then he and Laska entered the meeting hall.

“Hello, Your Majesties,” Father Nicodem greeted them.

“Hello, Father. How are things?”

“They’re going well. As a matter of fact, we’ve had an odd increase in donations today. The two of you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Casimir and Laska exchanged glances, then Casimir said, “It would seem that where the Queen used to live, they celebrated hock Monday, and she was continuing the tradition.”

“I see.” Father Nicodem looked levelly at them. “The two of you seem awfully grave for people enjoying an old tradition.”

“We… spoke with Mother.”

“Ah. She told you about the incident, then.”

“What? No. What incident?”

Father Nicodem’s brows shot up. “The event that made your father outlaw such celebrations in the first place. There was a girl, Tyszka, who was hurt. A man grabbed her and pulled her behind one of the houses, and no one thought anything of it because… and a few hours later the man was nowhere to be found, and poor Tyzska was crying.”

Laska clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, and Casimir pressed his lips together grimly.

“I know it may have been harmless out in the wood, with just yourself and your family,” Father Nicodem said gently, “but not all will be so safe nor so kind as those you played with before.”

“You advise we maintain my father’s ruling, then?” Casimir asked.

“I’m the one who advised him to make it in the first place.” Father Nicodem held out the offering box. “This is not worth the harm of one of God’s children.”

Casimir nodded, and looked at Laska, who gave a solemn nod back. “Understood. We won’t carry on with the practice any longer, though I’m afraid that after people see that the Queen was the one who began it again, they’ll participate.”

Laska seized his arm, her horrified eyes turned upon him, and he stroked her hair back from her forehead. “Don’t worry. I don’t think so little of the men of this land that I think we need be so afraid as all that, but if anyone does try any such unseemly tricks, then those terrible mercenaries I brought home from the war will have a chance to prove their mettle. I’ll have Imbrych post a pair on every street corner, and believe me, no one will dare cause any trouble.”

Laska let out a little breath and dropped her head on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, my dear.” Father Nicodem patted her arm. “You meant no evil, and I do appreciate the chance for the church to do some good with the revenue it brings in. I do not wonder that you saw no harm in it, especially if you lived mainly in seclusion before. No wrong has yet come of your playing, so you needn’t feel badly for adding a little fun to the lives of your friends.”

Laska managed a tiny smile for him, and Casimir nodded his thanks. “I appreciate the advice, and the encouragement, Father.” He glanced down at Laska. “I’m going to go tell Imbrych to organize the soldiers. Perhaps you’d like to find Halinka and make sure she’s alright? I know not everyone is after a scolding from Mother.”

Laska’s smile widened, though her eyes were still sad, and he kissed her cheek before he left to do as he had said. 

The next day, the palace guard patrolled the streets as usual. There were a few gentlemen who retaliated (Jazon among them, they learned from a blushing Halinka), but with the soldiers so nearby, there was much care taken to ensure that the ladies were treated gently. Laska was nervous the whole day, waiting anxiously to hear some report that her fun-loving nature had led to harm, but no harm came of it, in the end.

“There,” Casimir told her that evening when they still had received no reports of ill use, “I told you all would be well.”

She squeezed his arm and pointed down to the courtyard, and two of the soldiers standing guard below. 

“Yes. They did well, didn’t they? And Mother can say nothing about them, now.”

Laska nodded, letting out a breath, and Casimir allowed a teasing note to slip into his voice. 

“Although, I do know of one gentleman who has not yet had his vengeance.”

She frowned, tilting her head, then her eyes went wide and she dashed for the door. Casimir sprang after her, but she was already bounding away like a bolt from a crossbow, tumbling down the stairs at reckless speeds. Cawing sounded out the window, and Casimir put on a burst of speed, hoping to catch her before she reached the outside and her ravens could help her. He had no such luck, and she escaped into the open air, but much to his great surprise, the ravens rather descended around her, slowing her progress so that he caught her easily around the waist.

She put up a cursory struggle until he spun her around and kissed her, at which point all struggle stopped, and she utterly melted, her whole body leaning into him, pressing against him with each heaved breath. He loved that he could do that to her, could make her breathless and weak-kneed. Admittedly, the breathless part was probably more due to the run, but still, the weak knees was all him, and that made him feel like he could fly. 

“I love you, dear,” he murmured, and his arms tightened around her. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The days grew warmer, and after a few more weeks of work, the planting was finally finished. The work grew less, though there was still much to be done. Especially once the summer heat came, and they had the fresh and growing green sprouts to protect from the sun and the wind. Casimir had greatly disliked the time when there was little grain left in the storehouses, and no shoots to give evidence to any success, but now he breathed easier, looking out over the rows and rows of food. There was still much that could go wrong, he knew that, but every bit of growth increased their chances of bringing in a harvest. 

The summer heat wore on everyone, though Casimir was delighted to have large stone walls to hide in. The castle wasn’t cool, necessarily, but it was cooler than the outside, and there was a well right in the center of the castle courtyard that wasn’t in any danger of going dry, which he appreciated greatly. He kept to paperwork more than any other sort of work in order to avoid the heat, and so it surprised him when Imbrych came to him and said,

“We should spar.”

Casimir looked up from the report he’d been reading and raised his brows. “In this weather? When we don’t have to?”

“Come on, Your Majesty. It’ll be fun.”

“I repeat, in this weather?”

“You ought to know how to fight in all weather.”

“I have fought in all weather, which is how I know I don’t want to fight in this.”

Imbrych huffed. “Have you even drawn your sword since we got back?”

“Twice.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Both times to defend myself against ravens.” 

“Oh, that’s right. I remember how badly that proposal of yours went.”

Casimir glared at him. “I’ll remind you that she said yes.”

“I suppose that’s true. In any case, this is about your swordsmanship, and even if you drew your sword, I don’t recall you actually using it.You’ll get rusty if you don’t practice, Your Majesty, and you never know when you’ll have to fight a duel for a girl’s honor.”

Casimir’s lips tightened, and Imbrych winced.

“Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke. I’d forgotten… well, anyway, I know for a fact that Sir Broniz used to make you practice every day, fair weather or foul, so just be happy I’ve never nagged you about it before.”

“Hmph. Even from beyond the grave that man is torturing me.”

Imbrych smiled wryly. “You and me both. Now come on.”

“Oh, very well,” Casimir sighed, getting up from his desk. It might actually be nice to get some exercise. Despite the heat, all the desk work was making him restless, and he never really had been one for sitting still. 

The practice grounds were emptier than usual. There was a unit there doing their regular training, but no one was taking any time in their off duty hours to swelter in the hot sun. Casimir stopped, looking over the grounds with a tight feeling in his gut. He hadn’t been here since before the war, and back then it had always been a place where Sir Broniz was, fair weather or foul, as Imbrych said. He would have been here, would have dragged Casimir here just like Imbrych had, and Casimir hated seeing the place without him.

“Hey! Catch!” Imbrych threw him a wooden practice sword, and Casimir snapped out of his reverie just in time to catch it before it hit him in the face. Imbrych was on him a moment later, and Casimir blocked by reflex. He wasn’t surprised at not having any warning. Sir Broniz would have officially started the match, but with Imbrych the surprise was that they were using the practice swords, not real ones. He’d never sparred with a practice sword with Captain Imbrych before, much to the chagrin of Elpin and Broniz, and had several scars to prove it.

Imbrych was better than he was, and quickly had him on the defensive, forcing him to take several steps back. The swords hit with hard clacks instead of clangs like he was used to, but the sudden impact that jarred all the way through his shoulders, the blur of movement, the grim, sweaty face before him, that was all familiar, and he quickly regained his balance. 

Imbrych beat on him with several more swift, heavy blows, but Casimir stood his ground this time. He tried a few strikes of his own, and actually managed to very lightly clip Imbrych’s shoulder. Imbrych grunted acknowledgment and redoubled his attack. Casimir was hard pressed, growling as he realized why Imbrych had chosen the practice swords. They didn’t have to hold back so much with these, and he was exerting a strength he never would have dared against Casimir with a real blade in his hand. Casimir had seen Imbrych’s fighting prowess before, and could see how swiftly this was going to end, how it always ended in the past.

Only, Casimir had not been almost as big as Imbrych, in the past. Imbrych clinched, and Casimir braced his legs, then heaved. Imbrych staggered a step back, his sword still outstretched, and Casimir smacked his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. He followed through with a slash to Imbrych’s stomach that would have been a killing blow, winding him and winning the match at once. 

“There! For once, Captain, it seems I have bested-”

Imbrych tackled him. Casimir, caught entirely off guard, landed on his back in the dirt with a painful whoomf. He choked, struggling to breathe as Imbrych sat on his chest and pulled back a fist. Casimir caught it and kneed him in the back even as he coughed.

“That was… was a killing… argh!” He rolled out of the way of another blow, bucking his hips to try to get out from under his opponent, who was, at the end of the day, still bigger. 

“Fight’s not over ‘till it’s over, little prince. They may have looked like swords, but in case you didn’t realize it, those there were blunt as cudgels, hence, not a killing blow. Now, if you had gone for my head…” 

Casimir got his arms up just in time to block several punches aimed at his face. He cringed as Imbrych’s fists pounded against his forearms, but he’d been in situations like this before, and with enemies far less concerned for his well being than his current one. Breathing with the timing of the blows, he found a pause in the rhythm and lashed out, smashing Imbrych’s nose. Imbrych roared, and Casimir rolled. The two tumbled over the dirt, scrambling for purchase, each trying to overpower the other to come out on top. Casimir’s sleeve tore, and the dust made his eyes well even as his hands slipped on Imbrych’s sweat slicked skin. It was desperate, primal, animal, and alive . 

Imbrych managed to wrap an arm round his throat and tried to pull him into a headlock, but Casimir bit him. Hard. Imbrych shouted again and flung him away, and the sharp tang of blood filled Casimir’s mouth as he tumbled over the dirt. He sprang to his feet and spun to face his opponent, who was also up and circling, fists raised, forearm and nose both bleeding.

“Fighting dirty, I see,” Imbrych growled.

Casimir raised his fists as well, daring to creep closer. “Just like I was taught,” he panted back.

Imbrych grinned, his own teeth red from the blood that dripped over his lips, then attacked. He was fast, but Casimir kept up. He’d learned from hard experience that his choices were to practice getting faster, or be in pain. Still, Imbrych usually outlasted Casimir, trading blows until Casimir worked himself to exhaustion, and all Imbrych needed was one good hit. Casimir didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction this time. He conserved his strength, dodging more than attacking, letting Imbrych be the one to keep coming, and coming, until blows started landing, and landing heavy.

Casimir switched to going on the offensive, knowing he couldn’t take much more of that, and was surprised when several of his own attacks landed. Had the plan worked? It looked like it had, like Imbrych was starting to slow down. Casimir pushed forward, and forward, landing more and more hits until Imbrych was staggering, but Casimir knew better than to trust that. As Imbrych always said, the fight wasn’t over until it was over, and it would be over when Imbrych surrendered, otherwise any respite would be used against him.

Imbrych grunted, taking punch after punch. His cheek was cut open now, too, and Casimir’s split knuckles were leaving crimson prints on his stomach, his chest, his arms. He was exhausted, and Casimir knew it would be over soon, but the sudden remembrance of his mother, lying on the ground with a large bruise on her forehead, filled his mind, and he drew back. 

“Do you yield?” He demanded.

Imbrych grit his teeth and raised shaking fists.

“Come on, Brych,” Casimir said softly. “This is just training, I don’t want to knock you out to win.”

“Don’t think you can, boy,” Imbrych snarled back. “Come on! I’ve still got some fight in me! Come on!”

Casimir took in his bleeding face, his trembling hands, and wondered, but Imbrych knew his limits. They leapt together again, only to be halted by a sharp,

“Stop this at once!” 

Both froze, then turned to see Elpin stalking across the training ground toward them. Imbrych cursed scorchingly in a way Casimir hadn’t heard him speak since the war, and Casimir straightened, suddenly very aware of the rip in his tunic and the fact that his knuckles were oozing red over his fingers, which still bore his rings , he realized with a horrified wince. Sir Broniz would have chewed him out for that the second the match started. But then, Sir Broniz would have chewed him out for a lot of things that had happened during that match, things Imbrych approved of. Where one worried about honor, the other was chiefly concerned with survival. Perhaps that was why he’d been the one to survive.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Elpin hissed.

“I’m sorry,” Casimir said. “That was stupid. I should have let up when I saw him staggering like that, and I definitely should have taken my rings off.”

“Not you,” Elpin glanced briefly at Casimir, then turned an icy glare on Imbrych, his hands balled in furious fists at his sides. “ You . After all we did to protect him, how can you do this to him?”

Imbrych didn’t reply, staring on with clenched jaw.

“It’s alright, Elpin, I’m not hurt. At least, not badly. You know we used to do this sort of thing all the time when we had a moment to train.”

“No, you’re not hurt. But tell me, Your Majesty, back when we did this ‘all the time,’ did you ever win a fight with Imbrych?”

“No, but I was smaller, then.”

Elpin snorted. “Not by much.”

“Can we not do this here?” Imbrych snapped, glancing at the unit of men who were also using the training ground.

“If you didn’t want your dirty secrets spilled, you shouldn’t have used your friends to punish yourself for them!” Elpin hissed back.

“Not. Here.” Imbrych said again, and started to stalk away, though his wearied state made it look more akin to a stagger. 

“Punish him? Elpin, what are you talking about?” He jogged to catch up with Imbrych. “What’s he talking about?”

“What part of, ‘not here’ is getting lost on you people?” Imbrych muttered darkly.

“Sorry, Brych. I’m just confused. I can’t understand why Elpin is angry about a friendly sparring match.”

“I’ll tell you after we get cleaned up,” Imbrych said.

“Will you?” Elpin snapped, “or is this just another way to avoid the situation?”

“I will ,” Imbrych spat, “So see to your King.”

“We’ll be waiting in his room. If we don’t see you within the hour, I’ll tell the King what’s going on myself, and believe me, you don’t want him to hear it from me.”

Imbrych hissed several more curses as he stomped away, and Casimir remained at Elpin’s side, lost and confused.

“What’s going on?”

“No, Your Majesty, he’s right that it ought not be told here, and I’ve given him an hour to give you the truth of it in his own words. I won’t speak of it before then.” All the sharpness had left Elpin’s voice, and he sounded only very weary, though in his grasping of Casimir’s shoulder there was an attempt to be gentle.  “Come. Let’s get those hands bound. I trust he hasn’t hurt you too badly otherwise?”

“No,” Casimir replied with a sudden frown. “He bruised up my arms when we were fighting with fists, but he never landed a single blow with the practice swords. He… he wasn’t letting me win, was he?”

“Do you really think his skill has so deteriorated, or yours grown so vastly?”

“No, no I don’t. You’re right. Let’s get these wounds tended and get to the bottom of this as soon as may be. I don’t like this mystery surrounding my Captain.”

He and Elpin went back into the castle. Casimir went directly to his room while Elpin stopped to gather supplies, and as Casimir waited, Laska came bursting in the door. She ran to him and fell to her knees, carefully cupping his battered hands. 

“I’m alright,” he told her, “it was just a duel with Imbrych, though since he let me win, there is something else going on. Still, he would never hurt me, not really.”

She ran her thumb over his wedding ring, smearing blood from the blue stone, and he winced.

“I can’t exactly say the same for him. I’m not used to being big enough to do him much damage, and I forgot to take those off. It all happened so fast.”

Her sharp look made him quickly reassure her,

“Imbrych’s fine, mostly, I think. His face is just a little cut up, and I sort of, uh, bit his arm.”

She rolled her eyes and clenched her fist tight, smacked it into her palm, then shook her head, held her fist more loosely, and repeated the motion.

“I, well, yes, it probably was stupid to hit him with a closed fist, but where did you learn proper form?”

She pointed at the ravens circling outside..

“The birds taught you?”

A straight-faced nod.  

“Alright,” he snorted, “keep your secrets.”

The conversation was ended as Elpin came in the door and began cleaning and binding Casimir’s cuts and scrapes. He couldn’t do much about the bruises, and Casimir knew they were going to hurt for the next several days. Even after this, Imbrych had still not come, and Casimir glanced nervously at Elpin.

“You don’t think he’ll stay away, do you?”

“I honestly don’t know, Your Majesty. He loves you, and that makes things… difficult to determine. With everything.”

Laska frowned and glanced between them, to which Casimir replied with a shrug. “I don’t know any more than you do, my dear, except that Imbrych has something to confess, and it apparently has something to do with the sparring match we just had.”

Laksa tilted her head and glanced at the ravens, then back at him, and came to sit beside him on the bed. Time stretched on, and just as Casimir was beginning to fear that Imbrych wouldn’t come after all, he marched into the room and gave a sharp salute. 

“Reporting for duty, as promised, Sire.”

“Enough of that, Imbrych. Tell me what’s going on. Is something wrong?”

Imbrych glanced at Elpin, then the door, as if he wanted to flee and was judging if he could make it before Elpin caught him, then heaved a sigh and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve been… restless. Without a war to fight, and all. Been a career soldier all my life, so I suppose I have a hard time knowing what to do with myself now.”

Elpin crossed his arms. “I will only let you tell this story in your own words if you give him the truth, Captain.”

“So far, I have,” Imbrych growled.

“Then save the sob story and hurry up and get to the rest of it.”

Imbrych scowled, but didn’t reply. His gaze soon dipped to the floor, and he wet his lips. “Look, does Laska need to be here for this? It’s bad enough having to tell the little prince.”

“The little prince is a king, now,” Casimir reminded him gently, “and Laska will surely hear it from me in time, so best to get it over with.”

“Fine. Fine! You want to know the truth? Your snake of a mother is right about me. I went back on that promise I made to stop drinking a month after I made it. A month. And I’ve only kept it on and off ever since.”

“What?” Casimir shot to his feet. “Why? Is it because of the wedding? I’m sure you’re still quite welcome, if you need to come guard me, some nights.” He glanced at Laska, who nodded quickly.

Imbrych’s eyes filled, and he shook his head, jaw set. “Why do you do that, Your Majesty? Why do you always try to make it better? You’ve seen the same things I’ve seen, been fighting from younger than I started, and you still try to solve everything like a child raised on happy fairy stories.” He blinked the tears away as a sneer formed round his lips. “I’m afraid some things can’t be fixed, Your oh so great Majesty, and no cajoling or whining or promising is going to make that better, so stop trying! No one else lives in your stupid fantasy world that you run away to so you can forget everything we’ve done. Some of us live here, in reality, where there’s broken things and blood on our hands and in our throats.”

Elpin stepped between them before Casimir could reply, glaring. “Don’t you dare. I know exactly what you’re doing, and don’t you dare .”

“Don’t I dare what? There’s a lot of things lately that it seems I’m not supposed to dare. Do enlighten me, Master Elpin, for I’m dying to know.”

“Don’t you dare hurt him any more than you already have just to assuage your tortured conscience!” Elpin snarled.

“The fight,” Casimir whispered. He sank back to the bed, a hand to his mouth. “I won the fight, because you wanted me to. You wanted me to beat you, didn’t you?”

“No! No, it wasn't like that.”

“Then what was it like, Imbrych?” Elpin demanded. “Because I seem to recall defeating you twice myself, and I’m a decrepit old man.”

Imbrych clenched his teeth and didn’t answer.

“You knew I didn’t purposefully leave my rings on. You knew, and you still didn’t tell me, you didn’t, you let me beat you.” Casimir stared at the stitched up wound on his cheek, then dropped his head into his hands. “I thought… I kept going because I thought you knew your limits, but I could have… I mean, if I’d… I could have killed you, Imbrych!” He whipped his hands away from his face to glare at his friend, who started stoically back, unmoving.

“Doubtful.”

“But possible.”

“Possible,” Imbrych admitted grudgingly, “but as you say, I know my limits. It was highly unlikely.”

“That doesn’t make it right! Was that better, Imbrych? Was this better?” Casimir gestured at Imbrych’s bruised face. “Was it so hard to come to me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because I knew you’d try to fix it again.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

Imbrych closed his eyes. “Look, I’m going to put this bluntly. You haven’t given up on me yet, because you haven’t had to live with me like I have, but the truth of the matter is that I’m not an honorable knight like Sir Broniz. I want to look after you like he did, like your father did, and like Elpin does, but I can’t. I can’t because of this, because of who I am, because I’m a man of violence, and this is a time of peace. Because in times of peace, the people men of violence hurt are the ones around them. Especially the young and the innocent who won’t give up on them.”

“So you didn’t tell me about your drinking again because you didn’t want to hurt me?”

“Yes, and it would have worked too if Elpin hadn’t interfered.”

Laska frowned and seized Casimir’s wrist, holding up his wrapped hand for Imbrych to see. Imbrych waved dismissively. 

“That’s nothing but a scratch. That’s the sort of thing that happens when two men spar, though I suppose I ought to have expected a woman to be more concerned with that sort of injury than the harm of breaking a promise.”

Laska turned bright red, and Casimir leapt up and might have struck him if Elpin hadn’t caught his hand.

“Stop. Doing. That,” Elpin growled.

Casimir slowly lowered his arm, shaking his head. “Why do you want me to hurt you so badly?”

“Well, originally I wanted Elpin to hurt me, but then he refused to spar with me, so… technically speaking your involvement is his fault.”

Elpin rolled his eyes. “Oh yes. I’m sorry I won’t beat you to a pulp anymore, I suppose I just never dreamed that you’d put a weight like that on our boy’s shoulders!”

Imbrych looked away, and Casimir took a step toward him. “I still don’t know why you’re doing this, Brych. I mean, we made it through that war. We did everything we could to survive and we made it, so why are you trying to destroy yourself now?”

“Haven’t you been listening? It’s just what I do, who I am. During the war, it made me what they all called brave, now when there’s no enemy to charge headlong into, they call it weak.”

“And was that all those headlong charges were, to you?” Casimir asked. “Were they all just chances to die?”

Imbrych’s eyes fixed back on him, more steady than they had been the whole conversation. “Not all of them,” he said quietly

“What about that one?” Casimir gestured to the scar on Imbrych’s cheek.

Imbrych grimaced, brushing his fingertips over the pale mark. “You know, it’s funny, I thought it would be good for you to doubt me. Never expected it to hurt so much.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Imbrych knelt and drew his sword, extending the hilt toward Casimir. “It was for you, my King. This old sword has been and will always be for you. I’m a fool, and a drunk, and a thousand other things I can’t name in front of a lady, but I will always be your loyal sword. You can count on that, if nothing else.”

Casimir stared down at the offered hilt, at the penitent man in front of him who had been penitent before, at the blushing scar on one cheek, and the livid, stitched up cut on the other, and he was a little boy with his fingers curled so tight round a sword he couldn’t let go of his own accord, yet at once a king with a bloody signet ring on his thumb. 

“A king oughtn’t to need a sword in a time of peace,” He murmured, and it was a plea, a plea for Imbrych to offer anything else, to change with him into someone apart from a war, someone who could survive everyday life, but when Imbrych looked up, it was with the devastation of a man who did not think he could change, and who could not be other than what he was. Casimir saw himself in that look, saw a man broken and beaten and folded into iron, navigating a world of delicate blown glass. 

Much as he understood that pain, that quiet and slowly consuming self loathing that came from being a brutal tool in a world of art pieces, he had already told his friend before that he couldn't have a drunk as captain of his guard. He’d passed his worries away on a promise, but how could he do the same now, when that promise lay like glass shards between them? Imbrych was right: Casimir wanted to forgive him. He wanted his sword nearby, and couldn’t hate him, but could a king justify keeping him on after he had failed to do as he was asked, and multiplied his sin by lies?

Two ravens cawed, fluttering their dark wings from where they sat on the window sill like ill omens, and after one long look at the birds, Laska rose and stepped forward. Taking the sword from Imbrych’s hands, she raised the blade to her lips, and kissed it. The whole room was still, and none more than Imbrych, as she first tapped one of his shoulders, then the other, and finally offered the weapon back to him. He received it in almost a daze, and stared first at his reflection at the blade, then up at her.

“I…Your Majesty, I…”

Casimir’s heart broke for him, and he fell to his knees and flung his arms round his neck. “Oh Brych, Brych, what am I to do with you?”

Imbrych didn’t raise his hands to return the embrace, but sat limp with the sword clutched tight in his lap. “You’re fools,” he murmured hoarsely. “Both of you, utter fools.”

“Says the man who forced his friends to beat him.”

“It’s all that I deserve. You know that.”

“And is it what I deserve?”

“No.” Imbrych’s arms finally came up, squeezing Casimir tight. “You deserve the best this world has to offer, but somehow, you got stuck with me.”

“And I’m lucky I did.”

Imbrych snorted and drew back, dashing quickly at his eyes before he tilted his chin at Casimir’s hands. “How’s the wounds?”

“Fine. Did you get that bite mark all cleaned out?”

“Mistress Ermegarde insisted on it.”

Casimir’s brows flew up. “You got Mistress Ermegarde herself to take care of you?”

Imbrych pointed at Elpin. “He did.”

“Had to keep you from running away, didn’t I? That woman raised five sons. I knew she could handle you.”

“And she did.” Imbrych dragged himself off the floor and clasped Casimir’s arm to help him up as well, then bowed deeply to Laska. “I apologize for any harm that came to your husband, my lady. Rest assured I shall be more cautious in the future.”

“And tell me when you’re struggling with the drinking rather than punish yourself for it?” Casimir added.

“Yes, Sire. I won’t ask such a thing of you again.”

“Good.” Casimir broke into a smile and clapped him on the shoulder, which made both of them wince. “Now go on. Last I checked, you still had a job to do.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He sheathed his sword and started to leave, then stopped with his hand on the door jamb and glanced back. “Thank you,” he said firmly, then he was gone.

Elpin lingered, his arms crossed as he stared at where the door had closed behind Imbrych with a furrowed brow.

“What is it?” Casimir said. “Surely things were settled to everyone’s satisfaction.”

“Yes. I suppose they were.” He turned to Casimir and uncrossed his arms, though his expression was no less stern. “You ought to be careful of him.”

Casimir glanced at Laska, who looked back with confusion equal to his own. “Careful? Of Imbrych?”

“Yes,” Elpin replied slowly. “I have… known men like him before, and I fear that he may cause you much grief, before the end.”

Casimir took Laska’s hand to keep from clenching his fists. These men he trusted, men he loved, were beginning to agree with his mother more often than he liked, and much as he loved her as well, to see so many aligned with her frightened him. “How can you say that, Elpin? You and I wouldn’t be standing here without him.”

“I know that, and I’m grateful to him. As I’ve said, he does love you, but, well, sometimes love is not enough, if one does not wish to change.”

“He wants to, it’s just hard for him.”

Elpin didn’t reply.

“Don’t you think so?”

“I’m not sure. That’s what worries me. I think that he likes the drink as much as an instrument of punishing himself as for forgetting, and I think that an all loving God terrifies him more than a cruel one. I think that he doesn’t want you to have to deal with his problems, but believes he can still have them in secret on his own, and I also think that this belief is false, as we’ve seen here today.”

“Then what would you have me do about it, Elpin? I can’t cast him out.”

“I know. Which is why it terrifies me that there may come a day when you will have to.”

“Why are you telling me this all of a sudden? I thought you cared for him as much as I do.”

“I do, but…” Elpin wet his lips, then spoke slowly, choosing his next words very, very carefully. “I have seen similarities between him and others whom I cannot warn you about. Similar addictions to misery. And I don’t want… If I can’t warn you of one, perhaps I can warn you of the other, and you won’t be dragged down with them. Please, Your Majesty, love him if you will, but do not be surprised if that love turns out to be very undeserving.”

Laska waved her arm in a wide, all encompassing gesture, and Casimir smiled down at her. 

“Yes, most of it is, isn’t it?”

Elpin’s forehead smoothed a little. “Indeed, but it need not be unwise.” He raised their clasped hands, gently pressing them between his own. “This is the wisest you have loved in a very long time. Love God. Love her. And remember, you have made no other vows.”

“Save to my kingdom.”

“Yes. Save to that.” Elpin regarded him a long moment, then pulled him into a sudden hug, squeezing tight. After only a short time, he drew back, then left the room, closing the door softly behind himself.

Chapter Text

Casimir found it more difficult to sleep after his conversation with Imbrych and Elpin. For one thing, his body was terribly sore after the fight, but more upsetting was the fact that his bandages smelled like the medical tents where they had attempted to treat the wounded, and their groans and cries came to him in his dreams. On top of that, Elpin’s words disturbed him, and Imbrych’s hurt disturbed him. He hated feeling helpless, and he kept thinking that there must be something more he could do, some way to make his friend feel alive the way he remembered when they’d all been drunk around the campfire and roaring songs as loud as they could to tell the enemy on the other ridge that they weren’t afraid. Though then, perhaps Imbrych really hadn’t been afraid, for he had nothing to lose.

One night as he tossed and turned, Laska crawled out of bed and lit a candle.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I can get up and let you be for a little while. You ought to get some sleep.”

She pressed a finger to her lips, grabbed her cloak and handed him his, then led him outside to the meeting hall, which was dark save for her little candle. 

“You know, Father Nicodem didn’t like it much the last time we were here without permission.”

Laska hefted the big Bible, handing it to him, then pointed at Father Nicodem’s door, pressed her palms together as if praying, and nodded. Casimir frowned as he worked it out, then perked up.

“You already asked him?”

A grin confirmed the answer.

“And he agreed?”

She continued smiling, and Casimir gave in, sitting on one of the wooden benches beside her with the Bible on their laps. 

“Well, my dear, what passage do you think will help me today?”

Shaking her head, she pointed at him, then at the Bible.

“Oh, I’m supposed to choose? Coming out here in the middle of the night, I thought you might have had something in mind.”

She shrugged noncommittally and clasped her hands together, making it clear she wasn’t going to be turning any pages. Maybe she didn’t know what passage would help him right now, or her. Imbrych was her friend too, so maybe she was just as lost and confused about what to do as he was, and so had brought them both to this place for guidance. 

Casimir opened the Bible on their laps, then hesitated. He knew some stories from hearing them in church or from Fiebron, but he wasn’t certain where all of them were. While he could have asked Laska and he was sure she would have shown him, he didn’t want to display his own ignorance, and besides, he didn’t know which story he wanted just then. He began flipping through the pages, glancing at the pictures to see if he recognized any, and stopped where there was an illustration of a torch surrounded by broken clay on the right margin, a stream with a kneeling soldier along the bottom, and an altar engraved with the words, “The Lord is Peace,” on the left. 

Casimir wasn’t sure what sort of a story this was, but it seemed interesting, so he looked at Laska and said, “How about this one?”

She tilted her head, studying his face, then very slowly nodded. He thought her reaction was oddly solemn, but it only made him more curious, and he began to read.

It was the tale of a man named Gideon, who hid fearfully, and doubted, and pleaded reassurance of the Most High, and yet who was chosen as a mighty warrior. A man who called the Lord ‘Peace’, though he destroyed his family’s idols and went to war. Casimir soon found himself deeply engrossed in the tale, afraid with Gideon when God told him to send so many of his troops away, and tasting the victory when the clay pots shattered, the torches were all lit, and the forces of Israel poured into the Valley of Jezreel to drive out the Midianites. He wished he had a map to follow their strategy as they pursued, growing more and more interested in their tactics.

Until they caught the enemy kings.

Until Gideon asked his son to execute them.

Until his son was too frightened, just a boy.

Casimir swallowed hard and tried to keep reading, but couldn’t. He shoved the Bible onto Laska’s lap and stood abruptly, pacing the five short steps between their bench and the altar. He’d turned three times before Laska set the Bible aside and stood, taking his arm.

“Did you know?” He demanded. “Did you know that tale ended that way?”

She shook her head, and he let out a long breath, staring at the ceiling. A gentle hand tilted his face back down, and Laska tapped his lips, then her ear. 

“It’s nothing. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. I mean, it’s not even the same.”

