Hendrik smiled wryly, knowing precisely what that meant: We’d love to show you off. Kon caught his gaze and smiled back, clearly thinking the same thing. He’d always taken after his father, even though he’d barely lived five years under their roof.
“I’m here! Where’s my goofy-looking guard-brother?” Kajja yelled from the next room.
“Over here!” Hen yelled back, ignoring the look Alara gave him for encouraging her. “Why weren’t you at the See this morning?”
“Ugh, I hate all that boring stuff!” Kajja exploded into the room, arms full of books, hair awry.
“I told you to clean up,” Alara huffed.
“It’s only Hen.” Kajja rolled her eyes. “How’s Kass?”
“Good. Happy.” For some reason, Hen always liked that Kajja asked about Kass. She didn’t know about them, exactly, but she knew he was more than just a job or a charge to Hen. And he appreciated that.
“As he should be,” Alara commented. “What a lucky boy.”
“Assuming he wants to be a god,” Kajja said.
Hen opened his mouth to reply, but Kon cut in with, “What a thing to say! Who wouldn’t?”
Kajja shrugged and eyed Hendrik, her gaze bright and inquisitive.
“What’s this about a wedding?” Hendrik shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
“Shut up.” Kajja rolled her eyes.
“Delightful. Can’t wait,” Hendrik said brightly, before one of their parents could cut in and chide her.
“Gross,” Kajja said.
And it did seem a little gross, now she mentioned it. Kajja was of marrying age, technically, but she was still such a baby. He guessed he had been too, at seventeen, even though he’d been responsible for Kass for almost five years by then. And they’d been sharing a bed for half of those years. Okay, more than half.
Alara had the maid bring out a cold supper and more ale, and everyone chatted pleasantly as they ate through the various pickles and sausages and biscuits. Hendrik managed to stay mostly present, but every time his gaze met Kajja’s, he couldn’t help but be distracted by the inquisitive look of her. She’d always been a bright little thing, questioning everything and everyone to the eternal exasperation of their parents, but tonight felt different. Her off-handed comment echoed in his mind: Assuming he wants to be a god.
They were finished with supper before Hendrik realized why it had struck him: He’d never heard anyone articulate that idea. Not once at the Academy, where he’d been sent at the tender age of five to learn to be a guard. Not once in his endless lessons on the Children of the Blood and their inheritance, and how they kept the Stone City from sliding into the chaos beyond its walls with their divine intervention. Not once when he was introduced to Kaspar, his charge, when they were both self-important 12-year-olds with serious ideas about their duties and destinies. Not once in the drills he attended at the Guardhall five times a week to keep him sharp, not once in the manuals he’d memorized or the Prayer the priests sang or the town crier’s endless haranguing on market days…
And yet, Hendrik knew that Kass did, in fact, want to be a god. It was all he’d ever wanted. So why did Kajja’s comment sit like a pebble in his boot on an endurance march?
She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.
A kid who’s old enough to be married and have a household of her own. A kid who might start having her own kids, in a few moons.
Hen shook his head to stop the thoughts.
“All right, son?” Kon asked, brow creasing.
Hen nodded. “Just getting sleepy. You feed me too well. They don’t have anything like your pickles at the Complex. Kass talks about them all the time.”
This produced the wanted effect on Alara, who was justifiably proud of her skills as a householder. “I’ll send him some in our next offering basket.”
Kon rose, surprising them all, and said, “I’ll walk you back, tonight, I think. The moon is bright and I have a mind to spend some time under it.”
“Can I come?” Kajja shot up, nearly upsetting her ale.
“I’d like some time with Hendrik,” Kon said gently.
Kajja’s bottom lip jutted. “I never get to see him either.”
“You can come on visitor’s day, if you want,” Hen offered before he could stop himself. He really didn’t want to spend their precious free time entertaining guests…and yet, Kajja and Kass liked each other. It’d probably amuse both of them, and Kass wasn’t the type to be embarrassed about things like that.
“Kass’s family still don’t come?” she asked with a frown.
Hen shook his head.
Alara made a disapproving noise. “Shame, really.”
“He doesn’t mind,” Hen admitted. “His brother still comes sometimes, and it’s always a little awkward.”
Alara clucked again. Hen didn’t bother telling her that most of the Children of the Blood didn’t have visitors from outside the Complex. He just stood and reached out for her hand.
She slipped her soft, small hand into his large one. They squeezed and locked eyes, then nodded in respect.
“Thank you for supper, Alara.” Then Hendrik turned to his sister. “Kajja, I’ll send you a pass tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget,” she said urgently.
He put a hand over his heart and nodded solemnly.
She laughed and fell back into her chair.
