“Because Accords are capricious things, Lady Boreal. Since my Ascension, I’ve made a practice of studying our own. Not just what was written long ago, but the things unwritten…things not written at all. Our forefathers, yours and mine, they concealed a loophole for the outer territories. You see, the Accords between Orynthia and the Houses are not tied to the realm, or even to Bastiion. They are tied to my line, to the descendants of Thoarne himself.

“My closest cousins are so far removed from the original line, chaos would ensue if they were to fight over the regency. Now self-sustained, the Houses would pull away to solidify their independence. Broken into factions, our insecure borders would lure neighboring kingdoms to action. Prudently, our allies to the east would invade Pilar before Darakai could assume it.” Dmitri’s disheveled hair brushed his cheeks as he shook his head. “The realm as we know it would collapse entirely.”

“So, you produce an heir of your own,” Luscia concluded aloud, familiar with the burden of carrying on one’s lineage. “With an heir secured, those dangers are easily circumvented.”

“That is the logical solution, yes. The Peerage favor Bahira’Rasha, heir apparent to the Queendom of Razôuel. They believe a union with the Zôueli princess would yield the strongest heir in a century. It’s why we’ve formally invited Bahira’Rasha and the Zôueli queen to join us during the solstice.”

Luscia searched his eyes and the foreboding sadness hidden within. “Then there is no need for distress. Your heir will follow in your footsteps, as you will after your father.”

The prince looked wistful. “That is such a wonderful dream. A favorite, when sleep permits it.”

“Your Highness, I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Dmitri fiddled within his pocket, pulling out his elixir, and peered into the empty vial. Then, looking up, he smiled at her. Uncertain, her smile in return faltered.

“I’m dying, Luscia.”

Slowly, Luscia’s eyes abandoned Dmitri’s and dropped to his chest. Rustling leaves, the company of evening crickets, it all faded as her gifted ears sought only the sound of his inhale and exhale. In, then out; a smooth, uninterrupted rhythm. Back and forth, like a rocking cradle, cocooning her mind as it spun. Luscia felt her head shake.

“Niit,” she heard herself say, having gone numb. “No, no. There are tonics. Boreal has a remedy for everything—”

“I’m dying, Luscia,” he repeated. “It’s all right. Luscia, look at me.” Dmitri reached over and squeezed her fingers. “It is—it’s all right. I’ve known for a few years. Alora has known even longer, I assume.”

“Alora…?”

“She saved me. When I was a boy, maybe six or seven, I became very ill. Dangerously so. When the court physicians failed to find a solution, Alora came. I’m told she spent days, even nights at my bedside. When I finally woke, my parents were told my ailment had been cured. To this day, they still believe it was.

“Alora concocted a multitude of therapies throughout my youth. This elixir sustains me, but the dosage increases as I grow older. I feel…I feel myself dying, a little more each day. I don’t know exactly what these contain,” Dmitri set the empty vial on the bench between them, “and I don’t need to know. But Alora’s predictions proved more than accurate—your mixture offers me more longevity, like a spike with a slow taper. However, it too is only temporary.”

“Niit, we will keep trying,” Luscia protested, a new kind of defiance rising in her chest. “There is an answer, a different substance or ratio—”

“We’ve accepted there is no cure. I will die, Luscia. Perhaps not this year, or the next, but the night approaches when I won’t be able to wake up.”

A single bead of moisture trailed down her cheek and splashed her knuckles. Against logic or reason, Luscia suddenly felt very alone.

“Tell me what to do,” she pleaded. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need time,” he said gently. “I need you to continue giving me that, just long enough to produce an heir to the Orynthian throne.”

“Who else knows of this? Suspects it?” Luscia cataloged the obstacles in keeping such a secret.

“After tonight, Alora and yourself. My mother can’t bear the burden of knowing the truth, and my father won’t hear of it.” He rubbed his forehead. “The Peerage cannot be allowed to sense a weakness in the line. At best, each noble would use it to his own advantage. We need the Peerage behind the regency to protect my heir during the rest of my father’s reign, and to uphold the Accords once the child takes the throne.”

“What will you tell the Quadren?”

“Nothing. Ira will inherit chairmanship of the Peerage after his father. It’s typical for the Haidren to Bastiion to hold the majority seat. Sayuri…well, it’s better Pilar believes the facade than learn the reality. Pilar would exploit Bastiion’s weakness, rather adeptly I fear.”

“And Darakai?”

Dmitri diverted his gaze and straightened his shoulders.

“Zaethan will not learn of my condition. I have my reasons for that.” A sudden tension pinched the prince’s neck. “Reasons which are not eligible for discussion.”

Luscia slid her hand across the bench to console him, then remembered her place.

“I’m sorry, Dmitri, for what it’s worth. I am so very sorry.”

“Tadöm,” he whispered in her native tongue.

They sat in the quietness of the garden together, each lost in their own thoughts. Dmitri stared at the bird he’d carved, perched in the dirt.

“I know I’ve become a disappointment to you these past weeks,” he said at last. “Since your arrival, really. I hope you understand now.” Rotating toward her, Dmitri’s face fell in defeat. “There can be no hint of favoritism. I cannot overturn jurisdiction for Boreal, however much I wish to. You have to know that I would tear apart this entire city to avenge those children. But I must support the Accords—they alone hold the realm together after tragedy, when tensions rise. The Accords must endure after I’m gone. For the sake of my child—Thoarne’s child—they must.”

“Then, se’lah Aurynth.” Luscia released a breath of apprehension, her decision made. “I am at your complete service. I’m with you, Dmitri Thoarne. Until Aurynth.”

“No.” The tired prince scooped her fingers off the stone and into his own. He brought the inside of her palm to his lips for the gentlest of touches, then pressed it against the uneven beat of his heart. “The fate of Orynthia, my very life, rests in your hands. Luscia, it is I who am with you.”