She frowned and tilted her head.

“It’s not!” He pulled away from her, squeezing the hilt of the sword he always wore, still felt naked without. “My father wasn’t there. I wasn’t afraid, and I killed my enemies. I killed every sneering, mocking, mother’s son of them, till the warm blood burned pits in the snow!”

An awful pity came over Laska’s face, and she reached for him, but he backed away until he bumped into the altar, and he could retreat no further. She raised her slender hands to his cheeks, and they were dry, dry as they had been that day save for the beaded red that had dripped down his chin as a substitute for tears. Laska’s eyes were not dry, and soon they were all he could see, and he could not look away for all that he he tried. 

Drawing his head down, she softly kissed his brow, then drew him to rest on her shoulder, cradling his head like one might a newborn. He resisted a little at first, but her fingers were tangled in his hair, her breath and lips tender against his ear, and the sweetness of her drained all fight from his body so that he slumped defeated into her embrace. 

They stood silent for a long while, their single candle casting dancing shadows round their still forms. He could feel her breathing deep and even, her chest rising and falling against his own in steady, living rhythm, and matched it, easing the pain behind his breast.

Eventually he mumbled, “Sir Broniz would have done it for me.”

Laska tried to pull back, perhaps to look him in the eye, but he didn’t let her. He needed her in his arms if he was going to say this. 

“They brought the enemy commander to me after our first victory. Sir Broniz told me he would do whatever I commanded, and I knew what he was offering, but I was high on the thrill of battle, hot with anger over my father, and I…” He squeezed her harder. “It wasn’t until after I’d done it that I was afraid, when the spray was on my… when…” He swallowed thickly, and Laska kissed his ear, his neck, his shoulder, everything she could reach while he still held her so tightly.

“I’ll never forget his face,” he murmured.

Laska buried her face against his neck, her lips pressed hard to the hollow of his throat, and trembled.

“I’m sorry. This is too much for you. I shouldn’t-”

She pulled back and sharply shook her head. Though her eyes were glossy, they were stern, solemn, and she touched his mouth, then her ear, and finally spread her arms out wide. He bit his lip and looked down.

“Very well,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you everything, sometime, just maybe not tonight. I don’t think I can, tonight.”

She frowned and tilted her head, then stepped forward and pressed her hand over his heart, the other behind her ear, as if she were trying to hear it beating.

“I’m not sure what you mean, dear, but I must ask you to be patient with me. I know you are eager to hear, because you think you can help me, but there are some things a man suffers which he does not wish to live again by speaking of it. Please don’t ask me to speak. Please.”

Her face unraveled into understanding, and with it so did his own heart.  That was why Imbrych had lied, why he hurt in secret. It ached to rehash these old sins, ached even more to have to look the one he loved in the eye and say he had been broken, ached to fear she might not rely on him anymore, if she knew the whole truth. 

Laska pressed his hand before returning to where she had left the Bible. She gently closed it, and Casimir was quick to divest her of the heavy burden, and put it away where it belonged. When they returned to their room, Casimir stopped just inside the door, and Laska stopped a few steps in front of him when she felt the tug on their connected hands. She glanced back, and he looked at the floor. He didn’t want to be weak with her, didn’t want her to see him that way, but Imbrych also hadn’t wanted to be weak, and now there was a bandage on his hand and a new scar growing on Imbrych’s cheek, so maybe he could try.

“This is going to sound odd, but would you… I mean, would it be alright if…”

She came to him and kissed him deeply, her fingertips tracing down the opening at the collar of his shirt before she drew back, her eyes searching his.

“No. I mean, that would be nice, but that wasn’t what I was…” He shook his head. “It’s silly. But I was so young when we went away, and as the smallest I sort of got used to… to being held.” His voice trailed off into a barely perceptible mumble at the end, but Laska must have heard anyway, for she slipped off both their cloaks, then drew him to the bed and curled around him, tucking his head against her breast and kissing his hair. Casimir slumped into the embrace, shuddering like he had shuddered so many cold nights with Sir Broniz, Fiebron, Elpin, or even Imbrych holding him close, less from the cold than from the fear. He heard her heart, strong and unwavering, her hands more gentle, her body more soft than had been that of those hardened men, and something coiled tight at the base of his throat unfolded, and the shuddering slowed, and he drifted off into a sweetly dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The seasons went on with mild sun and gentle rains which made the grain grow up plump and generous. The harvest was soon upon them, and everyone was hard at work once more, bringing in such a large multitude of grain that Jazon joked they were going to have to turn the meeting hall back into a storehouse. Casimir was delighted and relieved by the massive crop, for it meant he would not have to rely so much on their trade partners as they had last winter.

He was telling Laska about the spectacular yield one evening when she went to his desk and sketched a little building with his quill. It was a simple line drawing, but easily identified by the cross on its door.

“Well of course I intend to give some to the church. Father Nicodem needs to eat, you know.” This last part was said playfully while he caught her around the waist.

She didn’t respond to his advances, which made him poke out his bottom lip in a mock pout, but pointed more insistently at the drawing.

“I could afford to give a little more, I suppose, though I don’t know what all he would use it for.”

Laska rolled her eyes practically out of her head and circled the drawing several times with her quill.

“You want me to build a new church building?”

She nodded.

“I don’t know if we can afford it, dearest.”

Her brows went up skeptically.

“Just because we had a good harvest doesn’t mean we can afford a whole church. Where would we get the materials? Who would build it? Who would maintain it? Besides, the meeting hall has always worked well enough.”

She stepped out of his arms and turned to face him, her hands on her hips.

“What? It has.”

Her stance changed about as much as a rock might have.

“Tell you what, darling, if it really means so much to you, we’ll start saving up, and in a few years you can have the best, most beautiful church in all the land.”

Grave eyes studied him, and her arms relaxed so that Casimir though he might have talked her over, but then she very slowly, deliberately shook her head.

“Why not? Don’t you want a bigger, nicer church?”

She frowned, then held up one finger and the apple he’d brought to show her the evidence of their good fortune. 

“One apple?” He tilted his head, trying to remember if Jesus had told any parables about apples. She rolled her eyes and set the fruit down, then held up all five fingers. She pointed to the second finger and shook her head, then did the same for the third, fourth, and fifth. Finally, she pointed at her first finger and nodded.

“Oh! Not one, first.”

She nodded vigorously and picked up the apple again.

“First apple… first sin!”

Shaking her head, she thrust the apple at him.

“Um… first apple, first… first fruits! You think we should give God the first fruits of our labor, so to speak.”

She clapped her hands and bounced on her toes.

“Well, dear, you’re right about that, and that’s why we’re tithing right away before we do anything else, but as far as a whole new church building goes, we really can’t afford it just now.”

Her hands descended upon her hips like a stamp on hot wax as she glowered at him.

“What? We have to think about these things, Laska. God doesn’t want us to be foolish.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then tilted her head side to side with a grimace.

“See? I knew you’d come round to sense.”

It turned out this was precisely the wrong thing to say, for her posture instantly returned to its rigid state, and the determined glare pinned him once more. Casimir slowly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nose.

“Look,” he exhaled, “The meeting hall is just fine, and we don’t need to waste food and money on nothing more than a nice, fancy building.”

She eyed him a moment, then stalked to the wardrobe and showed him her Christmas dress and her wedding dress with raised brows.

“That’s different!”

She crossed her arms.

“Fine! Think what you like, but my decision is final, and I had better not catch you trying to undermine it.”

Her shoulders drooped, and he reached for her as her face crumpled.

“I’m sorry, darling. I know you wouldn’t, and I shouldn’t have said that about you. I was only frustrated. Come to bed, and let’s forget this whole thing. “

She let him hold her, but was so stiff that when he rested his arm round her waist in bed that night, it felt like an intrusion. With a sigh, he drew back and rolled over, the warmth at his back the only reminder that he shared a bed at all.

“It’s alright,” he told himself. “She’ll feel better in the morning.”

She was not, in fact, better in the morning. Oh, she tried to pretend she was, with cheerful forced smiles and careful kisses, but he could see the conversation still bothered her. With one flippant comment, he had built a wall between them, and it stung him every time he saw her eyes flicker away. He told himself that she was being petty, that she was throwing a tantrum after not getting what she wanted, and even that she was selfish for asking in the first place, but he could never quite convince himself. He knew like a man aware of an itch that it was his own doubt in her which had created the distance, and every time he scratched it with affirmations of her guilt, it only got worse, so that by the end of the week he was practically sick of himself. He felt like he should apologize, but he already had, the moment he said it, and the problem was still there. 

Hoping the service would have answers, that meeting day he gathered both wife and mother as usual, sitting between them on the benches. There was silence on either side of him when the congregation sang, which was normal, but somehow more pronounced today, placing him uncomfortably apart.

Then Father Nicodem started talking. He spoke of vanity, of meaningless toil that passed away, of riches that passed away, slipping through men’s hands.

“Therefore, fear God.”

The longer he spoke, the more he read of not holding onto what was passing, and giving all to the eternal, and the more Casimir fumed, his hands clutched tightly round each other. They had been in the new testament, reading the letters to the churches, but now this? Casimir could think of only one reason for the sudden jump to Ecclesiastes, and she was sitting pretty as you please at his right hand.

He sang through gritted teeth, was silent the whole way to and from the grave with mother, and slammed the door open when he returned to Laska. She jumped, dropping her sewing, but he had been too angry for too long to care.

“In the future,” he snapped, “you should know that telling Father Nicodem about our private conversations is undermining me and it seems I was right to warn you against it!”

She stood up and reached for him, brows drawn, but he balked from her.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about! Why did he suddenly give that sermon today unless you told him about wanting a church and my reluctance to give it? You knew he’d be on your side, and now the whole congregation can guess that their king is a stingy miser. I hope you’re happy. You know, I thought you of all people wouldn’t resort to gossip and rumors, but I see I underestimated just how far you would go to get your own way!”

Laska shook her head vigorously, blinking hard, and his own throat stung. He spun away before the sting could reach his conscience as well, swallowed hard, then said,

“I’m going for a walk. Don’t follow me.”

He half wanted her to, half expected her to, but it seemed her defiant nature did not stretch so far. The uncharitable thought pierced his own heart as surely as if he had been the one whom it slandered, and he staggered slowly back out to the courtyard. The ravens circled above him, then descended just as they had on Fiebron’s body the day he had died. Sir Broniz and Elpin had both tried to break a grave into the frozen ground, but it had been too hard, and Casimir had defended his old tutor from the clawing and pecking monsters until he had grown exhausted, and Fiebron’s body was too frozen for their beaks to tear. 

The memory of that day and its pains was stark as the birds dove, shrieking and battering him with their great black wings and sharp talons. Casimir waved his hands and yelled, keeping one arm over his head to protect his eyes, but these did not flee as normal birds might have. They harried and slashed and butted against him until all he could do was run, run and escape through the first door he came across. As he slammed the door closed on the raucous carrion, he realized he was back in the meeting hall.

Father Nicodem came out of the side door and raised his brows. “Your Majesty? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I very nearly have,” Casimir admitted before he remembered that he was angry with the priest.

“Well, save for the Holy Ghost, I can assure you we don’t have any here,” Father Nicodem said with a smile.

“Don’t you?” Casimir replied dryly.

“What makes you say that?”

“I know Laska informed you, somehow, of her ideas about a new church. I don’t know what exactly she might have promised, but whatever it was she had no authority to do so. Though, while you’re accepting sermon requests, one about wives obeying husbands would be nice to have next.”

“Your Majesty,” Father Nicodem said very slowly and deliberately, “Laska has told me nothing. This is the first time I’ve heard about a church, and my sermons are based on the leading of that Holy Ghost I was telling you about earlier.”

Casimir froze. “But then why did you skip to a new passage so suddenly?”

Father Nicodem shrugged. “There were several sick and poor in need of me this week. I didn’t have time to do the next passage justice, so I used one of my old sermons that I keep ready for just such an occasion. I think we all could use a reminder to focus on the eternal more than what we have here in this world every once in a while, don’t you?

Casimir went very white and set a hand on the wall just as Jazon poked his head inside.

“There you are, Your Majesty! You’d better come quickly. Laska’s pretty upset about something, but she won’t let on to Halinka or I what it is.”

”No,” Casimir said softly, “she wouldn’t, would she?”

“I imagine not.” Father Nicodem looked very gravely at him. “You’d best go see to your wife, Sire.”

Casimir ducked his head and followed Jazon back out the door. The ravens did not attack them this time, yet somehow that seemed the worse, as if their mistress’ anger had cooled to a solemn, still death, and how could it be otherwise when her shield had become her adversary? He ought to have known, ought to have learned after the first time, but his temper was still stronger than his sense, and retaliation still more an impulse than listening.

They came to the little study where Casimir had first learned his folly, though this time Laska was not at the desk, but at the window, and Halinka stood beside her with arms wrapped round her shoulders in what silent comfort could be offered. Both women looked up at his entry, and Halinka’s countenance bore relief, but Laska’s own shuttered to determined blankness, as one bracing for a blow, and had they been alone, that single glance would have been enough to make him throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness, or perhaps her violence.

“Leave us,” he said, but it was tentative, almost a question, and Laska gave the very slightest of nods. Halinka kissed her golden head, then stepped to the door, taking Jazon’s hand briefly as both departed.

Laska stared at Casimir, and he at her. A cool autumn wind passed flaxen strands over her chilled red cheek and colorless lips, reaching him with just enough icy breath to make him shiver.

“I’m so sorry.” He came to the window, not looking at her as the brusque wind stung his eyes, and clutched the window sill so hard the stone drove into his hands. “I’m so sorry, my love, I’m so…” and he choked.

Her calloused white fingers slipped over his, still hard with work, and so cold. He released his grip on the stone to hold those chilled fingers, to warm them, though he dared not kiss them, nor even look at her, yet.

“I ought never to have accused you, or doubted you.” He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles, trying to breathe. “I was so foolish, and stubborn, and stupid, and caught up in my own head and I just…” he huffed a helpless laugh. “I told you I would protect you, from the day we met, do you remember that?” His thumb brushed her wedding ring. “It seems I’m doing a pretty poor job, but I hope… I hope you’ll give me another chance.”

She pulled her hands from his, and his heart keened even as his reasoned mind accepted the rejection, for he could expect nothing else after accusing her so. Then she used those hands to make the signal for “guard” he used with Iowca, the same signal that she used as his name. Casimir inhaled sharply and looked up, only to be met with her surging forward to kiss him. 

She kissed him so hard their teeth clacked, and he staggered as her full weight hit him, but caught himself on the wall, one arm around her waist to keep her from falling, gentle, ever so gentle, no matter how harsh she was with him. A part of him wanted her to hurt him, for her fingernails to carve hollows in his skin, but after her initial vigor, she was nothing but tender. They sank to the floor together, and her forgiveness washed over him in each touch like anointing oil running down his skin. 

“Why?” He asked her softly when she lay still and panting upon his heaving chest. She placed one hand over her heart, the other upon his, then brought them together, clasped tightly. He gathered her up in his arms, then scooted back to prop himself up against the wall with her cradled in his lap, and stroked her sweat-damp hair. 

“I shall remember that, dear, and do better hereafter.”

She breathed out, so relaxed, so trusting in his arms, and he vowed the same to himself. “I must be better. For her.”

Presently, he said, “we never had much food, during the war.”

She looked up, and he threaded his fingers through hers, their wedding rings clicking softly in the silence. 

“You’d think it would be all about who has the best warriors, but the truth of it is that wars are won based on who has the best supply lines, and the best strategy is to cut off the enemy’s food. We rationed everything.” He gripped her hand a little tighter. “We caught a man stealing rations, once, and Imbrych cut off his hand. His left hand, so he could still fight. Sir Broniz was standing right there and didn’t stop him, didn’t scold or argue with him even after they got out of sight of the men. That’s how serious an offense it was.”

Laska seized Casimir’s other hand, pulling them both around her waist.

“Don’t worry,” he smirked. “Imbrych would gladly give me his rations, no hand cutting required.”

She still held him tight.

“Anyway, I suppose now that we do have food, my impulse is to ration it. I don’t mind feasts and that sort of thing so much, but a whole church building, well, that would cost a lot, and I suppose I was frightened. I know that doesn’t excuse my doubt of you, but-”

She pressed a finger to his lips, smiling up at him, and he tipped his head forward to rest it on hers. 

“I’ll give it some more consideration, my dear. I know I oughtn’t to dismiss an idea out of hand just because I’m frightened.”

The hand on his mouth drifted down to his stomach, and she shook her head, then looked and pointed up with another smile.

“I know, I know.” He caught her hand and kissed it. “I wish I had your faith, my wife, for surely we would all be better off.”

Chapter Text

True to his word, Casimir did put more thought into Laska's proposal, and the prayer he felt he ought to have started with in the first place. She generously didn’t bring it up again, allowing him the time to consider it, and waiting patiently for him to make up his mind on the matter. If he did end up needing to buy grain from the nearby countries, it would be unwise not to have the financial resources available, and it wasn’t like they would be building during the winter anyway, and yet there was a tiny, niggling, terrified part of him that knew that if he were to build this church, he needed to commit, and commit even before the snow set in. 

“I think… I think we should build a real church,” he said to her.

Laska glanced sharply at him and set aside the stitching she’d been doing, giving him her full attention.

“Do you still think it’s a good idea?”

She considered this, pointed to him, then herself, and shook her head. Then she pointed at him, and up, and nodded.

“I know. And it would be for God, not for you, unless you can work another miracle and get us fresh fruit in the winter.”

The corner of her mouth tilted up, and she shook her head.

“Very well then. As you say, we’ll give him the first fruits, and trust we’ll be alright, I suppose.” 

He realized his hand was trembling when she clasped it, squeezing tight, and he gave her a thin smile. 

“Let’s hope this goes well. 

Her grin was far more real as she nodded reassuringly with that confidence he still couldn’t quite understand. Still, her faith bolstered his own, and he breathed a little easier. His mother was less thrilled when she found out.

“What’s this I hear about building a church?” She demanded.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like, Mother.” Casimir braced himself by slipping an arm around Laska’s waist and drawing her a little closer. “There was a good yield this year, despite many difficulties, so I thought we ought to perhaps give something back.”

“Something, yes, but not practically the whole yield!”

“We’ll have enough to get through the winter.”

“Perhaps. If it doesn’t freeze for longer than usual, if our trade routes don’t get snowed in, and if no mice or water or thieves get into the stores. Then I suppose we’ll scrape by on rations.”

“I have before,” Casimir said softly.

“That was necessary.”

“So is this.”

“It’s a building! A big fancy building we won’t need because the meeting hall does its job just fine!”

“And what is this?” Casimir looked around the room. “What is this but a building, and yet our ancestors deemed it necessary. Why should we live here, and leave a barn for God?”

Laska beamed at him, pressing against his side. Mother noticed the motion and narrowed her eyes, shoulders tensed. 

“You,” she hissed, “you’re the one putting these ideas in his head.”

“As a matter of fact, she is, and it’s a good thing, too, because I”m fairly certain God wants me to build that church.”

Mother scoffed. “Oh? And when did you become a priest that you know the mind of God? What God would want is for you to not let your people to go hungry when the snow sets in!”

“They won’t, Mother.” Casimir swallowed hard. “I have faith.”

“You cannot eat faith.” She stalked up to them, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “What are you trying to accomplish, child? You think a grand gesture, a fervent hope, will save you? This is nothing but an act of pride and foolishness, and I know your father would agree with me. No one ever starved under his rule.”

“But they did under yours,” he replied with equal softness, though perhaps more venom.

Mother balked back, an ugly sneer on her lips. “You accuse me when you are the one who gave up? You so wanted your precious peace that you gave up some of our very best land to our enemies and now you listen to this silly, empty-headed, illiterate child when she has some fancy! And to think, she holds the purse strings of your kingdom. She wastes all your resources on this and won’t even let me use a little in the interests of the crown because she is entirely self interested, and you give in to her just like you gave in to your father’s killer before!”

Laska stepped between them, hands on her hips, but in all the barbs, Casimir latched onto one small, strange piece of new information. 

“Laska has been preventing you from spending money?”

Both women looked at him, Laska suddenly uncertain as she nodded, and Mother triumphant as she sniffed,

“Why yes, I thought as her king and husband she would have told you, but then, perhaps it’s because it has to do with that Jazon fellow. Ever since he came, she’s not even let anyone else look at the accounts. I thought he was using her at first, but imagine my surprise when I realized our own sweet little Laska was behind it all.”

“What purchases did she stop you from making?”

“That hardly matters. It’s the principle of the thing. She oughtn’t to have such control if she can’t use it wisely, as I think she has proven with such flippant spending.”

“It would certainly be a heavy offense to misuse royal funds,” Casimir said, tugging Laska back to his side and fixing his mother with a very stern stare. "Rest assured, I will be taking another look at the financials as I prepare to build the church.”

“You’ll have to go through Jazon, you know. She’s given him access to all the ledgers and has him keeping track of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s changed things or made false ones. She has him wrapped around her little finger, though one does wonder how .”

“What are you implying, Mother?”

“Oh please, don’t tell me it hasn’t occurred to you before, a pretty young girl and a handsome young man constantly spending their days together. He may dress like a monk, but that hardly makes him one.”

Casimir’s grip tightened a little around Laska’s arm. He wanted to object to this accusation as strongly as he had to her accusations of Imbrych, but he couldn’t deny that the same thought had bothered him when Jazon first came, and while he trusted them both now, it was hard to fault his Mother for voicing what he himself had struggled with in the privacy of his own mind.

“One does not have to be a monk to be a man of good character, and even if he has taken no vows, Laska has, and I trust that.” 

Mother opened her mouth to make some further objection, but Casimir held up a hand to forestall her before she got a word out. 

“I will hear no more of such slander. Do not speak of it again.”

Soon as they left the room, Laska began to tow Casimir along the way to her study, which he was glad of, for he would have insisted that they go there if she did not. They found Jazon and Halinka inside, Halinka with a duster in hand, and Jazon with ink and parchment, both laughing, and neither paying much attention to their work. Casimir’s lips twitched as they noticed they were not alone and sprang apart. Or rather, Halinka sprang, going to dust around the window frames while Jazon stood, smiling pleasantly in a way that did nothing to disguise his pink cheeks. 

“Your Majesties! How my luck has changed, to see both of you at once.”

Laska raised her brows, and Jazon winked at her. 

“No, I shan’t tell you whether for better or worse, so don’t try to get it out of me. How can I help my sovereigns?”

“I’m concerned about the accounts. It has been brought to my attention that my mother may have been doing some under the table spending.”

Jazon glanced at Laska, his grin falling, then said, “Halinka-”

“Already leaving.” She topped briefly beside Laska to squeeze her shoulder, then closed the door behind herself.

“I’m surprised she doesn’t already know all about it,” Casimir said.

“Let’s just say that the Queen wanted to keep this one quiet as possible, I believe because it does concern your mother.”

Laska nodded, mimed taking something between two fingers and biting it, then folded her palms apart like a book. Jazon got up and went to the book case, pulling out a very large book that was less a book than a bit of leather with an ever-growing stack of pages inside. He set it on the desk with a thud! Then began leafing through it.

“Her Majesty realized when she was planning the wedding that you didn’t have a treasurer, but that it was the queen who handled the finances. Even after the coronation, she continued to allow your mother this privilege until she could get some help with the ledger from yours truly, at which point she requested all the accounts so we could review them and she could do what she considered her duty.

“Everything seemed in order until we started recording new spending, and there were several discrepancies between recorded spending and actual inventory. In order to try to solve this, Queen Laska ordered that all purchases for the castle from the treasury must first be personally approved by you, or herself. It was at this point that your mother started trying in earnest to be rid of me- I believe she thought I was the mastermind behind the whole affair. Only then she realized it was all Her Majesty’s idea, and that’s when we had that…” his eyes flickered to Laska, “ unpleasant teaching experience. We don’t have any solid proof she’s the culprit, and she is the mother to the king, which is why we made no accusation. We wanted to be certain of the facts first. “

“And you didn’t think I ought to be privy to even your suspicions?”

Jazon looked again at Laska, speaking very slowly and carefully. “That was… discussed. I believe that at the time it was not clear whose side you would take, and after it was hoped that there would be no need to distress you unnecessarily.”

Jazon was very generous in not specifying who had held which opinion, but the way Laska’s shoulders tensed made Casimir wonder if both had been hers, though with his own recent doubt he could hardly fault her. He held her against his side and kissed her hair.

“I am on your side, my dear, always,” he promised, “and I’m sorry I made you doubt that. Let there be no more secrets between us, especially not distressing ones, yes?”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she hugged him tight.

“Very good. Now, Jazon, I am specifically assigning you to this case. You have my authority to find out where that money is going, no matter who it may lead to.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, though if I may…”

“Go on.”

“I think your household could benefit greatly from a steward or seneschal.”

Casimir frowned. “My father never had any such thing. Grandfather did, but Father had to clear up a lot of corruption when he took over, so he and Mother handled everything.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, and if you continue to follow in his footsteps and trust only yourself and your wife I am sure you will do as well as he did, in the end.”

Casimir’s eyes narrowed, and Laska clasped his arm, his sword arm, he noted. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Jazon replied gently, but deliberately, “that your father’s way of running things worked very well until he was no longer there, his son went to war, and his wife took on the burden of the whole kingdom with no one to support or restrain her, and that when that same responsibility fell to his son, there was still no support nor anyone to help pick up what he in his youth may have overlooked. I mean that without good counsel around you, it is actually easier for someone to take advantage of you, as in this case.” 

“Who would you recommend for the position, then? Yourself?”

“Oh goodness no. Certainly not. I am, for all intents and purposes, an extension of the Queen, which is enough responsibility to drive a fellow like me mad already. No, you need someone who will organize your staff and oversee the nobility and keep track of who owes what taxes and take care of your land and what is harvested from it. Honestly, Sire, if it were me, I would appoint Mistress Ermegarde.”

“Mistress… the housekeeper?”

“Precisely. You’re just extending the size of the house.”

“But then who would I give her job to?”

Jazon shrugged. “That’s something to consider, but I’m not sure. You asked for my recommendation, and that’s who I recommend, that’s all. You can take the advice or leave it. I’m hardly an expert at running a kingdom, I just know we never had any one person taking on so much at the monastery.”

“I’ll… think about it,” Casimir said.

Laska thought appointing a steward was a good idea, and tried to convince him of its merits over the next several weeks. Casimir understood the advantages, but was reluctant without a plan of who he would appoint. Most nobility he had only met in passing as an adult, and he did not trust those he did not know. He discussed the matter with Elpin one evening, when his mother and Laska had gone to visit the grave.

“Jazon thinks I should appoint a steward.”

Elpin looked at him sharply. “Does he, then? That fellow’s turned out to be smarter than I thought.”

“You think I should do it, then?”

“I do. As a matter of fact, I think you ought to appoint several overseers to go out and find out what is needed in various regions of the kingdom. At the moment, you only have the word of the nobility for that, and it might be wise to survey things every few years to keep them honest.”

Casimir snorted, flopping into his chair. “I have a hard enough time coming up with one honest man to be a steward. Where am I going to find several?”

“All around you, Your Majesty. They need not be as educated or capable as the steward. As you said, what they need to be is honest.”

“Yes.” Casimir smiled sadly. “I wish Fiebron were here. He would have been perfect for the job.”

“He certainly would have, but we do not have him now, so we must make do.”

“Would you do it?”

Elpin pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Am I really the best you’ve got?”

“Well, Jazon suggested Mistress Ermegarde, but, if you’ll forgive me saying, a valet is easier to replace than a housekeeper, and I’m afraid this entire castle would fall apart without her running it.”

“You want to replace me, Your Majesty? I’m hurt.”

“I don’t want to.” Casimir grabbed onto his sleeve, like he was still a little boy trying to get the attention of his father’s servant. “But as I say, it’s not so hard a position to fill as housekeeper, and everyone has been saying you should give some fresh young boy a chance to move up in the world.”

“I suppose,” Elpin sighed. “No doubt Mistress Ermegarde wouldn’t take the job if you offered it anyway. Too smart for that.”

“But would you?”

“I’d have to talk to Gochna about it, but then… yes, my king, for love of you, I might.”

“You sound like you don’t care for the promotion.”

“It’s a lot of work for one man, or even three.”

“You’ll have the power to appoint more to help you, just like you were talking about.”

“I think, Your Majesty, that if the nobility are to in any way accept their authority, you must appoint them.”

“But I wouldn’t even know where to start!” 

“Start looking for men who are doing well already. Quarter masters who were efficient during the war, men with large estates who manage them well, merchants who run successful and honest businesses. You are not without options, and you could use more around you whom you can trust.”

“Aren’t you the one who warned me not to trust Imbrych?”

“Let me rephrase: You could use more around you whom you have chosen to trust. Imbrych wasn’t exactly a choice.”

Casimir smiled, recalling the chaotic battlefield where they had met. “No, but he’s proven himself since.”

Elpin hummed, and Casimir decided to believe it was a sound of agreement.

Chapter Text

In the following week, Elpin discussed Casimir’s suggestion with Gochna, and Casimir discussed it with Laska. Both wives agreed, and Elpin was appointed steward over the whole kingdom. The time that followed was one of far more work and organizing than Casimir had needed to do since he was first crowned. On top of appointing a team for Elpin to work with, supplies for the new church began rolling in, and teams were organized to at least get a frame up before the snow flew. 

Besides these things, Casimir had to learn to work with a new valet. Oskar was a fine lad, the herald Laska had recruited for her Christmas surprise, and Halinka’s younger brother, but he wasn’t Elpin, and did not do things the way Elpin would have done them, which was doubly frustrating. His only lifeline in the process was Laska, who set a warm hand on his back when he felt like snapping, added just the right ingredients to his tea when the new valet forgot, and held him and kissed him when he was stiff all over and wanted to bang his head on a wall. 

At last, the first snow came. Elpin’s couriers could no longer travel, construction on the church had to be paused, and Casimir’s life slowed back down to a manageable pace. For all that Jazon touted the benefits of delegation, it was starting to seem like far more work than it was worth, but he hoped that had only been the start up cost.

The snow piled, and piled some more, closing them in so that even travel between houses became difficult. They invited everyone into the castle to help keep warm, and Christmas that year happened neither in the old meeting hall nor in the new bones of the church, but in the ballroom of the palace, with all huddled together on the stone floor.

As winter dragged on, and the roads remained closed off, Casimir’s mother made more and more snide comments about what had been spent on the church. The food grew less, the belts tighter, and Casimir found himself agreeing with her far more often than he liked, and worried he had been a fool, had become a fool to please his wife. On those nights, he prayed. He looked at his people all huddled together and asked God if it had been right, and if it had, why was the winter so cold? There was peace on those nights, in those questions, for the answer was always a steady confidence which enveloped him and smothered the doubts fluttering in his stomach.

Come spring, Elpin and his overseers discovered that save for a few lost to old age or common sickness, there had been no deaths in the entire kingdom. Casimir fell into his chair when he heard the news, his eyes bright and stinging. He knew God couldn’t be bribed, and he knew there was no way to tell what might have happened without the decision to build the church, but it still felt like a blessing, somehow.

So it was with joy and celebration that the people greeted a new spring, and with uneven greater joy that they went to work on and finished the new church. It had a big, beautifully carved pair of wooden doors, which were left open as often as the weather allowed, and glass smiths had gathered from across the kingdom to work on the stained windows, with inspiration taken directly from the pictures in the big Bible. Casimir made sure one depicted Jesus healing the blind man, and Laska clapped her hands when she saw it.

Everyone in the town and for several miles around came to the first service in that dear little church, full of articles lovingly made by its parishioners, down to the new vestments Father Nicodem wore, happily stitched and embroidered by Gochna and several of the village ladies.

“If we are to have a new church,” they said when they surprised him with the garment, “then our priest ought to be dressed to match.”

The sermon that week was one of celebration and joy, of thanks and unity. Father Nicodem took them to the psalms, extolling the Lord for his many great gifts and blessings poured out upon his people. He choked several times and had to pause to compose himself, which Casimir had never seen him do, not even with the darkness of the war looming over them, and his chest swelled. He had never known worship could feel like this.

It wasn’t because it was a church rather than an old barn, necessarily, but rather the love that still lingered and flowed out of each stone, laid by the very one who sang within its walls. Everyone there had given up something to bring it into being, whether time, labor, or even a full stomach through the winter months, and it was worth it.

Laska beamed beside him, face upraised, eyes closed in rapture, and even mother admitted that it made one want to be there.

Planting season came again, and with it much work, but Elpin’s network of overseers actually eased much of the burden. He and they consulted many farmers all over the country and came up with several land management strategies. Casimir still missed having Elpin as his valet sometimes, but he was glad to have him in this new position, for he did an excellent job, his exacting nature coming out in all that he did.

Casimir was also starting to rather like Oskar. He was a bright young fellow, as eager to prove himself as he was eager to catch frogs beside the forest streams. He still needed guidance at times, but it was almost nice to have someone to guide. Casimir took the boy with him when he went hunting with Iowca, taught him how to use a sword and bow, and to ride, just as his own father and Sir Broniz had taught him. Once, he even caught Oskar listening in on Jazon’s lessons with Laska, and from then on told Jazon to include him in their studies.

Come Easter, Casimir presented him with a tunic bearing his own heraldry, and the lad gaped at it, wide eyed. 

“Don’t be so surprised,” Casimir teased him. “What would people think if I hosted a feast and my own valet wasn’t wearing my colors? Probably best to save it for special occasions, though. You don’t need to be wearing my colors when you fall into the creek.”

“Yes, Sire! I’ll keep it nice, Sire!” 

“Very good. Now run along with you.”

Oskar pressed the garment to his chest and scurried away, and Casimir smiled. He also presented a set of clothes to Jazon that year.

“I didn’t want to presume,” he said, “but, well, I think you’ll be staying with us for some time, and I think Halinka would agree with me that you act far too little like a monk to keep going around in that old habit.”

Jazon smirked. “It would certainly make things less odd to outsiders, though it was fun to see their faces, sometimes.” He ran his fingers over the material, then bowed deeply to Casimir. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am honored to be counted a part of your household.” 

“Of course.” Casimir clasped his shoulder to raise him. “It is an honor to have a servant of such integrity and wisdom.”

Jazon’s eyes danced. “Well, those were compliments I certainly never got at the monastery, but I suppose it’s all relative. I shall do my best to continue to be wise and integral.” 

“I… don’t think that’s what integral means.”

“I mean what I said.”

Casimir laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll see you at mass.”

Mass in the new church that year was delightful. The events leading up to Easter day had been equally solemn, but within the quiet beauty of the church, it seemed less like trying to worship from within a tomb, and more of a still, soft, respect. A silent darkness, but not an empty one, for it was filled with hope, and never had that hope seemed so bright as when the morning sunlight came pouring in those stained glass windows and filled the room with a bright, shimmering myriad of color while the people all sang.

The next day, Casimir woke beside his wife, who, seeing his eyes open, sprang upon him and pinned him to the bed, a playful mischief in her eyes. He laughed and kissed her tenderly, promising to make a donation to the church as well, and though the rest of the kingdom did not celebrate hock monday or tuesday that year, the two enjoyed it on their own, playing together in the privacy of their own bedroom. 

Casimir found himself becoming more playful in general in those days, in part because of the extra time having a steward afforded him, and in part because of his younger valet. He encouraged the energetic little fellow to run off and be a boy as often as he could, and chances were good that he himself would join in on the adventures, which made Mother click her tongue and shake her head.

“Your Valet is supposed to help keep your room clean, not track mud on your carpets,” she said.

Casimir grinned and shrugged. “I tracked plenty of mud in my day. Let him be a kid while he can.”

Laska’s lips twitched in amusement at that, and she pointed at the muddy print that was clearly in his own larger boot size, making him laugh.

“Well, perhaps we can all be children, at times.”

Upon returning from one of these excursions (with the new record for number of fish caught), Casimir found Mistress Ermegarde and Laska sitting side by side on the bed. Had they been standing, or at the desk, he would have thought nothing of it, for meetings between mistress of the house and housekeeper were common, but the intimacy of their positions suggested a more personal reason than the running of the house, and his stomach dropped. 

“Laska? Is everything alright?” He rushed to kneel in front of her and take her hands in his own, only to realize she was smiling enough to make her eyes nearly invisible.

“She didn’t want any confusion or question when you heard the news,” Mistress Ermegarde said. 

“Why? What news?”

“She’s pregnant.”

Casimir stared blankly at Mistress Ermegarde for a moment, uncomprehending. If Laska was pregnant, then there was a baby, and if there was a baby, that meant he was going to be… to be a… and she would be…  His gaze snapped back to Laska. “You’re… We’re…?”

She nodded, her grin stretching impossibly wider, and Casimir leapt to his feet with a happy whoop. He was going to be a father! His wife was going to be a mother! Laska clasped both hands over her mouth, but Casimir didn’t let them stay there long, replacing them with his lips.

“You’re sure?” The words bubbled out of his chest with a joy he hardly dared grasp.

She beamed and kissed him again so fervently that Mistress Ermegarde cleared her throat and quietly took her leave. Casimir held his wife tight, feeling her pressed against him with a sense of awe. There was a child growing inside her. His child. Their child, right there in the center of their embrace. He dropped to his knees and ran his hands over her stomach, unable to form any coherent sound outside of another breathy laugh. She didn’t look all that different, not yet, but he knew in his heart that it was true, that under his hands beat a tiny heart, a tiny miracle.

“Thank you, God, for this child,” he prayed aloud, “and for my wife, who carries him. Please have your hand of protection over them, and help me to do what I must to be a good husband and father. May I walk in your righteous ways, and may this child in turn also follow your paths. Let us prove worthy of this great gift you have entrusted to us, oh heavenly Father.”

When he looked up, tears were in Laska’s eyes and on her cheeks, and she kissed each of his fingers one by one, ending with that which bore his wedding ring, and lingering upon it. Casimir pulled himself onto the bed beside her and held her tight.

“Surely I am the happiest man alive,” he sighed.

Laska turned her face into his shirt, her shoulders shaking, and he smiled, for he knew it was not with tears they shook, but laughter.

Chapter Text

All were delighted when they made the announcement public. Even Mother seemed happy about the new development, and she set to work having all the old baby clothes, blankets, and toys all brought out of storage. As she and Laska unpacked them together, she told enough stories about each little article to utterly delight Laska and embarrass Casimir in equal measure, but he considered the mortification worth it to see the two of them smiling together. The nursery was dusted and decorated once more, and there was even talk of expanding the staff to include a nanny or nursemaid, though it was a tad preemptive to fill those positions. 

Iowca, almost as if sensing everyone’s sudden protectiveness, or perhaps knowing Laska’s condition thanks to an animal’s intuition, stuck close by her side, shadowing her as often as she did Casimir, if not more. Imbrych was as bad as the dog in overprotectiveness, and Halinka once made the exasperated comment that,

“If she is in any danger, it’s not the sort that soldiers will be any help for. If he assigned an army of women, I’d understand, but men just get underfoot.”

Despite her aspersions, Casimir indulged his captain, and perhaps, in a way, himself. He didn’t know much about pregnancy, except that he thought it was the reason he’d seen his mother crying once when he was very small, and his father trying to comfort her. So he did everything in his power to make Laska and the baby safe, and comfortable, and at the end of the day still worried he wasn’t doing enough. Elpin told him not to worry so much, and warned him that women got testy with hovering husbands. In Casimir’s opinion, it was Halinka who was testy, but perhaps she had to be, since Laska couldn’t exactly snap at them the way she could. 

Oskar and Jazon were no help at all, for Oskar only nodded along sagely with anything his sister or Elpin said, as if he were well versed in such matters despite being fourteen, and Jazon, when he involved himself at all, did so only with the intention of laughing at any disgruntled parties. Without Mistress Ermegarde there to calm and give legitimate and helpful advice, Casimir couldn’t imagine what worse chaos might have ensued.

So, all in all, it was wonderful. For a long while, all other concerns seemed trivial in comparison to the baby, but at certain news from Jazon, Casimir was brought back to earth. There had been another discrepancy in the finances. It was larger than the others, as of someone making up for lost time, but there was still little to prove who had taken it. 

“Jazon is happy we caught it so much more quickly than the other times,” Casimir told Laska the night after he heard. “He thinks there’s a chance it hasn’t been spent yet, so we might be able to track it down.”

She rubbed his back and tilted her head.

“I don’t know. I should be glad to be closer to the culprit, but at the same time, I don’t want to be, because our suspicions might be right. I’m terrified of what I’ll have to do if Mother… I mean, I’ve already given her a pass once, and you know about that, but there are more people involved this time. I won’t be able to let it slide.”

Laska held her hands out wide and shook her head, then brought them close together and nodded.

“Maybe. But the infraction is hardly small, and she’s so fragile. It feels like any punishment I give could push her to the edge, and I just…” he sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t worry about it before we know for certain it was her. That’s my only solace, right now, that we might be wrong.”

Laska hugged him tight, the faint swell of her belly pressed to his back, and he smiled, kissing her cheek.

“Well, maybe not my only solace.” He leaned his head back against her shoulder. “Remember when I had you following her about all the time? I know you still go with her to the grave, and I appreciate that.” A lock of Laska’s hair fell into his face, and he twirled it aimlessly between his fingers. “I wish the whole matter were settled, then I could stop thinking about it.” They conversed a little longer, then went to bed, and Casimir did his best to put all speculation out of his mind until Jazon found something more.

Only a few weeks later, he and Laska were awakened at the sound of Iowca’s bark. Casimir jumped from bed, sword drawn, but saw no danger. That’s when they heard a tapping on the window. Laska rushed over before Casimir could stop her and flung the window wide open, allowing one of her big black ravens into the room, where it circled and cawed. Laska seemed to know what this meant and tossed a tunic and trousers at Casimir, then his sword belt and cloak the moment he had those on, waving for him to go.

“Go where?” he said, utterly bemused.

In answer, she shoved the door open, and the raven went fluttering out. Casimir stood there in a moment of indecision, then with a swift command to Iowca to stay and guard his family, he took off after the bird. It led him to the courtyard, where Imbrych was stumbling about cursing, pursued by two more ravens, and Jazon was led along by a fourth, which had a claw in his sleeve.

“What in blue blazes is going on?” Imbrych snapped.

“I don’t know, but I wish it weren’t happening at o-dark thirty,” Elpin grumbled behind them, a fifth raven perched on his shoulder. “I’m getting far too old to be gallivanting about this late.”

“Technically, it’s early,” Jazon reminded him.

“That too.”

The ravens squawked, and Casimir waved for the others to follow. “Come! We have to hurry.”

“Hurry where ?” Imbrych said, muttering another curse as he tripped over his own two feet, which drew a suspicious look from Elpin and an amused snort from Jazon.

“I don’t know. Follow the ravens.”

Imbrych finally hit his stride, falling into a jog beside Casimir. “And why exactly are we following a bunch of carrion in the middle of the ni-” he glanced at Jazon, “Morning?”

“Because Laska seemed to think it was important.” ‘And because the last time I followed her ravens in the middle of the night, a crisis was averted.’

“Great. She mention why?”

“We didn’t exactly have time for pantomime.”

“Perfect. I love running into a situation I know nothing about.”

“Isn’t that most situations?” Jazon teased.

“Don’t you start with me, kid.”

“All of you, hush!” Elpin puffed.

Casimir and Imbrych immediately went silent, just as they had during the war when Elpin used that tone of voice, and Jazon followed suit. The ravens were silent as well, which was perhaps what had tipped Elpin off to the need for quiet, and Casimir’s trepidation grew as he realized even the birds were being secretive. What started as a fun nighttime adventure with friends suddenly became a mission behind enemy lines, and he applied the same caution. He, Imbrych, and Elpin got into positions where they could see each other, sending signals with hands and eyes in old remembered patterns, darting shadow to shadow. Jazon did his best to keep up, but eventually Imbrych simply grabbed his arm to lead him.

The ravens took them to the edge of town, to the wood somewhat near the graveyard, and the hair on the back of Casimir’s neck tickled. Was it the witch, again? They trod carefully, Casimir keeping an eye out for dark silhouettes as he had seen before, when there! It was just a flicker, just a moment that might have been a trick of the light, but he thought he’d caught a glimpse of a human shape in the trees. They would have lost whomever it was, save for the ravens. The birds had also seen the figure and dove after him with victorious shrieks.

The man abandoned his hiding place and ran, but with the ravens harrying after, he didn’t get far. Imbrych let go of Jazon’s arm, and he and Casimir outstripped the others, grabbing onto the dark figure before he could get away. The man twisted in their grip, slippery as a fish, but between the two of them, they managed to keep hold and wrestle him to the ground. Imbrych drew his dagger and set it against the man’s throat, making him still as a pond, and Casimir wrenched his hood down just as Elpin and Jazon caught up.

“Upior?” Casimir said, his eyebrows shooting up.

The man inclined his head slightly, which was as close as he could get to a bow with Imbrych holding him down via dagger. “Your High- ah, pardon me, Your Majesty.”

“You know him?” Jazon asked.

“Yes.” Casimir narrowed his eyes. “I dare say we do.”

“He’s a spook,” Imbrych explained.

“A what?”

“Spy, thief, assassin, unsavory fellow with a tendency to vanish. You know, a spook.”

“Upior was one of the best. He worked with us during the war,” Casimir said, “though I thought I paid him rather handsomely to go settle down after the war was over.”

“And so I did, for a time, until someone paid me to get back in the game.”

“Who?”

Upior tsked. “That’s a secret, Your Majesty. Surely you of all people understand what a vital thing client confidentiality is in my work.”

Imbrych slid the dagger along Upior’s jaw, splitting open a thin red line. “And you, of all people, ought to know exactly what we do to spies and traitors.”

Upior, unfazed, looked past him at Casimir. “Our gracious king would never allow such a thing, not for one of the soldiers who saved his life and fought by his side, no matter what that soldier might deserve. Isn’t that right, Captain ?”

Imbrych tensed, and Casimir knelt beside him, setting a hand on Upior’s shoulder. “I’ll handle it from here, Imbrych.”

Pressing his lips together, Imbrych slowly drew back, though the dagger remained ready in his hand.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, I knew you were a man of hon-”

Upior had started to sit up, but Casimir slammed him back down and rammed his sword through his arm, pinning him to the ground. Upior, normally so silent, cried out in shock as much as pain, but gurgled off when Casimir seized his wounded jaw and set their faces mere inches apart.

“If by your pain I can prevent the deaths of more good men, I will torture you myself until you have nothing left but your tongue to speak with. So. Who. Hired. You?”

“I thought you did,” Upior spat between his teeth.

Casimir let go of his face. “Explain.”

“An old contact from the palace came to me, brought a payment to spy on the prince who killed your father, keep tabs, and tonight…” he hesitated, his eyes flickering to the others.

“Go on. They are in my councils, as ever.”

His gaze lingered on Jazon a moment before he looked back at Casimir. “The Queen came to me herself.”

“Laska?”

“Your mother. She told me the time of waiting was over. Something had happened, and I was to kill my target at once.”

Casimir stared levelly at him, not letting on how the news hit him like a punch to the gut. “And I am to believe you truly thought those orders came from me?”

“Honest, Sire. It was the same contact the Crown always used, and I had no reason to believe differently.”

“No. Perhaps not. Except that I know you are not a fool.” Casimir leaned on his sword, still embedded in Upior’s arm. “See you make no such oversight again, and if anyone does pretend to be me, do let me know. I will certainly make it worth your time, and you really can’t afford not to.” He glanced pointedly at the place where steel met flesh. “Although, I doubt you’ll be doing much of this sort of work for anyone any time soon.”

“No, Sire. As you say, I can hardly afford it.”

“Good. I’m glad we have an understanding.” Casimir patted his cheek on the side Imbrych had cut, then yanked his sword free. Upior hissed through his teeth and clutched the wound, a glinting dark seeping quickly between his fingers.

“Elpin.” Casimir jerked his head at the bleeding thief.

“Yes, Sire.” Elpin hurried forward to clean and bind the wounds, and Casimir left them to it, striding back through the wood, his sword still hanging loosely at his side. A raven landed on his shoulders, its claws painful but not breaking his skin, and another dove down, flitting in front of him almost as if to stop him. Two more chased this one off, and he found that he had at least seven trailing behind him like a vengeful legion. Imbrych also came up alongside him as he approached the edge of the forest.

“What are you going to do, Your Majesty?”

“I,” Casimir replied quietly, “am going to have a talk with my mother.”

Imbrych glanced at the dark tip of his naked sword, nodded, and drew his own. They walked side by side through the village, up to the castle, and into the dark halls. Casimir left the doors open, and their dark feathered cloak followed behind them, even indoors. Laska was waiting for him in the doorway of their chamber, but he did not stop to answer the question in her tilted head, though some of the birds landed round her, and one of these gave a long, low croak of distress.

The others didn’t seem to care and shoved the door to Mother’s chamber open ahead of him. They funneled in like a blizzard of nightmares with Casimir striding firmly on behind them, and Mother was driven from her bed with a terrified cry. She was still dressed, and her cloak was crumpled on the floor at the end of her bed.

“Casimir! What’s going on?”

“Have a seat, Mother.”

“What is the meaning-”

“I said, sit down!” Casimir roared.

She plunked onto her vanity stool, her pale face like a moon in the dark room, and the ravens too came to rest, on the mirror, on the window, on the bedposts and the wardrobe. Casimir paid them no more mind than he did Imbrych at his side, for in this, they were his allies.

“I saw Upior this evening,” Casimir said.

Mother’s eyes snapped to his bloodied sword as he held it up to examine it.

“He’s still alive, though I don’t think he’ll be doing any jobs anytime soon. It’s funny, he thought he’d taken a job for me, only I don’t remember hiring him. But you knew that, didn’t you, Mother?”

She laughed, a brittle, panicked sound. “What are you talking-”
Casimir slammed his sword into the trunk at the end of her bed, leaving it quivering in the wood as he strode toward her. “Don’t play games with me! I know Upior’s lies, and this wasn’t one of them. You hired him, using the authority of a crown you no longer possess and coin that is not yours to spend to spy on and assassinate the younger brother of a king we just made peace with after three years of war!”

“Well you certainly weren’t going to do it!” She snapped, rising to her feet. “That was the whole point of that war! To destroy that man after he killed your father, and what did you do? You made a treaty and you paid him! A proper son would not have come home like a coward. A proper son would have stayed and avenged his father or died in the attempt!”

“And would it have ended there, Mother? After it cost you your son, how many more? How many corpses would you step over to kill one man?”
“There wouldn’t have been any more this time!”

“Until they traced it back to us! Their king is not a fool. And then the bloodshed would have begun again, rivers and rivers of blood to avenge one man killed in honorable combat.” Casimir seized her arms, gripping so hard she gasped, and the ravens flew up around them like the bubbles of a boiled over pot.  “I ought to-”

A slender hand with rough palms grabbed his wrist. He looked up into Laska’s bright blue eyes, and the dark rage pounding in his head slowed a little, just enough to realize Imbrych and the ravens were gone, that the door was closed, and that he was holding onto his mother far too tightly. 

He let go at once, grateful for the dark, for he knew he likely bruised her. He wanted to make excuses, to pretend he still wasn’t used to being so much stronger than she, but he knew how to be gentle, and knew he should have been, no matter how his anger had come upon him. Suddenly, he was also grateful that Imbrych and those haunting birds were no longer here, and had not seen him, or worse, helped him.

Very carefully, he peeled Laska’s hand away and tucked her behind himself, facing his mother and the tears in her eyes with heart still burning, but mind clearer. Mother watched him, watched his hands, and also watched Laska where she stood. 

“I ought to try you for treason,” he said lowly. “And you and I both know you would be found guilty on more than one count. This is twice now, twice that you have put this kingdom in danger for your own selfish reasons, and I will not stand for it.”

“Selfish? You are the one who is selfish with your peasant bride and your cowardice! You-”
“Enough!” Casimir let out a long breath, suddenly exhausted. “I will hear no more tonight. You are under house arrest for the time being. Imbrych will personally guard your door.”

“You can’t do this!”

“Then by all means, try to escape and see if Imbrych has as many scruples as I do!” Casimir spun and ushered Laska out, yanking his sword from the chest on the way. Imbrych was waiting just outside, though there were no signs of any ravens. 

“Guard her. Don’t let her leave that room. But Brych… do remember she’s my mother.”

Imbrych gave a sharp salute. “I’ll see to it, Sire.”

“Thank you.” Casimir let Laska tow him to their room, and was glad when she did not pester for answers, but only quietly took off his boots, set his sword aside, and tugged him back into bed, her arms tight around his waist.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Casimir was not refreshed, but wearied, as if he had carried the burden all night and not merely slept with it still round his shoulders. His burning anger had faded, leaving only an aching breast and a horrid responsibility. He paced the room window to door with Iowca trotting beside him until Laska slipped from bed and took his hands.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

She stroked his hair from his face, and he sighed into her touch, her palm pressed to his cheek.

“It’s your fault, you know. I would never have known, never have had to decide anything if not for Jazon’s ledgers and your ravens.”

This made her bite her lip and take her hand away, but he caught her wrist and kissed it.

“It’s good that I know, darling, it is. I only wish my new awareness didn’t mean I have to make a decision.”

Her brows creased in sympathy.

“No one else knows,” he murmured, “no one but Elpin, Imbrych, and Jazon. We could keep it quiet, just like last time, only… only if the man she tried to have killed finds out, and they realize I was aware of the threat, and did nothing, then I risk a peace that was hard to come by in the first place.” He slumped forward, resting his forehead on hers. “I have to do something, and that’s the crux of it.”

She folded her hands, palms together, then opened them, and he smiled wryly.

“Do you have a suggestion for what I should read, then?”

To his surprise, she hesitated, then slowly shook her head, her palms held up in a helpless gesture.

“Well, thank you anyway. It is a good idea, and I think I shall go to the church to pray for a bit, clear my head before I come to any decision.”

She pointed at herself and tilted her head.

“I think I’d rather be alone for a bit, but thank you, darling.” He kissed her forehead, then slipped down to the church, avoiding anyone who might be aware of what had happened the night before. Though more accustomed to praying anywhere that wasn’t a church, he figured it was the best place to not be disturbed, and perhaps he would end up reading the scriptures after all. Even if Laska had not volunteered a passage, Father Nicodem might know one that could help him.

The building was empty when he came in, which he was grateful for. Oftentimes there were others kneeling at the benches, laying their souls bare, but it seemed that so early in the morning, the king was the only one who could afford to do so within those peaceful walls. He paced down the aisle, studying each window as he passed, stopping at the depiction of the healing of the blind man which Laska so loved. He certainly felt a blind man, staring into a murky haze of right and wrong, tossing and turning, but finding no light.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

How he felt those words now as each path seemed evil, each path dark enough to leave him begging for forgiveness, and he could not see a way out.

“Have mercy on me.”

He clenched his fists, then let out a long breath and knelt at the bench beside that window with his elbows braced against the wood and knees digging into the unforgiving stone. He had prayed fully prostrate before, on his belly in the spring muck while arrows rained around him, had prayed with his hands folded over blood and entrails, trying desperately to hold a man together, and had prayed standing, standing and charging with a shield heavy on one arm, a sword in the other. There were no battle cries in the church, no dirt, nor blood, and yet in it he became that same frightened boy, with the same confusion and fear.

“Please, Lord, I need your wisdom. I don’t know what to do and I… I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I will be required to harm my mother, and afraid that will be the wrong choice. I wish I could do nothing, for it seems the man who does nothing cannot be cruel, and yet if I do nothing, and she causes harm, that too is my responsibility. God, everything here is so unclear!”

Casimir dropped his head into his hands, clutching his hair. “I need you. More than ever, I need you. Instruct me. Lead me. Please, please let me not go astray. Protect me from evil, I beg you. Protect these hands from more blood, great God. I don’t know how…” he choked. “But you do. You know. So reveal your will to me. Help me. Please.”
He fell silent, as if listening for an answer, though his mind still searched, still asked in an agony of confusion. It was his mother who had objected to the building of this church because the budgeting could reveal her theft and the crime for which it had been committed. But it was also his mother who had taught him to sing his first hymns and held his hand every week as they walked to services. How did he resolve those two people? How did he decide which she was?

“I can’t,” he whispered. “Lord, you alone know the heart, and I can’t see it, so what do I do?”

A peace came to him then, embracing him like he had chosen a path, and knew it was right, though he had made no decision. It came in that one simple phrase: ‘I can’t,’ for in it he surrendered. It was one of the most difficult white flags he had ever raised, for while one might negotiate with men, one could only bow before God, and to confess his own need took with it every argument he might have made. All that remained was the clear, beautiful confidence that God was there . The decision itself seemed secondary, compared to that.

Casimir’s shoulders relaxed, his mind slowing so he could actually truly listen. God didn’t speak to him, exactly, not in words, but he’d often found that if he were quiet, he would get a feeling that directed him one way, or the other, or an event or story he hadn’t thought about in years would come to mind and give him new understanding. So he was quiet, and waited.

The bench beside him creaked.

He opened his eyes and saw Jazon kneeling beside him, elbows on the bench seat and a wince on his face.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“That’s alright. Last I checked the church is open to everyone, and I’m sure this country could use more prayer just now.”

“Perhaps, though I’m not sure I’ll be much help in that regard.”

Casimir raised his brows. “Weren’t you raised in a monastery?”

“Sort of. And I did alright with most monastic things, but I never could get the hang of praying, for some reason. Just too easily distracted, or not solemn enough, I suppose. It’s actually something I admire you for being good at.”

Casimir raised himself to sit on the bench with a grimace, resigned to the conversation, and Jazon joined him. “Easy to be good at something you’ve had a lot of practice at, though I have to admit most of my prayers in the past tended to consist of, ‘oh God I’m gonna die!’”

Jazon didn’t laugh, which surprised Casimir. That would have gotten at least a snort out of Imbrych or Elpin.

“There were also the classic variants of ‘dear God he’s going to die,’ and the ever popular, ‘good Lord we’re all going to die.’”

Still no laugh. As a matter of fact, Jazon looked a little sick.

“Did… did you ever say those prayers about Upior?”

Oh. “Sometimes,” Casimir admitted, “though things were a little different with him, since he was a spy. Sometimes I would pray he was dead, because we all knew what would happen if he were caught.”

“And would you have really… I mean, would you have done that to him, last night, when you said…”

“Last night I probably would have. Today I might have had to ask Imbrych to do it for me.”

“But you would have… even though you once prayed…”

“Yes.” Casimir said it without doubt, without hesitation. “I love the men I fought with, even Upior, but nothing and no one is worth the price of this kingdom. I must do what is right for the whole more than the individual.”

Jazon clutched his knees, eyes set forward on the cross at the head of the church. Casimir didn’t elaborate, nor try to defend his position. Jazon had never been a soldier, didn’t understand the cost and the actions that became necessary in a war, nor could Casimir ever fully explain it with words. If Laska had looked so horrified it might have hurt, but from another man, a man who had not been there, it meant very little.

“Mum and Da sent me to the monastery so I wouldn’t be recruited for the war. Did I ever tell you that?”

Casimir shook his head. 

“I suppose you think less of me for that, for not fighting, but they were scared, and I was scared.”

“We all were.”

Jazon shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. I suppose you would have been. Well, anyway, I hid away in the monastery, but Mum and Da couldn’t exactly do the same, so they stayed on the farm. It was just a little place, but it was a livelihood, and Da loved it. Doubt he would have left even if he could. One day, the soldiers came, our own soldiers. They were retreating, and they took what they could carry and burned the rest so the pursuing army wouldn’t have supplies. I’m sure you’re familiar with the tactic.”

Casimir nodded again, more slowly. He had only ever partaken of such a retreat once, thanks to Fiebron and Sir Broniz, who called it “despicable,” and “dishonorable,” respectively. Imbrych had called it “practical,” hence the one time he had done it.

“Da tried to put the fire out,” Jazon continued, “and they killed him. Our own soldiers, who were supposed to protect us.”

Casimir swallowed, dreading the next question, but needing to ask it anyway. “And your mother?”

“They found her body a few days travel away. Hard to tell if our armies took her, or if the enemy did when they came on behind. It wasn’t like she had Da there to protect her anymore.”

“He couldn’t have against an army, anyway,” Casimir whispered.

“Clearly.”

“How did you find out, if you weren’t there?”

“The same unit of men who did it came by the monastery, and the brothers and I patched them up. An older, kindly fellow heard I was asking around and told me what happened. I never asked how he knew all the details so well. I didn’t want to know.”

Casimir reached for Jazon’s shoulder, thought better of it, and clasped his hands in his lap. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s the cost of war, right?”

“I was just thinking you didn’t understand that cost. I see I was foolish.”

“Perhaps not. I’ve never had to make the choices you have. I know that. And I know you try to do what’s right, but at some point, don’t you have to ask yourself what you’re defending?”

Casimir smiled suddenly. “You sound like Fiebron.”

“Who?”

“Fiebron. He was my old tutor. He went to war with Sir Broniz and I, though he wasn’t a warrior, and he instructed me even then, always taking philosophy. He used to say that if we become the very thing we fight against, that there is little point in fighting.”

“Sounds like the sort of guy I would have got along with.”

“He was a lot like you, actually, save for being a decade or two older and taking life a measure more seriously. Really. I don’t think I ever saw him laugh. He enjoyed himself, though. You hadn’t seen contentment until you saw Fiebron with a warm mug, watching the sky at unholy hours of the morning.”

Jazon smirked, then sobered once more. “What happened to him, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Same thing that happens to many men who go to war. It was at the very beginning, before we’d even met Imbrych. He wasn’t a fighter, and Sir Broniz was too busy protecting me to worry about him. He managed to retreat with us, but you can only hold your guts in for so long, you know?” Casimir looked away from Jazon’s sympathetic glance. “Did you get to bury them? Your parents?”

“No.”

“Ground too hard?”

“Took too long. Wild animals got Da. Someone else buried Mum. Don’t know exactly where.”

Casimir nodded. 

“Fiebron?”

“Carrion got him. Fought them off as long as we could, but couldn’t fight them forever.”

Jazon blinked at him, surprised.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just… you seem awfully familiar with the ravens now.”

“They’re Laska’s. That makes it different.”

“Mmm. That’s true. Sometimes I swear they know what I’m saying. They certainly seemed to know to look for Upior, which is downright creepy, now that I think about it.

“I try not to,” Casimir admitted.

Jazon looked keenly at him. “You don’t know why?”

“Do you?”

“No, but I’m not married to the woman.”

“They’re not doing any harm, and that’s good enough for me, although…” Casimir frowned. “They did seem ready enough to help me last night. I shall have to be careful with that.”

“How do you mean?”

“I was… more cruel than I generally like to be, and I don’t think most of them would have stopped me, not like Laska did.”

“I see,” Jazon replied softly.

“It did frighten you, didn’t it? What I did to Upior.”

“A little. I’ve never seen that side of you before. But… I didn’t exactly tell you my story to tell you how much you frighten me. It was to tell you I’m with you.”

“Oh?”

For what felt like the first time in their conversation, the two finally locked eyes, and Jazon’s were hard as steel.

“I don’t want what happened to us to happen to anyone else. This kingdom cannot afford to burn again, so for as long as you are keeping it from descending back into that chaos, I’m with you.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “As long as you don’t turn into what you’re fighting, right?”

“Right.” Casimir clasped his shoulder, giving it a good solid squeeze. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Your Majesty. Well, except maybe dinner time, or supper, or breakfast for that matter, and probably not te-”

Casimir shoved him, and he grinned.

Jazon departed before Casimir, leaving him to pray, and little knowing he had already been the answer to prayer. Casimir had his decision. A distasteful one, but one that he now had the courage and resolve to carry through on, knowing more clearly what he fought for.

Laska came with him when he delivered that decision to his mother, and he was glad to have her at his side. Not only did he value her support, but her pregnancy was just starting to show, and he hoped it would help provide a reminder of exactly what his mother had risked with her schemes. 

“You are to be placed under house arrest,” he said firmly. “You are not to leave this castle except to go to the church, and that with an armed guard. A guard will be assigned to you at all times to ensure this edict is followed, and should there be any suspicion of treason they shall have the authority to apprehend you by any means necessary. Do I make myself clear?”

Mother’s eyes blazed. “How dare you! You cannot do this to me, to your own mother! You have not even given me a trial before making your edict .”

“That is because there is no question that you have indeed committed treason, and were I to take you to trial, I could not be so lenient. Besides that, this must be kept quiet. I will tell the man you tried to have killed plainly of your actions, tell him you were mad with grief, and that I have taken you in hand, and hope he will not see it as a breach of the treaty.”

She slapped him hard across the face. Laska started forward, but Casimir waved her back, remembering all too well that his mother had struck her in the past as well. Laska hadn’t been Queen at the time, but given that he was currently the king and still had a stinging cheek, he didn’t think the new position would make much of a difference.

“That man killed your father!” Mother snarled. “Does that mean nothing to you? Did your father mean nothing to you? After that man dishonored this family-”

“He treated Father with every honor.”

“He accused me of betraying your father! What honor is there in such slanderous lies? He’s evil! A murderer!”

“He’s a man who was mistaken.”

“Mistaken? Mistaken? Was it a mistake when he drove his sword through your father’s heart?”

“Three years and several thousand deaths later I’d say that yes, yes it was, but we cannot change it now. We can only keep from making more mistakes of the same nature.”

Mother’s lip curled, her eyes gleaming. “You don’t understand. No one does. No one loves him as I do, or are willing to sacrifice what I am for his sake.”

“Mother.” Casimir reached for her, but she jerked away. “Even if it were his will to have men die on his behalf, which I very much doubt it would be, he’s gone now. We can’t keep making choices for the sake of the dead. We’re going into a new future, with new life.” He smiled and indicated Laska. “You’re going to be a grandmother! Isn’t it better to think about how to make the world a place you’d want your grandchild to live in, rather than struggling to avenge a dead man?”

Mother clenched her fists, glaring defiantly at him, and he sighed.

“I didn’t want to do this, and I didn’t the first time, because I thought it would be cruel, and perhaps it is, but you cannot dwell among the dead.” He took a deep breath. “The graveyard is also not within the realm of places you are permitted to visit.”

She went still, so very still she might have been turned to stone, then her knees hit the floor with a horrid thud like someone had cut her legs out from under her. 

“Mother-” Casimir started toward her again, but was arrested by her voice, low, hollow, and furious.

“Get out.”

“I’m sorry, I am, but-”

“Get out!” She cried, her voice rising to a wretched scream, “Get out Get Out GET OUT!”

Casimir seized Laska’s arm and did as she asked.

He felt awful in the next days each time he saw the guards outside his mother’s door, and even more when he heard from Mistress Ermegarde that she was refusing to eat. Laska suggested that she might be able to convince her to, but Casimir was too afraid of his mother’s reckless despair to allow his wife and child near her. 

Jazon, Imbrych, Elpin, and even Father Nicodem seemed to think he had done the right thing, which was his only comfort. Father Nicodem went to Mother every day to try to encourage her and help get her to eat something. Even little Oskar tried to help by donating some of his very favorite sweets that his own mother had given him, in hopes that the tasty morsels would be tempting. His sister Halinka was less generous, clearly viewing the whole situation as she might a child throwing a tantrum, but she often refrained from saying anything aloud for Casimir and Laska’s sake.

Casimir received a letter from the man who had killed his father, and whom his mother had just attempted to assassinate, which expressed gratitude for his honesty, and understanding for his mother’s condition. Though it brought relief, it also rubbed salt in a long-festering wound and made him feel more like Halinka than Father Nicodem about Mother’s self imposed starvation. He began to grow frustrated, and visited less and less, even as she grew ever weaker. Until Father Nicodem began to look truly worried, and Mistress Ermegarde told him she could no longer rise from bed.

Despite their word, Casimir was surprised at how thin and wan his mother was, her face a ghostly skull, and her nightdress hanging like a tent about her sunken shoulders. It reminded him of that month just after his father had died, before her rage had given her will to live. It was like he had died a second time, and she was trying to join him once more. 

“Mother, please, you must eat something,” he begged.

She turned her head away from him, lips pressed tight, and Casimir thanked God that she at least still had the strength to do that.

“Please, Mother, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I’m not the one who did it,” she croaked back.

Casimir was silent. He couldn’t let her starve to death merely to maintain a verdict, and yet what if he did give in? Was he to always give her everything she wished for in fear that she would do herself harm if he did not? And yet… and yet his heart cried to see her suffer so, to see her so weak. He liked it better when she was yelling at him, rather than lying there like a ghost already dead, so he prodded her, trying to get her in enough of a rage to get up and live again, as had worked before.

“I stand by my decision. I did not say to starve you. That is of your own doing, and is just the sort of thing Father would hate for you to do.”

Mother did not scream or even glare, only blinked as a tear trailed into her hair. “Such a cruel, unfeeling son. How could you know what your father would have wanted?”

“Because I know he would not want you to come to harm.”

“Then why do you harm me?”

“ I do not.” He debated with her for some time longer, but got nowhere. Another day passed, and he was just on the verge of rescinding his restriction on the grave visits when Mistress Ermegarde came to him with a beaming face.

“She’s eating!”

“What?” Casimir didn’t wait for an answer before sprinting to his mother’s room, where he found Laska carefully feeding her a bowl of broth, one spoonful at a time. Mother looked better than she had in a long while, her face once more severe, and her eyes focused, even if they were angry. Afraid to interrupt and keep her from her meal, Casimir backed out of the room. Out in the hall, he braced his back to the wall, drew in a shuddering breath, and dropped his face into his hands.

“Thank you,” he told Laska that night.

She tilted her head.

“For getting Mother to eat.”

She blinked in shock, pointed to him, scowled, and then relaxed her face, save for her brows which were still creased in worry. 

“You want to know if I’m angry?”

She nodded. 

“No. I know I told you not to, for I was worried about you, but you were right all along. Of all the people in this castle, you were the one able to reach her. I ought to have known, considering you were her companion so often, but, well, thank you.” He hugged her close, her head tucked comfortably under his chin. “I was beginning to be really scared I’d lose her.”

Casimir’s mother began to recover after that, eating more and more until her strength had returned, and Casimir was able to relax a little. She was still angry with him and refused to speak to him much of the time, even refusing to go to church.

“Our agreement before was that I would go if you visited the grave with me, so I have no obligation,” she told him stiffly. She also refused care from anyone but Laska, but with Laska’s whole team of Mistress Ermegarde, Halinka, and Jazon, Laska was not worked to exhaustion as she had been before. It wore on her still, Casimir could see, and he did everything in his power to ensure she was able to sit down and rest as often as possible.

The warm days grew cooler as harvest approached, and Laska’s pregnancy became more evident. Casimir found every occasion to hug her, delighted by the sensation of her round belly pressed warmly against him, and looking forward to the time when it would be more difficult to get his arms around her. Mistress Ermegarde told them that would be a little while yet, but this hardly curbed Casimir’s excitement. With his mother getting used to her new restrictions, and Laska and the baby safe and healthy, he was beginning to enjoy life once more.

Chapter Text

The morning was beautiful when it happened, which is what made Casimir decide to take Oskar on a short day trip to the woods for some hunting. Laska was still asleep when he departed, which wasn’t unusual. The pregnancy had tired her out, and despite normally being an early riser, she often slept late in those days. The only odd thing was how reluctant Iowca was to leave her, but Casimir didn’t think anything of it at the time, since the hound had become rather attached, and perhaps it really hadn’t meant anything, but when one replays the same day over and over, everything becomes a warning that ought to have been heeded.

Once they were out in the forest, Iowca seemed happy enough to stalk the pheasants and turkeys that hid in the brush. Casimir laughed as the flurry of feathers startled Oskar and made the shot go wild. He helped him load another bolt in the crossbow and gave him a few pointers on his technique, many of which revolved around “don’t panic.”

Oskar took his advice, and in a few hours there was a fine pheasant hanging from his saddle. Confident now that his companion wouldn’t need so much help, Casimir took out his own crossbow, hoping to bring down a bird from the next flock Iowca found for them. It took a long while of trekking through the woods, but on such a fine day, the trek was pleasant, and indeed half the fun of the hunt was being under the bright canopy of red and gold leaves, even as death crunched under the horse’s hooves.

They came upon another flock. Iowca scared them from the brush. Oskar and Casimir both raised their bows, then Casimir snapped out a hand to stop Oskar from shooting, for among the brown and grey birds were feathered splashes of black which came diving toward them.

Oskar jerked back, frightened of the great ravens rushing up at them, but Casimir knew these, and his stomach dropped for a different reason as they circled round his head, then flew in a straight line back to the castle.

“We need to go,” he told Oskar, “now. Keep your bow ready, but careful not to shoot it. I don’t know what we’ll be riding into, and we may have to go quickly, so you’ll have to hold it steady.”

“Are you sure?” Oskar said. “Maybe I should just unload it and put it away.”

Casimir shook his head, looking grimly at the dark line of birds. “You may have need of it. Give your horse some reign, it’ll follow mine.”

With that instruction, he urged his mount away after the ravens, going at a rapid trot. Much as he longed to go faster, to race away to the castle as fast as he could, they were too far out for the horses to make it at a sustained gallop, and there was Iowca and Oskar to consider. While Oskar’s horse was experienced, the rider was less so, and Iowca couldn’t maintain a run for as long as the horses, much less all the way to the castle. 

The red and gold was no longer so beautiful, but only an obstacle that kept them from going as swiftly as he would have liked. Iowca panted as she lopped beside them, starting to fall behind, and Oskar struggled to keep his saddle, but it wasn’t until Casimir’s own horse started huffing beneath him that Casimir realized he’d been urging them forward faster and faster until they were nearly at a gallop. He reigned his horse in, going steady once more, and hating every minute of it. The ravens flew back and forth overhead, urging him to greater speeds even as he knew he had to conserve the horses long enough to get to the castle. 

It irked him, knowing something was wrong, but not knowing what . The last two times he’d followed the ravens it had to do with mother. Was she safe? Had she done something else foolish that might start a war? They hadn’t found the witch yet, so perhaps it was that. Everything in him told him to run, to go, but many long marches had showed him consistency gave greater speed than a sprint, and he forced himself not to run them again. 

Finally, as they came nearer and Casimir was debating if he the horse could make it to the castle at a gallop, and if he was near enough to justify leaving Oskar and Iowca to their own devices, Imbrych came crashing through the trees, led by several ravens of his own.

“Report, Captain!” Casimir said sharply.

“It’s Laska, Sire! She’s ill. The physician has been called, and Elpin told me to come find you and bring you back, Sire. Here.” He dismounted and held out the reins. “Take my horse, it’s fresher.”

Casimir didn’t hesitate. He changed horses, then spurred on at the gallop he’d been anxious for the whole journey back. Iowca sprang after him, but soon fell behind, and he trusted Imbrych would take care of her and Oskar. He would have to, for Casimir cared for nothing just then except for getting back to the castle, because Laska was sick. 

“She was fine this morning. She was fine. So what happened?”

Branches whipped against his face, and his knees bashed against tree trunks as the horse turned sharply around them. Its sides were heaving and foaming, but he didn’t stop or slow, because Laska was sick. She was sick enough that the physician had been called, that Imbrych had come to find him.

Sick enough that the ravens had come for him.

Finally, he burst from the trees onto the road. The guards at the gate saw him coming and flung it open so he didn’t even have to slow as he reached the wall, but charged inside. When he came to the castle courtyard, he reigned the poor beast in, leaping from his saddle before it had completely stopped, and rolled once on the cobbles where he fell before coming to his feet. Elpin stopped him at the door with a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on? Where is she?”

Elpin gently drew him aside, saying softly, “What did Imbrych tell you?”

“That Laska was ill. But I thought she was alright when I left. I don’t understand.”

Elpin gripped both his shoulders as if preparing for him to bolt, or fall, the same hold that had preceded, “He’s gone, my prince,” and “don’t waste his sacrifice, run .” This time that same low voice said, “She’s losing the baby.”

Each word had been clear, but somehow Casimir still didn’t understand them. She had been fine. The baby had been fine. How could the baby be lost? Elpin was still looking at him with that careful, sad expression, and Casimir lurched back, not accepting it, not believing it.

“Casimir-”

But he was already running up the stairs, running to Laska, and the baby, except the baby was… the baby… The physician was coming out of the bedroom just as Casimir reached it, and there was pity in his face, the sort men had when they closed empty eyes. 

“Are they…?” Casimir’s throat closed before he could turn the question into something more coherent.

“The Queen will very likely live. The bleeding has gone down, and she’s young, and strong.”

“And the baby?”

“I’m very sorry, Your Majesty.”

And those words, those words more than anything, smothered his heart with the quiet, dreadful certainty of death. Men were only ever sorry for tragedy.

“The baby didn’t make it,” the physician continued, “but as I say, the Queen is healthy. I would advise you to wait a little while to give her some time to heal before you try again, but there’s still a very good chance.”

All Casimir’s terror, all his sorrow, confusion, and heartache gathered in one roiling mass. Try again? Very good chance ? His baby was dead! His child, whom he had been going to hold and name and kiss and sing to and teach was dead and the physician wanted to talk about replacements ?

“Thank you, that will be all,” Elpin said softly, but firmly from beside him. The physician bowed and left, which was probably the only thing that saved him from being strangled. How dare he-

“Cas.” Elpin set a hand on his back. “She needs you.”

Casimir pressed the heels of his  hands into his eyes, trying to compose himself, to calm the turmoil inside his chest and throat, clogging his lungs. He could do this. He’d dealt with death before, and she needed him. Laska needed him. He let out a long breath, then straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin just as he always had when he’d needed to make a victory speech over a field of dead, and opened the door. 

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Someone had tried to cover up the pile of linens on the floor at the end of the bed with a clean sheet, but they could not hide that horrid, familiar stench. It wasn’t just the smell of blood, but that of death, a reek of urine and sickness atop the metallic tang that brought acid to his throat. He saw them again, Fiebron, with his guts spilling over his hands, Broniz, brought down in pieces. Men’s faces, women’s faces, staring up open eyed from the mud, his baby’s face… had his baby even had eyes to close?

Mistress Ermegarde looked up from where she sat on the edge of the bed, holding Laska to her breast. His wife looked almost like a child herself, so small, so frail, cradled in that motherly embrace.

“He’s here now, dear,” Mistress Ermegarde murmured to her.

Laska weakly drew her head up from the shelter of her elder’s arms, her eyes as lost and hollow as any of those dead, staring eyes had been, save for the tears which continually welled over, and the gaunt white lips which trembled free of their thin pressed line. She reached pitifully for him, and he came to her, swiftly replacing Mistress Ermegarde as he folded her close against his chest.

“Oh darling. I’m so sorry. I should have been here. I rode as fast as I could, but I…”

“There was very little you could have done,” Mistress Ermegarde said gently. “She started having pangs at breakfast, and your mother recognized the symptoms and sent for the physician right away. He did all he could, but there is rarely much that can be done in these cases. It’s not your fault, or hers, or anyones. The Lord gives, and takes away, and just as there is no pride in the giving, there is no shame in the taking.” She pressed a hand to Casimir’s back, then stepped away. “I’ll give you two some time.”

She took the soiled linens with her on the way out the door, and with them went much of the horrid smell, but the shadow of it still lingered, hovering about them like flies round a corpse. Laska pressed her face hard against his chest, her teeth digging into his skin as her mouth opened in a soundless wail, and he rocked her and stroked her hair, struggling to staunch a bleeding wound with his own heart cut open. 

The silence was awful. Laska made no sound save for sniffles and gasps, and even the gasps were muffled, but that was to be expected. Casimir ought to have been the one to sob and groan, to cry what they both felt into that horrid, empty room, but he couldn’t. Like muscle memory, his heart dulled in his chest and the pain was cut off before it reached his lips. He’d always had very little time for grief, and now that he wanted it, it seemed grief had little time for him.

Empty. Empty room, empty head, empty womb. It was all empty.

Eventually, Laska ran out of tears and lay limp against him, her hands curled between her breasts, cradled around each other in absence of anything else to hold. They didn’t move, didn’t speak. What could be said? Casimir wanted to fight someone, to draw his sword and take bloody vengeance upon his foes, but there was no one to fight. No one to blame. Perhaps Mistress Ermegarde had meant that to be a comfort when she said it, but all it did was make him helpless, and even shame would have been better than helpless.

After some time, Mistress Ermegarde returned to change out the pad of layered cloth Laska had been sitting on. Casimir was terrified to realize she had still been bleeding, but Mistress Ermegarde assured him that it had slowed and wasn’t at worrying levels “for such cases” and that the whole process had actually gone “rather more quickly than for most.”

Casimir listened with a set jaw, just as he had listened to casualty reports. Some things, no matter how important they were to hear, no matter how well meaning the messenger, still grated like a whetstone, and anger was swift to fill in the gouges which grief had abandoned. His hands on Laska had to be gentle, so there his rage remained, locked between his teeth. 

He slept holding her that night, as he had so many nights, with his arms warm around her waist. The little bump was still there, but he did not love the feel of it under his fingers as he had when there was something, someone , inside. Laska curled up round it, round his arms, whether from pain of the body or heart it was hard to tell.

“I love you,” he told her, as if that could make it better. He whispered it over and over like a magic spell that could keep the dark away, and she gripped his left hand until his wedding ring dug an imprint on her palm.

The next morning he did not get up for a long time, but still rose before she did, for she did not rise from bed at all that day. He often did paperwork from the desk in their room, reserving his office for meetings, and it served him well now as he began going through the pile while still keeping an eye on Laska. He needed the activity, and was in fact of the opinion that he didn’t have enough of it. Before, during the war, he’d been running for his life, hiding, or sometimes attacking just after he lost someone, and the stillness wasn’t nearly enough to distract him like the fight had been.

The nearest thing he had to compare it to was his father’s death, when he had been a lost, confused child drifting about his mother’s bed where she lay, just as he drifted around Laska now, but then the war had come, and other concerns crowded out the ache. Now he could imagine no catastrophe big enough to take precedence. 

Servants drifted in and out of the room, bringing meals, caring for Laska, and offering woefully inadequate words of condolence. Halinka brought flowers, and Casimir knew he would hate tansies from that day forward. Jazon probably did the most useful thing, at least to Casimir, by bringing whatever paperwork had been left in his office.

“Thank you,” Casimir told him, and meant it.

Jazon nodded to him. “Elpin and I have been rescheduling all your meetings and the hearing of petitions. We’ve been trying to get most of them pushed back a week, but I don’t think we can get any further back than-”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“I’ll start taking petitions again tomorrow.”

Jazon glanced at Laska, whose eyes were open as she listened to the conversation. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll not delay it. Bump up any essential meetings as well.”

“Sire-”

“You have your orders,” Casimir said sharply.

Jazon swallowed, then bowed and turned to leave. He paused by the bed long enough to squeeze Laska’s hand and received a faint smile for his efforts before he vanished out the door. Casimir dragged a hand down his face. 

His mother came in the evening. He didn’t notice her, at first, for he was used to the door opening and closing, but when the person at the door did not immediately come in, he looked up, and saw her there with her guards dutifully behind her. His shoulders tensed, and he put a finger to his lips to try to tell her not to wake Laska. Mother nodded and drifted over to him on silent feet.

“Do you need something?” He said woodenly.

The wrinkles round her eyes were soft, softer than he’d seen them in a long while. “Oh, Casimir.” The whisper struggled out her throat, tears welling as she reached out and cupped his cheek with an unprecedented tenderness. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I’m sorry. I…”

He drew her hand away, giving her a bitter, sardonic smile. “That’s alright. Mistress Ermegarde assures me it’s not anyone’s fault and there’s nothing any of us could have done.”

Mother stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself, and his heart twisted at the gleaming streams on her face, but he couldn’t bear her grief with Laska’s and his own. He just… couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured again. “I know how hard all this is and I… I wish I could help.”

Casimir’s shoulders slackened, barely. “So do I.”

She glanced back at Laska. “It… it helped me, not to have to share a bed, when it happened. I didn’t want your father to see me like… He said it was fine, that he didn’t care, but I was so embarrassed on top of everything else that I wanted… I wanted to be alone, for a little while.”

Casimir’s heart felt like a rag in the hands of a merciless washerwoman, but he nodded all the same. “I’ll ask her.”

Mother’s gaze rested on Laska a long while, ‘till Laska’s pale brows creased with some pang, and her eyelids fluttered as that pain dragged her from the peace of sleep. 

“I love you, Casimir,” Mother said, looking back at him. “You know that, don’t you?”

Casimir froze. When was the last time she’d said that? Before the war? Before his father’s death? He found that he didn’t know it, he didn’t know it at all, but for now it was enough to hear it, and he nodded again. Soon as he did, Mother departed, and he was free to care for his slowly waking wife.

Going to her, Casimir checked himself before sitting on the bed beside her and knelt on the floor instead. Very gently, he stroked the wrinkles from her forehead, and she caught his hand, bundling it against her lips.

“Are you still in pain?” He asked.

She lifted one shoulder, touched her stomach and shook her head, then laid a hand over her heart and nodded.

“Oh dearest, I’m afraid that one might not heal for a while.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, and he brushed a thumb over her cheeks to catch tears that didn’t fall. There was a grimace in her face as much as heartache, and he knew her indication of bodily pain wasn’t entirely accurate. It was less now, perhaps, but not gone, though maybe by comparison the body was nothing to the heart.

“Is it alright if I sleep here?” He asked.

She frowned and tilted her head at him, and he was quick to clarify. “It’s just, I know you’re still hurting, so if you would be more comfortable with me sleeping somewhere else-”

She seized his arm and practically dragged him onto the bed, clinging to him with all the strength she had left. Relief washed over him in a wave, and he immediately crawled under the covers with her despite the fact that he was still fully dressed, and she snuggled up close with her head on his shoulder. It hurt. Everything hurt. But at least they still had each other. 

Chapter Text

Casimir listened to petitions the next day, as promised, though even the petitioners were subdued, avoiding outbursts or quickly withdrawing if they did grow angry. One old gentleman whom he actually ruled against in a land dispute even bowed his head and said,

“You are just, my King. My family and I have been praying for you.”

It was said after the ruling, without ceremony, without a chance of changing Casimir’s mind, and he lingered on it as he listened to the next petitions. He had been frustrated that his position meant everyone knew of their loss, but then there were men like that, men who didn’t feel awkward or try to seize the opportunity, but simply cared. The sort of man he would have trusted to fight beside him. It made the pain easier to bear.

It also made him realize that he had not prayed since he first heard the news. Such a thing was odd, for him especially, for desperation had always driven him to his knees in the past. He tried not to dwell on it, to think about why, for he knew why and did not want to address it.

As he returned to the bedroom that evening, he overheard Mistress Ermegarde and Halinka talking outside the door.

“It’s not fair!” Halinka was saying. “Laska’s never hurt anyone! She doesn’t deserve this!”

“It’s hardly about deserving it, child. Such things have happened to many a good woman.”

“Then why? Why would God let such a horrid thing happen? She’s already gone through so much. It’s not right. It’s not right !”

“You’re going to go about telling God what’s right now, are you? Run along and take that tray back to the kitchen, there’s a good girl, and don’t worry so much about the affairs of your betters. You do your job, and let God do his.”

They moved off, and Casimir came to the door, then stopped, his fist tight around the knob. His own frustration and fury sounded petulant and childish in Halinka’s mouth, yet Mistress Ermegarde’s steady replies were still woefully insufficient. The question had been why. The answer had given no reason, and Casimir was so sick of not having a reason. It all seemed so hopeless, so senseless . His father’s death, the war, Fiebron, Sir Broniz, his mother’s destructive grief, his child’s death, all of it demanded an answer, and received only silence. 

Bracing himself with a deep breath, Casimir stepped into the room. Laska stood at the window, where several of her ravens were perched at the sill, and the others hovered nearby. Casimir came to her, stepping around Iowca, who had been her constant and unwavering companion after that first night, and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as he watched the birds flutter about.

“It’s good to see you up,” he said, and she leaned her head against his.

“All the petitioners were very kind today. They said they’re praying for us.”

Her hands found his, her fingertips drawing light circles across his knuckles. He wondered if she noticed that he hadn’t prayed, but didn’t ask, not wanting to discuss it. The ravens soon left the window sill, drifting away to wherever it was they went, and Casimir stepped away, then slumped at his desk. Not that there was much to keep him occupied after the fever he’d worked in the day before. Laska crawled into his lap and sat huddled against him, her head tucked in the crook of his neck, her arms again curled to her chest, as they so often were the past few days, and he held her tight.

Perhaps it would have comforted her if he prayed, but not like this, not the prayers which ached in his heart. He might have comforted her with his words, but the words of others had been useless and frustrating to him, so why should his be anything else to her?

No, better this. Better the silence. 

Life went on. Laska slowly recovered, getting up and walking about more and more often, until by the first day of the week, she was feeling well enough to go to services. While Casimir was happy to see her getting better, he admitted to himself that he was a bit disappointed not to have an excuse not to go. He suddenly understood why his mother never went, and hated that he understood, for the last thing he wanted was to be like her. So, steeling himself, he went.

Most of the townsfolk and courtiers, and even several of the staff had not seen Laska since it happened, and all were eager to greet her with a kind word or the press of the hand. Some offered condolences, but some simply made a concerted effort to be pleasant, and a little of the knot in Casimir’s stomach loosened.

He sang dutifully alongside Laska, who stood swaying with her eyes closed, face lifted, and looked better than she had all week. She leaned her head on his shoulder during the sermon, but there were no lines on her face. Casimir slipped his arm around her and tried to find comfort in that, in her renewal, even if he found little in the lovely walls that now seemed made of empty, soulless stone.

They met Mother back at the castle. The conversation was stilted, for Mother kept glancing away, barely holding eye contact with either of them, as if she were shy of grief not her own, and Casimir tended to give only short answers. The more he kept his mouth closed, the less vitriol could come out of it. 

The final straw came when Mother glanced between them in her flitting way, then licked her lips and said, “I know there’s not a… a body, but it might help to put up a marker. Maybe… maybe beside your father. It eases the grief a little to have something, some little remembrance, you know?” She reached over and rubbed Laska’s back. “And dear Laska was so good to care for me in my grief, I would of course do everything I can to comfort her, even if it is only making these little suggestions, though someone should go with her if she does decide to-”

Casimir shot to his feet, fists clenched. “So that’s all this is to you? A chance to go back to your grave and your widow’s blacks?”

“Casimir, I’m not-”

“Don’t! Don’t you say another word!”

He stalked from the room before she could reply, slamming the door behind himself. His footsteps thudded loudly, echoing in the halls. How could she be so utterly, thoroughly selfish? The baby had been her grandchild! But now apparently it was just another ticket for her to get her way, all bundled up in sick, false sympathy. 

Casimir didn’t know where he was going until he was outside and halfway to the stable. He froze midstep and tilted his face to the sky, his eyes squeezed tight shut. A good long ride through the forest had always cleared his mind in the past, but he’d been out riding when it had happened, when he should have been here. There was no way he could leave like that again, not now. 

“Your Majesty!” He turned to see Imbrych jogging across the courtyard toward him.

“Yes, Captain?” Casimir asked, managing not to snap.

“Spar with me.”

“I’m not in the mood to deal with you and whatever you think you need to pay penance for, Brych.”

“This isn’t about me.” Imbrych grabbed his shoulder as he tried to push by. “You need it.”

“Need what? To punch your face in?”

Imbrych’s lips twitched. “Maybe. You might also need to get your face punched in.”

Casimir snorted and returned the shoulder clasp. “Alright. Fine. You’re probably right.” He eyed his friend. “About needing to spar, not the getting hit in the face part.”

Imbrych grinned wickedly. “Then you’d better keep your guard up.”

Neither drew swords when they arrived at the training ground, whether wooden or steel, though Casimir did remove his rings this time. The two circled each other, prowling like wolves in the bite of the chill air. He felt it down in his muscles, all the rage and hate and misery coiled there, ready to spring. The burst of release came as the two men leapt at each other, snarling like animals. They didn’t waste time throwing punches, but immediately grappled.

Casimir needed it this way. He needed to feel the strain in his bunched muscles, to shove back and forth with force and power and fury . 

Imbrych managed to topple him, and the two writhed on the ground, struggling with all their strength, or at least, Casimir with all of his. He roared as he felt Imbrych gaining the upper hand, still older, hardier, and stronger. The fight couldn’t end this soon, and with a mighty heave, Casimir flung Imbrych from him. Imbrych still clung on, but it gave Casimir enough room to smash his elbow into his jaw with a satisfying crack. Imbrych bellowed, and Casimir took the opportunity to try to wriggle free, but soon found himself flung over Imbrych’s shoulder.

Air crashed out of him as his back hit the ground. Imbrych was on him a moment later, but he didn’t strike, perhaps recognizing Casimir’s helpless state. Casimir growled as he lunged upward. He didn’t want to be helpless. Helpless was the whole problem.

His bucking sent them to grappling again, and Casimir drew satisfaction from Imbrych’s snarls and grunts, knowing he could cause the other man difficulty, that he was strong enough and skilled enough to make this a hard fight for the Captain.

Eventually they broke apart and leapt to their feet, starting to box. Round and round they went, pummeling each other until they were out of breath, then leaping right back in after only grudging and brief respite. The sun was low in the sky by the time they had utterly exhausted themselves, and Casimir collapsed in the dust, too tired to stand and choking on his own sweat. Imbrych lay beside him, chest heaving, blood dripping into the dirt.

“I’m get… getting too old f… for this,” he puffed between heavy breaths.

Casimir nodded, panting too hard to respond. He stared up at the yellow sky, his limbs limp, heart beat thundering in his head, and his child still dead. With a shaking hand, he dragged the sweat from his face, then dropped his arm once more. Imbrych coughed beside him, then downgraded to a wheeze. They gasped in the cool evening air until the ache in Casimir’s chest and head reduced to the point that he could notice other things, like how frigid the autumn was when one was soaked in sweat, or the soreness of the scrapes and bruises pounded into his body by the ground and Imbrych’s fists.

“Mother wanted t…to put up a marker. For the baby.” Casimir gasped out. “Near Father, and th…Then she of course would go with Laska to the… to the grave to comfort her.”

Imbrych’s jaw twitched.

“What? No commentary?”

“Since I have been advised against calling your mother a bitch, no, no commentary.”

Ravens circled overhead, stark against the reddening sky, and Casimir eyed them warily. Even if he was fairly certain that Laska’s ravens wouldn’t attack them, he wasn’t certain these were Laska’s birds, and even so, he and Imbrych would make pretty tempting targets for the scavengers, exhausted as they were. Imbrych must have noticed them too, for he forced himself to sit up, groaning as he slumped over his knees.

“If those birds try to eat us, I’m going to eat them back.”

Casimir snorted.

“Have you heard what Laska thinks about it?”

“About eating her ravens?”

“About a marker for the baby.”

“Oh. No. I sort of stormed off before I asked.”

“Mm.”

Casimir watched the ravens make two circles overhead before he said, “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

Imbrych shrugged. “I know you were awfully upset we never had the chance to get Broniz in the ground, and Elpin mentioned your reaction to Fiebron was similar.”

“There’s nothing to put in the ground,” Casimir gritted.

Imbrych gripped his shoulder, but didn’t say anything. The birds stayed overhead, circling, circling, circling. So aimless. So pointless .

“Do you know, for once in my life, I thought I could help create something. But maybe… maybe I never will.” Casimir scrubbed at his face, staring when his palm came away bloody, and smirked bitterly. “Maybe God knew what sort of man I am, that I’d always be a killer, and He was protecting the child from me. Maybe He knew its life would be better, this way.”

“That’s a load of nonsense,” Imbrych growled. “You’re a great man and you would make an even better father, and if God disagrees he can fight me.”

“You’d fight the Almighty for me? I’m flattered.”

“I’d fight anyone for you, but honestly the Almighty and I have never been on great terms anyway.”

Casimir rolled onto his side to face Imbrych better. “You come to services.”

“I know it means something to you.”

“It did.” 

Imbrych looked sharply at him.

“I haven’t been on great terms with the Almighty either, since it happened.” Casimir traced a finger through the dust. “Do you know I haven’t prayed since that day? You were baffled by how often I prayed out in the field, and yet now I just… What is there to pray for? My baby’s dead.”

Imbrych looked back up at the sky. It slowly shifted from red to gray, with the void of night creeping about the edges and premature stars blinking weakly in the half-light.

“I loved you for those prayers, you know,” Imbrych said presently. “Never understood them, and still don’t. No deity ever helped me. But it made you so, oh, I don’t know, so pure. So innocent. It made me want to hold you and never let anyone ever spoil that innocence. It’s why I hate myself so much when I do it.”

“I thought innocence got you killed.”

Imbrych swallowed like he was choking on his own words thrown back at him. “Maybe it’s worth getting killed over.”

Casimir glanced sideways at him. 

“Don’t lose it over this, Cas. Please. Don’t lose that purity over this.”

“I don’t know anything else better to lose it for.”

Imbrych blinked hard and looked away. The ravens began to be identifiable only by the stars they blotted out, and Casimir shivered at the loss of the sun, his clothes still damp with sweat. Imbrych offered him a hand.

“Think your legs will hold you?”

“They’ll try.” Casimir accepted the hand up, and only wobbled a little on his feet. He and Imbrych walked back to the palace together, and Laska was already in bed when he came to their room. He tried to be quiet, assuming her already asleep, but when he lay down beside her, she rolled over and huddled against his chest. He held her close, stroking her hair. 

“I’m sorry I left you, today.”

Her fingers slipped softly against his bare chest, and she nuzzled her head under his chin. His heart throbbed at the feel of her, so small, so frail, and yet so trusting. “Don’t lose that purity.”

“I love you, darling,” he murmured hoarsely, kissing her head. “Always, I love you.”

The next day, after Oskar and Halinka had helped them dress and brought breakfast, Casimir slid his arms round Laska’s waist before she could depart to attend her duties for the day and asked, “Would you like a marker of some sort, my dear?”

Laska set her hands over his where they rested on her empty belly, but otherwise gave no indication of agreement or disagreement.

“I know how I reacted yesterday, but that was foolish. If it would comfort you, Laska, I would be glad to put a marker up with you. It doesn’t matter what mother’s plotting. Taking care of you is more important.”

Laska turned around and hugged him, her head resting on his shoulder. He held her a long while before murmuring, 

“If you need time to make the decision-”

She shook her head.

“Then… would you like a marker?” 

She nodded. 

“Alright. Then I think next to Father’s grave is a good idea.” His lips twitched in an almost smile as a thought occurred to him. “He’s probably looking after his little grandchild right now.”

Laska drew back, her lips parted, eyes bright with sudden hope, and something like relief washed through Casimir’s chest. He had helped. For one beautiful, sweet moment, he had been able to make it a little better.

Chapter Text

The next week, they went to the grave. Mother was with them, for Laska had wanted her, and Casimir grudgingly admitted to himself that it likely was a comfort for her to have another woman around, especially an older woman who had endured similar difficulty. Imbrych himself acted as her guard today and stood at a short distance, for he had sent the other soldiers away to give them a semblance of privacy.

Casimir was the one who wielded the shovel. The ground was cold, but not frozen, and the wooden shovel handle was rough against his hands. He didn’t have to dig deep, not for what they had planned, but a part of him wished he did. There was something about the monotonous task that helped him forget, and he struggled not to be disappointed when Laska touched his shoulder to stop him. 

He backed away from the hole, and then it was her turn. Oskar had dug up a little evergreen tree from the edge of the forest for her, a little less than three feet tall, and she bore this forward now, lowering it into the ground. She got on her hands and knees and began to shove the dirt back in around the tiny tree, and Casimir joined her. The shovel might have been more efficient, but this was better, somehow. Better to have his hands in the muck as he poured the dirt in over the gray, frozen face of- no. Roots. The dirt was going over roots.

They patted down the soil, then sat back. The tree was so fresh and green and alive, far more alive than his father’s cold stone, yet Casimir felt that a stone would have been more suited. Still, this was Laska’s comfort, not his, so he let her choose what she wished. 

She scrubbed her arm under her nose, and Mother stepped forward with hands that were still clean to wipe away the tears. Laska fell against her, and Mother hesitated only a moment before folding her into a warm, tender embrace of the sort she almost never gave anymore. Casimir hoisted himself to his feet, leaning on the shovel, and stared on. The women remained together until Laska broke away to come to him.

He slipped an arm around her shoulders, which meant he had to consciously stop himself from tensing when she pressed her palms together and looked at him imploringly. She wanted him to pray, and perhaps he ought to, but he couldn’t find any words to say in the recesses of his heart. Still, she looked at him so forlornly that he knew he must do something.

Clearing his throat, he very faintly began to sing, relying on the words of another where his own failed him. 

“How great, how beautiful that Sabbath rest,

Kept in the court eternal of the blest. 

Repose for weary souls, for brave reward.

For there our all in all shall be the Lord.”

His voice was weak, throbbing with the weight of unbelief as he struggled through and wished another hymn had come to mind, but Laska was still holding tight to his arm, so he pressed on as well as he could.

“What King, what holy court, what place fair,

What peace, what solace, what rejoicing there.

Ye glorious dwellers, your own joy reveal

If ye can utter all your spirits feel.

The true Jerusalem, that state above,

Whose peace unending is our highest love;

Where longing hope cannot true joy forerun; 

Where perfect happiness and ho…”

His voice cracked, then drifted away, and he tried again. “P-perfect happiness and… and hope are…” all that came out was breath. How could he sing? Joy reveal? Happiness? That was not what his spirit felt. Laska hugged him tight in the silence, but then another voice filled the air.

Mother picked up where he had left off, and though her voice was soft as a lullaby, it was not weak as she sang,

“Where perfect happiness and hope are one!

There shall our sorrowings forever cease,

And Zion’s lofty songs we sing in peace;

Thy happy people, Lord, before thy face,

Pay gracious offerings for thy gifts of grace.

There still a Sabbath new on sabbath rolls

An endless holy day of holy souls

Those chants ineffable rise evermore

Which saints in glory with the angels pour.

Thither we lift, O God, our waiting eyes

And see our fatherland in hope arise;

Homeward from Babylon we fondly…”

For all her strength, it was at this point her own voice gave out. Her lip trembled, and she dropped her head into her hands, turning away from them both, and from the two markers of those who had been. The silence stretched on, the last notes and words hanging incomplete in the air. Laska stepped forward and slipped her arms around Mother, her cheek pressed to her back as she squeezed tight, and Mother shuddered. 

“Homeward from Babylon we fondly yearn, after long, weary exile, to return,” Casimir finished. Then, leaving the shovel in the ground, and the women wound round each other, he walked back to the palace alone.

Life continued as normal, after that. It had to. Elpin reported the best harvest they’d ever had, and even had the old meeting hall converted back into a storehouse, as if plenty could make up for what they had lost. Mother started attending services again, not that Casimir could bring himself to be as happy as he might have been if he wanted to be at services, but he told himself it was a good thing. She and Laka went out to visit the graves sometimes, though not nearly so often as when Mother had been the one to dictate the times of their going. Apparently the tree was growing nicely. Casimir didn’t know. He never went to the graves at all. Ever.

The snows flew, and Laska’s body was well healed from the ordeal, but she still allowed Casimir nothing more than kisses. He understood her reluctance, much as he disliked it, and tried to be patient with her, but felt as though she was slipping further and further away from him every day. He was sick of grief, his own as much as hers, and wanted a chance at something new. They couldn’t replace the child they had lost, but they could at least hope that God would not be so cruel a second time. Despite his own feelings on the matter, Casimir respected his wife’s wishes, hoping all the while that her reticence would not last much longer.

The Christmas season came, and fresh pain with it. Casimir tried his best to seem cheerful for the sake of Laska and his subjects, but he suffered through the happy references to the Christ child, and knew Laska did too when she cried soundlessly in their bed after Christmas Eve mass.

He knew the truth. He knew that this was a humbling act of God to walk among man, and that it ought to have been a time of hope, but it had not been a time of hope for all those mothers whose children had been slaughtered, had it? There had been no comfort for Rachel, and what had she done wrong? It was just collateral damage, just another worthwhile sacrifice, like Casimir had been, like his own child had been.

Laska seemed a little better after mass on Christmas day, but Casimir wasn’t. He couldn’t sleep that night and slipped out of bed, unnoticed by Laska. He paced out into the hall, but found that was too restraining, and soon was out in the night covered courtyard, crunching across the snow. In his disgruntled state, he’d barely remembered his boots, and certainly didn’t have a cloak, which left him shivering and more frustrated than ever, as if that was God’s fault too.

His stomping feet led him to the church, which was utterly empty and nearly as cold as the outdoors. Casimir stood there at the first stained glass window, where the moonlight streamed through a golden star, and a halo round a child’s head in a manger.

“Why?” Casimir croaked, then louder, “WHY?”

The only answer was the echo bouncing off the walls. Casimir clenched his fists, glaring at the child in the manger, at Mary happy beside him.

“Was mine not special enough?” He sneered. “Disposable, just like all those others You let be killed to save your precious son? You say you’re just, but where was the justice there? What is just about the deaths of children? Of my child? She didn’t deserve it! You hear me? She’s never done anything to deserve that loss!”

He panted a moment, his voice lowering once more. “I suppose it was for the greater good, right? That’s what everything’s for with you, and the rest of us just have to go about and trust you while we suffer. Well screw that! Screw you! You don’t know what this is like, what any of this is like, so what gives you the right to say it’s worth it? I am so sick of being the puppet of those who demand my sacrifice and tell me it’s worth it!”
Casimir spun away from the window to curse the altar at the front of the church, only to be faced down by the cross. It loomed over him, stuffing the words back down his throat.

‘I understand,’ it seemed to say. ‘This was my son. This was my baby, my tears, my blood. I understand.’

Casimir staggered two steps forward.

‘I love him too, dear. I love that baby more than anyone else ever could.’

Another failing step, then Casimir fell on his knees.

‘And I wept with you, with groaning too deep for words.’

Casimir bent forward on his hands and wailed. It was the long, low, miserable cry of months of suppressed mourning, a cry for himself, and for Laska and his child, who could not cry out. It was the cry of one finally crushed to the point of begging for help, and allowing himself to be comforted.

The wail turned to a sob, and he wept there on the stone floor, huddled before the cross with his hands over his tear stained face. He wept until all his tears were gone, then wept even still, his whole body shuddering in his hitched breaths and the cold. 

After what seemed an age, he eventually stilled. Snow was falling outside, drifting soundlessly past the stained windows, and for once the quiet was not empty. There was a calm about it; a sort of deep seated peace like what he had felt his first morning waking beside Laska, only this was graver, more lonely, and yet he was not alone. It left him with the same desire not to rise, to lie there and rest in that peace forever, but as the numbing cold crept to his bones, he knew he would have to get up. This was only a respite, a small space of rest, and the man on the cross did not intend for him to stay here forever, not yet.

Slowly, fumbling on limbs that were hard to feel in the chill, he dragged himself to his hands and knees, then finally to his feet. With his hands tucked tight under his arms to save painfully red fingers, he made his way slowly and reluctantly to the doors, though he stopped once more at the window where the manger dwelt.

There was no moonlight on it now, yet for all that it looked the more holy, and Casimir bowed his head in quiet apology, or perhaps tender thanks, and that peace went with him in his heart as he left that prayerful place.

The snow was thick outside when he opened the church door, but there was very little wind, and he found himself surprisingly warm as he paced across it, his crunching footsteps soft and muffled. He raised his face, mouth open as he caught one of the flakes, and smiled.

Upon returning indoors, he did his best to shake off the snow before it melted, but his hair was still damp when he ran a hand through it, and his thin shirt clung to his shoulders. He slipped off his boots so he would not be heard, then crept up to his room, quietly latching the door behind him. Laska was a softly breathing lump under the blankets, so, shivering, he shucked off his wet clothes and pulled on a warm wool tunic, then knelt beside the bed. 

Laska was facing his side, one hand reaching over the empty space where he usually slept, the other holding the blankets tucked up tight under her chin. He set his hand beside hers on the counterpane, but not over it, for he feared his freezing touch would wake her. 

“Thank you, Lord,” he whispered, “for looking after her when I am so often far too foolish to do it properly. Remind me that you are our comfort, and our strength, as you have reminded me already tonight. I… I surrender our little one to you, and know he will be safe in your hands.” He paused and swallowed thickly. “For I know that you are merciful. You have come alongside man in his grief and his suffering, and do not leave us to our own paltry devices. May your hand be upon us, oh holy God, who cares for broken men with all your tender heart. You have cared for my wife in this already, and I… I entrust her to you also. I wish I… But you are enough, you will always be enough, and I trust you. I trust you. You will continue to see us through until the very end, for you are the God of salvation, and you will save us. May your name be praised, Father, and may your peace be with us, oh most worthy King. Amen.”

Closing the whispered prayer- and oh! How good it felt to pray again after so long. Casimir climbed into bed, though he was careful not to touch Laska so he would not wake her, she wriggled up to him the moment he lay down, and did not pull away at the cold, but huddled up to him, and took his icy hands between her own.

The next months were better. Not perfect, but better. Laska still did not seem to want to try for more children yet, but she was more affectionate, and smiled more often. Casimir did as well, so that it was hard to tell whose new joy mirrored whom, but it seemed both were starting to grow back into something whole. They even went out to play in the snow with Oskar, Jazon, and Halinka, who cried when Laska grinned and clapped her hands for the first time since they’d lost the baby.

Casimir was finally able to appreciate the good harvest, for the winter was particularly long and the cold biting that year. Despite this, none went hungry, and Laska beamed and held tight to his arm in church when he sang the songs of praise with gusto once more.

Laska also visited the grave marker less often, which Casimir worried would cause some conflict with Mother, but was pleasantly surprised to find that she held her silence. As a matter of fact, she seemed almost relieved to see Laska doing better, and Casimir found himself relaxing. The two women had grown close during the ordeal, perhaps because he had not been so available for Laska to come to. It still stung, sometimes, when he saw the children running about, or when Laska refused his advances, but he didn’t close himself off, not like he had before, and the healing continued.

Spring came again, and the planting, and with it, Easter. Casimir was surprised and a little frightened when his mother participated in the fast, but Laska reassured him that she was keeping an eye on her, and he breathed a little easier. Mother also attended the extra holy week masses without even having to be asked, though she didn’t participate in the services so much as she kept to herself on the bench and occasionally wept quietly. Casimir also noted with concern that she didn’t take the eucharist. 

Come Easter morning, she still wore black, and stood out starkly in the colorful crowd, but at least she was at the service, and no longer wept.

Casimir sang gladly as the sun rose fiery through the colorful windows, his eyes set on the cross which meant so much to him ever since that cold Christmas night. This was a God who knew, a God who cared, a God who suffered many sorrows, and would bring many sons to glory.

“I shall see them again,” Casimir realized as if for the first time. “My father, my child. I shall see them again.”

Laska stood beside him with one hand clutched over her heart, the other clasped across her mouth as tears streamed down her face, her gaze also fixed on the cross. Casimir slipped his arm round her shoulders and smiled down at her. She leaned into his side, eyes closed, her face uplifted to one far greater than himself.

That night, after all the celebrations and feasting were over, they retired to their bedroom and sat side by side in the quiet, just the two of them, curled on the rug before the fire with a sleeping Iowca nearby. Casimir traced circles on Laska’s arm, watching the flames dance, and feeling her breathe against him, steady and even. Iowca’s tail twitched before going still again.

Laska tilted her head back, then reached up and slid her hand across his face until her fingers tangled in his hair, and she drew him down for a kiss. He accepted this easily, languidly, expecting it to be like all the others they had shared these past months: romantic, sweet, and even comforting, but with little passion. He kept thinking this until her fingers tightened in his hair, crushing his lips just a little harder to hers. She deepened the kiss, lingering against his mouth and filling it up until he was panting and breathless.

“Not that this isn’t nice, darling, but-” He choked off as she slipped a hand under his shirt, tracing warmth across his chest. Catching the wayward hand through the fabric, he looked her in the eye.

“Darling, please don’t tease me. I couldn’t bear it.”

She turned around and slid her knee over his lap until she was straddling him, then kissed him again, moving more than her lips. It took a moment for Casimir to remember himself, but when he did, he gently pushed her back. 

“You’re sure about this, darling, Laska? You… you’re ready to try again?”

Her smile greeted him as she nodded, and she traced a thumb under his lip. A wild surge of passion and relief crashed together in his chest, and he captured her smile with his own mouth. Gripping her tight as he had longed to do for so long, he hefted her up, laid her on the bed, and didn’t let her up for the rest of the night.

In the morning, in keeping with Hock Monday tradition, she was the one who wouldn’t let him up, not that he minded. He had missed this, missed her , and to have both back alongside the playfulness of their own little game was too marvelous to describe. It added a spring to his step as he went out, and restored the joy and ease of touch that they had too long been missing.

Chapter Text

The fields were flourishing once more, the green shoots coming up in beautiful swaths, like the perfect patterned squares of a quilt. Elpin brought reports that this was the case all over the kingdom, and that they were being careful to rotate the fields. Casimir didn’t know what he meant by this until he said that during the war, all the plots of land had been used in their entirety, and the soil was made worse by overuse. But now, they grew on some plots and let others rest, so the soil could be restored and the years they did grow there would be profitable. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to be working, and Casimir was delighted to watch the grain get higher and higher.

Upon returning home from one of his tours of the nearby cropland, he heard a thud, then a horrible scream from above him. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, he drew his sword and looked about for the danger. The screams were coming from his mother’s room, accompanied by Iowca’s growling and men’s shouts.

He burst in the door and found his mother on the ground with Iowca on top of her, the dog's jaws clamped tight around her arm while the guards tugged and yelled to no effect. Laska, too, lay nearby, close enough to the hearth to be in danger of her skirt catching fire, her eyes glazed and head bleeding as she tried with clumsy movements to rise. Casimir threw the sword away and charged into the fray, crying out,

“Back! Everyone back!”

The guards moved out of his way, and he seized Iowca’s collar, shoved it up right behind her ears, then pulled straight up. It only took a few seconds for her to gag and let go, but even then she twisted and snarled, and he had to exert all his strength to haul her off his bleeding, shaking mother. 

“Get them out!” He shouted to the guards, who quickly half-carried both his mother and Laska to the door. Still Iowca strained against his hold on the collar, snapping and barking, and he was careful to keep arms and hands well away from the reddened fangs. 

“Down girl! Down! Down I said!”

Iowca stopped pulling and came beside him, but her teeth were still bared, and she growled low in her throat as she stared at the doorway where his mother, Laska, and the guards had disappeared. 

“Sit!” Casimir told her, and he gave the accompanying hand signal, relieved when she complied. “Stay. That’s it. Stay, girl.”

He got to arms length, then carefully let go and leapt out into the hall, slamming the door behind himself. He stared at the rough wood, panting, his hand still gripping the handle as he saw again the pitiless focused eyes, and the dark blood pouring over the grizzly maw. Iowca hadn’t been like that since… since the war. She’d done a lot of attacking then, and even killed, but not like this, not his mother and certainly not his wife. 

Right. Mother and wife. Still shaking, he turned and found both staring back at him, their pale faces making the vivid red of their wounds all the more stark. He shambled a step forward and reached for Laska, whose hair was plastered to her face where she had hit it, and for his mother, crying and curled over a limp arm. Laska he pressed close to him, hiding the wide horrified eyes against his chest, but his mother he could only hold at arm’s length for fear of aggravating the injury. 

“Wha…” his voice escaped him, and he tried again. “Wh-what happened?”

“Your dog attacked me, that’s what happened!” Mother gritted through her tears. 

“Are you…” He closed his eyes, trying to to bring himself back to the present, to escape the room where he’d seen Iowca snarling over his mother, and his wife. They were both injured, and he had to take care of that first. A deep breath in, then out, then he opened his eyes and let old instincts move his limbs. Letting go of Laska briefly, he tore off a piece of his tunic and pressed it against his mother’s arm to slow the bleeding, and she yelped in pain, the tears coming more rapidly down her face.

“Keep pressure on that,” he told her as sternly as his shaking voice could manage. That done, he turned to Laska, who was still stuck to his side as closely as a burr even without his arm around her. His shoulder was crimson where she had laid her head, and he pressed his sleeve to the wound, making her flinch.

“You both need to go to the physician right away.” He looked at the guards, and at that terrible, terrible door, behind which was the culprit, and one of his dearest friends. Swallowing hard, he said, “N-no one goes in. Not for… no one goes in.”

“Yes, Sire!” They saluted, though their faces made it clear they were also shaken.

Casimir started to move off with one hand on his mother’s shoulder and the other arm around Laska, but Laska wouldn’t budge.

“Come darling,” he begged her, hating the roughness of his own voice, “please, you must let the physician take a look at that.”

She shook her head, still planted in place, still curled against him with her fingers twisted in his shirt.

“Laska, please, you must-”

She shook her head again, then her knees gave out, and she sank helplessly toward the floor. Casimir let go of his mother to catch her and went down with her as she melted into a trembling, weeping puddle of stained cloth, and he rocked her gently in his arms.

“One of you, take my mother,” he murmured, kissing her hair and tasting an old, familiar metallic tang. 

One of the guards gently wrapped an arm around his mother’s back and ushered her away, while the other remained by the door, clenching and unclenching his fists as if wishing he could help, but not knowing what to do.

“What happened?” Casimir repeated, not satisfied with his mother’s answer, for he could hardly believe it. Iowca couldn’t have attacked them, and yet he had seen it. He had seen her teeth buried in his mother’s flesh. Laska only shuddered at the question, but the guard straightened, clearing his throat.

“We were standing watch outside your mother’s room when the queen came to visit. She… she had Iowca with her, but she almost always does these days, so we didn’t think anything of it. They’d been in there about ten minutes when we heard the screaming, and we ran in and found Her Majesty on the floor, and your mother…was also on the floor, like you saw. We did what we could, but we couldn’t get the dog off. I… I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come when you did, Sire.”

“F-first thing Dad ever taught me ab…about dogs was how to make them to let go,” Casimir said absently, still staring at the door. “He said it was always a possibility, especially with hunting and guard dogs, but I never thought I’d have to… I never…”

“I never would have thought it of her myself, Your Majesty,” the guard said kindly.

Casimir nodded, Laska’s blood tacky against his neck, and was cold. Cold as that winter day he’d made his first kill, his first execution. The blood had been sticky then, too. Iowca had nuzzled his hand all the same and licked it off his fingers. 

He stayed on the floor even long after Laska had stilled, unsure if he himself would be steady on his legs, and looked up in relief as he heard Elpin’s voice in the hall, and saw Imbrych running beside him. He was safe if Elpin and Imbrych were here, but then, he’d thought Iowca was safe, too.

“Your Majesty!” Elpin went on his knees beside him. “We passed your mother in the hall and she told us what happened. Are you hurt? Did she get you, or Laska?”

“Laska is hurta little, I think, but I’m fine.”

Imbrych waited just long enough to hear the answer, then pulled the remaining guard aside to get his full report, just as Casimir had asked for earlier in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Laska drew back from his shoulder and looked at Elpin, shaking her head.

“It certainly looks like she got you, child,” Elpin said gently, carefully taking her chin in his hand.

She shook her head again, more vigorously this time, then winced and clutched it.

“That’s all she’s been doing since it happened,” Casimir said. “I need to get her to the physician.”

“Did Iowca only knock her down?”
“I… I think so.”

Laska shook her head once more and made a shoving motion with her hands, then curled over with her arms wrapped around her stomach like she was going to be sick.

“Did you try to fend her off? Did she scratch you?” Elpin gently uncurled her arms to look, but she ripped her hands from him and stumbled to her feet. Casimir leapt up as well, reaching out to steady her, but she balked away, using the wall to hold herself upright instead. She pointed at the door, shaking her head, then pointed down the hall and nodded.

“That’s what I’m saying, Laska, that you need to go see the physician. Please, won’t you-”

She spun away from him and shambled the few steps she needed to get down the hall to their room, then slammed the door behind herself.

“What was that about?” Imbrych asked as he rejoined them.

“Iowca hurt her. Hurt her head. She’s not… She needs help.”

“We’ll have the physician come up here to take care of her, then,” Elpin said, nodding to the guard, who hurried away. He turned to Casimir and gripped his shoulders, and Casimir hated that grip, knowing it meant he was to brace himself to endure whatever came next. “In the meantime,” Elpin continued, “we need to determine if Iowca’s mad.”

Imbrych froze, and Casimir jerked back. “You don’t think she is, do you?”
“Do you have another explanation for such odd behaviour? She would never attack Laska or your mother if she weren’t sick, would she?”

“No.” Casimir stepped back and dropped his head against the stone wall. “No she wouldn’t.”

“I’ll get her leash, and a bowl of water. We’ll see if she drinks,” Elpin said gently, and yet for all that he could not make the words easier to bear. Casimir couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to have Iowca on a leash. She obeyed commands so well, and the thought that he’d have to again was disquieting. Worse, though, was the water, for that was the test of madness. If she were mad, he’d have to put her down, and as for his mother, well, his mother would be as good as dead. He suddenly realized why Elpin had wanted to check Laska for scratches and felt such a strong urge to go see for himself that only Imbrych’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Easy, kid. We’ll work this out. Leave no man behind, right?”

“Right,” Casimir said with another glance at the room where Iowca was trapped, once a soldier in her own right, but now perhaps sick., Pperhaps dying. 

Perhaps dangerous.

Imbrych stayed with him, steady as a rock while they waited for Elpin to return, and but for that Casimir might have opened the door and gone in, mad or not., He wanted to see Iowca again, to prove that what he had seen was true, or perhaps that it wasn’t. There was something about it that just felt so off. So wrong. For his constant protector and companion to turn on those he loved most in the world made no sense, and he couldn’t even begin to fathom how it could happen, though while he stood there, he certainly tried.

Perhaps it was madness, or perhaps it was something worse. He glanced at Imbrych, at the twin scars he now bore on his cheeks, one from a blade, and one from Casimir’s own fists. They all had things they carried after the war—, things they wished they didn’t. Iowca could be no different, only the instincts that had served them so well back when they were fighting off an ambush had now proved to turn sinister, just as Imbrych’s desire for death had made him brave and Casimir’s rage had made him strong. But killer instincts were not something one wished to have around their family.

Elpin finally returned, bearing the bowl and leash, only to draw back when Casimir reached for them.

“What are you doing, Your Majesty?”

“I’m going in to test if Iowca is sick,” Casimir replied softly. “Was that not the plan?”

“The plan was for one of us to go in, not you,” Elpin said. 

“No? She’s my dog, my responsibility. It ought to be me.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s not as dangerous for me as for either of you. I know that she’s familiar with you, Elpin, but she was familiar with Laska and my mother, too. She knows me. She was trained to protect me, and if there’s anyone she won’t hurt, it’s me.”

“You can’t be certain she won’t,” Imbrych said, crossing his arms “and if she so much as scratches you, we’re down a king.”

“Exactly. If we lose you, Laska will have very little claim to the throne, and without an hei-” Elpin stopped, fumbling a moment, then finished with, “It would be unwise.”

Casimir swallowed thickly. “You are true friends, to be so concerned for me, and the kingdom, but I will go. Father gave her to me, and so I will be the one to care for her. Now, the water and leash, Elpin.” He held out his hands.

Elpin just looked at him, the wrinkle between his brows more pronounced.

“That’s an order,” Casimir added quietly.

Slowly, reluctantly, Elpin handed over the items, and Casimir turned to the door, hardly knowing what he expected or hoped to find behind it. Imbrych stood by him, almost as if he intended to go in as well, but was arrested by Casimir’s hand against his chest, gently stopping him in place. 

Finally, with heavy feet, Casimir pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it quickly behind himself. He almost expected to find Iowca as angry and uncooperative as she had been before, but found her instead curled against the wall furthest from the fire, her tongue lolling, and no wonder, for the room was sweltering. Casimir set down the bowl of water and went to snuff the fire, wondering for the first time why someone would light a fire in the middle of summer. When he had it put out and turned around, Iowca was already at the bowl, lapping greedily, and his knees went weak with relief. 

She wasn’t mad. His mother would live. The only problem that yet remained, then, was what had gone wrong. He approached Iowca slowly, making sure he didn’t startle her, and grimaced when he saw the scarlet streams curling in the water where her snout had touched it. There had been several times in the past when he’d had to clean blood off her muzzle and fur, usually someone else's, but he had never been afraid to place his hands near the reddened teeth before. 

“Why’d you do it, girl?” He murmured, cautiously reaching out for her. She looked up and didn’t give even the barest hint of a growl, so he very carefully patted her head. She responded normally by nuzzling against his hand, but he still remained alert as he washed the blood off her face. 

If she wasn’t mad, there had to be some other explanation, some other event which had set her off, but the trouble was that he didn’t know what. Had his mother or Laska merely moved too quickly? He often caught himself spinning and reaching for his sword at small movements caught in his peripheral, or jumping at simple sounds like a metal pot rattling. Perhaps this was like that, and something had simply scared her, but she had never done such a thing before, so he couldn’t imagine she would do anything of the sort now. 

But even without knowing the reasons, the facts did not change. Iowca had certainly attacked Laska and his mother, and it was up to him to do something about it.

After she had drunk most of the water in the bowl, he gave her several commands to further test her, all of which she obeyed instantly and completely, just as she normally would, and he frowned in confusion. By all accounts, nothing seemed wrong with her aside from the fact that she’d just knocked Laska into the hearth and nearly bitten his mother’s arm off. He told her to stay, then stepped back out into the hall. 

“She’s not mad,” he said. “And she’s not acting oddly at all. I… I don’t know what came over her.”

Imbrych frowned. “She wouldn’t bite for no reason. Some mutt might, but not Iowca. She’s watched us spar, and she never attacked me, not even when I was throwing you around like a washrag. It doesn’t make any sense for her to attack.”

“She is getting older,” Elpin said. “Sometimes as old animals lose their sight or hearing, they become more snappish.”

“She’s only middle aged, and surely we would have noticed if she was going blind or deaf,” Casimir objected.

Before any of them could speculate further, the physician came out of Casimir and Laska’s bedroom, and Casimir’s attention was immediately focused on him.

“How are they?” He asked anxiously.

“Is the dog mad?”

“No.” 

“Then your mother will live. She’s bruised badly from the fall, so she’ll be moving stiffly the next few days, or even weeks I would imagine. Her arm was broken in two places from the bite, and she had four very deep puncture wounds, as well as a few more smaller ones. I’ve wrapped and set it, but it’s likely that she won’t be able to use it for up to three months. She mentioned that, ah, that she was lucky she got her arm up in time. From the sound of it, the dog meant to bite her neck after she’d been toppled.”

Elpin and Imbrych exchanged grim glances, and Casimir set his jaw. It was  something they’d all seen her do before: knocking an enemy to the ground so she could go for the kill, and most of the time she was successful, that or one of them had been near enough to do the killing for her. Remembering Laska’s dazed expression, it made Casimir sick to think what might have happened if Iowca had gone for her first.

“And tThe qQueen?” He asked the physician softly.

“Will also live,” the physician assured him. “She was bleeding badly, but from what I can tell, she never lost consciousness, which is good. She ought to avoid any strenuous activity—, mental or physical—, and should get as much rest as possible. I gave her a little something for the pain, but she shouldn’t be up and about at all and should drink plenty of water. S, and she may be agitated for a time. What she’s gone through is already taking a toll on her, and head injuries can often worsen hysteria, so the important thing is to keep her calm.”

“Of course. Thank you. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

“I know you will, Your Majesty. And don’t hesitate to call for me if there is any change.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

With that, the physician departed, and Casimir allowed himself to lean against the wall, taking it in. They would both live. They were both badly hurt, and could have been killed, but they would live. 

“So… what now?” Imbrych said softly.

“I don’t know.” Casimir dragged a hand over his face. “I suppose I ought to… to keep Iowca in the kennel, at least until I can figure this out. Without knowing what set her off, I just…” He swallowed thickly. “I can’t trust her right now.” The words were like bile in his mouth, and he hated himself for the truth of them.

“It may not be so bad as all that,” Imbrych said. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“And if the explanation is that she developed bad habits during the war and that she’s a danger to my family, now? What do I do then, Brych?”

Imbrych pressed his lips together and looked down. “A lot of us developed bad habits during the war, and you still thought it worth it to have some of us around. Just… remember that when you're investigating, will you?”

Casimir nodded, then stepped past him, clasping his shoulder on the way by, and went into the room once more. He kept Iowca on a tight leash as he walked her down to the kennel, just in case, but she trotted as obediently at his side as ever, and not once did he have to pull her back. After closing her in, he braced himself, then went to speak with his mother and ask for her version of the story. 

She was frightfully pale, and though the sleeve of her dress had been cut away and her skin wiped clean, there were still several spatters on her bodice that spoke of what had happened. Her splinted arm rested in a clean white sling, across her stomach, and she started to ease herself up when she saw him in the doorway.

“No, don’t sit up,” he said, coming quickly to her side. “The physician says you need rest, that both of you do. Laska’s going to be alright, but she won’t be allowed to do much for the next few days. I’m sure you remember what that’s like.”

“I certainly do,” his mother replied, her voice oddly subdued as she laid back on the pillows. “Have you spoken to her yet about what happened?”

“I didn’t really have the chance, and since she oughtn’t to be moving much I thought it might be better to ask you.”

His mother stared at the ceiling for a long while, her expression unreadable, then reached out for him. He took her hand and held it tight between both of his own, his eyes straying once again to her other arm, and to the stiff wood and bright cloth holding it together. 

“The truth is…” She stopped and bit her lip, looking away. “The truth is, I’m not sure exactly what happened. Laska and I were enjoying a quiet chat, and I got up to put out the fire. Laska came to help me, for the sand bucket is very heavy, and the dog sprang at us. I’m not really sure if she fell before I did, or after, but the next thing I remember, it was on top of me and…”

“And there was nothing else going on? No loud noise? No, oh, I don’t know, movement of some kind that might have startled Iowca?”

“Nothing of the sort. It was so odd.”

“Maybe it was the heat, from the fire,” Casimir mused. “Although come to think of it, why was there a fire in the hearth in the summer?”

His mother pulled away. “I get cold at night. It’s something that happens to old people.”

“But why was it still burning?”

“I forgot to have the servants put it out this morning, and like I said, the bucket was heavy, so I left it until Laska came to help me. Why does it matter anyway? Surely you don’t mean to imply that this was somehow my fault!”

“No,” Casimir said softly, looking down at his own hands, “I don’t.”

Her voice gentled once more, and she laid a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Casimir. I know how important the dogs were to your father, and that this one was important to you too. You shall miss her, of course, but it really is for the-”

“Miss her?” Casimir looked up, brow furrowed.

“Well, yes. You are going to put her down, aren’t you?”

“Put her- No! This isn’t how she’s like, usually. It was only one incident.”

“Incident? Incident? That dog tried to kill me and very nearly succeeded, not to mention what it did to your wife! Casimir, you can’t seriously consider leaving it alive, after that.”

“She’s just an animal! It’s not like she knew what she was doing, and she’s never done anything li-” Casimir stopped, seeing red snow, and teeth, and his own glittering ruby blade. “She’s never attacked a friend before.”

“And once wasn’t enough?”

“I…She’s a dog. She does what she’s trained to do. It’s not her fault.”

“No,” his mother replied icily, looking him up and down, “I don’t believe it is, but even if it isn’t her fault, she’s spoiled now, and she is the problem. Problems must be dealt with.”

Casimir shrank further in on himself. If anyone was to blame, it was him, for taking her to war, for getting her used to killing, but he still had a hard time wrapping his head around it. He’d slept beside her and walked easier with her alert at his side, had trusted her nose on hunts and leapt up when her pricked ears alerted him to an ambush. Iowca had always kept him safe, and he had trusted her to keep Laska safe as well, so the idea that she could have harmed anyone he loved still felt preposterous, despite the evidence laying right before his eyes. 

“Casimir.” His mother leaned closer. “If Laska had carried to term, it’s likely that the baby would have been in the room with us.”

Casimir froze, his blood turning to ice.

“One incident may be one incident too many, when a child is involved,” she murmured gravely.

Casimir pulled his arm away, then found even that wasn’t enough distance and stood abruptly before turning to march out the door. He made it about five steps down the street from the physician’s office before he had to stop and ducked back into the eaves of the nearest house, clutching his hair. It was bad enough to have lost the baby as they did, but if any child of his had been hurt because of his dog whom he had trusted, he would never have forgiven himself. 

And wouldn’t it have been just as bad to lose his mother, or his wife in the same way? Certainly they were older, and stronger, and therefore harder to kill, but they had been hurt, and death had been a possibility in both cases. If Laska had landed just a little differently, she might have been badly burned in the fire, or had her skull caved in. As for his mother, he had seen what happened to others when they hadn’t gotten an arm up in time, and the idea of his own mother lying there on the carpet with a torn and gaping throat while Iowca stood over her with ropes of blood and flesh trailing from her mouth was the fuel of nightmares.
Before today, the thought had never occurred to him, and he never would have thought it possible. Even now, he could barely believe it.

Struggling to compose himself, he made his way back to the castle on legs that were weary with something greater than exhaustion. He paused by the kennel once more, leaning over the fencing to look at Iowca, who wagged her tail happily at him, utterly oblivious to the grief she had caused. She probably expected him to pet her and cuddle her and give her treats as he had done after ambushes and small skirmishes during the war, when her actions had been much the same.

“Oh my poor girl,” he whispered. “What have I done to you?”

She panted, tongue lolling as she continued to peer up at him with that trusting, dogish grin, and he could bear it no longer. His dragging feet took him back to the castle proper, and then to the room he shared with Laska, where he stopped with his head resting against the door. Every impulse told him to go in, to check on her, but another, more childish part of him was terrified that she would be as cold and angry as his mother had been, that she would make the same demands. And she would have every right to.

That was what bothered him the most: that as much as his heart railed against it, he understood the depth of what Iowca had done, and a small, horrid voice that sounded achingly like his father knew what was necessary. He was the husband, the king. That meant he had to protect those under his authority, even at great cost to himself. 

Slowly, that dutiful side of himself opened the door, and he stepped through. Laska lay on the bed, one arm draped over her eyes to block out the low evening sun, the other resting over her stomach as her hand moved in soft, self comforting circles. 

“Have you been nauseous?” He asked softly.

She drew her arm away from her face, giving him a clear view of the stark white bandage wrapped around her head, just like his mother had borne those years ago, and just like he’d seen on several soldiers who had stopped marching. In that moment he made his decision. It was a loathsome decision, one that he didn’t know whether he could see through, but also one he knew he must see through to its ugly end. 

In response to his question, she raised one shoulder and looked away.

“I talked to Mother.” Casimir swallowed thickly. “Sh-she told me what…” He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. I… I’m so, so sorry. I should have seen some sign, should have realized something was wrong. I thought you’d be safe with her, but I… I should have known. I’m sorry. I should have done something to make sure that she wouldn’t… that you wouldn’t…”

Laska sat straight up in bed, the hand over her stomach now clenched in her flesh in a way that reminded him all too starkly of his mother’s remarks about the presence of a child, had they been blessed with a living one, and he did his best not to choke.

“I know,” he told Laska raggedly. “I know. And I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, but still did not meet Laska’s gaze directly. “And I’ll do away with her tomorrow. For good.”

She lurched to her feet, then staggered and caught the bed post, and he hurried forward to steady her. Wincing, she clutched her head and waited several seconds, then looked up at him with her brows drawn together in an expression more pained than when she had held her head. 

“I have to protect you,” he murmured brokenly. “That’s what I promised, isn’t it?”

Laska’s shoulders and expression softened, and she kissed him gently, then hugged him close, her bandage rough against his neck as she laid her head on his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, and struggling not to choke when he got the scent of blood and medicine in with it. Her touch was warm and gentle on his back, and on the back of his head, but neither could make him feel any less a beast for what he had to do. 

When he managed to pull himself out of the embrace, she cupped his face in her hands and smoothed her thumbs under his eyes as though she expected to find tears, but the tears were all stuck in his throat. He couldn’t make himself speak, and she seemed to understand that, her own face crumbling, but still dry. Somehow it was too deep a hurt for tears. 

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispered hoarsely. “She’s always taken care of me, and I… I love her. I know you did too.”

Laska closed her eyes, and for the first time since he’d known her, she looked old. There was no white in her hair, nor wrinkles round her mouth and eyes, and those over her forehead were borne only of grief, but that grief was draining as a cut open stomach, and he felt as though it had stolen the life from her almost more than it did him. But then she looked out at him once more, and there was only hard resolve. 

She took his hand and pressed his signet ring so hard into her palm that he feared she might hurt herself, but then she withdrew, and showed him the red imprint of his seal upon her hand. Choking, he traced the outline of the sun, and the tree, and lastly the scepter, then laced his fingers through hers and pressed her knuckles to his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured hoarsely, then set his forehead against their laced hands, and rested there a long while as golden light turned grey. He looked out the window, toward that darkening world, and the kennel, and said softly, “did I ever tell you that Father used to raise dogs?”

It was hard to tell without directly looking, but he thought she tilted her head, and took the prompt to go on.

“It was a hobby of his. He had a whole pack of hunting dogs, all handpicked and trained personally, and you’d never seen dogs like these. They were smart and obedient, and worked together like a flock flying in formation. It may have been just a hobby, but no one knew dogs the way Father did.”

She drew their clasped hands down, and he lifted his head, though his eyes were fixed less on her and more on some distant memory.

“He gave me Iowca as a puppy and helped me train her, by which I mean he mostly trained her, but made sure she would listen to me. He meant her to be a guard dog, since I kept slipping away from my human guards, you see.” Casimir’s lips twitched in amusement as he recalled it. “Much as I lov- loved Sir Broniz, it was a sore trial for a thirteen year old boy to constantly have someone so righteous looking over his shoulder, and Iowca was Father’s solution. She was supposed to both protect me and make me more responsible, and it worked, or at least I thought it did.”

He looked more fixedly at her then, and did not find the compassion that his nostalgia had longed for, but rather a faint smile, even if her eyes were still sad. She reached with her free hand to stroke his face, but he felt suddenly that her touch would burn him and released her, stepping back out of her reach. That made her face fall once more, and some of her tenderness returned, but it was too late, for he had already seen the horrid little upturn of her mouth, and could not help but think she was relieved to see him do what was necessary.

“I’m going to spend the night with her,” he said. “If it is to be her last…”

Laska nodded quickly, her pity all returning, and she stepped forward, holding out her hand in offering.

“No, thank you. I think I’d rather just the two of us, tonight. Besides,” he made an effort to give her a trembling smile, “you ought to rest.”

She dropped her hand then stepped back to the bed and lowered herself onto it with a single, solemn nod. Casimir, unable to take her quiet acceptance any longer, departed for the kennel, walking quickly as he could without running.

Chapter Text

Iowca was delighted to see him when he arrived, trotting up to him to run circles around his legs and lick his hands the moment he stepped into the kennel, and his heart broke. He went on his knees beside her and hugged her tight, burying his face in her fur and not caring that the motion placed his shoulder and neck near her teeth. This was Iowca. She wouldn’t hurt him, not ever, and despite the events of that day, he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid of her any more than he might have been afraid of a childhood lullaby. 

When he drew back, she seemed to sense his distress and lapped at his face and nuzzled his hands as she always used to on those nights when he was so afraid he couldn’t sleep, even laying between her and Elpin with Imbrych on watch. The soft fur and affectionate licking which had once been a comfort to him now may as well have been a hedge of thorns he had to crawl through, and tore him to pieces just as thoroughly.

Neither of them slept much that night, for Casimir was too upset to sleep, and Iowca was aware enough of his mood that she sat up watchfully, keeping an eye out for danger, and unaware that the greatest danger now lay beside her. Why would it be? Neither he nor she had suspected when he first looked into those trusting brown eyes that he would be the one to have to take her life.

A raven appeared above them during the night, but Iowca didn’t react except to twitch her ears toward it, and it did not caw, but only tilted its head toward her, as of two creatures acknowledging that the other was working, and agreeing to respect that it was not time for play. The raven stood guard over them all night, though Casimir began to wish it wouldn’t as day approached. The deed he planned felt like a crime, and he didn’t want anyone, not even a raven, to be present for it.

As morning slowly dawned, he called for his crossbow, which made Iowca actually perk up, for she knew that a crossbow meant a hunt, and she hopped to her feet, panting with excitement. 

It was Oskar who brought the crossbow, and he made the same mistake that Iowca had. “Are you going on a hunt, Sire?”

“No, Oskar.” Casimir took the crossbow and set it aside, then gripped Oskar’s shoulder, feeling it so small and breakable under his hand. When had his hands begun to feel like a man’s, and a fifteen year old’s shoulder begun to feel like a child’s to him? “I’m going to have to put her down,” he said gently.

Oskar’s eyes went very wide, and he shook his head desperately, the same way Casimir had when Elpin had told him to leave Sir Broniz behind. “No! Sire, I know what she did, but she’s always been loyal! You can’t put her down for something like that!”
“Something like nearly killing my mother and wife?”

The boy looked down, blinking hard, and Casimir gently rubbed his shoulder, digging in his fingers a little to ground him.

“I’m doing what I must. Without knowing what set her off, it’s too dangerous to have her near my family.”

“I could take her home! I’m sure Da would love to have a guard dog to look after Ma and the girls when he’s away.”
“That’s very kind of you, Oskar.” Casimir kept his voice low and grave, doing his very best to keep it from breaking. “But I can’t in good conscience give her to anyone else, either. What if she hurt your mother or sisters? Your Da wouldn’t be so happy about it then.”

Oskar scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Well then couldn’t you just release her into the wild? She’s a good hunter! She could make it.”

“It takes more than being a good hunter to survive the wild. What of winters and the cold, when prey is scarce? And what of the wolves, and the bears? You wouldn’t want her to die at their hands, would you?”

The poor boy struggled even worse with his tears, and Casimir loved him for it. “No, Sire.”

“This is the most merciful way of doing things. Trust me, if I could do anything else, I would.”

Oskar hung his head, and Iowca set her paws up on the fence with a yip and a little whine, straining toward him with a friendly, searching nose. His face twisted as he looked at her, then he wrenched out from under Casimir’s grasp and fled. Iowca set her paws back on the ground with another worried whine, and Casimir patted her head to calm her.

“Shh, easy girl. It’s alright. Everything's going to… to be…” He found himself unable to complete the lie and spun away from her, driving the heels of his hands into his eyes and yanking on his hair as he emptied his mouth of every foul word he’d ever heard Imbrych speak, which was an extensive list that took nearly a minute. When he’d eventually exhausted his inventory, he composed himself and faced the world again; a world which contained Iowca’s furry face, and the crossbow and quiver leaning up against the side of the kennel.

Gathering the weapons, he tilted his head toward the gate. “Shall we go hunting, girl?”

At the word hunting, all concern and alertness disappeared, and the eager hound bounded up and out the gate, bouncing happily at his heels as he trudged to the stable. He’d debated walking with her, but he didn’t usually walk when they were hunting, and he wanted everything to be as normal as possible for her. If he did this right, she would never know anything had happened at all. 

The time it took for him to saddle his horse was torture for the both of them, though for very different reasons. Oskar or one of the stable hands normally would have done it before they went out, but this time Casimir had been too distracted to remember to ask anyone else to do it, and besides, it was quieter, this way. No one would ask him questions, and he wouldn’t have to lie, or worse, tell the truth.

Elpin came across the courtyard to him just as he was leading the horse from the stable, and Casimir wished he wasn’t, but stopped to wait for him anyway.

“I hear you’re putting her down,” he said as he approached.

Casimir nodded, not looking at him.

There was a long, silent pause in which Casimir’s resolve began to crumble, but then Elpin said softly,

“Let me do it.”

He looked up and found no judgment in Elpin’s gaze, only a soft compassion that made him want to turn the bolt on himself.

“No one could ask you to do this, Casimir. I can’t always bear all your burdens, but I may at least bear this one, so let me do it.”

Casimir gripped the crossbow where it lay strapped to his saddle and swallowed thickly. “N-no. If she is to die, it ought to be at the hand of the master she loves. She has earned at least that much.”

“Very well.” Elpin stepped back. “I see you have made up your mind.”

“I have.” Then stronger, straightening. “I have. But… we might be some time… that is, I’ll probably have to take some time getting back.”

“I understand. I’ll handle everything here for the day.”

“Thank you, old friend.” Casimir’s voice cracked on the word “friend,” and he mounted quickly, then rode out the gate with Iowca at his side and didn’t look back. 

They took their usual path into the wood. Iowca loped at an easy pace beside the horse, just as she always had, glancing about at the trees, sniffing the air, and generally keeping watch. That habit of hers to be on the look out for strangers was the entire reason he had met Laska, and it broke his heart to think that the same creature that found his wife might also have made him lose her. 

It didn’t feel right to harm her now, after all she had done for him. None of it felt right, and he savagely reminded himself of how she had looked with his mother’s arm in her mouth, and of Laska’s dazed expression getting off the floor. Whatever feelings he had didn’t matter. Following his feelings had been his father’s mistake, and his mother’s, and he would not succumb to the same fate. He had to do what was necessary.

He still had to bite back the aching groan in his throat when Iowca bounded ahead of him to chase a rabbit through the brush. He reached for his crossbow. A clean shot straight through the eye would be best, for it would kill the quickest, but he didn’t know if he could make that shot while she was moving. Still, he refused to ask her to sit or stay just so he could shoot her more easily. The very thought sickened him.

Iowca came trotting back to him through the brush, tail wagging, and he raised the bow. He had a perfect shot with her coming straight toward him, her gait beautifully even, but his hands were shaking. He lowered the crossbow and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. Sweat crawled down the back of his neck and stuck the bow stock to his palms, and he laid it across his lap to wipe them off. Iowca yipped, and he opened his eyes. She was looking at something beyond him. Distracted.

Pressing his cheek to the hard stock, he peered down the iron sights, eye to eye with his constant companion and friend. All was perfectly aligned until the ravens descended. They fluttered all about him, their wings dashing at his eyes and claws scrabbling against the bow. Yelling and waving, he managed to fight them off, but by the time he did, Laska had appeared, kneeling on the forest floor with both arms flung round Iowca’s neck.

“What are you doing here?” Casimir dismounted, noting a second horse in the brush. “Did you ride? You should be resting! And you shouldn’t be near her. She h-hurt you the last time and it’s dangerous!”

Laska shook her head vigorously even as Iowca tried to lick her face, then grimaced.

Casimir hurried to them and tried to loosen her hold on the dog, concerned by how easy it was and by the paleness of her face, but despite her weakness, she still fought him, and he let her push his hands away. 

“Please, Laska, you know I have to do this, and it’s hard enough without… If there were any other way, I would take it, but after she attacked you and Mother unprovoked-”

She thrust out her hand in a stopping motion and shook her head again.

“What do you mean? I saw it! I saw her attack you.”

Very gently, she patted his chest, then tapped her ears.

He finally sat back, gripping the crossbow with white knuckles in his lap. “Very well. I’m listening.”

Her gestures were slow and deliberate, though Casimir thought that was as much to avoid pain as it was to make herself clear. First, she indicated Iowca, then the bandage around her brow, and shook her head. Then she made the crown symbol with three fingers, pointed at the bandage again, and nodded.

Casimir frowned, tilting his head at her. Again her pointing finger jabbed toward the bandage, and again the symbol of the crown which she used as his mother’s name. He stared blankly a moment later before everything very suddenly shifted into place, like the realization that what had seemed too easy a victory was truly a trap with the enemy closing in from behind. He staggered to his feet, the crossbow falling forgotten to the foliage.

“You don’t mean that. She didn’t. Laska, please tell me she didn’t.”

The quiet, sad eyes peering up at him were enough answer, and he spun away from her, breathing sharply through his nose. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. His mother had hit Laska before, and he’d taken measures to protect against her in the past, but they’d been growing so close! They’d been growing so close, and yet…

“Mother could have killed her.”

His mother, who ought to know better than the dog. His mother, who had a fire burning in the hearth she had apparently pushed Laska against, almost as if… but no. He would not believe that of her, not yet. She was not so far gone as to try to murderkill his wife intentionally, at least he didn’t want to think so, and especially not by burning her in a hearth fire. 

“Then Iowca defended you,” he said softly, realizing the dog’s part of the story. “Because I told her to guard you, and she was guarding.”

Though he faced away from Laska, he didn’t need her answering confirmation to know it was true. Iowca would never turn on the masters she loved, but his mother had been all too quick to turn when it suited her mood. Behind him, he heard a shuffling as Laska rose, but tensed and jerked away when her hand landed on his shoulder, gripping the hilt of his sword. 

“Don’t,” he spat, and was shocked by the venom in his own voice, almost as if he were watching his own fury from a place outside his head. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me, right now. I’m dangerous, just now.”

Laska quickly backed away, placing Iowca between him and herself, which stung a little, but he could hardly blame her after he had warned her off and after her recent experience with the woman who had raised him and who should have known better! He paced furiously, tracing a track in the leaves as he tried to pull himself under control, unsure if he was trying not to cry or not to march straight back to the castle and cut her into little pieces because she could have KILLED his WIFE. 

With a ragged yell, he spun and punched the nearest tree with all his strength, bellowing again when something in his hand cracked. Laska ran to him, ignoring all prior warnings to stay away, and took his hand, looking at the blood and slight swelling that was already beginning to form. 

“I should never have let this happen,” he hissed brokenly, returning her clasp tightly even though the pain of it alone brought tears to his eyes and made his arm shake. “I should never have let her near you, not even after, not when I knew…”

Laska’s fingers played softly over his face, catching each tear as it fell, and in her countenance there was nothing but forgiveness and understanding. Would he ever be good enough to stop needing them, as she deserved?

“Oh darling, darling,” he whispered, touching her bandage where a little red had bled through. “I have been such a fool.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, but gently, gently. His hand shot fire all the way up through his shoulder, but he still didn’t let go of her, refused to let go, whether from a need to cling to her or to feel that pain, he couldn’t say. 

Iowca came and nuzzled between them, and Laska brought his hand down to set it on her furry head, making him finally relax his bruised and swelling fingers. She sank to the ground beside the dog, and he with her, where she patted and cuddled Iowca, then smiled up at him.

Casimir took a deep bracing breath and scratched the dog’s ears, letting the motion ground him. Iowca was delighted with the attention, and nestled and bumped happily against them until Casimir began to feel a little, just a very little bit better.

“At least you got here in time to save her.” He met Laska’s eyes, speaking more firmly than before. “Thank you.”

Laska’s smile turned more genuine, and she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, only to set a hand on the ground to steady herself when she drew back. Iowca yipped and sniffed at the bandage with concern, and Casimir’s own feelings mirrored the dog’s even as he gently pushed her out of the way so he could examine the injury. It didn’t appear that any more blood had come through, but Laska was clearly weary from her hard ride, and he didn’t like that such a small motion had been enough to put her off balance. 

He drew her under his arm, bringing her head to rest against his breast. “We should get you home. I still don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there, or how I’m going to fix this, but I will keep you safe. She won’t hurt you again.”

Laska pointed at Iowca, then lifted her head to shake it. 

“I know she didn’t hurt you, dear. I was talking about my mother.”

Sitting up even straighter, Laska made the three-fingered crown symbol, pointed at Iowca once more, then slashed a hand across her throat. 

Casimir frowned a moment, then said slowly, “You think Mother will hurt her.”

She nodded.

“And she might, dear, I won’t deny that, but it would make me much more comfortable if you had a guard dog with you, especially now that I know what really happened. Besides, what would we do with her if not take her back with us?”

Laska hopped up, then caught the nearest tree and paused, eyes closed. Casimir rose quickly, gripping her shoulder.

“Come, dear. You’re not well. We really ought to return to the castle.”

She set her lips stubbornly and pulled away, marching with deliberate firmness toward her horse. 

“Wait! I think it would be better if you rode with me in case y-”

Ignoring his protests, she mounted the horse, then immediately leaned over its neck. Casimir ran over to catch her in case she fell, grasping her leg. 

“Laska, please, come down from there. You can ride in front of me and you won’t be at risk of falling that way.”

It seemed she was determined in her course, for she continued to ignore him and sat up stubbornly in the saddle, then urged her horse away, not back in the direction of the castle, but further into the wood. With a groan, Casimir collected his crossbow then swung onto his own horse, following close behind her to ensure she didn’t get hurt.

Iowca trotted happily beside them, doubly excited by the presence of their new companion, and Casimir’s chest clenched gratefully once more at the fact that she was alive. Now if only he could just get Laska safely back to the castle, he might be happy, only the castle wasn’t really safe anymore, was it? Not so long as his mother was there. His broken hand ached as it held the crossbow in his lap, and he slowly relaxed his grip a little to ease the pain, but that did little to solve his problem of what he was supposed to do. He had to take steps to stop her, but what?

The time when she had refused to eat still haunted him as he saw the hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, and remembered the months it had taken for recovery. Laska had pulled her back, then, but he certainly wasn’t letting her anywhere near Laska after what had happened. He knew that if she went off the edge like that again, there would be no returning. A part of him wondered at that moment if he even cared. She had nearly killed his wife, the queen. The sentence was execution.

He clenched his fist, feeling the pain jar through his elbow and sting white. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—execute his own mother, not even for this, nor would he do anything that would lead to her death. For all that she was dangerous, she had still raised him, and there was something that felt so very, very wrong about turning on her now just because she had been unable to bear her grief. He could not punish her for madness any more than he had wanted to punish Iowca for what he had believed to be the result of his own errant training. 

They continued on for a long while, Laska swaying in the saddle, and Iowca panting wearily as she lopped alongside them so that he began to be afraid that the three of them might not be able to make it back before dark, but then he began to recognize the terrain. They were drawing near to the place where Casimir had first found Laska, the place where he had wandered far to get away from all that lay on his shoulders, and had discovered a treasure who willingly entered into his burden with him.

She rode beyond the tree she had climbed, and in only a little while they came upon a log cabin with a thatched roof. It was overgrown in a tangle of brush, with wild lilies growing up around the door, though it was too hot for any of them to be in bloom. Laska reigned in her horse and stared at the place with sorrowful creases round her eyes.

Casimir was afraid to speak. He had no doubt that this was where she had lived, before, where she and her family had made a home, and he knew all too well what it was like to leave and return to a home that was only a shell of its former self. There were no words for that ache, and little comfort that would be accepted over a grave.

One of the ravens flew down and landed on her shoulder, then moved its head so that Casimir snatched at his crossbow for fear it would peck at her eyes, or her wound, but it only nuzzled softly against her, the vicious beak kept well away. Casimir relaxed and realized belatedly that Iowca had not moved at all.

With the bird still perched on her shoulder, Laska dismounted, and the others all came to her then, circling her feet and nudging each other to get closer to her. She smiled and knelt, allowing them to surround her, then pulled as many of them into her arms as she could before releasing them and standing to look at the cottage. Casimir waded through a sea of ravens to come to her and set his hand on her back in silent support just as she reached the cabin door. She flashed him a grateful glance, then carefully pulled it open, the creak ringing out all too loud into the forest. 

The interior was dark, so it was hard to make anything out at first, but eventually, shapes started to stand out against the gloom. There was a big hearth with a cooking pot and a metal wash basin nearby, and several benches had been made with stumps and sawed logs. A shredded curtain off to the side revealed a little rough hewn bed with a straw mattress, and the start of a new partition that would have turned the curtained room into a real one. In the opposite corner were two stacks of more straw stuffed mats, though an animal had gotten into them, so it was hard to tell how many there were. 

Laska looked about the cabin with a sorrowful expression, wandering through it in a sort of daze. Her feet led her to the little makeshift bedroom, and upon following her, Casimr found several other little articles that would have made the place homelike, had it not been abandoned. There were blankets of furs on the bed, a thick, lumpy sort of clay vase with a withered flower on a sturdily made nightstand, and a book of beautifully drawn charcoal pictures.

“May I?” Casimir asked, gesturing to the book, and she nodded. The pages were thick, and roughly sewn, but the art was exquisite, and Casimir recognized some of the nearby scenery, as well as some images from Bible stories he knew. 

“Did you do these?” He said.

Laska shook her head and glanced at one of the ravens who hopped at his feet. It tilted its head and peered at him, almost as if it were anxious to have him leafing through the pictures.

“They’re beautiful.”

She nodded, and the raven preened, only to have one of the others bowl him over. They rolled across the floor under a chorus of caws until the largest of the flock bashed them with his great wings, and Laska burst into a smile, some of the dead dreariness lifting from her shoulders. Casimir snorted and shook his head at the bird’s antics. 

“You’d almost think they were art critics themselves.” He came to Laska and took her hand, peering out over the little one room space with an appraising glance. “So is this your plan, then? You and I take Iowca and run away to this little cabin in the woods to live out our days in peace? Iowca and I could go out hunting, for I see a longbow and arrows there in the corner, which I do know how to use, contrary to popular belief. You could stay in and cook, tend the garden, and haggle prices with any of the merchants who come by, and I could fish, and cut logs for the fire, then we could sit by the hearth together in the evening while you did your sewing and I could sing or read to you, and we’d have Iowca and your ravens to help watch over the children while they play.”

He’d started out with a teasing tone, but the more he talked, the more a longing note entered his voice and his heart. How lovely it would be to live here away from everything, just him, Laska, and any children they might have, going about peaceful and honest work away from his mother, away from politics and responsibilities. Just… away.

Laska scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder, perhaps wishing for it as much as he did. He had always thought she married him in spite of the fact he was king, not because of it, and when she braced herself with a thumb pressed hard to his signet ring, he was certain of it. She had enjoyed the quiet life she had in this cottage, but she also understood the weight of their responsibility, and knew she could not return.

“So,” Casimir said, trying to sound cheerful, “what do you actually have in mind?”

Laska stepped away from him and spread her arms, encompassing the space they stood in, then pointed to Iowca, and finally to the ravens.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Two of the birds went to Iowca and landed on either side of her like sentries, then looked up expectantly. Laska pointed to Iowca, then at the floor under their feet, then gestured to Casimir and herself, and lastly pointed away toward the castle.

“Do you mean that you want Iowca to stay here? With them?” He waved at the ravens, frowning. “Laska, I understand that you want to keep her away from my mother right now. I honestly want everyone I love away from her at the moment, but like I said, I’d be much more comfortable with her guarding you, and she could hardly survive here.”

Laska pointed at the ravens again, this time more insistently.

Casimir shook his head. “They may be more intelligent than the average raven, but I doubt they could take care of a dog. There’s wild animals, and what about food? Especially when winter comes? If you also mean to say that they would take care of you in Iowca’s place, then I would remind you that their guardianship is only very effective with the windows open. I really think we ought to take her back.”

Laska gnawed her lip and hugged herself, looking down at Iowca, who had lain curled up on the ragged old rug before the fireplace. One of the ravens hopped forward, toward Casimir, and tilted its black head to peer at him, or rather at his hand. Laska followed the look and suddenly lit up. She towed Casimir to one of the wooden benches and had him set his hand on his leg. Both his ring and middle fingers were black and blue and twice the size they should be, but he couldn’t flex his ring finger at all. 

The raven peered closely at his hand, then gently nudged it with his head, pressing in various places until Casimir gasped. At that point, it very carefully positioned his fingers, then took Laska’s hands and moved them so she had her thumb pressed gently to the point that had hurt and a hold on his limp finger. Then the raven jerked its head, and she pulled, pushing with her thumb at the same time.

Casimir gave a little cry, then slumped forward onto Laska’s shoulder, panting. When the pain slowly died a little, he found that he could move all of his fingers, though it hurt badly. A few of the other ravens brought sticks and some bits of cloth torn from the linens in the cottage, and the bird who had appeared to instruct Laska on resetting the bone also led her through splinting the hand, though Casimir still found it hard to believe that she was taking instructions from it.

“Impressive,” he admitted once his fingers were firmly bound, “but I’d really still rather have Iowca as your protector, and she can’t do that from out here.”

Laska’s breath quickened, and she made the three-pronged crown symbol behind her head, formed claws with her fingers, then indicated Iowca.

“Maybe, but like I said, I’m more concerned with her hurting y-”

She seized the front of his tunic with one hand, the other hovering in the air as if she had been about to make some motion with it, then stopped. Her eyes welled, and she slipped off the bench to kneel in front of him, her hands clasped plaintively. He had only just begun to reach for her when her expression crumbled, and she tipped forward onto his lap, hiding her face and her tears.

“There now, it’s alright.” He stroked her hair with his good hand, the motion less soothing to him than usual with the line broken by a linen bandage. “I suppose if…” He looked back at Iowca, and at the ravens, who were already beginning to gather together a little nest for her. “If it would give you peace of mind, she could stay here, at least for a little while.”

Laska lifted her face, her gaze searching, then broke into a relieved smile and hugged him tight around his waist. He bent over her to return the embrace, her shoulders and head feeling small beneath him, the horror of what his mother had done and what he had failed to do only emphasised by her intense fear. 

“We’ll get her settled,” he murmured softly, “and then we really must be getting you home.”

It turned out that “getting her settled” involved merely watching the ravens do things, rather than doing anything themselves. The birds worked together like a well-practiced unit of soldiers marching in formation, each flying easily about and none getting in another’s way, despite the fact that there were so many of them in such a small space. Casimir got up to get a bucket of water, but even that was taken care of, for two latched onto the handles of the bucket and carted it away, flying in tandem. 

By the time everything was ready, Casimir still didn’t want to leave, and it wasn’t because he was still worried the ravens wouldn’t be up to the task. There was a sort of peace about the place, with the animals all working and playing together, and his wife secure against his side, yet he knew they had to return. Laska needed her rest, and the dream he’d described could be nothing but a dream.

Casimir sat on the floor to hug Iowca, who yipped and nosed at his face, 

“They’ll really take care of her?” He asked, looking over her head at Laska.

She nodded, gesturing at the newly made bed and water bucket, and he looked back at the dog, ruffling her ears. 

“You hear that? Your bird friends are going to take good care of you, so you be good, and stay safe. That’s my girl.” With one more kiss to the furry head, he finally rose, and backed away, saying softly, “Stay girl. Stay.”

She obeyed, same as always, even as he walked away from her to join Laska in the doorway, where he paused, reluctant even now to leave her. But then Laska leaned against him, and her eyelids fluttered, staying closed for longer and longer intervals, and he knew he could not stay. Sweeping his wife into his arms, he left the dog behind, and walked to the horses. 

Casimir set Laska on his horse this time, and she didn’t object, snuggling back against his chest when he mounted behind her. After tying her horse’s lead rope to his saddle, they were off, back toward the castle, and away from Iowca and the peaceful little cabin. 

Laska slept for much of the journey, though at times when she wasn’t sleeping she often brushed her fingers over the splint on his hand, with which he held her close, for strength of hand was better on the reins, and strength of arm the better to keep her from falling. They took a slow pace because of his concern for her, though perhaps a faster one might have been smoother and caused her pain. Even so, the sun was breathing its last across the sky when they finally made it back to the castle gate, and found both Halinka and Oskar waiting anxiously there for them.

Oksar looked around hopefully, then slumped, and Halinka set a hand on his back, looking up at Laska. 

“Did you make it in time?”

Laska nodded, and Halinka broke into a grin, shaking her brother.

“Did you see that? She made it!”

“She did? Then where’s Iowca?” Oskar peered about, craning his neck like the dog might be hiding behind the horses. 

“Somewhere safe,” Casimir said, dismounting and helping Laska down as well. “I take it you’re the one who saddled a horse for my injured wife who was supposed to be resting?”

Oskar shrank a little, but Halinka rose to his defense, crossing her arms. 

“Your wife had to ride out to stop you because she didn’t know what you were doing until Oskar came crying to me this morning about it! Your Majesty.”

Casimir frowned and turned to Laska. “But I told you what I was going to do last night. What did you think I was…. Oh.” He quieted as he realized who she thought he’d been talking about, and said softly, “you would have let me do it, if it were her.”

Laska’s face contorted, and she looked away, arms wrapped around her middle as if it made her sick, but she didn’t deny it. 

“I see,” he whispered.

“I don’t,” Oskar said, glancing between them in confusion. “What did you mean that Iowca is in a safe place? Why isn’t she with you? That’s not a nice way of saying that you… that you put her down anyway, is it?” His lip trembled, and Casimir was quick to reassure him.

“No! No. We left her with-” He glanced at Laska. “With some friends. She’ll be alright, for a little while, and perhaps once the queen is feeling better we can show you where it is so you can go visit.”

“Really?” Oskar cried in delight.

“Yes, really, though you mustn’t be going off to see her all the time.”

“I won’t, Sire.” The boy started forward, paused only a moment, then flung his arms around Casimir. “Thank you. Thank you for sparing her and letting me go see her.”

Casimir’s heart throbbed, and he gently pushed Oskar back. “It was hardly my decision, in the end.”

Laska set a hand on his shoulder, then bent a little to look Oskar in the eye and held a finger to her lips.

“Oh yes, Your Majesty, I’ll keep it a secret, I promise!”

She straightened and met first Halinka’s eyes, then Casimir's, and touched her finger to her lips again.

“Not a word,” Halinka promised. 

“I will keep it quiet, if you like,” Casimir said.

“We can tell Jazon though, right?” Oskar broke in. “He wouldn’t hurt her, or tell anyone else.”

Laska hesitated, then shook her head and placed her hand fully over her mouth. Casimir frowned and tilted his head at that, resting a hand on her back.

“I would think we should at least tell our friends, dear.”

She shook her head so vigorously it made her wince and seized the front of his tunic with the same desperation she had back at the cottage, staring up at him with those big, frightened eyes. She didn’t make the crown symbol, not in front of the others, but Casimir knew what she meant.

“Very well,” He said, drawing her close. “It shall remain between us, and only us.”

That promise made her relax a little, and he looked over her head at Oskar.

“See to the horses, then head home. You too, Halinka. We’ve all had a long day, and the queen and I can take care of ourselves, tonight.”

Oskar bowed, and Halinka curtsied, then both stepped aside as he led his weary wife indoors. True to his word, he himself got her prepared for bed, then crawled under the covers himself and fell asleep almost at once as the lack of it the night before and the events of the day caught up to him. Everything else could be dealt with later, but for now, it was time to rest.

Chapter Text

Come morning, Casimir found both the bed beside him and the room empty, and let out a small huff. It wasn’t uncommon for Laska to be up before he was, though she often lingered until he was awake to greet him in the mornings, but with her recent wound, he didn’t much care for the idea of her being up and roaming about at all. When he asked Oskar about it, the boy had no answer for him, except to say that she had risen before even Halinka could get to her that morning, and that he wasn’t sure where she was. 

After dressing, Casimir told Oskar to go find her, for he didn’t want her to be roaming about the palace without any protection before he was able to do something about his mother, then called Captain Imbrych to his office. 

“I need you to tell my mother’s guards to keep her away from Laska. They’re not to let them be alone together, and are to keep her from being near Laska at all, if they can help it. I’ll let Mother know she’s not welcome near her as well, but you know how she tries to get around the rules.”

Imbrych frowned. “Why this all of a sudden? What did…?” The frown lines smoothed to horrified shock. “No. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

Imbrych stalked forward, leaning over the desk into Casimir’s face. “Didn’t kill the dog when it was your mother who pushed Laska into that fireplace.”

Casimir opened his mouth, then closed it.

“She did, didn’t she? That’s why you’re telling me to take these extra precautions.”

“Yes,” Casimir sighed. “Alright? Yes. But let’s try to keep it quiet, shall we?”

“Of course, because we always keep it quiet when it’s your mother! Nevermind what she’s done, you always let her off with barely a slap on the wrist!”

“And what do you want me to do, Imbrych? Put my own mother on trial before the nobility? Shall I throw her to the wolves and let them decide her fate? Or shall I conduct the trial myself and execute her by my own hand? Is that what you want me to do? To slaughter her like we did the villagers at Pelemath? You remember Pelemath. Nice little town, full of women who packed the supply carts for the army with only a small guard to stop us. You thought something needed to be done about them, too!”

“That was different and you know it. She’s not an innocent in this, and you need to take some action regarding her!”

Casimir shot to his feet. “I am taking action. In fact, I believe I just gave you an order, Captain.”

“And you think the orders you gave me will be enough?”

“You come up with something then! I’m not going to execute my mother for going-” Casimir clapped his mouth shut, then leaned in, lowering his voice to a growl. “I’m not going to kill her for going mad.”

“Why not? You killed the dog for it.”

Casimir almost snapped that he didn’t kill the dog before he remembered his promise to Laska and caught himself. “That’s different, and you know it,” he said instead.

“I don’t see how so. Iowca wasn’t sick, just acting oddly, right? Only it seems she wasn’t really acting oddly if your mother was shoving Laska into lit fire places. And yet…”

“Look, would you just- My mother’s not a dog.”

“No. She’s a person who hurts other people. There’s a word for that, Cas, and it’s not mad.”

Casimir clenched his jaw. “Are we criminals too, then?”

“We were at war.”

“And that justifies everything we did?”

“Whether it does or not, that has very little bearing on the situation at hand.”

“Imbrych.” Casimir looked him in the eye. “I love you, and you kept me alive and made sure we weren’t completely crushed in that war, but this isn’t the war, she isn’t a soldier, and I’m not going to hang her or cut off her hands for her wrongs. We did what we had to, and became the sort of men who would slaughter a whole village full of defenseless women in order to cut off a supply route. I won’t become the man who did those things again. I won’t. And I refuse to have any of that brutality anywhere near my family.”

“And have you considered,” Imbrych said lowly, “that perhaps your mother became something brutal during the war, too?”

Casimir curled his fists on his desk, feeling the scrape of the wood under his fingertips. “Then she can heal, like we- like we’re trying to. I have to give her that chance, Brych.”

“And is giving her that chance worth killing for?”

The wood under Casimir’s knuckles was rough as his voice, the words that came out tangled with the ones that wanted to deep in his chest. “I did what I must. You have your orders, Captain.”

Imbrych glared at him a moment longer, then shook his head in disgust. “Very well, Your Majesty. I shall see it done, and no more.” He saluted so sharply it felt mocking. “But if I may say, when I first joined with you, I never thought you’d be the sort of man who would betray a friend to maintain peace in his household.”

Before Casimir could say another word, he spun on his heel and marched out the door, slamming it behind himself. Casimir slumped into his chair and dropped his head back, rubbing the back of his neck. That conversation would have been much easier if he had been allowed to just tell Imbrych that Iowca was still alive, but then, perhaps Imbrych would have objected even to hiding her as they had. There was a part of Casimir that knew he was right, but it was that part of himself that he found so very terrifying. The part that reached for his sword every time he thought too hard about the bandage on Laska’s head, and how near the fire she’d been.

With a sigh, he straightened and dragged himself to his feet once more, mentally preparing himself for the next difficult conversation. Adjusting his tunic and his sword belt, he then went off to find his mother and break to her the news of the greater restrictions that would be placed upon her. To his surprise, she found him. She nearly crashed into him as she came bolting up the stairs.

“Mother, I need to speak to-”

She seized the front of his tunic with her good hand, crying, “Stop her! You must stop her!”

“Stop who?”

“Laska! She’s gone out to the graves, and she’s taken an axe and shovel! You must hurry!”

“What? why would she-”

“Because she’s going to destroy them. Don’t you see? Her head wound has confused her and now she’s gone to tear them down! I tried to stop her myself, but those horrid ravens swarmed me the moment I stepped outside until I feared for my life. Please, Casimir, you must hurry!”

He did. Leaving his mother in the hall, he ran out the castle gates without even a pause to tell the guards where he was going. He didn’t know what he would do when he got to the grave markers, but he knew Laska needed him. Except… What if Mother had been lying? Casimir’s footsteps faltered, and he glanced back at the castle. Laska could still be there, and Mother might be using this to get him out of the way. 

No. He had seen the panic in her face, felt it in her grip, and knew of only one thing, one person, who could inspire such depth of emotion in her. He started running once more, and indeed found Laska at the grave site with an axe and shovel. She had hacked off most of the young evergreen’s branches and continued to chop and bash with wild swings that were filled with far more strength than accuracy. 

“Laska!” He shouted, fearing she would hurt herself, but not daring to come near. “Laska, wait! Laska!”

If she heard him, she gave no sign of it. Branches flew as she slashed and hewed until there was no more tree, but only a mess of torn wood and needles about a crooked stump. Without a pause, she tossed the axe aside and picked up the shovel, driving it into the ground to cut through roots and dirt alike. The moment the more dangerous tool hit the grass, Casimir darted forward and seized her arms. She dropped the shovel to squirm in his grip, her fists thudding against his chest. They stopped when she had to use her hands to cover her mouth, for great heaving sobs shook through her body and into his.

Casimir slowed her descent as her knees gave out, sinking with her to the ground where he pulled her tight against his chest and rocked. Even if she made no sound, every shudder, every gasp pierced and shook him as if it were his own, and he spoke as one might speak between screams.

“Shh… hush darling… hush… it’s alright… I’m here now… I’m here, darling… shh… I’ve got you.”

For a long while it seemed neither words nor touch held any comfort for her, but then she curled her knees up to huddle more closely against him, and her tears, very slowly, became manageable. 

Casimir didn’t ask why she had done it. It was doubtful that she was in a condition to explain, and he suspected that it wasn’t the sort of thing that had a very specific reason, but rather was the result of a pressure built up over a long year which one drop had finally made burst. He only hoped she wouldn’t regret it. The grave marker did not mean much to him, just as his father’s never had, but it did mean something to her.

“How’s your head?” he asked presently.

She tilted her blotchy, tearstained face out of his shirt just enough to show him a wince. 

“Hurts, yeah? I thought it might after all that.” He stroked her hair with careful fingers. “I’m sorry. I'm sorry I can’t seem to take Mother in hand. I’m sorry she keeps hurting you. I’m sorry I can’t make it better, and I…” His voice melted away and only returned as the tiniest whisper. “I’m sorry I took you away from that quiet little cabin in the woods.”

Laska barely moved, did not even lift her face, but her left hand formed a small circle on his chest where it lay, and her wedding ring dug into his flesh.

“I am grateful you came with me,” he murmured, tapping his own wedding ring just behind her ear where his fingers rested. “As much as I don’t want you to go through all this, I’d rather go through it with you than anyone else.”

Her body finally relaxed, and she melted against him, her face pressed to the warm skin at the crook of his neck as if he could protect her. As if he were strong enough to hold her.

The sun weighed heavier on his head and neck as it rose in the sky, and he leaned over to shelter her from the oppressive heat. Despite his efforts to keep her in the shade, they were both soon hot and sticky, the tang of sweat sharp in their noses. Laska still didn’t move, seeming incapable of it after her earlier exertion, so Casimir lifted her to carry her back to the castle, and the cool of the stone walls. She did stir then, patting his chest and glancing at the ground, but he only shifted to hold her more tightly, striding across the long field. 

When they returned, Casimir left Laska in Halinka’s capable care, for he had seen his mother peering out the window as they approached, and he wanted to catch her before she accosted Laska about the grave markers. It may very well have been what the initial fight was about, and he refused to let her hurt his wife again. He went to the hall where had seen her and found her pacing, rubbing her shoulder where the sling was looped over it. 

“Well? Did you stop her? Are they…?”

“Father’s grave is untouched, but there is no more marker beside it, so I doubt Laska will visit anytime soon.”

His mother’s eyes flashed, her good hand forming a reflexive fist, and if Casimir needed any more evidence of the source of the conflict, that was it. He could see it now, Mother advising Laska to go to the graves more often, Laska refusing, and then that awful temper would swell up, and she would strike. It was that same temper he braced himself for now, stoically awaiting the outburst. 

“Poor dear,” Mother gritted. “I’m sure she hardly knew what she was doing. No doubt you’ll put in a new one for her.”

“If she wishes. But even if she did, you would not go to it with her.”

“What?” Her voice was shrill, but Casimir did not wince nor try to placate her. He stepped closer, hand resting on his sword, and she swallowed whatever words might have come next.

 “I have instructed your guards to limit your contact. You will not be in the same room with her unless absolutely necessary, and even then, never alone.”

She went very pale, her eyes darting about as if she would bolt as only someone who knew exactly what he was talking about would, and he knew with absolute certainty that Laska had been telling the truth, and that he had understood it correctly. The fury that came upon him at the deep seated realization made him throttle his sword and want to give Iowca the nicest, most delicious bone that he could find. After all, Mother’s arm probably hadn’t tasted all that good.

 “And may I ask the precise reason for this additional restriction?”

Casimir raised his brows. “I suspect you know. Considering the circumstances, I would note that I have been extremely lenient, and in return, I expect you to obey.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to speak directly in her ear. “You and I have discussed the price of treason before. My affections have made me hesitate in the past, but I will not hesitate again.”

His mother trembled and braced herself against the wall. “B-but I didn’t do anything,” she protested faintly. “It was the dog, remember? And I was hurt as well.”

“And that debt has been paid for, despite my love, just as it will be on any who hurt my wife. What was it that Father said to the foreign prince? ‘To afflict her is to afflict me, and I shall pay it back blood for blood,’ I believe it was. Not that he was terribly successful, on that count, but I do think I have a little more experience with butchery than he did.”

This time, his mother could not speak, but only nodded, her eyes as wide and terrified as Laska’s had been when she begged him to keep Iowca safe in the cottage.

“Good. I’m glad we have an understanding.” Casimir patted her wounded shoulder, none too gently, and departed.

Laska was distracted the next week, so much so that Casimir was worried about her head. The physician assured him she was healing, but that didn’t stop him wishing for Iowca. The hound had a knack for knowing when something was wrong, and Casimir couldn’t help but think she would have been useful in this situation, for reassurance if nothing else. He kept expecting to find her at his heels, or Laska’s side, but of course, always found nothing. The fact that she was in good hands didn’t change the fact that he missed her, and he made a mental note to visit her as soon as he was willing to put Laska in the saddle again. The ravens were no substitute for human contact, and he hated to leave her for so long.

His mother’s arm was also healing well, and after his warning, she avoided not only Laska, but him as well, which suited him just fine. He had missed her badly during the war, and still missed her some days, but it was usually when she was with him and he was reminded of what she had done that he missed her most. His anger hurt, and the ache of longing for who she had been hurt, so that it seemed better for her to stay away.

On Sunday, however, she came out and met them in the hall to walk to services, as had become her custom. Her guards stood to either side, but stepped in front of her to halt her when they saw Laska, and Casimir positioned himself between the two women, raising a hand to the guards. 

“It’s alright,” he told them. “You can escort her to services. The queen and I will not be sitting with her there, but I would be happy for her to attend.”

He turned to set a hand on Laska’s back to guide her away, only to find her already striding past him toward his mother. Her face was twisted in fury such as he had never seen from her before, and she thrust a pointing finger back down the hall whilst glaring at his mother, who crumpled in on herself while Casimir could only gape in shock.

“Y-you don’t mean that. F-for sinners. It… it’s for…”

Laska stalked up to her until their faces were inches apart and pointed again, somehow even more insistently. One of the guards grabbed Mother’s shoulder and pulled her back a little while the other got between them once more, but the damage was done, and she turned away, lip trembling.

“Wait!” Casimir hurried after her, stopping her retreat with a hand on her arm. “Please, Mother, I want you at services.”

“You don’t want me near her. And she doesn’t want me, either.”

“I’ll talk to her, we’ll work something out. Please. You were doing so much better, while you were going. Come. I shall even walk with you.”

“No, no she’s right. I don’t belong there. You two go on.”

“Mother, no. Everyone belongs there.”

She snorted a laugh that sounded a little more like a sob and yanked her arm from his grip.

 The guards glanced at him, but he shook his head, saying softly, “Let her go. I’ll not force the matter. But should she wish to attend, please escort her there post haste, no matter how late you may be coming.”

His mother’s back was stiff as she strode away and closed her bedroom door behind her, but he knew she had heard him, and could only hope it had some effect. The guards were still in earshot, so Casimir spun and grabbed Laska’s elbow, pulling her further down the hall, toward the stairs where they would not be so easily heard nor seen.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed. 

Laska clenched her fists, her shoulders hunching a little toward her ears.

“Do you not believe I could protect you?”

She shook her head quickly, her posture softening a little as she laid a hand on his arm. Casimir did not soften.

“If you were not afraid of her, then I can only suppose you did it because you were angry.”

Looking away, she withdrew her hand.

“I understand that, I do. I get furious every time I think about it, but that is no excuse to banish her from coming to church.”

Her lips firmed to a thin white line, and she crossed her arms sullenly, glaring at the floor.

“I mean it, Laska. You know how hard we were trying to get her to come to services, and she was coming. She was coming, but now you do this? What if she never attends again?”

Laska shrugged, and Casimir had to stop himself from shaking her, gripping his own thighs instead. It was unlike her to be so vengeful, and he hardly knew what to do with it, his own frustration mounting. 

“Fine. Fine, tell me then, who lands on your list of people not allowed to come before God? We already know people who hurt you. What about those who’ve burned villages to the ground and razed fields? Or someone who’s poisoned a water supply to several towns? What about murdering men in their sleep or torturing a soldier by making him watch while his… while his brother in arms dies in pieces?” Casimir clenched his jaw, eyes burning. “Can someone like that come to God? He forgives all sins, doesn’t he?”

The last part came out with less vitriolic sarcasm than he had intended and more as a desperate plea. Laska pursed her lips, then, still stiff, set a hand against his chest. She pointed down the hall where his mother had disappeared, deliberately shaking her head, then patted his chest and shook her head again.

“And what makes it different, Laska? What makes any of what I did different?” It seared his insides like boiling water to confess these sins to her—to the one he most wanted to admire and love him—and that guilt built to a bitter resentment so that he pushed her away.

She bared her teeth around silent words and clutched her stomach like she was going to be sick, raking her fingernails over the bandage on her head. Casimir’s jaw tightened.

“I know what she did! I just…” He snorted derisively, looking beyond her without meeting her eyes. “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand. You’re just so perfect, aren’t you? I would ask what gives you the right to banish people from the presence of God, but hey, I suppose that’s it!”

Laska’s jaw dropped. Her arms moved, and for a moment he thought she was going to slap him, but then she only threw her hands in the air and stalked off down the stairs. Casimir hurried to catch up to her.

“Look-”
She held up a forestalling hand.

“Fine,” he growled, then clapped his mouth shut.

They walked to the church together, but the distance between them couldn’t have seemed wider. After the service, Casimir couldn’t have said what the sermon was about, and he doubted Laska could have either, for both were far too distracted by the events of that morning. He knew he had said some things he oughtn’t to have, but was afraid an apology would make it seem like he thought she was right, and in this case he didn’t believe she was. He couldn’t believe she was.

For her to be angry was one thing. He understood how fury led to vengeance all too well, but for her to imply that there were sins too great for even God to forgive, that ached too much to be borne. The things he had done haunted him, such that he still hadn’t told her most of them for fear she would see the monster he had been and come to fear him, or worse, look at him with the same disgust and rage that she had his mother. She said it wasn’t the same, but he knew there were many in the world who would also turn him away at the doors of a church, if they did not shrink back in fear. 

So he refused to apologise and concede the point. His mother wouldn't talk about it when he tried to coax her back to church, and Laska even more stubbornly avoided the subject, remaining stiff and formal with him without any sign of giving in. Casimir returned the same attitude, resolved that she would be the one to crack first. He would apologise only after she did, and that was that.

By the end of the week, however, Casimir was growing weary of their stand off, especially when all he wanted to do was hold her and ask if she was alright. The bandage had come off, making the small cut on the side of her head an obvious, livid red slash that he wanted to kiss better while he stroked her hair to ease any lingering ache, but they were too busy fighting for anything so tender. This led him to seek some divine help.

There was a story he remembered Fiebron telling him as they’d sat around a cook fire on long marches that seemed appropriate, so he asked Father Nicodem where it was, then dragged Laska down to the chapel so he could read it to her. It was the least friendly of all the times they had read together, with her sitting primly on one of the benches beside him, but carefully not touching hips or shoulders. He held the Bible entirely on his own lap, rather than opening it with one side of the cover resting on each of them as he had in the past, and she didn’t lean over him to look at the pictures as he read.

He began to read of a man named Israel and his twelve sons, especially the eleventh son, named Joseph. It started with a father’s favor, with jealous brothers and dreams of ruling, then a plan to kill that ended in slavery. The story was abruptly interrupted by the tale of a woman who was married twice, and each time to men struck down by God for their wickedness. Their father was the very same man who had sold Joseph into slavery, and refused to give her his third son in marriage, though it would have continued the family line.

The woman resorted to disguising herself as a prostitute before her father-in-law to preserve the family name, and when her selling of herself was discovered, he planned to have her burned for the crime, though he himself had bought such services. She was saved when she sent back his seal to him, and he realized what had happened, and declared that she had been more righteous than he.

Casimir faltered, for he had never heard this story before and wondered if Father Nicodem had told him the wrong spot, only for the tale to turn once more to Joseph in Egypt. It told of false accusation and imprisonment, of more dreams, and of elevation to the right hand of Pharaoh. Then came famine, and Joseph’s brothers came to him for help. Judah, the very same Judah who had sold Joseph to slavery in his jealousy, who had been willing to burn his daughter-in-law even while he covered up his own sins, took responsibility for his younger brother, and begged to be made a slave to save him.

Casimir’s voice shook as he read. He hadn’t remembered the name Judah from Fiebron’s telling of the story, but now that was the man who stood out most to him as a man who had managed to change. ‘Is it possible? Can a violent man, a man who runs away, change?’ It had to be possible.

They came to the place where Joseph forgave his brothers with kisses and tears, and bid them bring their father to him so that they might be reunited once more. When Casimir managed to pull himself out of the story enough to notice what was around him again, he realized that Laska also had tears in her eyes. She looked not at him, nor at the pictures in the Bible, but stared in wild despair at the window where knelt the blind man who cried, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Black wings beat beyond the glass, flashing like shadows through the clear sections. Casimir reached for her, but she stood abruptly, her hand clasped over her mouth, and ran from the church. He started up, meaning to go after her, but then felt the weight of the Bible still in his arms, and looked back down at it. Perhaps it would be better to let her sort things out a little before he tried to help, and maybe… maybe it would be best to continue reading, and see if any more was said of what happened to Judah.

Casimir stood for another long moment of indecision, then slowly sat back down and looked back at the book in his hands. He read of the family line of Israel, and realized suddenly that Reuben was the firstborn, yet when Israel came to be reunited with Joseph, it was Judah whom he sent ahead of himself to show him the way. The people of Israel were given good land in Goshen, and Joseph’s administration saw the entire country through the famine and brought wealth to Pharaoh. Then Israel, dying, prophesied about all his sons. 

Casimir’s fingers shook on the page as he read of the first three, of a man who defiled what ought to have been sacred, and the two who were weapons of violence, doomed to destruction. Then came Judah, who was promised that the staff and seal that he had once given to one he believed to be a prostitute would never depart from him. The others also received blessings, especially Joseph, but Casimir’s eyes kept straying back to the blessing of Judah, and longing clenched in his heart.

‘It’s not too late to start,’ a voice within him seemed to say, and he gently flipped the Bible closed. Setting it back in the trunk where it belonged, he left the church and walked up to the first raven he saw, hoping it was one of Laska’s. Since it didn’t fly away at his approach, that was probably a good bet. He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, since this was the first time he’d tried to directly communicate with the birds, but he didn’t know exactly where she had run off to, and he needed to find her before he lost his nerve.

“Excuse me, um, Sir Raven, but would you be so kind as to show me where my wife has gone off to?”

The raven peered at him a moment, then bobbed its head and took off into the air, flying toward the central keep of the castle. Casimir followed, and even opened the doors to let the raven in. It led him up the stairs, and he sped up as he realized it was going in the direction of their bedroom, but it didn’t stop there, rather going on to a door only a short distance away. The nursery.

Swallowing hard, Casimir pushed the door open.

The place was untouched, frozen in time like it still expected a child. There was a thin layer of dust, only visible from trailed clean marks where someone had run their fingers along the furniture. The rocking chair in the corner was empty, for Laska sat on the floor with her back to the wall opposite the cradle, knees tucked up to her chest as she stared at it, her cheeks glittering in the dim light through the cracks in the shuttered window. 

Casimir approached slowly, afraid of even the echo of a footstep in the empty silence, and slid down the wall next to her, his shoulder pressed to hers, hips touching, and her side warm. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She looked up.

“I shouldn’t have… well, I still think that you oughtn’t to have kept Mother from church, but I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you, and I especially shouldn’t have refused to talk to you about it afterwards. I… I’ve done some very horrible things in my life. And I regret them. Every day, I regret them. I don’t know where I’m going with this. I just… I understand her a little, I suppose. Not why she would hurt you! I could never understand that. But the regret and misery that comes after, that I know a little about. So I suppose when you rejected her… I’m sorry, this apology is sounding more like an accusation again. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, and I shouldn’t have held a grudge. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

Her expression wilted, and she dropped her face against his shoulder. He tentatively wrapped an arm around her, drawing her near. It was nice to be close again, and her warmth melted the last icy bitterness within him so that he kissed her head and stroked her hair with all the tenderness he had longed to for the past week. This only made her curl tighter, and he stopped, tilting her chin up.

“Sorry. I didn’t ask if you’d forgiven me before I assumed that was alright. Is it alright?”

She nodded, but still withdrew, tucking her head down to her knees so tight that it would have required far more than a gentle touch to make her look up again. Casimir hesitated only a moment, then set a hand on her back and rubbed it gently, moving in slow, steady circles. She didn’t move either to relax or pull away, so he kept doing it.

The room seemed altogether too empty, silent save for the soft brush of his palm on the fabric of her dress and their breathing, his just barely too deep, too steady, and hers hitched and uneven. The trails through the dust on the crib were like gaping wounds, empty and dark compared to the motes which glowed in the tiny beams of sunlight. Casimir closed his eyes to not look at it, nor the rocking chair, nor the blankets and pillows and everything else that was too quiet and soft. 

He wondered why Laska had come here, of all places. Perhaps it was where she came to be miserable in the days after?, Oor perhaps it was the place where she had first begun to really love and trust his mother?. He remembered them both sitting there on the rug with the window shutters flung back as they unpacked a chest full of baby things, his mother smiling and laughing with another story for each one. Laska had listened to each intently, even applauding her favorite anecdotes, and she, too, had smiled.

They wouldn’t ever look like that together again. Somehow Casimir knew it deep within his heart. Even if they had more children, even if he allowed his mother anywhere near them, which at this point he probably wouldn’t, the damage caused was irreparable. Had he known that was the last time he would see them happy together, he would have lingered and watched, rather than leave to avoid the embarrassment some of the tales of his childhood evoked.

“We shall have to get someone to come dust in here,” he said softly. “I hadn’t realized we closed it off so much. It ought to be ready, just in case, don’t you think?”

Laska’s head jerked up, and she stared at him, wide eyed, then reached out clumsily, her fingers groping. He gave her his hand, and she clutched it close, the wedding ring crushed to her lips, and the signet pressed bitingly to her chest as she rocked. Casimir turned to wrap himself around her, arms and legs both, and they huddled together without another word, sitting still in the grief and silence.

The rest of the week wasn’t exactly what Casimir would call better, but it was warmer. Rather than the aloof distance before, Laska was raw as a sunburn, and though he still spoke little, she didn’t seem to need him to speak. She clung onto him as often as she could, and even came to his office to sit with him several times, dragging a chair over so she could rest her head on his shoulder while he worked. 

The ravens were also more present than usual, at the window, at the doors whenever they stepped outside, though there were only ever eleven now, for at least one was always with Iowca. Casimir got in the habit of leaving the windows open so they could come in, and Laska seemed comforted whenever she had one or two on her lap and could run her fingers through their soft feathers. 

Sunday came, and Casimir hesitated in the hall. Laska was on his arm, holding tight, and as much as he wanted to walk at her side, and keeping her from anything that might upset her, he also felt that he ought to offer his mother a personal invitation to come. While he was still considering what to do, Laska slowly released him and took several slow, trembling steps to his mother’s door. Casimir tensed and started after her, and the guards on either side of it also stiffened. She reached up to knock, and one held out a hand to stop her.

“Sorry,” he said with a wince, “but we’re under orders to keep you two at a certain distance, Your Majesty.”

Laska curled her hands back to her chest and looked imploringly over her shoulder at Casimir. He studied her carefully for a long moment, then finally gave a very slow nod.

“It’s alright,” he said to the guards. “Just this once.”

The man reluctantly dropped his arm, and Laska steeled herself once more, her chest swelling, then falling before she reached out again and rapped on the wood, and Casimir took a step closer, ready to pull her back if it looked like she was in any danger.

His mother opened the door a crack, and the two eyed each other warily for a long, tense moment before Laska carefully relaxed her shoulders, offered a quavering smile, and slowly extended her open hand. His mother stared at it, then glanced suspiciously at Casimir, who shrugged.

“All her idea,” he said.

“Why?” Mother murmured hoarsely. She started to shake, her wide eyes fixed on Laska’s outstretched peace offering. “Wh-why would you- This is some trick! It must be.”

Laska shook her head, trying to make her smile a little wider with quavering lips, her brows creased as if the motion pained her. “Please.” She mouthed, and beckoned with her other hand.

His mother grew so pale Casimir feared she would faint, but then she batted Laska’s open arms away and screamed, 

“No! You know what I… You know! And I don’t need your pity. Not your pity! Not after everything. Go! Go worship your God and leave me for the dead!”

With that, she slammed the door, and would not open it again.

Laska hid her face, but Casimir came to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her securely against his side. 

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “We’ll keep working on her.”

Her shoulders heaved, then she slowly lowered her hands, curling them against her chest instead. Casimir tilted her face toward him to meet her eyes, and with all the gravity and truth within his heart, he said,

“Thank you.”

Laska leaned into him, and they went to worship together, both seeking the hope that brought.

Chapter Text

True to word, the couple continued to invite Mother to services each week, but each time she refused, and Casimir could see that it ate at Laska, but there was little else they could do. 

Even if other wounds were slow to heal, the wounds of body were healing nicely. Mother still wore her sling, but the tears across her skin were growing smaller each time the bandage was changed, and they showed no signs of infection. Laska was also getting better, until Casimir was confident she could survive the jostling of a horse again, and the two went out to spend the day with Iowca. 

They found the dog in excellent condition, and she came leaping so enthusiastically to her master’s side that she spooked the horse and it took Casimir a moment to get both animals back under control. It was a happy reunion, and long overdue. Casimir didn’t know what he would have done if he had to never see her again, and he felt a tad guilty for letting all the others believe she was dead. Imbrych especially had been irate lately, and he was sure he would have been delighted to find her alive, but the fewer people knew, the less likely Mother was to find out and do something rash.

They spent a happy day playing in the forest, and Laska showed no pain or exhaustion through all of it. So it was that Casimir was surprised and dismayed to find himself rebuffed that night with a look of sudden terror. Laska covered it quickly, but Casimir was too used to studying her face by now to miss it.

He hadn’t made any overtures of intimacy while she was still healing, and thus hadn’t realized anything might be wrong, but in that one interaction, that one look, he began to doubt. What had changed? Was it something he had done? If she was still hurting, surely she ought not to be frightened, for he had never forced her to anything before. 

After almost two weeks of continued denial and still not having a clue as to the reason, he decided to seek council. This brought him downstairs to the realm of the servants as he sought Elpin, but he found Mistress Ermegarde first.

“Excuse me, have you seen Elpin anywhere?” He asked her.

“I do believe he’s gone home to sup with Gochna.”

“Oh. I see. I suppose I can wait until this evening, then, or perhaps I’ll find Imbrych.”

“Is it something I can help you with, Your Majesty?”

“Oh, no. I mean, it’s a matter of some, ah, delicacy.”

“Then I certainly don’t want you going to Imbrych with it. Come, sit, Your Majesty. I have a little time, and after raising as many boys as I have, you can believe I’ve already heard everything under the sun.”

Casimir hesitated, wondering briefly if Jazon might know anything about the subject before remembering he’d been raised by monks, and sat as he was bidden. “Very well. I think Imbrych is still angry with me about Iowca anyway.”

“He’s suffered through worse.” She leaned forward, her voice gentling. “As have you, Your Majesty. If you made it through that, you can make it through this.”

“Thank you,” Casimir said, and meant it, despite his knowledge that Iowca was still alive. “But that’s actually not what I’m concerned about at the moment.”

“Oh?”

“It… it’s Laska. I’m worried she’s.. That is, I think she might be…” he took a deep breath and let it out in a rush of words. “I think she’s scared of me.”

“Whtever led you to that conclusion?”

Casimir flushed. “I really think I ought to discuss this with Elpin.”

“Ah. She’s still refusing your affections, then?”

“I… how did you know?”

“Firstly because I am the housekeeper, and I have been keeping a weather eye on this house for years, enough to know a little about what goes on in it. And secondly, because I have lost babies myself, and helped several daughters-in-law through the same.” The corners of her mouth turned up. “And sons. Some were… rather enthusiastic in finding comfort in each other, but some were a bit more like Laska.” She leaned forward, making it harder for Casimir to look away. “It’s not you she’s afraid of, Sire. These events have been hard on you, but she bore the pain of it in her body, and feels the greater responsibility.”

“Responsibility! You said it wasn’t anyone’s fault!”

“Yes. For her sake more than anything.”

“Oh.” Casimir sat back in his chair.

“She probably feels betrayed by her own body, or even that it’s a personal failing, and that can make trying again very frightening. You have been very patient with her already, so I’m sure you have some idea. It's not you, and it’s not her. I promise, as personal as it feels, it isn’t. I could talk to her, if you like, and try to assuage some of her fears. I hadn’t realized you two were still struggling with this or else I might have intervened sooner, for I hate to think of her being ruled by her grief for so long. I have seen that happen too often already, and I wish I had… Well, this isn’t about me. Would you like me to talk to her? Woman to woman?”

“No, no, that’s alright. We’re actually, ah, that is, we were, um…”

“This is a recent development?”

“Er, sort of. She was like this when it first happened, and I thought she was getting better, but then… I don’t know. Are you sure this is still related to the baby? That was nearly a year ago. I thought maybe I had done something to frighten her.”

Mistress Ermegarde smiled gently. “Grief is not a straight road. You of all people ought to know that. The days are nearing that time when the two of you lost the baby last year, and that can bring the old feelings back stronger.”

“Does it for you?” Casimir blurted.

Her smile turned wistful, and she shook her head slowly. “It has, before, but once you get to be my age, there’s usually something tragic for every time of the year.”

“It’s hardly your age which gave you that,” Casimir replied softly.

Mistress Ermegarde inclined her head, conceding the point.

“How do you do it?” He asked. “You lost more than I or my mother, more than any of us, yet I don’t see you mourn like she does.”

“I don’t see you mourn much, either.”

Casimir looked at the floor, but Mistress Ermegarde reached out and took his hand.

“I may have lost my sons, but I did not lose everything. I still have my God, who comforts me, and gives me the knowledge that I will see all my children again someday. I still have my work, and those around me to care for. I still have my daughters in law, and my grandchildren. The sun still shines, the rain still falls, and I’m healthy as a woman my age can expect to be. Those are plenty for me.”

“It doesn’t always seem like plenty, in comparison.”

“Perhaps. But it was never a certain thing that I would have so many years with my sons as I did, and I was grateful for what I had.” She shrugged, sitting up a little straighter. “It is easy to forget the little joys in our grief, but the more we remember, the more full a picture we see. Life is a great tapestry, made of many threads of both sorrow and laughter, and just as the sorrows are made more stark by having something to lose, so the joy is made greater by the grace of what we still have. Life is not all misery, Your Majesty, even if that is hard to remember when you are miserable, and more effort must be made to see the whole.”

“That seems… like a very good way to live.”

“It is the way we must live, for anything else is to only have half of life, whether that be looking only at grief,” she raised her brows at him, “or trying to forget it entirely.”

Casimir bit his lip and looked away. “What am I to do about Laska, then? To help her look at something other than the grief?”

“Remind her that you share her pain, then lead her to also share your joy.”

“And if I have no joy to share?”

“Oh, King, all who love the Lord our God have joy to share if they will only seek it.”

Objection was tight in Casimir’s chest, but he only said, “Thank you, Mistress Ermegarde. I shall do my best.”

The wrinkles round her eyes softened. “Then you have the harder task. It’s always easier to say than do.”

“It seems you’ve been doing pretty well these past years.”

“Some days better than others,” she murmured.

“Yes, I can certainly understand that.”

Casimir stood, and she with him, and for a split second he could see it: the effort it took for her to rise, the stooped weight of her shoulders, the weariness in the hanging head, but then she straightened and all of that vanished, leaving only a stern matriarch, immovable as a mountain.

“Your sons were good men,” he told her.

“So is the King they follow.”

Casimir dipped his head, then departed, and only realised after he left the servants' halls that she hadn’t been talking about him. He searched for Laska and found her in the nursery, putting away all of the baby’s things, which certainly seemed to confirm Mistress Ermegarde’s theory for her distance. She paused to look at a little white nightgown before tucking it in a chest alongside several other garments.

“What are you doing?” He asked as she reached for a tiny pair of shoes.

Her hands froze, and she looked up.

“Just because we haven’t gotten pregnant for the last few months doesn’t mean we won’t, and just because we lost…” he bit his tongue and sat on the floor beside her. “There’s still hope, dear. Isn’t there?”

Laska swallowed, then tucked the shoes into the chest with the rest. Casimir took her hands as she reached for a blanket and held them tight. 

“Laska, please. I know you’re afraid, but remember Easter? Remember new life? And promise?” He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “I would wait. I would wait as long as you needed. And I wouldn’t… if it was what you wanted, I wouldn’t ask you to bear any more children.” His voice cracked, and he paused to get his constricting throat under control. “But I am the last of my line, and if war with another nation was hell, a war of succession will be worse. And maybe that’s God’s punishment. Maybe God knows my bloodline is evil and means to end it, and if that’s the case I’m sorry you got caught up in it, but we won’t know unless we try. Please, Laska.”

She tore her hands from his to cover her face, and when Casimir tried to touch her shoulder, she jerked away. ‘Don’t take it personally,’ he reminded himself. That didn’t stop it from stinging.

“I will be patient,” he told her. “You know I can be. Go on and put everything away, if you wish, and perhaps someday we shall have the happiness of getting it out again.”

He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head, then stood and left, pretending it didn’t hurt to see her pack their hope away in a wooden box.

Chapter Text

The seasons passed. The harvest came, and then winter, though winter with little snow. While many enjoyed the warmth, it made Elpin and the farmers look up at the sky and shake their heads. 

“It’s fixing to be a dry year,” Elpin said gruffly when asked about his grim glances.

Considering that it was Iowca’s first winter in the cabin, Casimir was secretly a little glad of the odd weather, though on a cooler day he rode out to the cabin and found a fire already made. As with most things concerning Laska’s ravens, this was simultaneously reassuring and disconcerting. 

Still, he was inclined to agree with Elpin’s concern when he celebrated his first Christmas without snow. It was odd to see the world all dead and brown without a plush blanket of white to make it seem as if it were only sleeping. With so blank a landscape, it was hard to get into a celebratory mood, but standing in the church surrounded by the soft glow of candle light, he began to feel as if it were really Christmas.

With this sweet softness came memories of last year’s Christmas, and his wrestling match in the moonlight. These memories planted a seed of hope that Laska also might find resolution and peace in light of the holiday, and that they would be more intimate again. Perhaps it was this hope that made him petition her more earnestly than usual, and that longing which made him cajole until she finally gave in. They both enjoyed themselves, or so he thought, but then he noticed her crying afterward and felt such a beast that he didn’t dare make any advance for a very long while.

It was a long, lonely month, with the bones of the trees all rattling together and the frosted brown fields crunching dully underfoot. Casimir went on many rides to the wood by himself until he remembered again that he had been away when tragedy had befallen them before. This led him to the training ground instead, where he and Imbrych both took out their frustrations. None of the other soldiers wanted to fight him for fear of hurting their sovereign, and Elpin claimed to be too old for such romping about, which left Imbrych as his only option, though he was still sceptical of his captain’s motivations at times. 

One morning, when he rose panting from the dirt, Laska stood there at the edge of the ring, watching him with flushed cheeks and attentive eyes. Hope flickered inside, and he puffed up his chest, only to deflate when he remembered how their last time had gone, and that even if she desired him, she was still too afraid to make that leap of faith. Pulling on his tunic, he went to her.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

She shook her head and held out a slip of paper. It was full of three large, scrawling words with many an inksplotch and smear which read,

‘I LOVE YOU’

“Did… did you write this yourself?” He asked.

Her head bobbed, and he hugged her tight before the motion was completed, getting her skull to his chin as reward for his efforts, but he didn’t care. 

“Thank you. Thank you, darling. I love you too.”

Her arms squeezed tight around his waist before she let go and smiled up at him. He kissed the red tip of her nose, then very carefully reached into the breast pocket of his tunic to pull out her old note, the one he had first saved. It was starting to be ragged by now, and he replaced it with the new one, though the old he still held very carefully so that he might put it someplace safe.

Laska followed the motion with hitched breath and carefully unpeeled his fingers, staring at the first thing he’d ever seen her write. Then she drew his hand to her lips and kissed his palm through the parchment. 

Things were better after that. They still weren’t physically intimate, but there was not the doubt between them as there had been before, but only forbearance, and love.

Spring came, and all was still dry. Dust rose as they broke the ground, and all braced themselves for what was starting to look like a drought. But even in the midst of this, there were at least two people thinking of something more pleasant. Casimir and Laska were looking for places to cut costs in the next year’s budget when Jazon and Halinka came into the room, holding hands. 

“There you are,” Casimir said to Jazon. “You know, when I’m going over my budget, it would be nice to be able to find my best money manager’s assistant.”

Laska nudged him with her elbow, and Jazon grinned.

“Sorry, Your Majesty. Halinka and I had something we were discussing. As a matter of fact, it was a matter of great import which also requires the attention of the King and Queen, for both are benevolent, gracious, magnanim-”

“Oh please, lay off the ceremony and tell them,” Halinka interrupted.

“Alright.” He squeezed her hand. “The truth is that Halinka and I would like your permission to be married. To each other, in case that was unclear.”

Laska leapt up and flailed her arms in the air a moment before flinging them around Halinka. They bounced and Halinka giggled, and Casimir extended a hand to Jazon.

“As you can see, you have our hearty approval, and if I may say, it’s about time.”

Jazon clasped his hand, his grin growing impossibly wider. “Not all of us marry a girl in the same year we meet her, Your Majesty.”

“That’s because not all of you are half so clever as I am,” Casimir replied good naturedly. “Have you talked to her father yet?”

“I have, and he also approves, though that might be in part because of a well bribed Oskar singing my praises.” Jazon winked.

“Oh? Do I need to be worried?”

“Probably not. For a teenage boy, he’s actually quite good at rationing his sweets, so it’s unlikely he’ll make himself sick.”

Casimir snorted. “Let’s hope not.”

The ladies had stopped celebrating and started chatting with excited voice and large gestures about dresses and hair and all the sorts of things that girls with a wedding to plan talk about.

“When will you have the ceremony?” Casimir asked.

“As soon as the bans can be cried. Like you said, it’s about time.”

At this, Laska looked up sharply, then seized Halinka’s hand and towed her away. Jazon blinked.

“What was that about?”

“I suspect you just moved up her timeline.” Casimir sighed, glancing back at the accounts. “And now you’ve gone and distracted my best money manager.”

Three weeks later, all were assembled in the little church for the wedding. It was not the first wedding held since the new church had been built, but it was the first one that Casimir had attended, and the beauty and light delighted him. While candles had illuminated the windowless meeting hall at his own wedding, here the sun poured through coloured glass and danced on the many spring flowers which decorated the room. 

Halinka entered wearing the same blue dress which Laska had worn for their wedding, though it was not accented with green garland and holly berries, but rather lilies and crocus and daffodils, and Casimir glanced at Jazon with a smile, remembering well that breathless feeling of seeing his bride for the first time. They took their vows, then all gathered outside to sing and dance, though they ate but little, for already the looming threat of drought was a shadow in everyone’s minds.

Despite this, the wedding lightened many hearts. Oskar seemed just as delighted to have a brother as Halinka was to have a husband, even if “he doesn’t do as many fun things like fishing and hunting and sword fighting as you do, Your Majesty.” Casimir laughed when he heard this, and pointed out that writing and gardening were probably far more common at the abbey. 

To Casimir’s surprise and rejoicing, the wedding seemed to bring Laska some hope as well, for she sought intimacy with her husband once more, and both had enjoyment of it. The change was sudden, but whether it was because of the wedding or some other reason, Casimir didn’t care. He was just happy to have his wife back. In fact, between Casimir and Laska being in a sort of ‘honeymoon phase’ and Jazon and Halinka being in an actual stage of honeymoon, Imbrych declared both couples to be insufferable. Neither paid him much mind, and had many glad days where troubles seemed small in comparison to the happiness they had of each other.

Chapter Text

Casimir was glad not to worry about troubles in his own house as planting began, and they had to dig the irrigation ditches deeper, coughing on the dust while they did. The season progressed, and it became clear that the little sickly stalks of grain would not produce enough to get them through the winter. So it became time to negotiate trade.

The trouble was that most of the surrounding nations were having similar difficulties, all save for Thelese, and they were taking full advantage of their plenty. The jolly ambassador who had been so easy to deal with before now sent poisonously sweet letters about supply and demand, and a regrettable need to raise prices and renegotiate their previous agreement. 

Laska was always irritated after Casimir or Jazon read one of these letters to her and urged Casimir to focus more on Chrostia, but he had heard that Chrostia too had suffered drought, and he remembered well the hardness of their ambassador. It seemed doubtful they would be kinder in a time little than a time of plenty, but Laska was so insistent that he finally threw up his hands and told her she was free to deal with them if she wished, and set aside some money for her to negotiate with.

Finally, after much back and forth, and making far more concessions than Casimir was comfortable with, they finally received a shipment of grain from Thelese. It was small, and costly, but if they combined it with their own store and rationed it carefully, they just might make it through the winter. A few weeks later, shipments from Chrostia started coming in. Not grain, but jars. Rows upon rows of jars and barrels full of fruit and vegetables preserved in sugar or salt.

“Apparently with all the fruit they have paid in from tribute, this sort of pickling is very common,” Jazon said. “When they realized the drought was coming, they did a bit more of it than usual, so the Queen didn’t even ask for grain.”

“And all this… wasn’t it terribly expensive?”

“No. They stuck to the previous agreement you made with them, and Her Majesty also offered information.”

“Oh?”

“She said she would discuss what she knows about their lost princess with them personally, much as she can. Their ambassador is coming in the spring.”

Casimir nodded. “I only hope her information will be worth all this. She’s played the lost princess card a few times now, and I wouldn’t want any disappointment to cause animosity.”

Even with their new bounty, Elpin came up with a strict rationing plan which was implemented as soon as possible. All tightened their belts and braced themselves for the winter which came with lionish force. The snows which had held off the last year seemed to fall in cumulation, cutting off towns and houses from each other. Crews of men were recruited and organized to forge paths through the walls of white, but even then they were sometimes too late, and found whole families frozen or starved in their homes.

Elpin was furious with himself for not anticipating such a thing and building storehouses closer to the afflicted houses and villages. Casimir’s reassurances that no one could have known they would have so much snow did not comfort him. Casimir thought he understood, for even while “not your fault,” was in his mouth, guilt lay in his own heart. Much as they could not have anticipated it, those people had still been their responsibility, and they bore that responsibility keenly.

They could hardly bury the bodies in such weather, but Elpin didn’t want them lying around to cause disease and greater death, so, by royal decree, they were burned. Many were furious at their loved ones being subjected so pagan a practice, but Casimir could only think grimly with his eye on the circling carrion that it was better than the alternative.

Laska was likely the only thing that kept them from an uprising, for she moved among the grieving with hands open in comfort and bore their tears on her own shoulders. There might have been fury at the king for their hunger and for his cruelty, but none wished to harm the queen who had wept with them and bound up their wounds. Casimir wished he were better at that, at healing, but he was always tempted to speak, and words often fell short. 

More snow came, and again they went out to clear the paths, but this time there was only one death.

Casimir was puffing and blowing on his hands in a brief break between moving mounds of snow when Oskar came running up to him.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty, come quick! It’s Mr. Elpin!”

Casimir dashed past the boy, weaving through the white halls to the area he knew Elpin had been working. A crowd stood around the old steward’s fallen figure, but they parted when they saw Casimir barreling toward them. He skidded to his knees beside Elpin’s prone body, feeling the dread of truth settle deep in his stomach even before he stopped moving. He knew what a corpse looked like. His hand hovered inches from Elpin’s face, afraid to touch him, afraid of the cold.

Afraid he would feel like Fiebron had.

“Wh-what happened?” He whispered hoarsely.

“We’re not sure,” one of the men replied. “He just collapsed. He was breathing awfully hard, then it looked almost like he tripped and fell. He didn't respond after that, just clutched his chest, so we sent someone for the physician, but…”

‘But it’s too late,’ Casimir finished in his head. There was no visible wound, no thin, clinging skin or black and blue fingers like the other victims of this winter. He was just… gone.

The physician came running, and Imbrych was with him. They both dropped to their knees beside Casimir, and the physician immediately started pumping Elpin’s chest with one hand over the other, then breathed into his mouth.

“Come on,” Imbrych growled. “Come on, old man. You’re supposed to be the one telling me not to treat the kid this way. Come on.”

Casimir didn’t beg, even as the physician repeated the compressions. It was too late. He knew it was too late like he knew snow was cold.

Finally, mercifully, the physician stopped trying and looked up at Imbrych, shaking his head. Imbrych’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look surprised, and Casimir realized that those pleas had been perhaps his first and last time ever hoping for a miracle. The whole world was muffled and dim, nothing but cold, and white, and numb knees and a dead body. Somehow, a single thought struggled through the fog, and Casimir found himself saying,

“Someone should tell Gochna.”

“I’ll take care of it,” the physician said. “People are used to hearing such news from me.”

“Thank you.” Casimir looked at Imbrych. “Let her see the body, if she wants to, then take it to the burn pile with the others.”

Imbrych’s face twisted, but he only nodded shortly and clapped his fist to his chest. Casimir stood and wandered away, back to his own crew of snow clearers. They all paused when they saw him, and one—was that Halinka and Oskar’s father? —said,

“How is he?”

“Dead,” Casimir answered shortly, and picked up a shovel.

The others stared at him, but he ignored them. There was work to be done.

When the paths were clear and Casimir returned to the castle, his hands were blistered, his face numb, and every muscle in his back ached, but that was good. The exhaustion made his mind too clouded to think, to remember.

He must have looked as terrible as he felt, for Laska ran to him and pulled his arm over her shoulders the moment he stepped inside. They lumbered up the stairs together, he leaning on her more than he would have liked to admit, and managed to get to their bedroom. Casimir slumped onto the bed, and Laska busied herself peeling off his boots.

Pain gripped him as his numb skin was exposed to the heat of the nearby fire, and he clutched the blankets, eyes prickling. Laska glanced up apologetically and he managed a faint twitch of his lips to try to reassure her before looking at the ceiling. 

“Have you heard?” he said it half to himself, and didn’t look to see her reply. “Elpin collapsed in the snow. No one’s really sure why, but whatever it was, it was enough to… to kill him. He’s gone.”

There was a thump as Laska dropped a boot on the floor, then she seized his arms so hard he lowered his eyes to hers, and all the tears which had been welling in them at the pain of the returning warmth burned trails down his icy cheeks.

“I don’t understand it.”

Laska’s fingers stung his face as she brushed the damp away.

“He was fine. H-he was fine, and then the next moment… I can’t believe it. I still don’t believe it, even after I saw his body. He just… literally worked himself to death.” ‘At a job I gave to him.’

Laska lunged forward, grasping him in a tight hug, and he gasped in pain as her mere body heat seemed to scorch him, but he didn’t pull away. He wanted, needed to feel, because Elpin was gone and that wasn’t some dull, numb thing. It should hurt. It should hurt like Fiebron and Broniz had, but it wasn’t real.

He was crying. Not the helpless, gasping cries of a mourner, but the silent, steady stream of a burn victim whose eyes wouldn’t stop watering as he stared at the wall over Laska’s shoulder.

“He always used to scare me, you know." He mumbled.

Laska lifted her head from the embrace, but he still didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the solid, plain gray mortar sealing the stones together.

“He was Dad’s servant, and he was always so distant and stoic, but when he died, that is when Dad… Elpin was the one who stepped in. Mother had shut down, and Broniz and Fiebron did everything they could, but neither of them were privy to the councils he had been. Any one of the nobles could have tried to seize the throne and probably would have succeeded, except for Elpin. He helped me to be… He held this kingdom together. Held me together. I just… what do I do, Laska? Without him, what do I…?”

He felt her shaking as she laid her head on his shoulder once more, crying real tears. She too had loved him, but somehow she had been faster to sort out what it meant that he was gone. Gone. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Eventually, Laska composed herself, but she kept holding him until the fire began to get low. As she fed it, Casimir realized that the prickling and burning sensation in his body had faded, and his eyes had ceased watering.

It was another two days before they burned the newest pile of corpses, and more were added in that time. Casimir stood among the families of the dead with one arm over Laska’s shoulders to support himself, and Mother on his other side, her hand resting gently on his back, the other wringing a handkerchief. He had not seen her cry, and saw no signs she would now, but she had known Elpin since before he was born, even if as only a servant, and for this small, horrid moment, she bore his grief as only one who was familiar with sorrow can.

Gochna also stood near them with her children and grandchildren around her. Casimir had thought to go to her, to comfort the wife of the man who had taken his father’s place, but she had her own son, her own daughters, and they did not need an outsider nor any clumsy help he could offer. He had never been so familiar with her as with Elpin, and wouldn’t know what to do, what to say, not like the man who had his arm around her now, and the young woman who clutched her hand. 

The torch touched wood, and the whole pile went up in a blaze. Wails and soft sobs were between the crackle and roar of the fire, including those of Gochna and her children, but Casimir was still, his face like a stone as the scent of charred flesh burned his nostrils with memories of enemies they had burned, silent, and of houses, less silent as they were filled with screams. 

“...eserved it!”

Casimir blinked, coming back to himself enough to see an old woman with a little child held against her side, glaring at him and Gochna, though Gochna’s boy had stumped between her and the newcomer.

“He was the one who made us do this!” The old woman continued. “It was because of him that we must burn our sons and daughters like pagans, and the Lord struck him down for it, just as he will strike you!” She pointed a gnarled finger directly at Casimir’s chest.

Casimir also stepped between her and his women, though there was little physical danger, and at his movement she rocked back, tucking the child behind herself. “I won’t harm you,” he reassured softly, though the scent of burning reminded him that such a thing would not always have been true. “And Elpin certainly never wished anyone harm. This is what is necessary to prevent more death, and would not be done if there was another way, for Steward Elpin was as godly a man as anyone could ask for.”

“You cannot win me over with your lies, you son of heathens! I may have only been a very small girl when your great grandfather was on the throne, but I remember watching the old church burn with all the priests and anyone who defended them locked inside. I know what’s in your blood!”

“How dare you!” Casimir’s mother snapped, coming up beside him. “The steward whose memory you defame and my son whom you accuse built the church that now stands in this very city! Your words are nothing but the fury of grief, and you would do well not to spread such lies.”

“Ha! What room have you to speak? You who defiled your own husband's grave? You who worship the dead? That church is nothing but a pretty show to hide all your filth.” She gestured at the pyre. “What more proof do we need? It is at the king’s command that we must burn our loved ones like a country of pagans, a command made at the suggestion of the steward who now lies on that pyre! It is the justice of God that he is given to the flames!”

Casimir stepped forward, and his sword flickered at his side, but his hand was stopped before he could fully draw it. Looking down, he saw that Gochna’s son, Elpin’s son, had hold of his wrist, and was looking back at him with stern, steady eyes, green like his mother’s, but with an expression so like his father that it might have been the ghost of the man, turned young. 

“Please don’t, Your Majesty,” Gochna said, clutching the back of her son’s shirt. “Please. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to be hurt on his account. Those of us who knew him will remember him as he was, and the Lord will condemn or justify, not anyone here.”

Casimir grimly slid his blade back into its sheath, wrenched his arm from the other man’s grasp, and stalked away as the old woman cried,

“You will burn, oh king! You and all your house will burn for this!”

He ignored her, stamping black ash into the snow. The further he got from the fire, the more the cold closed in around him, but the less numb he became. It was not the old grandmother’s words which ran over and over in his head, but rather Gochna’s.

“He wouldn’t have wanted…”

“....remember him as he was.”

The more they repeated, the more Elpin’s death became real, and soon Casimir was running, his boots scattering sprays of white. He didn’t know where he was going until he nearly smacked into the barracks, but after that only one name echoed in his head.

“Imbrych. Imbrych. Need to get to Imbrych.”

After a glancing blow to his shoulder as he turned a corner, he flung open the captain’s door. Imbrych leapt to his feet, then swayed, a bottle still in hand.

“Cas! I was’n nextpectin’... that is, s’not what it looks like.” He glanced at the bottle. “This is… I…”

Casimir tipped forward, then stumbled the last few steps and crashed into Imbrych’s chest, clutching onto him and sobbing, just as he had done to Elpin when they had lost Fiebron, and then Broniz. Imbrych staggered and managed to mostly control their fall to the floor, holding Casimir tight with one arm around his shoulders. It was just the two of them left, now. Just a terrified little boy and his captain who held him in only half an embrace since the other hand was for the bottle. 

“Brych,” he cried. “He’s gone. He’s gone, Brych. H-he…”

“Shh, s’ alright, kid. Shh’all okay. I’ll take care-” He cut off abruptly, as if he knew it would be a lie if he finished. After a short pause, glass shattered, and the wall bled violet tears, then both his arms were around Casimir, squeezing like he would never let go. “I’ll take care of you.” 

Each word was spoken carefully and deliberately to keep the slur out of them, but Casimir still barely heard him over the sound of his own weeping.